Solyn's Body , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Jm Paquette

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

197 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Hannah must fight to live inside Solyn's Body...

A New Beginning: Hannah Tallerin was sure that all of her problems were over. No longer a vampire, her soul tethered to a mortal body, she is finally free from her old life and content to be with her beloved Rory, the two of them building a perfectly normal mortal life, the life she’s been dreaming of.

An Unexpected Arrival: But when the original owner of the body wakes up, Hannah turns to her oldest friend for answers. As the voice in her head gets more insistent, her once-betrothed offers his help. Hannah knows that any aid from Klauden comes at a price, the cost of which may be more than she can pay, and soon she will have to decide how far she is willing to go for the one she loves.

A Final Battle: The battle for her soul has begun, but when the real enemies arrive, Hannah realizes she will have to fight for her body as well.

Sujets

Adulte

Suggestif

Fantastique

Romance fantastique

Bit-Lit

Romance

Romance Fantasy

Romance paranormale

Romance policière

Fantasy

Fiction

Redevance

Royalty

Regalía

historical

Romance fantasy

Informations

Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781644500071
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Table o f Contents
Dedication
Ackno wledgments
1
2
3
4
T he Husband
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
The Red Demon
T he Vampire
49
The Fledgling
The Mother
The Master
50
51
52
53
54
The Fledgl ing Mother
55
About the Author

Soly n’s Body
Copyright © 2020 JM Paquette. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover & Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously .
Library of Congress Control Number: 20 22931306
Ebook: 978-1-644 50-007-1
Print: 978-1-644 50-058-3
Hardcover: 978-1-644 50-414-7
Audio: 978-1-644 50-028-6

Dedication
To the best superhero a sidekick could have

Ackno wledgments
S o many others stood along the path as I wrote this book; this page is for them. I stand in awe of the greats who came before, in whose words and worlds I have wandered through many a long night: J.R.R. Tolkien for the mythology, Stephen King for the audacity, Diana Gabaldon for the wittiness, Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman for the fantasy world, and all the others who have made me laugh and weep with their tales. I roll my d20 in honor of the roleplaying games that allowed me to create so very many characters (and to the DM who loved pool effects and gave my mage “Vampirism”). I raise my mug of tea (Thanks, Lisa!) to my fellow Ink Slingers, without whose steady encouragement I would never have gotten so far. I take my hat off to Nicole Dragonbeck, who not only creates amazing fantasy worlds, but translated my crazy crosshatches and chicken scratch marks into a delightful map. Thanking my family goes without saying—much appreciation to Remi (who gave Ev a bath while I was busy writing at night), to Ev (for making me put the laptop down and come play), to Nebi (for making me pause to give some much-required petting), and to Greyhame (who always keeps my feet warm when he isn’t yowling). And finally, thanks to Phil, for helping me work out the logistics and catching not only my anachronisms, but any double spaces after periods. Any mistakes are m ine alone.

