Torquere’s Morwen Navarre has a new fantasy book out:
“Moon shine on me, Ghost. When you look at me like this, how can I even think of anything but making love to you?”
Ghost is content to spend all his free time in bed with Gerry. But scandal and hate surrounding Ghost’s appointment as the first male witch and a deadly epidemic force Ghost to make choices that might cost him Gerry’s love.
Spurred on by a message from his mentor, Ghost embarks alone on a journey through mystical underground tunnels and lost civilizations to the frozen lands of his origin, seeking a way to neutralize the threat back home. While he struggles to find a balance between his duties as a witch and his calling as a seer, all Ghost really wants is to return to the haven he has found in Gerry’s arms.
Warm. Warm, strong arms surrounded him. Ghost smiled and moved closer, burying his face in the hard muscle of a shoulder. He knew he needed to get up to tend to his patients, but he was still so tired. He nuzzled deeper into the shoulder that was… clearly not Gerry’s.
“The little one wakes.” A deep, rumbling voice pierced his fog of sleep.
Ghost shoved hard against the arms holding him. He wriggled free and sat up. He heard a door close somewhere behind him. “Let go of me,” he growled. He was wide awake now, his heart pounding against his ribs.
The man belonging to the arms was bare-chested, as was Ghost, to his chagrin. He was quite relieved to see he still wore his breeches, though relief didn’t stop him from glaring at the man in the bed with him.
“You’re fierce, little one. This is good to see. It means you are not too soft, like the rest of the outlanders from down below.” The man sat up as well. His long white hair was bound back in many braids, each one tipped with a bead carved from the red wood of the South. An intricate black tattoo covered both his arms. The man’s blue eyes watched Ghost with undisguised amusement. “You have jewels in your head, little one. Did the woman decorate you so?”
“What woman?” Ghost retorted, watching the man for any untoward movement. “Are you talking about the Witch? Is she here?”
“Outlanders do not ask. They listen. And answer.” The man’s voice dropped to a warning snarl. “Hair and eyes do not make you one of us, little one. Do not presume you have a place here.”
“I don’t want a place here,” Ghost snapped. “I want to talk to the Witch. She may have the solution I need. The people of my village await my return.”
A large, calloused hand clapped Ghost’s shoulder as the man barked out a laugh. “There was not a single question in all your words. This is good to know. You are both fierce and can listen.”
Ghost snorted, moving out from under the hand and off the bed, the central feature of the room. The walls were timber, broad planks lacquered to a glossy shine. White hide curtains closed off a small window. Below the window was a carved wooden chest with a rounded lid, painted as elaborately as the man’s tattooed arms. He looked around for the rest of his clothing. “Makes one of us,” he muttered, not looking up. He tried to ignore the laughter from the bed as he found his thick linen shirt and heavy leather tunic tossed in a corner.
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I’ve always been a writer in some way, whether it was writing on the walls as a child, the copious notebooks I filled as a teen, or the volumes of fanfiction I wrote as an adult. Now I write erotic romance. We are creatures of sensation, craving touch and filled with desires we might not even want to admit to ourselves. Try as we might to ignore and deny the passion inside us, it’s still there. It cries for attention and finds its outlet in my writing.
Ghost’s Sight was written in response to a prompt from a friend and is a passionate story of two men who find each other in unexpected circumstances. Their story continues with Ghost’s Dilemma and possibly a third volume yet to come.