By Denyse Bridger
Website Link: www.denysebridger.com
Blurb: Book One of Three: During the time
before the Great Forbidding was created, it was believed the defiance of the
Renegades could be contained. To that end, the Council of Power called upon
their Ancient Gods for assistance. In response, the Gods ordered creation of
the Triad of Power–three swords, each one imbued with the essence of a gift
unique to those who would wield the weapons as the Guardians of Foress. Like
all magic, each crafted blade contained the driving sorcery of its creator–not
all wizards are immune to the weaknesses of men, and within the Triad, conflict
itself was bred without conscious intent or knowledge. So begins the legend,
and the epic fantasy of the TRIAD OF POWER.
Excerpt:
As contented peace steeped the air around
them, and they were able to breathe in near silence again, Sherindal
contemplated her surroundings. On her knees, with the Prince of Ember still
sheathed within her, she had never known a moment of more perfect serenity and
completion. Her senses hummed with awareness of everything: the texture of the
bed linen, cool silk, caressing her heated skin, the subtle patterns swirling
amid the tapestries that hung on the stone walls of the bedchamber, even the
heavy scent of candle wax added another layer of appreciation to her happiness.
“You really are magnificent, Sher,” Rienn
whispered, his arms wrapped around her, drawing her close.
She leaned to one side, looped her arm
around his neck and drew his mouth to hers in a kiss that was filled with
gentle passion.
“I do love you, Rienn.”
Rienn nodded. His hands on her waist moved
her. She shivered as he slipped free of her. “I’ll order a bath and some food,”
he told her.
She grabbed his wrist and shook her head.
“Later. I want you to hold me.”
Rienn stretched out and pulled her down to
him, spooning her body to his when he pressed her back to his chest.
They’d only slept for minutes when the huge
doors of the Prince’s chambers were flung open and the spacious room was
invaded by numerous men, all bearing swords.
“Rienn.”
The word was a warning, and Sherindal
slithered from the bed when he released her. She scooped up her weapon as she
rolled, oblivious to her nakedness. She whirled to face the first rush of the
attack. Somewhere through the early morning hours since they’d made love, Rienn
had thought to retrieve his breeches, she noted from the corner of her eye. He
had managed to gain his weapon, and they fought, back to back.
Sherindal hissed in fury and pain when the
second of the men who engaged her slipped past her defense and inflicted a
wound near her waist. It was a surface injury and she quickly rewarded him by
slicing off his sword hand. Howling in agony, he toppled back, then fled as he
recovered his footing several feet away from her.
Rienn had killed two men and was about to
run through the third when Sherindal’s voice filled the room, and the blade she
wielded, Huntor, rose with her song. The attackers froze momentarily, those two
who remained, and she smiled when the weapon cut them down, then drifted back to
her outstretched hand, coming to rest in her grasp with near peaceful ease.
“Your blood-thirsty weapon has been sated
nicely this morning,” Rienn observed with a tense glance at the gleaming blade.
“Who are they?” she asked, her tone cold as
she met his gaze.
“Why would you assume I know?” he retorted
instantly. “This is hardly what I would consider an invigorating start to the
day!”
“Really?” One eyebrow rose in emphasis of
her sardonic tone. “It is one of the more interesting diversions you might have
provided, Rienn.” Her laughter was faintly mocking, and not a little bit
ironic.
Rienn’s handsome features suffused with
rage and he reached for her, gripped her bare arm with fingers that dug into
her flesh like steel bands.
“You can be an evil bitch,” he whispered
darkly.
Sherindal smiled, and this time it was
genuine. She nodded, kissed his chin, the closest she could get to his mouth
from her disadvantaged height, then she gasped as a fiery lance reminded her of
the slash near her left hip.
“Enough, Rienn,” she said.
He released her, scooped her into his arms,
and placed her in the center of the feathered mattress of his bed. He looked
closely at the injury, yanked the bell pull, and then went to the heavy
wardrobe at the far end of the chamber.
His guards were rushing along the corridor
when he returned to the bed and helped Sherindal into one of his linen shirts.
She bit her bottom lip against another stab of pain and laughed in macabre
amusement when she spotted the duo who entered the room.
“They look rested enough, my love,” she
muttered.
Purchase Links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/
Publisher Link: www.crimsonfrostbooks.com
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