1
H annah Tallerin was standing over her forge, eyes squinting against the waves of heat baking off the blade she worked, when the stranger opened the door to the smithy. Though her senses were by no means what they had been, she still had the uncanny reflexes of someone who spent lots of time barely dodging lethal blows, and so she turned as the door began to swing inside, her long limbs ready to react if the visitor proved dangerous. The turn was a bad idea, as the hammer in her right hand continued its arc of movement and connected with the second finger of her left hand, mashing the tip and sending a shriek of agony up her hand and into her arm. She cursed, dropped the hammer to the anvil with a clatter, and cradled the wounded hand against her chest as she completed her turn.
A man had entered the smithy. He hovered in the shadowed front of the room, and Hannah’s mortal eyes could only make out a sense of height marred by stooped shoulders, the lump of a traveling bag, and a slow measured step as he moved to one wall, examining the weapons hung there. When she saw that the newcomer wasn’t intent on harming her, at least not outright, she relaxed a bit, but she couldn’t ignore the little thrill that had been building in her chest as it was suddenly and distressing ly dashed.
I’ve got to get out of here , she thought, remembering a time when she had been so thankful for slow time like this, for days and weeks of mindless simplicity, she working away with metal, Rory shaping the local farmers into serviceable soldiers, the two of them carefully sharing the small bed e ach night.
Safety. Comfort. The regularity of a common life. And plenty of smashed fingers along the way, she thought bitterly, taking a cloth from her apron pocket and carefully wrapping the injured digit, blotting at the blood seeping from beneath the broken nail, remembering a time when blood meant something so much more. Now it only me ant pain.
The stranger hadn’t approached the wooden counter that divided the customer area from the black bellied forge, squat anvil, and large water barrel that took up her work area, and so Hannah ignored him for a time, allowing him to take in the plethora of short swords, axes, picks, and shields that lined the walls near the ceiling. The lower portion of the front area was filled with pots and pans, and Hannah had a new display area for her knives right next to the counter. She surreptitiously watched as the potential customer scanned her wares, noting how he seemed to focus on the weapons, some dusty from lack of interest.
Maybe he would actually buy something. It had been a while since anyone in this village had needed the weapons Hannah excelled at producing, though she had a nice business in knives, pots, and metal clasps. The idea of someone able to talk shop with her was exciting. Still, she had learned that it never paid to seem too eager to sell, so she left him to his examination. Her finger throbbed and she checked to see that the blood had stopped flowing. It hadn’t. She sighed angrily and pressed down with mo re force.
This was what she had wanted. This had been what she was thinking of when she told Klauden almost a year ago that she wanted a simple life with Rory, a life without the complications that had plagued them both. Of course, that had been when she thought she was dead, or dying at best, and anything was a preferable alternative to what she had been expecting. She clearly hadn’t thought this whole thin g through.
Simplicity was nice, but it was boring. Unimportant in a way that made her wonder if all humans felt like this all the time, the days running together into a blur until the body grew old and withered and died. She would die now, too, just like them. Old and ugly like a mor tal woman.
She shook the maudlin image away—thoughts like these came too often these past weeks—to check on her customer, another man doomed by time. He was standing idle before the counter, eyes scanning the walls still, but she could see he wasn’t really looking at the weapon s anymore.
“Help you?” she asked in the low voice that she sometimes still thought of as a s tranger’s.
The man looked at her, then seemed to realize something as he gave her a closer look. Hannah waited patiently for him to speak. The double-take was nothing new. She was accustomed to people giving her odd looks, though lately the reasons for them were a bit less clear than they had been. Before, they had looked at her because she made some blunder, some awkward revelation of her origins that marked her as a foreigner, as a freak, as something different. Now, they still gave her that look, but only because she was breaking their accepted notions of whom a blacksmith should be and what he should look like. Rory had warned her, of course, and she had known it would be hard at first. She had been a smith in Talperin for a few months before meeting Rory and encountered some resistance there, too. Still, it hadn’t taken the people long to recognize skill, and that Hannah had. Of course, she didn’t tell them where her knowledge had come from, and they hadn’t asked, and then it hadn’t mattered, but she and Rory had been in Severin almost eight months now, and some of the people here still gave her odd looks. She knew they were farther away from other towns, knew that the southern people were known for their particular expectations of what men and women should do, and she could understand that, having the background of her father’s house in memory, but that didn’t make it any less annoying when men stared at her for a few minutes before asking if she could get her man to come help them with s omething.
Some wouldn’t even go that far. Some just walked out. Some gave her their esteemed opinions about female smithies. One had even gone so far as to grab her during one of these impassioned speeches, and he had learned the hard way that trying to strong-arm the new smithy was a bad idea, even when her man wasn’t there to protect her. Rory had asked her if she wanted to leave after that, to go somewhere to the north, where people were l ess rigid.
She had declined, still lost in the fog of relief that was her life with him: the two of them sharing a home, eating breakfast together, doing all the little things that had seemed so impossible when she had first confessed to him in Kalford so long ago. This is the life, she kept telling herself. This is what I wanted.
A nd it was.
Sort of.
Except that when she told Klauden what she w