Sneak Peek..."Faefever" by Karen Marie Moning

Get your own - Open publication

Excerpt from "Beneath and Beyond"

Excerpt from Beneath and Beyond

Copyright 2007 Debbie Mumford

Publisher: Lavender Isis Press

Dr. Erin Carstedter stepped out of the harness and away from the access shaft. She tried not to think about the weight of the glacier pressing down on this tiny bubble of air. The cavern glowed with an eerie blue-white light, cast by a battery-powered lantern suspended from a piton driven high into the wall. The ice’s ability to simultaneously reflect and absorb the light fascinated her.

A haphazard pile of boxes and tools occupied the space just below the lantern. On the opposite wall stood the object of her team’s efforts—a door. A magnificently carved door enthroned in an ancient wall. Technicians had already thawed its hinges, leaving heated gel packs plastered to the surface to keep the door movable until the techs could be replaced by the team’s archaeologists. And here she stood, waiting for her friend and colleague to finish his descent to this blue-tinged bubble.

Sensitive new sonar imaging had detected the land mass and its ruined city buried under hundreds of feet of arctic ice some fifty miles north of Alert, Canada’s northernmost settlement. The more romantic among the team’s members whispered “Atlantis!” But not Erin. Her thoughts revolved around solid, observable, measurable data. Though she longed to know when and how a human settlement had prospered this far north, she scoffed at the notion of the mythic lost continent. Hadn’t people ever heard of fiction? Did they suppose the tendency to imagine idealized, fairy-tale societies a new wrinkle in humanity’s collective unconscious?

She reached out to stroke the frost whitened rose of the marble door. The climate had to have changed drastically to support a civilization on the scale disclosed by remote sensing. Their access shaft, and this cavern, revealed only a minute portion of the long-buried city.

The decision-makers, after weeks of careful study of the sonar map, had finally decided to sink the access shaft at this location. Archaeologists had vied to guess which buildings might house what artifacts from the safety of wind-scoured Quonset huts staked to the surface of the glacier. Even in the heated interior of insulated shelters, men and women worked bundled in sweaters, scarves and fingerless gloves. All to allow Erin to stand and admire a door carved from marble who knew how long ago.

“Ready to step into the past, Dr. Carstedter?”

Erin turned toward the voice. She knew the figure hunched in the little cavern to be Matt Davidson, the team’s archaeometry specialist, but his voice and his name on the duty roster were her only clues. The shapeless mass of arctic parka, complete with fur-edged hood and oversized snow pants, effectively hid his identity. Goggles and huge outer mittens completed his disguise. Still, the lilt in his voice flashed an image of her friend’s mischievous blue eyes to Erin’s mind.

She grinned, though her own protective clothing undoubtedly prevented him from noticing. “I thought we already had.” She gestured to the ice-white ground beneath their feet. “How long do you suppose it’s been since this bit of earth saw the light of day?”

“I wouldn’t want to guess,” he said. “Someone else’s department. What I want is to get through that door.” He moved closer to the ancient threshold. “Shall we?”

“After you, Dr. Davidson.” She gave him a courtly bow, or tried to. Arctic gear didn’t lend itself to bending.

Matt removed his cumbersome outer mittens and ran gloved fingers over the door. He pulled the thermal packs free and swung the door wide.

Erin edged out of his way, moved back, and dragged a post driver into position to stake the door open. The machine’s boom reverberated through the cavern and her flesh alike. She winced, reminded again of the fragility of their airy bubble.

“Are you sure your name’s not Alice?” Matt’s voice cracked and a nervous chuckle ricocheted off the ice.

Erin straightened, glanced at Matt’s goggled silhouette, and then allowed her gaze to follow his flashlight’s beam into the ruin’s interior. Only it wasn’t a ruin. She grabbed Matt’s arm for support, a wave of vertigo washing through her system.

“Do you see it, too?” she whispered.

Matt’s echoing laughter died away to be replaced by a gruff whisper. “It’s a helluva cold rabbit hole, Alice, but at least we’ve fallen through together.”

Erin teetered on the threshold a moment longer, and then stepped through the looking glass onto soft green grass beneath a cloudless sapphire sky. An enormous monarch butterfly danced across her field of vision and she glanced back at Matt and the entrance to the ice cavern. Matt stood a few paces behind her, looking ridiculous in his arctic gear. The opening into their world no longer existed. Erin pivoted slowly on the spot. An unbroken horizon of meadowland, forest and mountain greeted her vision. However they’d arrived in this unexpected place, they wouldn’t be returning by the same route.

“This has to be a hallucination,” she muttered, sinking to the ground and closing her eyes. “I’m in a centuries-old ruin, buried under tons of ice, and it’s too cold to support life.”

