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The Dreamcaster Series
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: 11/13/17
Number of pages: 321
Word Count: 96,065
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Some call him Purgatoryâs Missing Prince. Demon Master. Overlord of Shadows. Only one woman may call him hers.
A master of dreams, a failure at lifeâ¦
After another botched career attempt, Quinn Carmichael escapes to a remote lodge for a weekend recharge, needing respiteâ¦especially from the nightmares that haunt even her days. When a wounded, sexy-as-sin stranger faceplants unconscious on her kitchen floor, thereâs something disturbingly familiar about himâas in heâs the boy from her childhood dreams. Mr. Dark, Dangerous, and Diabolical may be the key to unlocking the mysteries of her past and future, and Quinn isnât about to let the opportunityâor himâescape without a fight.
His time is running outâ¦
Known as Purgatoryâs Missing Prince, Zaireâs existence has been one of endless pain, torture, and loss. Resigned to his fate, his final goal is simpleârescue his nephew before succumbing to the deadly darkness inside him. But when a fateful misstep brings him face-to-face with the one woman who could have saved him once upon a dreamâthe one woman he treasures above all elseâhe battles to keep his distance before he destroys her, too. But he would gladly sell his soul for just one taste.
Love draws them together, destiny will tear them apart
With ruthless enemies closing in, Quinn and Zaire must fight to save each other and those they care for before itâs too lateâeven if it means theyâre doomed to live apart forever.
Quinn lifted her face to the night-canvassed sky, to the blood-red moon, and refused to tremble, denied the fear a foothold in her soul. Already, sheâd come too close to that happening, and the dreams had only just begun. She had the entire rest of the night to survive.
A chittering echoed from beyond a sand dune. Whatever had made the noise remained out of reach for now, but not long enough. She slouched. So much for downtime.
Weariness shuddered through her. It would be so easy to curl up on the cool white sand beneath her boots and surrender. To let whatever monster came next do its worst and slip into oblivion for a while, despite the cost. Gripping the iron cross, its chain wrapped around her wrist, she closed her eyes. Relaxing for even a second was dangerous, but she was so tired, she almost didnât care.
âQuinn.â Close, so close, the musical voice sang a shiver through her, more sinister for its serene softness. She didnât want to open her eyes, didnât want to know what new horror haunted her nightmares and knew her name.
With a resigned sigh, she faced the voice and froze. Zaire stood in the sand a foot away. He was different than outside the dream. His dark hair was shorter, in a skull cut. Same olive skin, same kiss-me mouth, but his eyesâ¦she inhaled. His eyes, black velvet in life, now held an abysmal void, deeper and more potent than when heâd been a boy. The darkness there pulled at her, grasping for her soul.
She forced her attention to the rest of him, and her brain blanked while her body purred. Black leather boots. Trousers covered in blue-black metallic scales. And a shirt of the same iridescent material as his pants, only lighter. Black weapons hung everywhere, sword at his lean hip, knives strapped across his broad chest, on his belt, in his boots. The whip-end tail of one silver tattoo poked past his collar and licked his collarbone.
Lethal. Vicious. Magnificent.
He was her midnight fantasy and nightmare combined. Fantasy because he embodied everything she wanted. Nightmare because he wasnât really Zaire. In her childhood, heâd snuck into her dreams, a dark presence watching over her, but whatever wore his face now wasnât the boy from her past or the man sheâd finally met. She gripped her cross tighter.
âNice sword,â she said, her voice raspy with regret. âCome here often?â
He watched her with those fathomless eyes, unblinking, and she had the strangest impression that he memorized every detail of her. Probably searching for her weak points.
The chittering beyond the sand dune grew closer, and she nearly slumped beneath another wave of fatigue. Fighting a manifestation of Zaire along with whatever else came along made her want to cry.
âWhy so sad, dearling?â Deep and soothing, his musical voice only added to her misery.
Dearling. She wouldnât have minded Zaire calling her that, but she wasnât about to put up with endearments from a demon, and dishonesty was a waste of time. The demons always knew the secrets she tried to hide.
âOh, you know. All the usual.â Quinn straightened, pushing the exhaustion aside. âNonstop nightmares. Delusions in the daytime. Trying not to ruin my motherâs political career. Figuring out what to do with my life. Meeting you.â
âMeeting me brought you sadness?â His voice lowered another octave. He shifted slightly, and his clothing shimmered, like dragon scales in the moonlight. His dark beauty squeezed her heart. What she wouldnât give to have him be real and with her now, fighting the nightmares together. Calling her sweet names.
âItâs not you, not really. Itâs the idea of you. Your existence. Knowing you want to leave.â She should kick herself. Conversing with a demon. Brilliant idea.
âWant and need are not always equal.â Flames danced in his eyes, stirring up annoying embers in her blood.
âRight.â She snorted. âIâve been around the block a time or two, pal. You read my thoughts, manipulate my desires, and use them to tempt me into despair. Demons one-oh-one.â
He frowned. âI am not yourâ¦pal.â
Cresting the dune, a shadow raced toward them, white sand churning beneath it. In archetypal demon fashion, tendrils of fear preceded its arrival, which Quinn ignored. She had enough experience with fear to resist its pull, and the demon two steps away was much more treacherous.
And undeniably intriguing.
âSorry about that. Do you prefer buddy?â She grinned at an unusual burst of energy. âHow about chum, bro, dude, or olâ chap?â
âZaire will do,â he said stiffly.
âNice Zaire costume, by the way. Pal.â She rocked back on her heels, biting her lip to keep from grinning like a crazy person. Typically, a demon staring at her with murderous intent would batter her senses with wave after wave of horror. Instead, she had the irresistible need to bedevil the demon.
Behind him, the darkness loomed larger, speeding closer with each heartbeat. A shadow man, common, familiar, and not particularly threatening. It couldnât do much physical damage, not when she was ready. She jerked her chin at the phantom barreling down on them, five seconds away tops. Maybe that was what this Zaire waited for, backup. âFriend of yours?â
Smooth as any practiced dancer, Zaire freed a knife, pivoted, and threw it at the shadow three yards away, all before she could flinch. The darkness exploded into black and silver glitter, sparkling and lovely in the night.
He waited in silence until she met his gaze again. âI donât have friends.â
A thrill coasted down Quinnâs spine, not the type of thrill sheâd ever experienced in her nightmares. This one spun warmth all the way to her toes and back to her scalp. This demon was dangerous, and she wasnât even referring to the blades strapped to every limbâweapons that destroyed other demons. He made her needy and achy and tingly in all the right places.
About the Author:
C.J Burright is a native Oregonian and refuses to leave. A member of Romance Writers of America and the Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal special interest chapter, while she has worked for years in a law office, she chooses to avoid writing legal thrillers (for now) and instead invades the world of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, or fantasy. C.J. also has her 4th Dan Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do and believes a story isnât complete without at least one fight scene. Her meager spare time is spent working out, refueling with mochas, gardening, gorging on Assassinâs Creed, and rooting on the Seattle Marinersâ¦always with music. She shares life with her husband, daughter, and a devoted cat herd.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/C.J.-Burright/e/B00IRT3972/