When Lorna McCloud's father died, she didn't cry--she buried him and vowedto avenge his murder. Years pass and she becomes an assassin, training herself as the ultimate killing machine. While trying to track down his murderer, she discovers she has the power to create and hide in artificial shadows. The Paranormal Intelligence Agency kidnaps Lorna, wanting to use her power, but she escapes to a small island, whose king many people want killed.
King Alaric is everything Lorna isn't--noble, kind, good. Falling for him slowly changes Lorna, but she can't ignore her vow. A mass gravesite on the island provides clues to her father's murder, why people want Alaric dead, and leads her back to the PIA, who promises Lorna the information she wants in exchange for her killing a seemingly random woman.
If Lorna achieves her life goal, Alaric will learn she is the assassin and turn against her, leaving her torn between duty and love.
HIDDEN IN SHADOWS is a complete 96,000-word urban fantasy standalone novel with series potential.
I am the author of a fantasy romance trilogy, WOMAN OF HONOR (2009), KNIGHT OF GLORY (2010), and CHAMPION OF VALOR (2011) published with Desert Breeze Publishing. I have also sold nine short stories for anthologies, including MERTALES by Wyvern Publications, and many collections by Pill Hill Press.
HIDDEN IN SHADOWS
Heavy breathing. His--the hunted.
My unsuspecting prey muttered a curse as he lost his footing and slid a few feet down the mountainside.
I smiled. Easy pickings, compliments of cocaine.
Rocks tumbled down as he stumbled again, splinters of shale forcing me to hide behind a tree. I'd waited four days for this--my chance to hunt and kill him at my leisure with no eyewitness. I wasn't about to let him see me and make a break for it.
I peeked around the oak, and the setting sun momentarily blinded me, blood reds and flaming oranges blurring together like the gates of hell. How appropriate.
He stood, hunched over, his hands on his knees. His labored breathing shook his large frame, the back of his neck the same bright red as the sunset. If he continued at this pace, I might not have to kill him. His heart could give out. Perfect… save me the trouble.
But I couldn't rely on the possibility of a heart attack. He had to die by my hand if I wanted to be paid. I removed a throwing knife from its sheath inside my right boot and took aim.
Voices sounded, loud and near. Other hikers. I grimaced. Now was not the time to make my move.
The man now sat on the edge of the path in a stupor, idly picking up pebbles and letting them fall into a pile. The red Louisiana clay of Driskill Mountain stained his trembling fingers.