Keeping her eyes firmly closed, she removed her mittens and pulled off her left glove. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her hand to the ground beside her. She encountered what could only be grass; soft, resilient blades of grass. Approximately six inches high, the leaves bent easily beneath her questing fingers and gave way as she sought the earth below. Warm, damp earth. She lifted her fingers to her muffler-wrapped nose and breathed in the slightly musty scent of dirt spiked with the tang of freshly bruised grass.

She’d expected cold so bitter it burned her exposed flesh. Instead, her senses screamed “Summer!” Sweat trickled down her neck to pool at the base of her spine. She needed to shed several layers of cloth, but her intellect refused to accept her body’s testimony. Her mind insisted she’d freeze to death if she unwrapped.

“This is absolutely impossible,” said Matt’s voice behind her, “but it’s a helluva lot more comfortable than the ice shaft.”

Eyes still tightly closed, Erin listened to his movements, felt his warm, calloused fingers pull her hand away from her face.

“Snap out of it, Erin. We’ve got a whole new world to explore.” His words penetrated the fugue in her brain, and she opened her eyes to focus on his handsome face. His face. She could see Matt’s face!

“Matt,” she cried. “Are you insane? I don’t care what kind of mental aberration we’re suffering; you’ll die of exposure dressed like that!”

He had shed his parka and protective gear and knelt beside her in a pair of sweat pants and a tee-shirt. Not having any other shoes, he’d kept the fur-lined boots. His tousled blond hair needed a trim and his chin sparkled with golden stubble. A grin lit his even-featured face.

“If this is an illusion,” he said, “it’s a good one. My outer layer of dermis should be dead by now and my lungs seizing.” He stroked her bare hand. “Your skin seems fine, too.”

He stood and pulled her up with him. “Come on, Erin. Lose the parka or you’re going to roast.”

She struggled against his grasp, finally managing to twist away. Quickly, she pulled her glove and mittens back on and turned to glower at him.

“Listen,” she said, working hard to keep the rising hysteria out of her voice, “you may be suicidal, but I’m not. Obviously something in the atmosphere of this ruin is causing us to hallucinate. We need to sit tight until the team gets nervous and comes to check on us. The door is open now, so the fumes, or…whatever…will have a chance to dissipate.”

She dropped to the ground again and glared up at him, though her gear hid her expression. “We’ve got to stick tight. If we wander away...” she swallowed, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “If we wander away, they might not be able to find us!”

Matt stared at her, eyes narrow and jaw tight. When he spoke, his voice carried the condescension of an adult speaking to a wayward child.

“Will you listen to yourself? Sit tight? Wait for rescue? Erin, look around! I don’t know where we are, or how we got here, but we’re sure as hell not in a ruin at the bottom of an ice shaft.”

He spun away from her, paced a few steps, kicked a large rock out of his path, and strode back to tower over her, hands jammed into his sweat pants’ pockets.

“Get up, Erin,” he said. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

He reached for her again, but she twisted away and scuttled a few feet sideways.

“If you want to get lost in this maze,” she said, “go for it. I’m staying right here until my head clears.”

“I’m sorry, Erin, but I can’t walk away. You’re just stubborn enough to sit here in the blazing sun, bundled to the teeth until your core temperature pushes you into a stroke.”

He launched himself at her, wrestled her prone on the grass and straddled her hips while he freed her upper torso from its protective gear.

Erin sputtered and fought, angry as a wet cat. When he pulled the parka away, she shivered violently. Her tee-shirt and hair were drenched with sweat, and despite the warmth of the breeze, her body shook with reaction.

Matt dodged away and she sprang to a sitting position, chafing her arms and running shaky fingers through her short mop of curly hair. She glared at Matt, lips sealed in a thin, tense line. No way would she admit he’d been right.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Lose the parka pants. We’re going to hike to the tree line, and I don’t want you overheating.”

“I can’t,” she snapped. “I’m not wearing sweats.” Defiance sizzled in her blood, but she forced herself to remain calm and gazed toward the distant trees. “Why that direction? Why not back toward the door?”

He offered his hand. She hesitated briefly and then rolled sideways—away from him—and pushed herself to standing.

“Because those trees look like they could be growing along a stream,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “We’re not going back, because there’s nothing to go back to. Look for yourself.” He pointed to a heap of thinsulite and fur—his arctic gear. “I’d barely stepped through the door when it disappeared. If it existed, it’d be right there.”

Excerpt from SECOND SIGHT

Excerpt from Second Sight
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2007
Publisher: Freya's Bower


Zach strode through the door the next morning and Jenny’s determination stumbled.

