Kamillia is an author of paranormal romances living in an upscale suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. Accused of being an actual witch herself by an ambitious group of businessmen with a dark agenda, she is surprised to find a man who resembles one of her fictional, alpha male heroes at her door offering her protection.

Luca is an immortal Watcher from the River of Light. Sent to Earth to help Kamillia, whose true heritage has yet to be revealed to her, Luca is caught off guard by the fighting spirit of the woman and the way his human body betrays him in her presence.

When research for her next novel requires Kamillia to travel to Italy, she and Luca are forced to join together despite numerous obstacles to overcome the evil of many centuries blocking a portal there. Only then, can she return to the problems awaiting her in her own city, with or without this stranger who has captured her heart but cannot share her future.

Warnings: This title contains graphic language, sex and violence.

Word Count: 40,296

ALSO AVAILABLE IN PRINT

EXCERPT:

The man is made of stone. Poppie should have taken the time to warn me that an about six foot tall Adonis would be knocking at my door. She had expected her hands to start sweating when she opened it, but instead she found moisture forming elsewhere. What is up with me? It is like I have never seen a man before! Why did I touch him? She chided herself while breathing in the musky scent of him. Her attempt at directing him to the couch had not even made him sway. Dumbstruck, her hand still curved around barely half of the man’s bicep. Smart-girls keep their distance from these good-looking, conceited body-guard types.

“No, we do not have that kind of time. The Mastema will be here soon. I have to get you to safety.”

“The who? Boy, and I thought all my life I was the only one with a weird name around here.”

“The group of men who have been accusing you of being a witch, they secretly call themselves the Mastema. It means leader of the fallen angels, the one’s who tempt men to sin.”

“You are talking about the short-sighted idiots in the neighborhood who accused me of being a witch because I am a fantasy author? The Mastema are those nerds in ties that suffer from delusions of grandeur?” She paused to let out the laugh that had been tickling her throat as she had spoken. The more she learned of these men, who thought they could rule the world because they owned small businesses of their own, the more ridiculous they seemed to be. “Of course they have a secret, stupid name for themselves, but I don’t think they are out to hurt me. They are merely some control freaks who mentally-abuse their wives, their employees and everyone else they come in contact with because they do not know any other way to act given they consider themselves to be gifts from the gods to humanity. I only posed a threat, because they worried I might teach their wives to be strong and think for themselves. I will not let them intimidate me. Their wives are stronger than they know, and I can’t wait for the day when they fall on their asses! And, although I will sadly not have had a single thing to do with it, I am sure I will take the blame. I mean witches get blamed for everything, right?”

Old Poppie is going to have some explaining to do setting me up to promise to be guarded by Mister Bossy here. As she stomped away from the man in her living room, she tried not to think of how the adonis turned warrior prince turned her on. He was seriously like one of the fictional alpha males she created in her novels. As she started throwing her laptop and memory sticks and stuff for her work into a case, all she could think about was living out the fantasy.