Good morning, readers!

I hope you've all had an opportunity to pick up Immortal Trust!  If you have, I'd love to hear which book is your favorite so far.  There's three others to choose from:  Immortal Hope, Immortal Surrender, and don't forget Immortal Protector, the companion novella to the series.

Since it's Tuesday, our teaser this week is the conclusion of chapter one from last week.  With much, much ado, let's see what happens with Chloe and Lucan.

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Purchase Now!


****

Lucan’s eyes hardened like steel and clashed with Chloe’s annoyed scowl. She turned her back on the three imposing men, unwilling to let Lucan’s handsome face sway her into better spirits. Held back by the insistence from the Vatican that she wait until their representatives could be present, her team had missed a full day. A delay that would cost them dearly if the overcast sky made good on its threat of snow.

She stomped inside the trailer, letting the door bang shut behind her. Determined to ignore the twinge of guilt her unprofessional attitude brought, she dropped into her desk chair and folded her arms across her chest.

As expected, Lucan and the other two blocks of stone ducked through the doorway and entered the single-wide’s makeshift office. They formed a triangle in front of her desk—two blond corners at the rear, with Lucan as the point man. She let her gaze wander across the masculine faces. At Lucan’s right, the slightly taller, sandy blond wore a haggard expression. As if he had seen more from life than his midthirties warranted. He regarded her with subtle curiosity. Like a colleague who assessed a competitive peer. Beside him, the other blond’s expression brimmed with humor. Soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he enjoyed some inside joke.

Her gaze shifted to Lucan, and a strange tightness possessed her skin. Her work took her to the four corners of the world. She’d seen, spoken to, and even worked with handsome men. For that matter, her brother had been known to make women titter stupidly when he walked into the room. But this man . . . His broad shoulders screamed strength. His narrow waist said he knew the meaning of a hard workout. Yet, the way he looked at her, as if he could read her very thoughts, made her wholly uncomfortable. Behind the unmistakable sharpness of annoyance, interest fringed his unusual gray eyes. And the raven hair that fell almost to his shoulders suggested an uninhibited nature that contradicted his neat attire.

A shiver raced down her spine as the word naughty flitted through her thoughts.

He quirked a dark eyebrow. One corner of his mouth threatened to yield to a self-assured smile.

Heat crept into Chloe’s cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze and shuffled a stack of papers from one side of desk to the other. Handsome maybe. Cocky she could do without. Particularly if she had to work beside him for the next several months. She’d had her fill of trying to prove herself among her colleagues.

Fixing her stare on the less threatening face to Lucan’s left, she cleared her throat. “Is there a particular reason you decided to show up today?” Sarcasm crept into her voice. “Why not tomorrow? By then we might have a foot of snow to dig through and three extra pairs of hands would be welcome.”

With the smoothness of brandy, Lucan’s deep British accent washed over her. “I fear we are both victims of miscommunication. We were instructed arrive this evening, milady.”

Milady? Chloe blinked. The antiquated title prickled her arms with goose bumps. She left her chair to give herself a bit of breathing room and drifted to the long countertop behind her. Picking up a printed copy of the Vatican’s communication, she flicked the corner of the paper. “It says here Sunday the nineteenth. I assumed we’d start the week promptly this morning.” Turning, she strode back to the group of men and thrust the paper at Lucan’s wide chest.

He pushed it gently aside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded square of paper. As he pressed the creases smooth, Chloe groaned inwardly. She didn’t have to look to know what that sheet of paper would say. Inevitably, his copy would read Monday the twentieth. Her luck wouldn’t have it any other way.

She accepted his outstretched offering and scanned the paper, confirming her suspicion. Her angry sails deflated, she let out a heavy sigh. “I apologize.”

“No apologies are necessary.” Lucan’s mouth lifted with a smile. His eyes sparkled with the gesture, not unlike silver beneath bright sunlight. “’Tis understandable you would be upset.”

For a moment, Chloe could do no more than stare. If he’d been handsome moments ago, that warm smile made him breathtaking. Her gaze skipped down to his boots, making note of the thick expanse of his thighs, the way the denim fitted snug. As she again met his discerning stare, and that dark eyebrow quirked as it had before, her cheeks heated once more. Good grief, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable by her appreciative appraisal. If anything, she half suspected he’d have no qualms mentioning it aloud if his friends weren’t present.

He took a confident step forward and extended his hand a second time. “Shall we try this again? I am Lucan.”

Swallowing hard, Chloe slid her palm into his. His fingers tightened just enough to make the strength in his hands obvious, but his grip came nowhere close to painful. Pleasant almost. If it weren’t for the overwhelming masculine presence that flooded her awareness. She tugged on her hand, anxious to be free of the unsettling sensations that accompanied the scrape of his skin.

The pressure around her fingers strengthened, trapping her in place. Lucan nodded over his left shoulder. “This is Caradoc.” He tipped his head at the other man. “And Gareth.”

Chloe offered the other two men an uncomfortable smile. “A pleasure, gentlemen.”

Lucan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. The light gesture carried entirely too much intimacy for her liking. She pulled back, and this time, Lucan’s fingers let go. Her palm slipped free, but his gaze imprisoned her. Suggestion glinted in those steely depths. A silent, yet bold statement that invited her to enjoy a bit of wickedly sinful abandon.

She broke free from the rush of heat that infused her blood by returning to her desk. He might be drop-dead gorgeous, but colleagues and sex didn’t mesh. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Nothing short of absolute desperation would let her entertain the notions Lucan’s eyes conveyed. And she hadn’t reached desperate yet. Two years without a man left her a bit hungry for physical satisfaction, but the lack of orgasms hadn’t erased all sense from her head.

Determined to communicate strict professionalism, she summoned her no-nonsense business demeanor. “So, gentlemen, since it’s so late, what do you say to an early start in the morning—assuming the weather cooperates?”

Lucan glanced toward the door. “There is nothing you require of us this evening?”

