Author: Christine Pope
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Cover Designer: Lou Harper - Cover Affairs
Editor: Katherine Tomlinson, Story Authority
Publisher: Dark Valentine Press
Publication Date: June 26th, 2019
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR
Her rescuer. Her protector. But not his Chosen.
Two years after the Dying, Amber McCoy is still living rough, foraging in the ruins of the world to survive. The pickings are slim, but not as slim as the dating pool. Sheâs the last living soul in San Marino, California.
Except for them. Angels? Devils? All she knows is, one of them attacked her. And another one saved her, piercing her with night-black eyes and growling a single word â run. Since doing just that, sheâs been utterly alone.
Idris, a djinn elder, is inspecting the lush, green grounds of his new estate when he encounters the young woman he saved, still impossibly fragile-looking and skittish as a wild doe. Luring her with the promise of comforts sheâs been denied for too long, he begins the delicate process of convincing her that she has nothing to fear from him.
As these two lonely creatures spend more time together, each touch strengthening the current of desire humming between them, Idris is acutely aware that this idyllic time canât last. Soon Amber will be forced to choose between two pathsâ¦neither of which can ever lead to his arms.
USA Today bestseller Christine Pope is the author of the paranormal romance Witches of Cleopatra Hill series and the Djinn Wars series, among many other books (sixty and counting!). Researching UFOs brought her to magical Sedona, Arizona, where she now makes her home. Find out more about her books at christinepope.com.
Chosen (Free): https://amzn.to/2Nax22l
Yes, it was the girl heâd saved, but so very changed, he wasnât sure whether he would have recognized her if it hadnât been for her eyes. Before, she had been slender, but now she was thin, the bones of her porcelain-pretty face sharp, bluish shadows under her enormous eyes. Her pale hair was straggling and dirty, pulled back into a messy ponytail. And instead of the short skirt and form-fitting top sheâd worn as she ran away from him on that warm afternoon two years ago, she had on a baggy pair of the blue pants mortals called jeans, along with a shapeless shirt and workmanlike boots on her feet.
Her hand lifted from the doorknob, went to her throat. âWhatâ¦?â The word came out in a rusty whisper, and she shook her head and started over, voice a little stronger this time. âYouâre real?â
âYes,â Idris replied, a pang of unexpected pity moving through him. âWhat is your name?â
âAm-amber.â She stumbled over the syllables, as if it had been a long time since sheâd had to say her name aloud.
And of course it had been. A whole two years, merely an eye blink for a djinn, but probably an eternity for a woman alone.
âYou have been here all this time?â he asked, making sure he kept his tone gentle.
âYes,â she replied. âEver since that time you rescued me.â Her head lifted, and he thought he saw color flare in her pale, thin cheeks. âIt was you, wasnât it?â
âIt was,â he said simply.
âWhy are you here?â
A good question. He could give her an answer, but that would only lead to more questions. And yet, as he had just told himself, he had plenty of time to answer those questions, as long as they were not too uncomfortable. âThis is my home now.â
Her eyes widened, and she glanced down the hallway past him to the open, skylit main room of the visitorsâ center. âHere?â
He couldnât help smiling a little. âWell, not here exactly. The main house.â
âYouâre living in an art gallery?â
âIt was a home once, and is a home again now. Let me show you.â
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