Book 1 in The Cynn Cruor Bloodline Series
There is an on-going war between two breeds of immortal warriors who carry human, vampire, and werewolf blood, the Cynn Cruor and the Scatha Cruor. The Cynn Cruor wants to live in harmony with the human race. The Scatha Cruor wants to enslave them. Finn Qualtrough, a Cynn Cruor warrior is on a mission to find Dac Valerian, the leader of the Scatha Cruor responsible for the deaths of many, including his parents. When he pursues three Scatha warriors who can lead him to Dac, he happens upon a woman who awakens a desire within Quinn to claim her as his own.
She is the very essence of his immortal life.
Eirene Spence is an insomniac and a computer genius who loves walking in the park at midnight. She stumbles upon the Scatha Cruor and is almost killed until a handsome stranger rescues her. His touch ignites a hunger inside her that only he can satisfy.
He is her soul.
By some twist of fate, one of Eirene’s clients is Dac Valerian. She is able to tell Finn and the rest of the Cynn Cruor where Dac is hiding. Now Dac wants her dead.
Will Finn be able to keep Eirene alive and at the same time fulfill his mission? Will Eirene’s wish to be part of Finn’s life come true knowing that he is destined for someone else?
Eirene screamed when she felt a hand—no, a claw—grab her hair. She thought her hair would
be pulled right out of her scalp. Her stomach heaved at the stench she smelled underneath the
expensive cologne. It smelled of sewage and stale sweat and it was coming from the man's
skin. She shuddered in disgust, her heart fluttering in fear when she felt him sniff her, then lick
her nape. His smell was familiar, but she couldn't quite remember where she’d smelled it
before. She struggled, trying to twist around to whack him on the head with her baton, but the
hold on her hair was excruciating and she dared not risk moving for fear of literally having her
hair torn out by the roots.
“I like the smell and taste of your fear,” the man said, his voice guttural. But before he could do
anything more, Eirene heard a feral growl before it launched itself at her attacker, pushing her
away.
Eirene didn't wait to see who or what it was that came to her aid. Instead, she sprinted to
where
Devon lay. He moaned, moving his head from side to side, but remained unconscious. Eirene
looked back at the fray. A man's figure stood out of the shadows, fighting the men Devon had
spoken to earlier, but he looked outgunned. Both men were attacking him simultaneously. She
had to do something. Then she remembered the piercing whistle she used to break the glass.
She fumbled in her pockets and grabbed it. She pressed down hard on the button. The men
snarled, momentarily stopping the brawl.
“Let's go,” her attacker spoke harshly to his companion, covering their ears as they whizzed out
of the office at an unbelievable speed. She turned to look at the man left behind. She released
the button and the man fell on all fours.
“Did you have to keep your finger on the button? My ears are killing me,” he growled.
Eirene's eyes widened, then she frowned in irritation.
“You're welcome, you ungrateful asshole,” she muttered. Standing up, she left the room to
switch on the lights from the fuse box inside the janitorial room. The first thing she saw when
she returned was the man's back as he easily carried Devon to his office and lay him gently on
the leather sofa, flushed against the left wall of the office. He straightened up and turned to face
her. Her eyes widened.
“You!”
This man was Finn Qualtrough.
Suddenly, everything she hadn’t been able to remember in almost seventy-two hours came
back to her in a rush. Air whooshed out of her as though she took a kick in the gut. She walked
backwards until she felt the bookshelf behind her. She gripped the lip of a low shelf to keep
herself upright. Panic seared through her while she felt something else, something more.
Betrayal.
His midnight blue eyes bored into hers. Even with her body suffused with anger and
humiliation,
his eyes still sent a message that seared her insides with an aching need. She sucked in her
breath at the intense arousal she felt. It made her stomach quiver, her knees weak, and her
womanhood throb. His pupils dilated like he knew the effect he had on her. Eirene saw tiny
gold
flecks appear in his eyes. They sent shafts of desire through her entire being. Even with his
body several feet away from hers, she could feel his heat as if he was just a few inches away.
She had never met a man who would ignite her body the way he did. Just being near him sent
her imagination into overdrive. In her mind's eye she felt his hands caress her again, shape
and
cup her breasts before his mouth sucked and worshiped her nipples. That was what had
happened in the park. Her mind stung with the memory of her shame. He had rejected her.
Finn took a step toward her.
“Don't,” she choked. Her throat was so dry, she thought she wouldn't be able to swallow.