Chloe shook her head and forced her irritation aside. “No, we’ve done nothing today. I was instructed to wait until you arrived before we excavated any more relics that could belong to the Church.”

Caradoc gestured at the closed crates stacked on the countertop. “We would like to see the artifacts you’ve already unearthed.”

“Those?” She chuckled softly. “Those aren’t what you’re here for. Anything that could possibly carry religious significance is in the other trailer. My brother, Julian, already left for the hotel. He has the keys, I’m afraid.”

Lucan’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “But the cars outside—no one is here with you?”

At the reminder she’d have to close up the field office alone, Chloe’s chest tightened. Out here, especially at night, the presence that had hounded her the last eight years intensified. She didn’t know what, exactly, it was, but she understood one thing clearly—it didn’t like her.

She ignored the chill that inched down her spine. “I’ve been doing paperwork all day. I’m used to working alone.” Just not at night. Never at night.

A slight frown pulled at Lucan’s brow. “Do you have much work remaining?”

“Oh, not much.” She gestured at the open record book on her desk. “I need to transfer notes on three more artifacts into the computer. Then I’ll head on back.” Forcing brevity, she laughed. “Just me and the trees. The quiet’s nice.”

The tight downturn to Lucan’s mouth evidenced his disbelief. He twisted to address Caradoc. “Go on. I will stay with her.”

“No!” Chloe blurted out. Lord no, not alone with him. She’d take the presence in the darkness over ten minutes alone with him. He posed a far greater risk. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ve been here for a full month. I’m quite capable of locking up on my own. Rest assured, I won’t be fiddling with anything that would interest you.”

Lucan eased out of his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. “’Tis not the Church’s interest that concerns me, milady, but your safety.” Leather creaked as he sat down.

“Till morn then,” Gareth chimed, his eagerness to be free of the trailer evident. He exited swiftly.

Caradoc clamped his hand on Lucan’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture of support. “I shall inform Merrick we have arrived.”

To Chloe’s horror, he too vanished out the door. Unable to look at Lucan, she stared at her blank laptop screen. “Maybe work can wait until tomorrow.”

 Her feeble excuse met a wall of determination. “Nay. Do what you must. I will . . .” Trailing off, he glanced around the trailer. On spying Chloe’s coveted, specially shipped from Tucson, latest edition of Cosmopolitan, he picked up the magazine and scanned the cover. A smirk drifted across his sensual mouth. “I will learn how to turn a weekend getaway into an erotic paradise.”

Sheer mortification scalded her face. With a fierce push, she swiveled her chair around so she wouldn’t have to look at him and pressed the button to bring her laptop out of sleep mode. Torture. Not only did the Church seek to insult her ethics by demanding she cease excavation until their representatives arrived to oversee her work, they sought to torture her with a man who could define erotic paradise.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning, everyone!

We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from Immortal Trust, the third book in The Curse of the Templars, which released on March 26th!  If you haven't purchased it yet, here's another little tidbit.  One of my favorite snipetts.

His body tensed as she drew nearer to the bed. She poured into his awareness, suffocating all thoughts but those of her. Of what he would like to do to her. Experience with her. His hands itched to slide through her hair as they had the night before. He craved the taste of her sweet mouth. If he could but draw her close, sample the honeyed flavor, take them back to the night before.





~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning, everybody!  Today is release day!  YAY!

I'm so excited to have this third book out and share Lucan's story with everyone.  A little secret here:  In Immortal Hope I didn't particularly care for Lucan.  As Immortal Surrender came around, I remember really being uncomfortable with having to write Lucan's story because I didn't have much of a feel for him.  By the time I finished Immortal Trust...I had fallen in love with Lucan.  He surprised me now and then, and that really made the writing fun and enjoyable.

It's Tuesday, and that means more Teasers.  Last week I shared the prologue.  This week, I'm sharing the first half of Chapter One.  So let's dive in!

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Purchase!



Ornes, France
February


Winter cast a gray pallor over snowcapped fields as the SUV wound down a narrow country lane. Lucan reclined in the passenger seat, outwardly the picture of perfect knightly composure. Inside, however, naught remained at peace. In the passing of nine miles, he would set his eyes upon his seraph. The weight of her identifying serpentine torc pressed into his palm. Though he kept his hand tucked into his coat pocket, his anxiety seeped out through the clench of his fingers. Would she welcome him? Or would he face the trials Merrick and Farran had when they found their eternal mates?

He shifted in his seat, crossed the opposite ankle over his knee. His right hand tapped against the passenger door’s armrest. Four days’ travel, and he had never known a more indefinite passing of time. Even after centuries of existence, when he had become accustomed to the never-ending setting suns, the short span of time was unbearable. Salvation came with this Chloe Broussard. Escape from the eternal suspicion that plagued his wakefulness.

Love too might grace his life—if the archangel Gabriel paired him appropriately. Though, in truth, Lucan cared little about the sentimental bonds. ’Twas the tie to brotherhood, the knowledge his fate would remain in the Almighty’s hands that mattered most. All else was naught but fancy. A trifle enjoyment of comfort the Templar cast aside long ago.

He breathed deeply to quell the rapid beat of his heart. If they did not arrive soon, he would rather shove open the door and walk. Whilst a foot journey would delay his inevitable meeting further, his mind would not be preoccupied with questions. Nor would he suffer this unexplainable hope he could not seem to cast aside.

“Rest easy, brother, we have but a few more miles.” Caradoc shifted behind the wheel. The grimace that crossed his face as his aching bones settled into the leather seat belied his own suffering.

For a heartbeat, guilt swamped Lucan. He should not be so eager to embrace healing when those he cared about suffered. As a former commander and the second unto Merrick, Caradoc deserved his soul pairing far more than Lucan. Merrick and Farran each found theirs—Lucan had become convinced Caradoc would follow. But nay, Gabriel came to him. Bade him to take Caradoc, enlist Gareth from Europe, and deliver the serpents to Chloe before Azazel could ensnare her.

