Thursday, February 23, 2012

I confess...

Yes. I confess. I want to be Ciara. Who? My heroine of The Highlander’s Fury. Angela Blount of RT Book Reviews described her as a kick-butt, time-traversing, mind-reading embodiment of righteous indignation. Yep. That sums Ciara up perfectly. She’s the immortal daughter of Cerridwen and Brid, gathered from the mists of creation when the two goddesses not only longed for a child of their own but also needed an unstoppable weapon to purge evil from the worlds.
Wouldn’t it be great to heap some eye-for-an-eye justice on the bad guys? And Ciara metes out punishment in a way that’s near and dear to my heart. She searches the villains’ minds and locates their deepest, darkest fears –and then serves it up to them on a silver platter. I must say that visiting with my friend Ciara was quite liberating…even if it did leave me a bit envious of her powers.  ;-)

An average day in the life of an immortal Fury?

Flex powers. Locate evil. Administer justice.

Until Ciara’s goddess mothers convince her to seduce a brooding mortal and bear the man a gifted child. All she has to do is swap places with his betrothed. A simple task−become the seductive wife, bear the man a child and train the young one in the Ways. Once the boy reaches seven years of age, they’ll swap her back with the wife Faolan thinks he selected and Ciara can resume her job of rousting wickedness from the world.

Faolan MacKay’s advisors plague him daily about his matrimonial duties as laird, dragging prospects from across the Highlands: plump dowries attached to each one.

Faolan’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He’d rather go straight to the fiery pits of Hell than down the wedding aisle. Out of desperation, a plan takes seed. He’ll select a wife he can ignore. There’s just one problem with this foolproof theory. Nobody ignores Ciara.

Against his better judgment, he’s enthralled with the woman and to Ciara’s surprise, this strange thing called love burns hotter than her hunger for vengeance.
At the end of the seven years the ruse is up, all will return to as it was. Can the bond of love overcome the mandate of the ultimate powers?


Ciara recoiled from the CEO’s mind as though she’d just touched a piece of rotted flesh. This mortal sickened her. He was just as evil as a serial killer. He’d made his execution even easier. It was time she made her presence known.
She materialized in the doorway, still leaning against the frame, drumming her fingertips atop her folded arms. “The levels of greed to which you humans rise never cease to amaze me.”
Startled, the man jerked, his eyes squeezing closed as though she’d struck him. Choking on the mouthful of coffee he’d just gulped, he spewed a shower of the amber liquid as he threw the cup across the room. “Who the hell are you?” he sputtered and coughed. “How did you get in here?”
Ciara slipped out of the doorway and sauntered into the room. She adored the sound of fear in her victim’s voice. It played sweeter than the softest aria to her ears. Shrugging her long braid over one shoulder, she smoothed a hand down her hip as she purred, “I am known by many names. But for the purpose of our little meeting, why don’t you just call me ‘Vengeance’?”
With a shaking hand, he fumbled at the receiver of the phone. The man’s face whitened when he held it to his ear.
“What’s wrong, baby? No dial tone?” Ciara stretched across the desk, plucked the receiver out of his hand, and swung it like a pendulum in front of his face. Oh, she loved it when their eyes rolled back in their heads and their faces paled to that lovely shade of pasty gray.
He ripped his cell phone out of his pocket; his eyes widened as the words No Service lit up across the readout on the cover.
Yanking open the side drawer on his desk, he glanced first at Ciara then looked down. He withdrew a pistol with a shaking hand and pointed it at Ciara’s chest. “You take one more step and they’ll write any name you want on a toe tag for the morgue.”
Oh, this one played the cat-and-mouse game better than the time she tortured the serial rapist. Ciara smiled her most wicked smile. She loved it when they got cocky! Tossing her head back, she spread her arms wide. She released her best chilling laughter to echo off the wall to wall windows as she gave a teasing wiggle of her hips. “Take your best shot, baby. Do you think you can hit me from here or do you need me to take a few steps closer?”
Beads of sweat popped across the man’s face then rolled down his heavy jowls as he shook the muzzle of the gun in her face. “Don’t think I won’t kill you. I own the mayor of this city and every cop in the surrounding precincts. With my money, I don’t have to worry about prison. I can do anything I want.”
With a bored roll of her eyes, Ciara leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk. Wriggling her nose, she brought her face so close she almost touched the tip of her nose to his and crooned, “Go ahead, sweetheart. Do whatever you like. After all, you should get the most out of your last few moments on earth. Consider it your last wish before your execution. Kind of like having your last meal before you fry.”
The man jerked as though trapped in an uncontrollable seizure. He emptied the chamber of the gun. As he fired the last round, his jaw fell to his chest and he let the pistol crash to the floor.
Ciara waited, tapping her red, manicured nails atop the computer monitor. With a bored yawn, she stretched and smoothed the dents from the bullets out of her shirt then bestowed a wicked smile upon him. “Okay. My turn! Now let’s figure out the best way to punish you for all your naughty little deeds. Where shall we start this evening? There’s so many fun things to choose from.”

Wouldn’t it be great to be Ciara? What super power do you think YOU’D like best?