On A Black Horse
By
Monica Corwin
Book
3 in the Revelations Series * 45 000 words *
PNR, violence, language, explicit sex.
Blurb:
When a Sun God makes a prophecy, it’s best to heed the warning.
Katherine stands on the edge of ruin. With Ragnarok in full swing and
her friends off finding thier own lives she can’t find a purpose in her
existence. When Baldr, their missing Sun God, kidnaps Katherine and entreats
her to care for his friend, a wounded hellhound, Katherine makes a selfish choice
for the first time in her life.
Arwan never expected to meet a God, let alone fight a group of them to
begin the Apocalypse. After the battle between Bianca, the Horseman of
Conquest, and Hel, the Goddess of the Underworld, Arwan, escapes home to the
Welsh coast intent to die on his own land.
With Hel dead, the Horseman believe they’ve stalled Ragnarok. But Baldr
has a dream that convinces the Horseman to take out the remaining hounds loyal
to Hel which includes the incapacitated Arwan.
Can Katherine go against her friends to save a man she
promised to protect? Even if Arwan could end the Horseman for good?
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Excerpt:
The woman shifted in the arm chair and
then rocketed to standing. She blinked at the fire and then around the room
spinning slowly until her eyes locked on Baldir. “YOU! What the hell is wrong
with you? How could you just abduct me like that? I have a cell phone. You
could ask for anything and I would give it if it were in my power.”
Arwan looked her over again from the
soles of her scuffed up sneakers to the skinny jeans hugging the strong curve
of her upper thighs and the purple tank top that set off the olive tone of her
smooth skin. “Are you a genie?”
Her eyes locked on his and for a moment
he could swear he felt something melt within him under that fiery gaze. “Who
the hell are you?”
“I could ask you the same question
since you are standing in my house.”
She threw up her hands. “I don’t want
to be in your house. I was brought against my will.”
They both looked to Baldir who wore a
sheepish grin and a pink flush.
He stood so he could look between them
both. “Ok look.” He faced the woman. “If I had asked you to come here you would
have refused. I know it.” Then he turned to Arwan. “And you would have been
your surly self about the whole thing and just died out of spite instead of
letting me get help.”
Arwan glared at him. He’d been called
surly, pig-headed, and any other synonym of stubborn over the years. He took a
deep breathe and glanced back at the woman. “Fine, again I ask who are you?”
She crossed her arms under her breasts.
He couldn’t help but notice the full weight of them propped up by her forearms.
He shook that thought path off. He was dying, there was no time for thoughts
like that. “My name is Arwan.”
She huffed. “Katherine.”
“So what are you then?”
Katherine shuffled from foot to foot.
“I’m a barista.”
Baldir interjected. “She owns a coffee
shop. It’s in New York City, no less. She’s a little more than a barista. Not
that her coffee making skills will apply in this situation.”
“Why am I here?” Katherine asked still
clutching herself tightly while attempting to give off more attitude than Arwan
could see she possessed. Some of her brown hair had escaped it’s confines
casting a halo around her head in wavy curls. She looked so young, so innocent
to be involved in their world.
“No.” Arwan pushed himself off the bed
with effort. His forehead sprouted a fine sheen of swear by the time he reached
his full height. She barely stood as tall as his chin but at 6’4 he towered
over most people. “She is too innocent for this. I won’t corrupt another poor
soul to save myself.”
He tried to move toward her but caught
the chair the wrong way and went down. Her arms were around him before he hit
the floor and she set him carefully on the scuffed and aged hardwood.
“You’re hurt,” she said, softly, still
holding him.
The heat of her body sunk into him
reaching those dark places long chilled by the absence of others. She smelled
of chocolate and coffee beans. A heady scent comforting him before he that
realization set in.
Author Bio:
Monica Corwin is an outspoken writer attempting to make romance accessible to everyone, no matter their preference. As a Northern Ohioian Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and a dislike of Michigan. When not writing Monica spends time with her daughter and her ever growing collection of tomes about King Arthur.
Social Media Links:
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