Laughter in the backseat washed away Lucan’s brief unease. He glanced over his shoulder to find the younger Gareth grinning broadly. “Bah, Caradoc, you expect him to rest easy when he waits to discover whether his mate bears the face of an old crone or that of an angel’s grace?”

Caradoc shrugged, but the hint of a smile fringed his grim expression. “’Tis naught more than a betrothal. We have all been down such paths. Tell me, Gareth, when you were pledged as a lad, did you pause to consider what the maid would look like?”

Gareth’s laughter deepened. “Nay. She would bear me sons. More comely wenches were made for my pleasure.”

The reminder of lives left behind tightened Lucan’s chest. Banter that should have lightened his heart only brought bitterness. Scenes of the family he had once known, and their violent demise. The maid he would have wed had killed those who shared his blood. Or rather, the forbidden love she gave to a man Lucan believed capable only of generosity and kindness. She brought that man, the one he had called brother, to an early grave as well.

As if Caradoc sensed Lucan’s discomfort, he murmured. “Leave Enid behind, Lucan. She has no place in this.”

Lucan nodded long and slow. Enid resided in the grave. Next to her beloved. He had thought little of her through the centuries. He would not make the mistake of allowing her to rise from the dead. Yet the irony of circumstance did not escape him. Chloe posed the same risks. She held the same power to bring brothers to blows. To shred ties that ran deeper than blood and destruct families. For he would kill for her, as he had killed to avenge his murdered father.

She was his seraph. His to protect against all others, including his Templar brethren, should jealousy override sense and oaths. Already the fierceness of his preordained bond filled his blood.

The road curved around a sharp bend, then flattened out once more. Tall pines sheltered the asphalt from the recent snows. Ahead, a row of vehicles tucked into the landscape marked their destination. Caradoc slowed the SUV and eased into the gravel parking lot. He shut off the engine, then swiveled in his seat. His gaze flickered between Lucan and Gareth.

“Whilst we are here for Chloe, we cannot forget the Veronica. With it, Azazel can decode the angels’ language. Once Chloe uncovers the reliquary that protects it, he will stop at naught to obtain the sacred cloth.”

Lucan met Caradoc’s heavy stare, understanding all he did not say. If Chloe were oathed by that time, she would remain untouched. If Azazel discovered her seraph’s blood before she spoke her vows, a fate far worse than death awaited. The previous attempts on Noelle’s life lent credence to the archangels’ belief Azazel wished to replace his lost lover, Lilith.  Worse, should he possess a seraph, should he break the prophecy by claiming this one, Azazel’s ascension to the Almighty’s divine throne would all but become guaranteed.

Gareth broke the heavy silence by opening his door. Cold air washed into the comfortable heat. Caradoc winced as the gust cut through his heavy coat, and Lucan braced himself for the wintry outdoors. He stepped out into the snow.

Two mobile trailers sat beyond the memorial stones that marked this tiny village as a casualty of Hitler’s greed. Bits of rubble, chunks of buildings that once stood straight and proud, edged the gravel path to the trailers’ doors. Lucan surveyed the protruding rocks, sadness filling his heart. Such unnecessary destruction. Ornes could have become a great city like its sister, Verdun. ’Twas a good thing the European Templar commander, Alaric, deigned to accompany their quest. He would hate to see the nothingness his homeland had become. But like so many other strongholds that had once known glory, the le Goix legacy crumbled beneath the fist of time.

Like Lucan’s beloved Seacourt.

He shook off the momentary melancholy and fixed his gaze on the smaller trailer’s front steps. With purpose, he strode for the door. His brothers followed behind, their distance respectful.

Halfway down the path, the door burst open. Dressed in a coat so large it dwarfed her, a woman bounded out. Her long auburn hair caught in the breeze and streamed out behind her. She approached at a determined pace, arms folded across her chest.

Lucan’s pulse jumped as Chloe Broussard marched directly toward him. ’Twas time. Four days finally came to fruition with this moment. He found his smile, hoped it did not falter like the anxious stuttering behind his ribs. Letting go of her torc, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and extended it in greeting. “I am Lucan. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

She came to an abrupt halt two feet before him. Her gaze dropped to his hand, before lifting to his face. Amber eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed just as quickly. “You were supposed to be here this morning. It’s almost five, almost dark, and my team’s sat idle all day waiting on the Church’s representatives to supervise what we’re perfectly capable of not only excavating, but also documenting, cleaning, and preserving for shipment. But it seems the Church didn’t trust our integrity.”

Lucan clamped his teeth together, silencing a defensive bark. God’s teeth, for once ’twould be nice if Gabriel made the bonding of seraphs easy.

****




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning, everyone!

We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from Immortal Trust, the third book in The Curse of the Templars, which releases on March 26th!  Two days from now, Yeah!!

Infuriated by her unwarranted attack on his honor, he strode across the room, grabbed her elbow, and spun her about. All thoughts of Julian forgotten, he stared hard into her eyes. “Two of us were present, Chloe. As I recall ’twas you who put your lips to mine first, and I who put things to a stop.”

Color flooded into her cheeks. Her eyes flashed like brittle pieces of glass. She jerked on her elbow, but Lucan held fast, denying her escape.




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , Sunday Seven , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Hi, everyone!

So last week Immortal Protector came out--I hope you've been enjoying Iain's story.  This week we're keeping the Templars going, but changing up to the coming release on March 26th, Immortal Trust, The Curse of the Templars, Book III

So with much ado, let's dig right in!

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Pre-Order Now!



With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.

"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..." - Romantic Times Reviews 4/4





Ornes, France
January

Julian Broussard glanced out the frosty window at a distant mound of rock and cursed his sister’s ridiculous fear of the dark for the hundredth time. If she weren’t such a goose, he’d have someone to share the nightly rounds. Another pair of hands to pick up tools their team of student archaeologists left lying in the mud. Another set of eyes to check the waterproofed markers that identified bits and pieces they’d chiseled out of frozen ground.

