ANNOUNCEMENT: Elemental Hope, by L.M. Somerton

Elemental HopeQSFer L.M. Somerton has a new Elemental Hope book out:

A warlock’s blood gives him life. It can also bring his death.

It’s no wonder Evrain Brookes, newly fledged warlock, is feeling the strain. A coven of power-hungry witches is after his blood. Literally. A psychotic warlock wants him dead. His godfather’s training regime is about as much fun as chewing on nettles and an overweight, scarily perceptive cat has moved into his house.

His boyfriend Dominic yearns for a normal life, or at least a safer one. He accepts his role both as Evrain’s submissive partner and as the conduit through which he channels his gift—but he’s afraid for his lover, and the lengths Evrain’s enemies might go to in order to fulfill their lust for power.

When Evrain falls victim to a plot between the Octis Coven and malevolent warlock Symeon Malus, it’s up to Dominic to rescue him. With the help of the two other North American warlocks, Shadow the cat and an old enemy, Dominic takes steps to get his lover back. There’s a high price to pay and no guarantee that the risks he must take will work out but Evrain is worth going through hell for, even if it costs Dominic his life.

Warlocks Book Two

Publisher | Amazon


Excerpt

Nathaniel Alberich adjusted his position to get more comfortable on the rocky ground. There was a particularly sharp stone that seemed to have a magnetic attraction to his ass and no matter which way he shuffled, the damn thing followed right along. He allowed himself a self-indulgent moment to recall the comfortable leather chair in his office—well-cushioned and rock-free. The wild outdoors was not his preferred environment but on this occasion his location—on a mountaintop—was necessary. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the stormy vista. Dark gray clouds edged with purple scudded past. Someone, somewhere, was going to be treated to a nice deluge. Nathaniel shrugged, winced then rolled some of the stiffness from his shoulders. It was about time he booked an appointment with his masseur. The man was a sadist, something Nathaniel could appreciate, but the pain he inflicted always resulted in looser limbs and unknotted muscles.

“All this stress is not good for me,” Nathaniel muttered, aiming his complaint at a passing buzzard. The bird drifted lazily on currents of air Nathaniel fought hard to provide. He stood, flexing his fingers. He widened his stance and locked his knees in place. He didn’t need the indignity of falling on his already bruised rear even if there was no one to witness his humiliation. He held his arms out then twisted his fingers into shapes that should have been impossible. Muttering incantations beneath his breath, he focused his will before expelling his power with a mental push. Around him the wind screamed in protest but the currents changed direction as he commanded. On the plains below, row after row of megalithic turbines started to rotate.

“Better. Much better.” Nathaniel’s thigh muscles trembled and pain stabbed behind his eyes. Using his power without a partner to channel through was uncomfortable. He’d learned to live with it over the years, channeling a fraction of the energy through anyone in the area. People nearby might experience a shiver, a mild headache or slight nausea. Nothing to attract undue attention. It wasn’t enough, though, and without being able to dissipate the backlash of the forces he unleashed, Nathaniel suffered a great deal more than his unwitting assistants. He refused to give in to it. His business relied on his ability to work magic and along with it the jobs of thousands of employees. He couldn’t let them down. He fought back the urge to vomit, pressing his knuckles into his temples until the spots in front of his eyes faded. The two-hour hike back to his car would help clear his head but he had no desire to break a limb on his way down the mountain.

After a few minutes of deep breathing he felt recovered enough to start walking. The trail was steep but he was well equipped with top-of-the-line boots. It wasn’t his first trip to the peak and he’d learned from experience to come prepared for anything. He carried a small backpack containing bottled water and energy bars. A thick jacket and a pair of weatherproof pants—great against the elements, not so functional against pointy stones—ensured he stayed warm. The downward trip was still a slog and Nathaniel gave thanks for the many hours he’d spent in his home gym building stamina. Magic burned calories better than any sweaty spin class but he still needed to swim and run to keep up his fitness levels. It was a matter of survival, not vanity—and that was excellent motivation.

After a couple of hours, the path leveled out and Nathaniel covered the last half-mile quickly. On an unpaved road normally reserved for maintenance vehicles sat his gleaming Bentley Continental. There was no trace of the thick coating of dust it had collected earlier that day and his driver was leaning against the highly polished exterior. Nathaniel shook his head as he approached.

“Hey, Felix.”

“Welcome back, sir.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Nathaniel. You make me feel like my grandfather. I’m thirty-one, not a hundred and one.”

“And your grandfather has long since passed, sir.” Felix flicked a speck of dust from his pristine white cuff. “How are you feeling?”

“You mean for a warlock who’s just manipulated the elements?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“Like crap. I think that sums it up.”

Felix frowned. “You know I’d help more if I could, sir.”

“I know.” Nathaniel sighed. “And if you ever fancy batting for my team for a change, you let me know. In the meantime, I’ll manage.”

Felix raised a blond eyebrow. He twitched his lips into a smile. “I’m not your type, even if I were…so inclined.”

Nathaniel gave his fair, blue-eyed driver an appraising examination. He matched Nathaniel’s height of six feet two and had broader shoulders as well as bigger muscles. There was no question he was handsome, and Nathaniel could appreciate him as a fine specimen of manhood, but he preferred his partners small, dark-eyed and submissive. Felix would never fit the bill.

“Sadly, that’s true.” He shrugged. “Now tell me how the fuck you managed to clean the car out here, and why you bothered when it’s just going to get dirty again.”

“Drivers never reveal their secrets, sir.”

“Or those of their employers.”


Author Bio

Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

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