“Good morning, Jenny.”

His predatory gaze traveled the length of her body and her heart raced, excitedly rushing blood through her veins. Her skin tingled and her face flamed. Selfless service to mankind sounded great—when she was alone. Her mind understood the fine distinction between love and lust, but her body quivered in anticipation of his touch.

Zach prowled around her office like a big cat. Lithe and powerful, he brimmed with constrained sensuality. Her knees weakened and resolve liquefied. The man reeked masculinity. A primeval god returned to life to sport with mortal women once more. And he’d chosen her.

She sighed, the rush of breath echoing the rush of blood through her veins. Mere mortals didn’t demand love from a god. A mortal woman accepted his favor, drank every drop of exhilaration and subsisted on its sustaining energy for the rest of her life.

He didn’t love her, still clung to Angie. So be it. He wanted her. Lust might not provide the nourishment her soul required to flourish, but she would survive. She’d savor the ecstasy of his passion and treasure the memory for eternity.

“Come away with me, Jenny.”

His softly spoken words echoed her fantasy so closely she wondered if she’d imagined them.

“What?” She stared at him, her face hot with embarrassment. She must look like a frightened fawn. She wanted to appear serene, a woman of the world.

He leaned closer and she inhaled the heady combination of spicy aftershave and musky male. “Come away with me,” he whispered again. “Things are too complicated here. I want you to myself, at least for the weekend.”

She licked her lips, worked to push air past frozen vocal chords. “What…what about the police? Your investigation?”

A hint of annoyance flickered across his features. “I’ll deal with all that, but I need a reason to bother. You haven’t said you’ll come.”

Jenny stared into the chocolate pools of his eyes. Warm, liquid depths enticed her to take the plunge, to join him.

“Of course, I’ll come,” she said. As if she’d had a choice.

She broke the seductive eye contact. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He straightened, his manner suddenly brisk.

“Good. I’ll make all the arrangements. We’ll have dinner in town and then drive out to the coast. Can you be ready by six?”

Jenny nodded, unable to resist the gale force of his masculinity. Why would she want to resist when those winds were blowing her to a romantic weekend with the man she’d dreamed of all her life?

She stood, walked around her desk and said, “I’ll be ready.”

I’ll always be ready, she thought, standing on tiptoe to kiss his provocative mouth.

She’d intended to give him a soft peck on the lips, but his growl of desire, the swift heat of his mouth opening to devour hers, the steel of his arms embracing her, turned her intentions upside down. A momentary instinct to struggle died under an avalanche of pleasure. Jenny pressed herself against Zach and gave in to the sensory overload of passion. Sensations too numerous to catalog rushed to seal a bargain for intoxicating adventure.

Zach released her lips suddenly and pushed her away, but continued to hold her arms in a vise-like grip. A very good thing. His kiss had turned her legs to rubber and she needed his support to stay upright.

“I’ve got to go.” He said the words, but his body stayed rooted to the floor. His hands continued to grasp her arms. He shuddered, released her and dropped his hands to his sides. After a moment, he strode to the door where he turned and studied her a final time.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

“I’ll be ready,” she repeated, her fingers tracing the imprint of his mouth on her lips. She laughed.

Who am I kidding? she thought with giddy embarrassment. I’m ready right now!

Excerpt from DRAGONS’ CHOICE: Sorcha's Children Book 1

This is an excerpt from my first sequel to Sorcha's Heart!

Here is the blurb to help orient you for the excerpt:

Sorcha and Caedyrn's love has created a new breed of beings. Neither wholly dragon nor fully human, Sorcha's children shapeshift at will. The six fledglings have been raised as dragons, but the time has come to explore their human heritage. Aislinn and Taran are the first to leave the ice aerie for the world of men.