But no, as usual, Chloe and her imaginary demons managed to find sanctuary in the hotel’s ample warmth before the last student left the site. Leaving Julian an hour’s worth of work with only a flashlight to guide his way around the exposed medieval structures.

He muttered and thumped open the mobile trailer’s lightweight door. A frigid northern whipped across his face, stealing his breath. The scent of snow lingered in the air. With luck, it would skip over Ornes and carry on into Paris. Now that they were finally into the guts of what they’d come to find, a snowstorm would only piss him off further. He’d had his fill of melting ice, moving snow, and needing a jackhammer to break through frozen soil.

Pebbles crunched beneath his feet as he trudged down the steep path that led to the excavation site. Hunkered down in his coat, muffler about his ears, he followed the bold white beam of light. His breath billowed out before him, and he wished once more that they could transport the whole damn project to Arizona. He despised the cold.

His light caught on the narrow shelf of stones that marked the boundary. Forty-two days of excavating ground, moving aside the crumbled remnants Hitler’s bombs left behind, and at last, the feudal castle rose from the depths of the earth. With every exterior nuance recorded, tomorrow they would begin scaling off the interior. Rebuilding walls. Laying out stones and whatever else they found in the fortified enclosure.

If luck was on their side, they’d locate the stash vagabonds reported at the start of the year. Damn shame he couldn’t force the man who’d been jailed for stealing artifacts into identifying the exact location. Even more damning, the other thief died out here. Supposedly of fright.

Fright, my ass. They probably fought over the take.

In any case, the rumor fueled Chloe’s paranoia to exceptional heights. She hardly ever neared the forest’s edge, day or night. Locked away in the field trailers, she catalogued bits of pottery, fragments of stone, and detailed their discoveries in their required logs.

A glimmer of gold halted his walk. He swung the flashlight before him and cocked his head as the light glinted off a jutting fragment in the earth. Julian stepped over the remnants of what had once been a thick stone wall and squatted before the golden chip. With the butt end of the flashlight between his teeth, he plucked his trowel from his back pocket. Using the point, he loosened the ground around the object. Chunks broke free. He brushed them aside with his thumb.

A handle? He frowned at the exposed scrollwork design. The thieves had brought in a golden chalice with a similar design. Could this be a serving pitcher? In gold? Julian scraped at the earth with the flat edge of his tool.

The breeze picked up, stirring the overhead branches. He tucked his chin deeper into his coat, determined to ignore the near-freezing temperature. A few more carefully placed wedges of the point, and he’d have . . .

His hand stilled as the gravel crunched behind him. Though thick clouds obscured the sky, an even thicker shadow descended over his shoulder. The hair at the nape of his neck lifted, and an unexplainable shudder rolled down his spine. His heart stuttered into an unnatural cadence.

Closing his fingers around the trowel’s wooden handle, he poised the weapon to defend himself and turned.

A hand shot out. Fingers dug into his shoulder. Julian lifted his gaze across a blackened chain-mail-clad chest, up a thick neck, and onto a coif-covered head. Shadows marred the man’s face, blocking all features save for his eyes. But the eerie green light that filled a malicious gaze closed Julian’s throat.

Not human.

The illogical thought drifted across his mind seconds before the hand on his shoulder tightened and dragged him to his feet. Despite the utter lack of heat in the air, sweat broke over Julian’s skin. He swallowed hard, told himself ghosts only lived in his sister’s mind.

“Azazel sent for you.”

The hollow empty laugh that issued from the ebony-clad man’s throat silenced the feeble protests of Julian’s mind. Nothing living made that sort of spine-chilling sound.

“Wh-who?” he croaked.

“You will bring him the Veil.”

“The veil? What veil?” Julian twisted his shoulders, attempting escape.

The man’s grip clamped into bone. Pain shot down Julian’s arm, wrenching a pitiful cry from his throat. As he stumbled against a rush of dizziness, a fist slammed into his face. Pinpricks of light burst behind Julian’s eyes. Distantly, he recognized he was moving. Leaves crunched beneath the being’s boots. Chain mail clinked in the stillness. The revolting stench of death assaulted his nose.

Grasping at the last of his strength, Julian fought off the pull of unconsciousness and opened his eyes. What stood before him justified every irrational fear his sister possessed. Red-orange eyes gleamed with wicked hunger. Yellowish fangs protruded from an unholy face.

The thing that had brought him into the forest thrust him into a deadly embrace. Claws raked across his back, slid between his ribs. Agony lanced through his body. An anguished cry tore from his throat.

“Yes, scream,” the creature murmured. “It is so much better when you scream.”

Tendrils of darkness fingered at Julian’s mind. He grasped at them, desperate for the promised escape. But seconds before he succumbed to blissful oblivion, he felt the invasion. The foul, horrific, glorious presence of death pressed against his mind. A whisper of command more comforting than any cessation of his heart.

Then nothing.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning, everyone!

So, you've seen some of Immortal Protector--now we're going to change it up and go on to Immortal Trust, which releases on March 26th!

Lucan looked over the top of the magazine he pretended to read. Chloe Broussard was far more fascinating than the glossy advertisements. Not to mention, perusing an article that detailed the many benefits of breakfast abed with a willing partner, whilst Chloe sat across from him, made the small confines uncomfortably warm.

Feed your partner berries to kick off your day of hedonistic pleasure.

As Chloe chewed on the end of her pen, a vision of her lips closing around his fingers burst to life in his mind. He scowled at the unbidden intrusion. Damnation, he had not expected she who digs in dust to be so delightfully feminine.


~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

It's here, it's here - squee!  Immortal Protector is available today!

But in keeping with the Tuesday Teaser theme, for those of you who've been following along, I'm going to go ahead and give you a peek at chapter two today.

If you want to catch up:  Chapter One Part One, Chapter One Part Two

Immortal Protector
The Curse of the Templars, Companion Novella
March 12, 2013
Order Here! ($1.99)





~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance novel , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning, everyone!  Ready for another peek at Immortal Protector?  It releases in two days!!  But you can pre-order it now too.

