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Title: A Harvest of Dreams and Embers
Author: Belinda Burke
Publisher: Pride Publishing
Genre: Action/Adventure, BDSM, Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, Gay, Gay Romance, Other Holiday, Paranormal, Romance
Release Date: 02/07/2017
What the fire has learned, the ashes will remember…forever.
For the first time in ten thousand years, Myrddin has what he wants—: Kas, for his lover again. Now that the Black King is his ownhis once more, Myrddin is desperate to make sure he keeps him. The vision that came to him in the Spring madness is beginning to come true, and the terrifying loss at the blank end of that vision drives Myrddin to do anything that might prevent it.
He will even live among mortals for a while. Even help the High King of Britain, Uther Pendragon, win the woman he wants.
While Myrddin plots and Kas worries over him, Macsen and Bran have decided to put their own concerns to rest. Macsen is hungry for Dealla’s life and Bran will no longer deny his lover what he wants. Only Dealla herself still stands in their way. To save herself, and make one last attempt on the Red King’s life, she has forged stolen Summer weapons into golden chains.
With Macsen captive, this time it is Bran who must rescue his lover…but the cost may be too much for him to bear.
Is love really worth any price?
This exclusive excerpt comes from the very beginning of A Harvest of Dreams and Embers.
Sleep had come to Spring, though it did not belong there.
Myrddin advanced alone through the stillness of the Wyrdwood and found even the birds sunk into slumber. Drowsiness had descended, and with it a sacred silence that brought disharmony, reduced the promise of the branches to the ghost of leaves. There had never been such lethargy in immortal Spring before, but the season had traded away its show of splendor for somnolence.
King though he was, even Myrddin was tangled in threads of torpor and his own sudden awareness of the presence that incited them. Why here, why now? Father?
With the feeling of acknowledgment came a summons Myrddin could not deny, though he wanted to. No other being was so perilous to him, had ever cost him so much, as his own father. And now, now that he finally had Kas for his own…
Neither the time nor the place of the visit pleased him, but Myrddin could no more deny the summons of the one who had sired him than the buds could refuse the spring.
His heart clenched. Had he regained what he’d lost only to have it taken away? Kas. All his desires were bound up in the single syllable of that name. He would not give his lover up again, no matter what demand the god of the wild had for him.
Myrddin found his father at the heart of the forest, wrapped around its most ancient oak. He knew it was his father, but Myrddin had never seen him like this. As the Stag of the wood, yes, carrying the moon in the spaces between his antlers. As a mist, or in a man’s shape, but like this?
The god of the wood had come to him as a dragon. His father was a moss-backed beast with leafed and feathered wings whose span stretched beyond Myrddin’s sight. He was the wildest and most beautiful of his kind Myrddin had ever seen, but he was a dragon all the same.
Did that mean…he was no longer a god?
There was a shiver in the branching pinions, a sibilant trembling of feathers. A sound like silk being stretched too tight and too quickly snapped through the air as the great wings beat once, then settled.
“Father…” The dragon opened his mouth and breathed out the scent of somnolent blossoms, but not a single word in answer. “Father?”
He resisted the urge to to one knee as he resisted the drowsy pressure of the air, a sudden urge to yawn. Silence greeted him. More than before, stronger the closer he came to the unsteady orb of his father’s eye. He recognized the source of the unnatural sleep with a familiarity that reminded him of his own long-vanished past.
‘My little shoot’.
Not his father’s voice, but the memory of his mother’s, brushed Myrddin with a faint prickling of dread. This sleep was akin to his own lost winter slumber. The sleep that had taken him at Samhain each year, before Spring had had a rite, or a kingdom… When winter had come to him as to the blossoms and dropped him down the well of the sleeping season.
His father blinked one enormous eye, and the flickering facets drew Myrddin in. The eye became a world, a universe in the shape of an ochre orb. “I forget who I was before the birth of this moment.”
About the Author
Belinda currently lives on the New England coast with her fiancée, their room mate and her cat. When she’s not writing, she’s working toward degrees in Philosophy and English, embroidering or reading.
Belinda writes in several genres, but a little lust and love always work their way into her stories.
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