Aislinn discovers the lure of sexuality amidst the intrigues of King Leofric's court, while Taran learns the source of his debilitating malady. Both siblings face danger and prejudice among their mother's kin, but they discover love as well. Dragons mate for life, forcing the young shifters to make a choice.

~~~

Excerpt from DRAGONS’ CHOICE: Sorcha's Children Book 1
Copyright: Debbie Mumford 2007
Publisher: Freya’s Bower


Aislinn soared through the midday sky. Warm sunlight and cool wind caressed her scaly hide. The nictitating membranes protected tender eyes and added a unique shimmer to her vision. She scanned the horizon and an excited bubble of anticipation inflated at the sight of the towering cliffs. She arrowed toward an assignation with destiny. Her mate waited atop that rocky sentinel. Her mate.

She tasted the words and acknowledged their truthfulness. Prince Ewan would be her mate. She’d always assumed she would bond within the flight, had anticipated the wild elation of leading her chosen male on a death-defying race through the heavens. She’d expected to allow the male to catch her only after they had attained sufficient height to complete the sex act before gravity dashed them upon the rocks of the canyon. How could mating with a flightless human compare?

Her dragon instincts wrenched. If she followed through on the course her human soul had set in motion, she would severe herself forever from the possibility of a dragon bonding. What was she thinking?

She banked and circled the meadow at the cliff edge. The prince stood in the center of the greensward, shielding his eyes and following her progress. Puny and flightless, like all of his kind. She could crush him with a flick of her tail. The men who guarded the path to the cliffs, his sworn protectors, would be helpless against her.

And yet, even in dragon form, she felt an irresistible pull. This earth-bound human held her heart in his hands.

Almost, she could see the strands of her life diverging from the rocky outcropping: remain in the sky, ignore the crawling mortal, return to the flight to bond with a true-born dragon and clutch many eggs to enrich the aerie; or land and follow her destiny in the arms of Ewan of Rossal.

Her resolve faltered, and she glanced north toward the windswept mountains and the hidden ice aerie of her youth…but her human half shoved a memory to the front. Ewan’s mouth on hers last night at the ball, liquid fire smoldering in her veins while absolute conviction of her destiny in his arms blazed in her soul.

She swooped low and landed on the sparse grass at the cliff-edge.

He approached, uncertainty evident on his face. “You circled so many times,” he said. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

She lowered her head and studied him, her wings still widespread, ready for flight. “I’m not sure I haven’t,” she said. “Give me a reason to stay, Ewan.”

He sank to one knee and bowed before her.

“I’m not sure what I have to offer a dragon,” he said, but when he raised his gaze to meet hers Aislinn found all the reason she needed shining in his eyes. He loved her. Even now, when she appeared in dragon form, his eyes proclaimed understanding and steadfast devotion. Here was a male who would accept her no matter the skin she wore.

She folded her wings, shimmered from blue-scaled dragon to soft-fleshed woman, and launched herself into his arms.

Sorcha's Heart ~ Excerpt #2

Excerpt from Sorcha's Heart
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2006
Publisher: Freya's Bower


The moon, a slender curve of light, rose to its apex and began to decline before Sorcha stirred from her solitary vigil on the heights. She made her way back to her lair in a trance of melancholy sleepiness. Passing the great gallery, she came within range of a heated discussion. Caedyrn and the Rex, not expecting any listeners at this dark hour, raged at each other without bothering to keep their link private.

“You must back away from this female, Caedyrn,” said the Rex, his words rife with command.

“A rex cannot bond. You have waited this long. Let this infatuation pass.”

“I haven’t bonded, not out of desire to be rex,” came Caedyrn’s reply, “but because no female has tempted me. You have no right to deny me a bond-mate if I choose to seek one.”

Caedyrn wanted to bond? The thought cut Sorcha’s heart, and she stumbled back the way she’d come, pulling her thoughts away from the vibrant thread of communication. Blindly, she wandered the corridors until fate brought her back to her own empty nest. If she lost Caedyrn, if he bonded with a female… She didn’t know if she could bear the loneliness. Dry eyed and silent, her heart cried her to sleep.

The next morning, she watched the unbonded females with predatory interest. Which had caught his eye? The golden beauty two maturation groups above Morna? Perhaps the sleek, doe-eyed green that chatted with Etna. No, more likely the terra cotta lovely who instructed Sabia in healing. Yes, that one had a regal bearing that would attract a virile male like Caedyrn.
Sorcha’s soul shriveled as she imagined Caedyrn’s glistening black scales curled around her red-brown glow in the privacy of a bonded pair’s nest.

“You’re very intent, this morning.” Caedyrn’s voice sounded in her mind as his snout nudged her shoulder. “Are you thinking of joining Sabia for healing lessons?”

Gods and goddesses! She’d been so lost in murderous thoughts she hadn’t heard him coming. Thankfully, her thoughts had been firmly lodged in the most private portion of her mind.

“No,” she said truthfully, “though I practiced healing as a wizard.” Without giving herself time to think about it, she plunged into the subject that obsessed her thoughts. “No one has explained the bonding process to me,” she said bluntly. “How do dragons choose their mates?”

He looked startled, even took a step backward before he stopped himself. “Well, when a couple is attracted, they spend time together, get to know each other, and then, well, they bond.” He turned and headed for the passage that led to the flight cliff. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Lorcan? My flight group should be assembled by now.”