March 12, 2013

“Iain?”

Sweet sacred Mary, he loved the sound of his name on her lips. “Aye?” he answered hoarsely, struck once more by something even more intense than the urge to keep her safe. Desire barreled through his bloodstream, hot and unwanted, craving far more than his name on her lips and the feel of her hand against his.

He wanted more intimacy than that of conversation. And yet, he could not allow the craving to know freedom. The abbey rose before them.




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Claire Ashgrove , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , Sunday Seven , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning everybody!

It's Tuesday, and that means teaser time!  Immortal Protector is just around the corner!  For those of you just stopping by today, this is the companion novella in The Curse of the Templars that falls between Immortal Surrender and Immortal Trust (Mar 26).

We're catching up where we left off on Chapter One last week.  Catch Up Here

Immortal Protector
The Curse of the Templars, Companion Novella
March 12, 2013
Pre-Order Now! ($1.99)





“Catherine Grady.” Catherine answered the officer’s inquiry as confidently as she could and passed him her driver’s license. But the devastatingly handsome man to her left made confidence almost impossible. He was so big, so there, her skin tingled with awareness. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in a good four years or more. And the way he’d stepped in to protect her made her heart do all kinds of flip-flops.

Iain. Iain Donnelly. His introduction played through her mind, distracting her from the embarrassing position of having to confess to this cop that the convoluted city streets confused her and she’d caused a serious accident. It also kept her from dwelling on how she was going to break this news to the sisters at Mount Saint Scholastica. Her novitiate director wouldn’t hesitate to point out this would be God’s way of handling her refusal to part with her car, the last tangible memory of the only family who’d ever loved her. On the heels of that reminder would come the piercing stare and the remark she’d heard one too many times lately: Perhaps your calling is with children, not the community.

Catherine took her driver’s license back from the officer and nervously stuffed it into her purse. The last time she’d gotten a ticket for anything, she’d been sixteen. After that DUI, she lost her license, lost her freedom, and had only regained the right to drive three years ago.

“And the man who collided with your vehicle, you say he assaulted you?” The officer changed the direction of his questioning with a severe frown.

Catherine glanced at Iain. “Not . . . exactly.”

Officer Martinez’s frown deepened as he cocked his head and squinted at Iain. “I thought—”

“We really aren’t certain what his intentions were,” Catherine rushed to explain. “He grabbed at me. He didn’t touch me physically.” Fidgeting once more, she twined her hands together at her waist. “It’s really nothing. He’s just angry. I have insurance—I’m sure it will smooth over.”

The cop scrutinized her for a moment, then offered a slow, reluctant nod. “If anything happens—”

“’Twill not,” Iain interjected. His firm, unyielding tone sent an unexplainable thrill rolling down Catherine’s spine.

“Yeah, well,” Officer Martinez continued, “If it does, you contact me. Okay?” He gave Catherine a pointed look.

“Yes, of course.”

“You have a towing company you prefer? Or are you good with these guys?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tow truck parked at the corner, waiting to hook on at first opportunity.

It didn’t really matter in the scheme of things. Her adoptive father’s car was toast. Insurance wouldn’t touch it. She sighed inwardly. At least she could put whatever money she received toward the classroom. For six months now, she’d been trying to persuade the school board to invest in new textbooks next fall.

“They’re fine,” she answered with a forlorn look at the destroyed convertible.

Before he wandered across the street to join his partner, Martinez waved at the driver, and in seconds the tow truck’s engine purred to life. Beeps echoed down the clogged street as it backed toward the lamppost where Catherine stood.

Iain clasped her by the elbow, pulling her gently away from the wreckage. “’Twould be my pleasure to offer you a ride, Catherine. Surely you were headed somewhere?”

Criminy, one simple touch and her head swam with newfound sensations. Tingles zinged down to her toes. Warmth flooded her veins, making her oddly dizzy. And looking him in the eye—good grief, she’d faint, she was certain of it.

Instead, she glanced at her sandals. “I was on my way back to the school where I teach.” No way would she ask this stranger to drive an hour to her home. He seemed safe enough, but that was foolish. Besides, it would be rude. Grabbing for a smile, she braved meeting his warm brown eyes. “I’ll call someone to come get me.”

Iain chuckled. “You would arrive sooner if you did not have to wait to be retrieved.” He beckoned her to follow. “Come. I must deliver this sofa to the teens’ shelter. Perhaps you could tell me how to get there, in exchange for a ride.”

Not smart—this wasn’t smart at all. She’d learned this lesson the hard way. But that stranger wasn’t anything like Iain. Not once had he seemed helpful. Certainly not in the way any normal human being would define the word.

Catherine’s gaze strayed across the street at the man whose car she’d inadvertently destroyed. Evidently too good for the first-arrival towing companies, he waited beside his Jeep—which now sat near the opposite curb—glowering at her.

That malicious stare was enough to make up her mind. She’d rather chance a ride with the man who’d prevented whatever that jerk had in store, than stand here while he was still around.

“Okay.” She blew out a hard breath. “I need to go to Atchison, though.”

“Atchison? I was there three days past.”

Catherine grinned. “It’s quaint. I like it a lot.” Falling into step behind him, she crossed the street.
Iain opened the passenger door of his silver pickup truck and gestured for her to climb inside. “You are a teacher then.” It wasn’t really a question, more a reaffirmation of what she’d already said.

“Yeah.” It was true . . . for the most part. She did teach. She held a specialist’s degree in secondary education with a specific emphasis in the needs of special circumstance children. Teens and tweens who, for whatever reason, lacked stable home environments, and in some cases, homes at all. But for some unexplainable reason, Catherine couldn’t bring herself to voice the first response that came to mind: No, actually I’m a nun.


~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Hi everyone!  Back this week with seven lines from Immortal Protector.  Remember, this is available March 12th, but can be pre-ordered now for $1.99!