She finally remembered.
Everything.
Forever At Midnight, book 2 in “The Cynn Cruor Bloodline Series”
When Roarke catches a glimpse of Deanna in Dac Valerian’s club, he searches for her in the streets of Manchester just to prove that he hasn’t lost his mind. He is unable to believe Deanna is alive when he’d buried her himself nearly five hundred years before. But when Deanna turns up on the street facing the Cynn Cruor’s headquarters, Roarke needs to know why she’s hid herself from him all these years.
Knowing her secret can only destroy whatever feelings Roarke has left for her, Deanna remains silent until circumstances force her to reveal everything.
Hearts are broken on both sides, but Roarke and Deanna have to work together if they are to find a way of ending Dac and the Scatha Cruor’s power once and for all.
Desire rises and passions are rekindled.
Will their pursuit of Dac lead to another chance at happiness?
Or will it forever tear them apart?
Forever At Midnight
The fear of the unknown was something he’d never felt before. And now that he had Deanna to
think of, the emotion held him in a stranglehold. He closed the door and pivoted around to see
Deanna kneeling in the middle of the bed. After a slight hesitation he walked toward his clothes
and immediately began to dress. He tamped the uneasiness down and forced his hatred for
the
Scatha to the fore. So many Cynn Cruor warriors and their spouses had been killed by the
Scatha and their leader, Dac Valerian. One of the most brilliant generals under Julius Caesar,
Dac used to be known as General Gnaeus Valerius Dacronius. Roarke had no intention of
allowing Dac to destroy his new found happiness. He was one of the best warriors of the Cynn
Cruor. He would protect Hamel Dun Creag.
And Deanna.
Roarke sat down on the bed to lace up his boots. He couldn't look at Deanna as his hands
jerked at the laces. He jerked when he felt her hand on his arm. Roarke sighed deeply before
turning to her, capturing her mouth with his. His tongue speared through her lips, desperation
and anger in his kiss. Although Deanna shared his fear, she poured as much love and hope
into her embrace as possible. Their tongues mated eagerly, hungrily, stoking their common
desperation.
Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and placed his forehead against hers.
“Roarke, you have to go,” she said before placing her arms around him, her cheek resting on
his shoulder.
He nodded, his face a mask of determination, the planes harsh with commitment to his Cynn
Cruor brethren.
“Stay here,” he ordered as he looked at her. She gasped, bringing her hand to her throat.
Roarke knew his mate saw his eyes change to red-orange. His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“I'm sorry if I frighten you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t. I know it’s not the time to say this, but I like it.”
Roarke's mouth twisted to a wry smile.
Deanna stood up when he did. Her hair covered one breast as if to give her a modicum of
modesty, but she was unabashedly unashamed of her nudity, something which Roarke
admired. He watched her as she adjusted his leather belt before putting the rest of his tartan
over his shoulders. As she walked toward the chair by the corner of the room, the flames from t
he hearth danced softly against her body. She picked up Roarke's dirk and bent to try and pick
up his claymore. Roarke tamped down the surge of lust firing his loins at the sight of her round
bottom and swaying hips.
“You'll have to pick up the sword, my laird,” she said with the barest of smiles as she handed
the small dagger to him, hilt first. “I'm but a wee lass to carry the likes of that.”
He looked at her, then gestured toward the dagger with a thrust of his chin. “Keep it. For your
protection.”
Suddenly, she flung herself at him. Roarke crushed her in his embrace, inhaling her scent of
lavender and the smell of their recent lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he kissed her hair. He felt
her shudder and give a soft sob. Roarke felt his heart tighten with pain.
“I will be back, Deanna,” he murmured. “No one can separate us now. I have put my scent on
you. You are mine.”
Gently, he moved back to look at her. “If I die, so will you,” he said. “In the same way, I will
become just a shell of myself and eventually join you, should you pass ahead of me.”
“I will wait for you Roarke,” she said, caressing his face.
Roarke couldn't help the feeling of pride that filled his heart at her strength of will.
“I will wait for you to come back to me.”
“Unless it's necessary, stay here,” he instructed as he grabbed his weapon. “Dinnae open the
door to anyone. Understand?”
Deanna nodded.
Roarke swooped down to give her a hard kiss.
Then he was gone.
***Bio***
Isobelle Cate is a woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional, scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the little known,the ecret stories, about the people and the nations: the English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.
Thank you so much for having me guest in your blog! All the best, Isobelle.
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