“That was a non-answer,” she said, following him out of the great gallery. “How do dragons bond?”

He picked up his pace and pulled ahead of her. “I’m late, Sorcha. My students are expecting me. Besides,” he cast a glance over his shoulder as he reached a turn in the corridor, “that is a question for Etna, not me.” He disappeared around the bend and his words faded as well.

“Coward,” she thought after him.

Later, Etna refused to expand on Caedyrn’s answer, so Sorcha sought out a sure source of information, if not knowledge.

“May I join you?” she asked as she peered into the entrance of Morna’s lair.

“Of course,” said Morna.

“Definitely,” chorused Oona, Nuala and Sabia.

“We thought you’d never ask,” said Keeva.

She stepped inside the round room carved long ago by dragon magic. The nests of the young females’ lined the walls, and were satisfyingly scrunchy masses of limbs, river rocks and the occasional precious stone. The center of the chamber, where the females gathered to groom and chat, was bare, polished ice.

Keeva and Sabia reclined on their nests while Oona and Morna burnished Nuala’s scales with alternating puffs of steam and fingers of fire. Nuala basked in the attention.

“My mentors have been avoiding my questions today,” Sorcha said. “I wondered if you could answer them for me.”

The three in the center froze, while the two on their nests quickly sat up.

Morna recovered first. “You asked a question they wouldn’t answer?”

Sorcha nodded and the others encouraged her into the center of the room.

“Ooooo,” said Keeva. “It must have been really bad! Elders are bound to answer our questions.”

Oona nudged Keeva aside. “Don’t mind her,” she said, her voice dripping smug superiority. “Keeva just loves juicy gossip.”

“As if you don’t,” cried Keeva.

Sabia pushed between the snorting blue and mauve. “Peace, friends. Let’s hear the question!”

“Yes,” said Nuala, the usually shy dragon’s eyes shone with excitement. “What did you ask?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was forbidden or anything,” said Sorcha, beginning to worry that she might offend the young females. “I just asked how dragons bond. Um, I mean, how you choose your bond-mate. Though, I must admit, I’m curious about the actual mating, too.”

“And they wouldn’t tell you?” Morna looked appalled. “There’s nothing secret or offensive about that.”

Sorcha looked around the circle and saw multicolored expressions droop with disappointment. All but one, Oona looked thoughtful.

“What is it, Oona?” she asked.

“Well, it’s probably nothing, but…” She stopped and her lair mates butted her with noses and triangular tails. “Okay. I heard the Rex telling Lorcan and Etna that Sorcha isn’t to be allowed to rise.”

“No!”

“You must have misunderstood.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

Oona nodded wisely. “It’s because she’s human,” she said, giving Sorcha an apologetic glance. “The Rex doesn’t want her joining the flight, because he isn’t sure what she is.”

A cold lump formed in the pit of Sorcha’s stomach. If she couldn’t be a human, and the dragons didn’t want her, what would she do? She pushed the thought away and concentrated on a more tangible question.

“What do you mean, I’m not to be allowed to rise? Does he mean politically?”

Five pairs of eyes stared at her blankly. Finally Morna blinked. “Politically?” she asked.
Sabia laughed. “No, Sorcha. He means he doesn’t want you to mate. Once a year, all the eligible females rise for their mating flight. Those of us who fly high enough have the opportunity to bond during that flight.”

Varied pieces of information suddenly formed a recognizable picture. Caedyrn saying her odd color was exotic and attractive—his angry reaction to the young males’ comments—the Rex arguing with him about bonding. Realization hit Sorcha like a breaker pounding the beach. If she’d still had a human body, the psychic blow might have knocked her off her feet. Caedyrn and the Rex had been arguing about her. Caedyrn wanted to mate with her, a human wizard turned to dragon by a magical talisman. Joy filled her soul and tingled down to her toes and tail. Maybe spending the rest of her life as a dragon wouldn’t be so bad after all. If only she could bond with Caedyrn…

“Sorcha? Are you alright?” Sabia sounded worried, and when Sorcha glanced up, she found all five of the young females watching her closely.

She shook herself, a massive, body-wide shiver, and said, “Yes, I’m fine. It’s okay. The Rex probably thinks I’m too inexperienced for such things. And he’s right. I’ve still got so much to learn about being a dragon.”

This statement eased the tension in the room. The lair-mates burst into excited speculation about which males might make good bond-mates, and Sorcha relaxed to listen and think.

A mating flight. Suddenly the comments she’d overheard from the group of males had meaning. Her first flight. They hadn’t meant the first time she flew; they’d meant the first time she would participate in the mating ritual. Her mind whirled with the implications. She had suitors. Charcoal Goban, scarlet Toal and malachite Heber had been making seemingly good-natured comments to her about practicing her flying and improving her wind ever since that first encounter. Her human side groaned as she remembered the many times she’d answered that she loved to fly! Gods and goddesses, she’d been making sexually suggestive remarks without even knowing it. Those young males probably thought she was interested in them.

Another question lit her mind, and Sorcha blurted out, “Do dragons ever engage in sex without bonding?”

All chatter stopped. The group’s attention centered on Sorcha and silence reigned.