March 12, 2013

“Aye, mademoiselle?” he whispered.

Her voice was a quiet scrape against the stillness. “I just want you to know how much...”

Catherine’s throat clogged again. He was here, right in front of her, having just admitted he desired her as she desired him. And yet, she was still trying to force out a sensible good night, when what she truly wanted defied logic.

She took a half step forward, shivering beneath the bright burn in his dark eyes.







~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Hi, everybody!

I've been talking about the companion novella to The Curse of the Templars for a while now, and in case you haven't heard, it releases on March 12th!  It falls between Immortal Surrender and Immortal Trust (Mar 26).  In keeping with the Tuesday Teaser theme, I'm bringing you the first part of chapter one today.

Remember, this is a digital novella.  As such, the excerpted material is shorter than would be included for a full length novel.

Immortal Protector
The Curse of the Templars, Companion Novella
March 12, 2013
Pre-Order Now!




~~~~~~


One

Kansas City, Missouri

Iain Donnelly was so preoccupied by the easy way he succumbed to Lady Anne’s determination to stow upon him the title of errand boy that he failed to execute the proper turn on his sheet of directions. He swore beneath his breath as 14th Street rolled by.

It had taken very little persuasion in truth. Merrick’s wife had a gentle but firm way about her that few of the Templar Knights could resist. In no time at all, Iain found himself agreeing to drive to the Salvation Army drop-off point, pick up the heavy leather couch she had purchased, and deliver it to Tane du Breuil’s new center for homeless teens. Tane, the traitor no less. Though in truth, Iain had not been present when Tane damned himself, and he held no opinion on his fellow knight’s status within the Order. Lady Anne had made peace with him, the archangels discussed restoring him to duties, and Merrick . . . well the North American commander of the Knights Templar had never been particularly soft of heart.

Iain glanced at the approaching street sign, intending to circle around the way he had come, only to discover a one-way sign. Damnation! He had turned himself around thoroughly, and the vile streets of Kansas City seemed intent on forbidding his escape. Where, in the name of all things sacred, was this accursed Truman Road? This grid-layout was no better than the narrow, twisty roads of Europe, despite what the Americans claimed.

He turned and headed down the one-way road, hoping the next corner would offer a ready solution. Sabbatical had never been less enjoyable. At least he could take a measure of relief in the fact he did not still sit in the bowels of the temple, attempting to find faith in the purpose he served and make peace with the knowledge he would die.

Iain hit the brakes as a flash of yellow entered his peripheral vision. In the next instant, a bright red Jeep shot into the intersection ahead of him. A horn blared angrily. His own tires squealed in chorus with the yellow convertible’s.

His pickup truck screeched to a halt. In front of him, the convertible sat helpless as the Jeep’s front bumper plowed into its polished chrome grill. The crunch of metal echoed off the brick buildings. Glass shattered as headlights exploded onto the pavement. The convertible spun sideways, pushed along by the momentum of the speeding Jeep. Its passenger door smashed into an ornate, green lamppost. Then everything went still, including the passersby on the street.

Iain’s heart pounded. Had he hesitated a moment longer, he too would be part of the twisted mess of tangled automobiles. Not that he would have known harm, nay, immortality prevented such. But he could be responsible for injury to another. As he had been responsible only a few short months ago.

He stuffed the rising memory down with a grimace and opened his door to investigate whether the colliding drivers suffered injury. He could not pass through the intersection, could not turn around—at least he could make himself useful. Judging from the appearance of the convertible, quite likely the driver needed aid.

Halfway across the street, the yellow car’s driver’s side door creaked open. Relief swept through Iain as a young blond woman stumbled to her feet. He increased his pace to a jog and swiftly crossed to her. “Are you injured, mademoiselle?”

Startled, she turned to look at him, and the prettiest pair of pale blue eyes Iain could ever recall seeing met his. Her shock was evident. Though she was already fair, her skin took on the color of ash. She held on to the crinkled door frame as if she might topple over at any moment, and the nod she gave him came with such hesitance he wondered whether she comprehended his question.

Iain laid his hand over her white-knuckled grip. “Mademoiselle, are you harmed?” he repeated with concern.

Slowly, those blue eyes focused, and awareness registered in her expression. A hesitant, embarrassed smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I-I’m . . . fine.” She cleared her throat, but when she spoke again, the nervous vibration in her voice remained. “I . . . got turned around. I didn’t know it was a one-way—”

“You stupid bitch!”

The furious masculine bellow came from behind Iain. He looked over his shoulder to find the Jeep’s owner storming across the pavement, his face a mask of rage.

“Can’t you see the fucking signs? It’s one way through here! Let me guess, you were texting or something.”

Venom dripped from the man’s voice. He thrust his hand out, grabbing for what, Iain did not know. But the way the woman shrunk away swept Iain back in time. In a flash he remembered terror within another maid’s lovely blue eyes. Fear that lingered despite the smile she had somehow found for him those long centuries ago.

Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed the man by the shirtfront, whirled him around, and pinned him against the hood of the woman’s demolished car. “Do not think of touching her.”

Strong fingers plied at Iain’s wrists. “Get your hands off me, asshole.”

Iain tightened his grip. “You will take yourself across the street, where you shall wait until the police arrive. Away from the lady. Is this understood, good sir?”

Bushy eyebrows drew together as the man scowled. Beneath two days’ worth of stubble, his lips pursed. A moment of silence strained between them, and then, he offered a short, succinct nod.

Iain released him, backed up a step, and folded his arms across his chest. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the woman stood a bit taller. He kept his attention focused on her assailant, however, watching as the driver of the Jeep crossed the intersection and began to pace on the opposite sidewalk. Iain gave the woman a smile. “You are certain you are not injured?”

