Taglines:
A
paranormal tale of undying love.
A
love powerful enough to reach beyond the grave.
Short
blurb:
THE
QUEEN OF SWORDS tells the story of a white witch who returns every
hundred years to reunite with her soul mate, who's been earthbound by
a dark wizard's curse. Will she find a way for them to be together
this time around?
Longer
Blurb:
When Graham Logan
draws the Queen of Swords, he knows he’s about to meet the love of
his life. For the third time. But surrendering his heart will mean
risking her life…or making her what he is--two things his beliefs
won’t allow him to do. Graham rages at God: Why give her back only
to take her again?
Cat Fingal, the
third coming of Graham’s beloved, won’t let him slip away so
easily. A white witch, she casts a spell to summon him—for answers,
among other things.
Graham has other
problems, too. Like the seductress who wants him for herself and the
dark wizard who cursed him and killed Cat the first two times.
Will she find a way
to save him this time around?
Excerpt: The
Queen of Swords by Nina Mason
Graham had just
come upon the misplaced diaries—in the cupboard under the
stairs—when he caught a whiff of something burning. Concerned, he
stepped back into the foyer. A quick look around revealed nothing
unusual. He sniffed the air, again detecting smoke, though none of
the toxic undertones of a house fire. Neither did it smell of a
choked chimney. It was, in fact, pleasantly herbal—like the
juniper-laced bonfires of Beltane he knew in his youth. Was
Branwen burning incense...or Benedict trying out a new pipe tobacco?
Shrugging it off, he grabbed the box of diaries and headed for the
stairs. As he climbed, so did the smoke. A picture of Caitriona came
into his mind. Or was it Catharine...or the new one? He couldn’t be
sure as she was naked and her hair hung loose. As she reached for
him, he saw something odd: a blue fire the size of a pilot light in
the center of each palm.
Like moth to flame, you yearn for light. Come from shadow into my
sight.
The words whispered. Caitriona disappeared. Desire blossomed.
What was going on? At the top of the stairs, he
was sweating and dizzy. Every nerve ending, every vein, burned
like fire. He raced down the hall toward his bedchamber, dropping the
box as he shot through the doorway. Bending to collect his spilled
diaries, he startled at what he saw:
He had no hands. And no feet.
The smoke and ethers enveloped, pulling him apart cell by cell until
he felt like the sands of time moving through an hourglass. The
cosmos was silent except for a haunting echo—like the sound inside
a seashell. He felt at once connected to everything and nothing.
Adrift and yet highly attuned. He was blind yet all seeing; numb yet
hypersensitive; defenseless yet omnipotent. Others were there,
too—phantasmal energies blowing past and passing through like
sleet.
The next thing he knew, he was on his back, winded and disoriented.
The room was dark save for the flicker of a solitary candle. He could
make out only two pale shapes. The larger one, he presumed, was a
bed, the smaller one, by the window, his summoner. His nostrils
flared, seeking her scent, but found only the spices of the smoke.
“I told ye to stay away from me,” he growled. “Why did ye not
listen?”
*****
“Just so ye know, vampires don’t
kill—except by accident, of course, or to commit deliberate
murder.”
The sound of his
deep, musical burr quickened Cat’s pulse. It could only be the
good-looking Scot who’d been checking her out from the stacks for
the past twenty minutes.
“Excuse me?”
She raised her eyes from Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire,
but did not turn around. There was no need. She’d already memorized
every detail of his appearance while he skirted her gaze. Each time
she looked his way, hoping to catch his eye, he was conveniently
reading the book in his hand. Each time she returned to her work, the
prickling hairs on the back of her neck gave away his game.
He seemed uncannily
familiar too, though she couldn’t place him. The proud stance,
powerful build, and thick copper hair all struck a chord—a sweet
arpeggio that resonated somewhere deep inside.
“The average
adult has five liters of blood,” he began to explain, “and the
average stomach can hold fewer than two.” He paused to shift gears.
“She’s also wrong about the coffins. And the impotence—though
the book remains one of my favorites of the genre.”
“Mine too.” She
set the gold-clad novel on the table beside her laptop. “Do you go
here? You seem familiar.”