At last, Morna answered. “Humans must be very strange creatures,” she said. “We females rise once a year, and if we mate and bear a clutch, we don’t feel the urge to rise again until the hatchlings have graduated to dragonets. Why would we squander such a precious moment on males unworthy of forming a lifelong bond?”

“No, Sorcha,” Sabia said quietly. “As young unbondeds, we participate in the flight and try to fly high enough to qualify for a bond-mate. But there’s more to it than flying. Once we’re mature enough to reach mating height, we’ve already chosen the males we’ll allow to catch us.”

“It’s a race,” said Oona, “and it’s exhilarating, but it’s not random.”

“Yeah,” said Keeva, her eyes glowing with excitement, “and if an unbonded male gets excited and tries to catch a female who hasn’t consented, she’s allowed to attack him!”

“Only if her rightful male doesn’t scorch him first,” added Nuala, thumping her tail in emphasis.

“So, there aren’t ever any bonding mistakes? No rogue males ravish unwilling females? No female says ‘yes’ to one male and then changes her mind mid-flight and allows another to catch her?”

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, and the lair mates shifted positions uneasily.

“Well, yes,” said Morna. “We’ve heard whispers of such things.”

“But they’re not common,” said Sabia.

“And dragons that commit such crimes are banished from the flight,” said Oona with a prim little sniff. “We don’t tolerate such misbehavior.”

“Of course,” added Nuala, “a female is free to change her mind until she bonds, as are the males.”

“But I’ve never heard of anyone changing their choice during the mating flight,” said Morna. “Like Sabia said, there’s more to it than the excitement of the moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Sorcha said, wishing to dispel the serious mood. “I hope I didn’t offend.”

“Don’t worry,” Sabia said. “You can’t learn if you don’t ask questions. I can’t believe the elders wouldn’t discuss these things with you.”

“Yeah!”

“Tsk.”

“Completely irresponsible.”

And the group slid into a rousing chat about how they’d be more responsive to the needs of the young when they became elders. In the midst of covering laughter and unflattering comments about their teachers, Sorcha made her way to the corridor. She needed peace and quiet to sort through the evening’s information.

“Good night, Sorcha.” Morna’s voice sounded quietly in her mind. “Come and join us anytime.”

She smiled to herself and continued toward her solitary lair. “Good night, ladies.”

"Second Sight" Excerpt

Excerpt from Second Sight
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2007
Publisher Freya's Bower


Jenny glanced up when Zach strode through the door. His tall form filled the doorway and her world sparkled with possibility. At the same time, the book he carried called her tiger from bondage. The tiny hairs along the nape of her neck leapt to attention. She marshaled all her strength to push both terror and elation from her mind and rose to greet Zach.

“Good morning, Zach,” she said, managing a polite smile. “Shall we start your translation now?”
Zach studied her with a soul-piercing gaze. Her ego squirmed under his scrutiny, but her expression remained impassive—a practiced skill. Finally, he relented and shrugged his broad shoulders.

“It’s up to you, Miss Murdoch. You had a bad reaction to the book yesterday.” He held up his hand to ward off objection. “I’m a psychic and a trained observer. The book upset you. If you’d prefer, I’ll take it elsewhere.”

Jenny closed her eyes briefly, unable to bear the compassion written on his face. There had been little enough compassion in her life. Pity, yes, in abundance, but not compassion. She didn’t know how to deal with it. The tiger paced in the back of her mind, awaiting his opportunity. Ignoring impatient growls, she opened her eyes.

“I discussed the situation with my uncle last night.” She mirrored Zach’s hand gesture to forestall interruption. “Don’t worry. He gave me permission to decline the project. However, I believe I can translate your document and I’d like to try.”

“Where do you want to work? Here, or in the conference room?”

“Let’s go to the conference room. The enclosed space minimizes distractions.” She nodded toward the wide front window and the pedestrians wending their way along the busy downtown street.

They moved quietly down the hall and into the conference room. When they reached the massive mahogany table, he repeated his actions of the previous day, withdrawing and unwrapping the volume with an economy of effort.

Jenny expected him to sit once the book had been exposed, but he didn’t. She had the uncomfortable feeling he wanted to be ready for any unexpected action on her part. He exuded a strange mixture of empathy and reserve. His presence disturbed her balance and she had to work to banish him from her mind and concentrate on the leather-bound book.

Taking a moment to ground herself firmly in the here and now, Jenny drew on her white gloves, widened her stance and planted her navy pumps on the plush forest green carpeting. She gripped the back of the black leather client chair and basked in the room’s familiar psychic aura. Her surroundings oozed comfort, and the man beside her, though potentially distracting, radiated warmth and compassion. She accepted his support and added it to her defenses. Armor fully in place, she reached for the book.

White clad fingers caressed the fine leather of the cover. She acknowledged the tiger’s agitated pacing but kept her attention focused on the runes. She’d never seen this type before, not in any text she’d studied, or in any of the obscure fragments her uncle’s friends had brought for scrutiny. She turned pages at random, stopping here and there to trace a rune with her index finger.

Her finger hadn’t quite finished the journey across one particularly complex rune when she glanced up at Zach. She intended to tell him she couldn’t help, couldn’t find meaning in these symbols, but her finger completed the design and the tiger leapt free of his confined corner, bounded to the center of her mind and roared triumphantly.