She exhaled. “Just a little shaken.” With a shy smile, she extended her hand. “I’m Catherine. Thanks for getting rid of him.”

Iain clasped her smaller hand, captured once more by the uncanny way she resembled a maid he had not considered in centuries. Ella. Saints’ teeth, she too had difficulty holding his gaze. Though Ella had possessed entirely different, far more dangerous reasons for looking at her toes.

Nevertheless, Catherine’s faint blush warmed him. He squeezed her hand affectionately. “And I am Iain. Iain Donnelly.”

Wide, compelling blue eyes lifted once more to his. Their palms touched for a heartbeat too long. Where her soft skin met his, his nerves prickled. Pleasant. Her touch was most pleasant indeed. His pulse skipped several beats.

Catherine’s fingers let go, forcing Iain to do the same. He took a step back, all too aware of her nearness. As a rule, women’s perfumes offended his nose. But something about the faint whiff of fragrance that drifted to his awareness made him want to breathe deeply. He tempered the urge, shifted his weight. For the first time in eons, he could not think of a single word to speak.

The wail of approaching sirens broke the odd, heavy cloud that draped around them. Catherine blinked, as if she were once more drawn from some far away place, then bent inside her open car door. “I guess I better have my insurance ready.”

Though ’twas most improper, Iain could not stop himself from inspecting the slight indentation of her narrow waist. Nor could he keep his gaze from dropping to her backside, no matter how he ordered it to remain locked safely on her shoulders. When he observed the way her faded denim jeans molded against a perfectly shaped bottom, warmth infused his veins.

She backed out of the car, and he quickly averted his stare. Saints’ toes, she was most lovely.

And he had no business entertaining such thoughts. Not when his stay in America would soon end, and he would again return to the calling of the Templar, fighting Azazel’s foul creations until his soul became as black as the things he slayed.

Most certainly not when he had recently failed to protect his own seraph from a horrific end.

“Do you require a ride somewhere?” The question popped free before he consciously became aware of the thought.

The blare of sirens whined to a stop beside the Jeep that remained in the middle of the intersection, forbidding Catherine’s reply. Behind the police car, another rolled to a stop, its light bar flashing, sirens blessedly silenced. Two men filed out from both patrol cars. The pair from the first moved around the parked Jeep, inspecting it as the second pair approached Catherine.

“You all right, ma’am?” one drawled, though his gaze remained sharp and alert.

“I’m fine,” Catherine answered. “The whole mess is my fault. I got lost and turned down the wrong way.”

Iain cocked an eyebrow. So she was honest then as well. Entirely too many years had passed since he witnessed such merit in humankind. But then, until he came to America to escape the hellish nightmares of Europe and his murdered seraph, Bianca, he had little cause to interact with modern mortals.

From across the street, her pudgy bully yelled, “Give that bitch a ticket!”

Once more, Catherine shriveled. Iain bit down a fierce rush of anger. Hundreds of years of warrior instincts rose, and he took a step forward, placing himself between Catherine and the man across the street. Which also placed him between her and the officers, earning him a reproachful, lifted brow.

“He has already attempted to assault her person,” Iain explained. “Mayhap you should speak to him first, so he will leave.”

The shorter officer nodded at his dark-haired partner. “You head on over, Dane. I’ll finish up here. Shouldn’t take long.”

Dane nodded, reached into his front shirt pocket to withdraw a tablet and pen, and strode off across the street. The other turned to Catherine. “Officer Martinez, ma’am. Care to tell me what happened? Let’s start with your name. May I see your license please?”





~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning!  It's been a while since we've done a Sunday post.  If you'll remember, they used to be Sunday Sixes.  But the official group that coordinated the Internet-wide Sunday Six endeavor shut down Sunday Sixes.  I've modified it to my own Sunday Sevens.  It was too fun to just let fade away.

So without further ado, this is from Immortal Protector, a companion novella in The Curse of the Templars  -- which you can pre-order now for just $1.99!

He was on sabbatical, his vows temporarily set aside whilst he searched to find his purpose. He did not owe the Order that had damned him this rare lightness of heart he had not experienced in centuries.

“Catherine,” he began, his voice unsteady. He cleared his throat, tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I return home in a short while. But I should like to see you again.”

She went absolutely still.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , Sunday Seven , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

It's here, everyone!  Immortal Surrender's RELEASE DAY!!

I hope you'll help me celebrate by running over to your favorite book-buying place and pick this up.  If that's not in your budget, please spread the word that today Farran's story is available.

Need to catch up on Tuesday Teasers?

Immortal Surrender, Prologue
Immortal Surrender, Chapter One
Immortal Surrender, Chapter Two, Part 1
Immortal Surrender, Chapter Two, Part 2
Immortal Surrender, Chapter Two, Part 3
Immortal Surrender, Chapter Three, Part 1

Let's get back to Farran and the injured Noelle!

Immortal Surrender
The Curse of the Templars, Book II
OUT TODAY!

A rush of fiery rage surged through his blood. A seraph! Gabriel sent him to guard a seraph and failed to include that important bit of information.


God’s teeth, ’twas a wonder the demon had not killed her.

He slammed a fist into the snow and ground his teeth together until his jaw hurt. He did not want this responsibility. ’Twas bad enough she was a woman. A seraph, the promised salvation for the weakened Templar knights, would mean trouble tenfold. Anne’s arrival had proved that. And yet he could not escape this duty. Not as long as they remained away from the temple. Once he returned her there, however, he would gladly pass her safekeeping to Lucan.

Scowling, he tossed his coat over her body. As his gaze fell to her face, something deep inside him rolled around like a ball of lead. He had failed her. As well as his brothers. The most sacred gift to the Templar, and he had neglected to even consider Gabriel might have cause to keep her safe.

He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I will get you someplace safe,” he murmured.

Headlights flashed across the snow, accompanied by the squeal of tires. Farran snapped his head up, instincts on alert. Too late, he remembered he had left his sword in the upside-down vehicle.