“Nay. I went to
Saint Andrew’s ages ago.”
She still didn’t
turn. “Oh? Then what brings you here?”
“I just moved to the village,” he said, “and heard the
university had an impressive collection of vampire literature. So, I
thought I’d see for myself—to kill a wee bit of time. But it
seems ye’ve beaten me to it.”
“For my
dissertation,” she offered quickly, pinging with guilt. She did not
add that renewal of her faculty contract hinged on her finishing her
Ph.D. before the term ended in three more weeks. Or that she was
hopelessly behind. If she told him how under-the-gun she felt, he
might leave. And she wanted to keep talking to him.
He was undeniably
handsome. Bodice-ripper, book-cover handsome. Straight nose with a
slight flare at the end; strong jaw and jutting chin; prominent brow
and cheekbones; intense, deep-set eyes that turned down at the
corners ever so slightly; and a sweet, kissable mouth whose tucked
lower lip made it both boyish and sensual.
Apart from the
biker jacket and boots, he might have stepped out of one of the
Highlander romances she read every chance she got—a longstanding
guilty pleasure. For some inexplicable reason, she’d been attracted
to all things Scottish for as long as she could remember.
He reached past
her, selected Dracula off her stack of reference material, and
began looking through it. She could hear the pages turning behind
her, but couldn’t bring herself to turn round. If she met his eyes,
she would melt like butter.
“He was lucky to
have no reflection to fuck with his head.”
His voice brought
her back, but only partly. “Who?”
“Count Dracula.”
“Oh.”
Embarrassment scorched her cheeks. “It was meant to symbolize that
he had no soul.”
“I ken that. But
is it true, do ye think?”
Cat knew from her
Highlander romances the word “ken” meant “know” in Scots, but
was otherwise confused by his question. Why did she find his
closeness so discomposing? Men, even good-looking ones, rarely had
this effect on her.
“Is what true?”
“That vampires
have no souls,” he clarified. “That they’re eternally damned.”
“I don’t
believe in—”
When she didn’t
go on, he prodded. “Ye don’t believe in what?”
She was going to
say “eternal damnation,” but remembered it was never a good idea
to discuss religion—especially her religion—with any but
like-minded practitioners of the craft. And even then, it could lead
to heated disagreement.
Turning at last,
she met his eyes, an astonishing shade of gold—like topazes or
whisky backlit by the sun. They also were so gnawingly familiar she
wanted to scream.
She tried to speak,
to wrench her eyes away, but couldn’t seem to. Images of heather
and bracken, of misty hills and crystal lochs, washed over her like a
dream. What in the name of the goddess was happening to her?
Unable to bear his
riveting gaze any longer, she turned back to the table, winded and
shaken. She took a couple of breaths to slow her pulse and regain
control. As he reached past her to return Dracula to its
place, her eyes followed his hand—a sculptural marvel with long
fingers tapering from furrowed knuckles to lustrous nails. She
shivered as she imagined those fingers traveling over her flesh. He
smelled good, too. Natural and earthy. Like a walk in the woods on a
crisp autumn morning.
“How do I know
you?” She had to force the words through her throat. “Have we met
before?”
“Oh, aye.” His
breath brushed her ear. “A couple of times.”
Watch the trailer for The Queen of Swords on YouTube!
Author
biography:
Nina
Mason is a hopeless romantic with strong affinities for history,
mythology, and the metaphysical. She strives to write the same kind
of books she loves to read: those that entertain, edify, educate, and
enlighten. Three of her books will be published in 2014: The Queen of
Swords, a paranormal romance/urban fantasy from Vamptasy Publishing;
The Knight of Wands, book one in the Knights of Avalon Series from
Soul Mate Publishing; and The Tin Man, a thriller from Crushing
Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing. When not writing, Nina works
as a communications consultant, doll maker, and home stager. Born and
raised in Southern California, Nina now lives in Woodstock, Georgia,
with her husband, teenage daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie
who’s frightened of the dryer.
My books:
The Queen of Swords (coming March 22, 2014 from Vamptasy)
The Knight of Wands (coming Spring 2014 from Soul Mate)
The Tin Man (coming August 30, 2014 from CHBB)
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