~~~

Second Sight is available from Freya's Bower!

"Sorcha's Heart" Excerpt

Excerpt from Sorcha's Heart
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2006
Publisher Freya's Bower


Pain accompanied Sorcha’s return to consciousness. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed screamed their displeasure. Sand grated against the soft skin of cheek and neck, urging her to rise, but lethargy kept her grounded. The slightest movement caused a cascade of agony throughout her system. She’d never been beaten, but she couldn’t imagine that a victim of mob violence would ache more than she did. She should open her eyes and orient herself in time and space, but the task felt too strenuous to attempt. She’d find a less active way to gather information.

Allowing her eyes to remain safely closed, Sorcha turned her attention from her body’s tortured protests to the world surrounding her. She heard the roar of distant breakers and the soft susurrus of the breeze on the lagoon’s sheltered beach. Yes, the lagoon, the beach. That explained the sand under her cheek. Above those soothing natural sounds, she heard an insistent thrumming, the deepened and magnified purring of a thousand cats. The dragon maintained his vigil.

Gods and goddesses, the dragon!

She focused her attention on her enemy’s terrifying presence and discovered a strand of unknown power brushing the edge of her mind. Cat-like, it twisted and slipped away when she tried to grab it, but came willingly when she quieted her mind and ignored it. The connection it formed expanded her mind, altering its landscape forever.

Dragons whispered through this tunnel. She heard them—and understood. What’s more, she felt their pain and embarrassment as her thoughts exploded into the conversational stream.

“Softly, little one,” Caedyrn whispered. “Restrain yourself.”

Sorcha pulled back, away from the vile, alien presence. She huddled on the sand, feeling violated beyond her ability to endure. Her body ached in a thousand places, and her mind… The sanctity of her mind had been breached. Her thoughts were no longer her own. An alien species, hostile and unknown, prowled in the depths. She couldn’t live this way.

She wouldn’t live this way!

With grim determination, Sorcha put aside her fear and confusion and searched her memory for an appropriate spell. An incantation bubbled to the surface of her mind and she tested its suitability for ousting the alien presence. She’d never attempted a working of this magnitude on herself before. Yes, she’d healed minor cuts and abrasions, but this problem required an application of magic she’d never studied. No matter; she had no choice.

“Perhaps you were right, Mother,” she thought, examining each element of the spell one more time. “The price may have been too high, especially if I don’t live to use the Heart of Fire.” She sought her well of magic, always so comforting in its accessibility.

“No!” Caedyrn cried, distress tingeing his thoughts. “You must not use human magic against the flight.” His thoughts echoed through every recess of her mind. “You’ll destroy yourself and the Heart of Fire with you!”

She struggled to shield her thoughts from this unwelcome intruder, but a new terror sapped her remaining strength and caused her to ignore the dragon’s presence—she couldn’t touch her reserve of power! She could feel it, resting languidly just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t reach it. Never before had her magic failed her, not since its awakening in early childhood. She retreated to a corner of her mind to search for nonexistent options.

The dragon called to her, quietly, soothingly. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he crooned, directing her attention to the bright, pulsing strand that warmed the edges of her mind. “You’re linked to the flight now. Push right there to broadcast to our species as a whole. Pull back here and touch an individual, or blank out all intrusions like this, for privacy and peaceful meditation.”

When he finished, he nudged her toward the strand. “Try, little one,” he cajoled. “I’ll withdraw. Call me back.”