Looking to the road, his gaze settled on a silver SUV. He expelled a long breath, and fitted his hands beneath Noelle’s shoulders as Lucan jumped out.

“I was not far away,” Lucan supplied. “How does she fare?”

“I do not know.” Farran glanced down at her delicate face, his frown deepening. “Help me get her into the back. I shall take her to Louise’s adytum. ’Tis nearby, is it not?”

“Aye, brother. Within a half hour from here.”

Lucan reached for Noelle’s feet, but before he could touch her ankle, Farran scooped her into his arms. “I will attend her. Fetch the things from the truck.”

Though he tried to be careful, he stumbled as he rose. The jostle brought another faint groan from her lips. Farran grimaced. Saints’ blood, he should have allowed Lucan to carry her. Lucan possessed more grace, a gentler nature. He would not have aggravated her wounds. As Farran made his way through the snow to the running vehicle, he glanced down at Noelle’s pretty face.

Without her glasses to cover her eyes, he noticed tiny freckles adorned her high cheekbones. Faint sun marks placed there to make her appear more youthful. A smile tugged at his mouth, but he squelched it before it could transform. ’Twas naught to smile about. He had contributed to her injuries, and lest he managed to keep the archangels uninformed, ’twould be hell to pay.

Under his perusal, her lashes fluttered. Farran paused, less than a yard away from the SUV’s rear door. He drew in a sharp breath, held it whilst he waited. They stirred again, dusting the tops of her cheeks like butterflies wings. She opened her eyes. Closed them. Then with an airy exhale, she tried a third time. Those fawn- brown eyes lifted to his, and for a moment, his heart stopped.

“Farran,” she whispered.

The hand she kept in her lap lifted. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if she clung to a safety rope. Ever so slightly, she shifted, bringing her cheek closer to his chest. Somewhere deep inside him, buried in some forgotten portion of his soul, something did a long, slow roll.

“Aye,” he murmured as he cradled her closer.

“I’m so cold.”

Protective instincts he had thought long dead rose like a fierce tide. He fought them back with clenched teeth. Yet ’twas futile. They stormed through him, awakening every particle of his body to the woman in his arms. He swallowed with effort and trained his gaze to the open hatch door. Too many years had passed since he had held a woman this way. Too many centuries. Once he had believed ’twas his purpose to protect the fairer sex. Once he would have died to uphold that fabled notion. Brighid changed all that. Changed everything. He could not allow himself to forget, no matter how helpless a woman might appear, beneath the surface they were as deadly as any man.

Choosing silence, Farran eased Noelle into the truck. He leaned against the wheel well, his legs stretched before him. Still she clung to him, her shivers now strong tremors. They vibrated into him, making it impossible to hold on to his resolve. With a defeated sigh, he wound his arms around her more tightly and pressed her body flush with his.

Lucan shut the door, extinguishing the light. In the darkness, the fall of Noelle’s breath against Farran’s neck taunted his senses. Heat rushed through his blood. Against his thigh, he felt the stirring of his shaft. On a silent mutter, he shifted.

“When I was little,” she said on a soft chuckle, “I used to dream of being rescued.”

Wincing, Farran tried to ignore the sensations her words stirred. He had not rescued her, he reminded himself. He had, in fact, injured her. What ever misplaced thoughts she entertained, they were naught more than a product of the injury to her head. “You should rest, damsel.”

To Farran’s relief, Lucan climbed inside. He flipped on the overhead light and looked back at Farran. “Do you not think we should take her to the hospital?”

“Nay, ’tis unnecessary.”

“Farran, she is but a woman. She may bleed inside. Uriel is far from here.”

Farran answered with a shake of his head. “To Louise’s, Lucan.”

Noelle’s hold on his shirt lessened, and he glanced down to find her once again at rest. He lifted his gaze to Lucan once more and lowered his voice. “She is a seraph. She will heal when her mate is found.”

Lucan’s eyes widened like saucers. In the rearview mirror, his gaze dropped to Noelle, and then he turned around. “Does she know?”

“I do not think so. Let us go to Louise’s. Lady Anne has catalogued the marks of our men. I shall contact her and ask for the list.”

With a slow dip of his chin, Lucan faced forward and dropped the SUV into gear. “How did you learn of this?”

“She wears the serpents.”

Farran leaned his head against the window and allowed the discovery to settle in. A second seraph. Gabriel foretold of their coming, as much as the prophecy did. It made sense now—Whence comes the teacher, she who is blind will follow.

Anne had been the teacher. Noelle’s sight marked her as the next.

Would she belong to Lucan? Mayhap Caradoc? Mayhap someone else all together. Whilst Lady Anne’s journal documented all the Templar in America, it only catalogued the few knights who had visited from Eu rope. Noelle could belong to one of them. Or another much farther away.

The Sudarium leapt to life within his mind, and he jerked his head up. “What trouble did you encounter at the airport?”

Lucan’s low chuckle preempted the amused shake of his head. “ ’Twas one demon. A young one at that. He took no care to conceal himself and ’twas over before it began.”

“And the cloth?”

Extending his arm above the seats, Lucan held up the small bag Noelle had given him earlier. “’Tis here.”

“My sword?”

“Open your eyes, brother. You nearly sat on your belongings.”

Farran frowned at Lucan’s good humor. Looking down at the collection of things from the wrecked vehicle, he inventoried what he remembered—her purse, her glasses, his sword, the tube of lipstick.

“She is pretty,” Lucan remarked.

“Aye.” As lovely as an English field.

“Mayhap she is mine.”

“Mayhap,” Farran murmured. Though the thought tightened his gut so fiercely, he could scarce breathe. She was too pretty to belong to Lucan. Too delicate for Caradoc. Too quiet for Declan.

Damnation, what was the matter with him? He did not want a seraph. He much preferred the inevitable death that loomed ahead. For feeling naught would be a greater freedom than learning to feel again.


~~~~~

Thanks everyone, for participating!  We go on a blog tour today, and I hope you'll watch that, as well as this blog, as there are some exciting things happening this month!




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Surrender , Knights Templar , Paranormal Romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser , urban fantasy