Sorcha, bereft of her gift and unable to think of another option, gingerly checked the limits of her mind. The connection pulsed with eager vibration, but it awaited her touch. She exhaled a long groaning sigh, savored the privacy she’d always assumed inviolate, and remembered the overtone of concern she’d detected in Caedyrn’s thoughts.

Could the dragon be worried about her? Ridiculous. If she’d detected concern, it had been for the Heart of Fire, not for her. Still, he offered assistance that she sorely needed.

“Caedyrn?”

The link responded to her tentative touch. His presence bloomed in her mind; calm, reassuring, protective.

“I am here, little one.”

“How do I know your name?” Her mind-voice felt brittle, fragile as the sea-mist bubble that had surrounded the Heart of Fire.

“I sang it into the link as you slept. Your courage demanded my respect.”

“Courage? I don’t understand.”

His mind-voice rang through her very soul. “Open your eyes, little one. Raise your head and accept your destiny.”

Caedyrn’s words bewildered and annoyed Sorcha. What did this dragon know about her, or her destiny? She tried to push her annoyance away; clear thinking was required. Everything had changed. Her adversary seemed to admire her and now offered support. She needed to throw off her lassitude, face the physical pain and discover what had transformed her enemy into a would-be guardian.

Consciously holding her pain in check, Sorcha opened her eyes. The world looked wrong. Details too distant for human sight snapped into focus, while items close by dissolved in red haze. She lifted her head and swung it around, searching for Caedyrn. Her first glimpse of him wavered in that bloody fog, then her head came into alignment and his features snapped into precise focus. She wanted to shake her head. Instead, she blinked several times in rapid succession. Halfway through pushing herself up—hands planted in the sand, head oriented on Caedyrn—she froze. Information assailed her: focused sight required her snout be pointed forward; her lower lid flew up when she blinked; claws flexed in the sand at the end of her arms…

She opened her maw and screamed at Caedyrn, “What am I?”

Her words rumbled in an avalanche whose overtones assaulted her sensitive ears. Worst of all, the act of speaking agitated a strange little lump on the roof of her mouth and flame scorched the air as her scream hiccupped into silence. Cautiously, she explored the bump with her tongue, amazed that the flame hadn’t burned her mouth. A slightly acrid taste remained, but seemed to be the only after-effect. She sniffed delicately, and detected a faint sulfur odor. Her human intellect catalogued the smell, but her dragon senses found it comforting rather than frightening.

A thought intruded on her inner confusion. “Speak to me here, little one. Human speech, as we produce it, pains our ears, and as you’ve seen, it can trigger fire if not carefully controlled.” Caedyrn’s words poured across her fear in soothing waves. “But to answer your question, you are a dragon. The Heart of Fire transformed you.”

His words snapped her attention back to the larger issue. “That’s impossible,” she cried, forcing herself to use the link instead of her voice. “I can’t be a dragon!”

“Rise, little one. Unfurl your wings. Feel the power at your command.”

~~~

Sorcha's Heart is available from Freya's Bower.

"Glass Magic" Excerpt

Excerpt from Glass Magic
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2006
Publisher: Freya's Bower


Sean backed away, stumbled over his forgotten toolbox and landed hard on his butt on the floor’s plywood subsurface.

Maureen McBride loomed above him, green eyes flashing, red hair pulling free of its tightly bound knot. “I’ll report this,” she said, the words barely escaping through clenched jaws. “Sexual harassment is a crime in this state.”

Sean jumped to his feet and closed the distance between them. “I didn’t do anything except keep you from falling.” He noted with pleasure that she had to look up to meet his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so starved for physical attention that you intentionally stumble into men’s arms.”

Her face flushed scarlet, and she opened luscious red lips to scorch him with a rebuttal.

The floor heaved again. They fell into each other’s arms, and Sean’s tongue dove into her open mouth.

He wanted to struggle, wanted to get the hell away from this aggravating female, but the molten silk of her mouth tasted of honey… and her tongue! It twisted coyly away from his and then pushed daringly past his teeth into his mouth. Oh, the soft, sensual pleasure of that dance of tongues.

Soft. Sensual. His hands finally reported their location to his brain, and he groaned into her mouth. His senses rapidly overloading, he moved his hands down her back and filled them with the ripe, firm, fullness of her buttocks. His erection leapt and demanded a closer inspection of the cleft pressed so tantalizingly near.

And then it ended, as quickly as it had begun.

She pulled away from his clutching fingers and backed up until she hit the far wall. Cold air shocked his senses, and he longed for her velvet warmth; all of it. No impeding cloth. Just skin caressing skin, and more. Oh, so much more!

~~~

Glass Magic is available from Freya's Bower