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Informationen zum Autor ALIX RICKLOFF has never been able to decide who she enjoys reading more; Austen or Tolkien. That lifelong indecision drove her to create stories of her own, combining those distinct loves. Her writing awards include a final in the Golden Heart, while Romantic Times Magazine calls her work both compelling and original. To learn more you can visit her on the web at www.AlixRickloff.com. Klappentext A man too dangerous to live . . . After seven years outrunning enemies, friends, and his own soulcrushing memories, Brendan Douglas is risking everything on a desperate mission. He has vowed to thwart the evil mage Máelodor’s plans to unlock the past and reshape the future; unfortunately, the precious treasure that is his key to success lies with a woman Brendan jilted seven years before. A woman determined to find a life of her own . . . When her golden-eyed childhood hero abandoned her at the altar—disappearing in a storm of magic and mayhem, destruction, betrayal, and disaster—Elisabeth Fitzgerald struggled to put away her humiliation and loss. Finally, she has found a new fiancé and a comfortable future. Then, the one man she thought she would never see again appears—among her wedding guests. Brendan Douglas has returned. An inescapable destiny . . . It’s not just that Elisabeth is promised to another; Brendan knows he is drawing her into terrible danger. But he cannot resist the bewitching, brave, wholly unexpected woman his youthful nemesis has become. He promised to sacrifice everything, but is he willing to sacrifice Elisabeth? one Cornwall April 1816 King Arthur’s tomb lay hidden deep within an ancient wood. For centuries uncounted, the sheltering trees grew tall, spread wide, and fell to rot until barely a stone remained to mark its presence. With a hand clamped upon the shoulder of his attendant, the other upon his stick, Máelodor limped the final yards through the tangled undergrowth to stand before the toppled burial site. The mere effort of walking from the carriage used much of his strength. His shirt clung damp and uncomfortable over his hunched back. The stump of his leg ground against his false limb, spots of blood soaking through his breeches. Every rattling breath burned his tired lungs. “This is it,” he wheezed, eyes fixed upon the mossy slabs. “I feel it.” He didn’t even bother to confirm his certainty. No need. Once decoded, the Rywlkoth tapestry had been clear enough. Its clues leading him unerringly to this forgotten Cornish grove. Excitement licked along his damaged nerves and palsied limbs, casualties of his unyielding ambition. The Nine’s goals had been audacious, but Máelodor had known long before Scathach’s brotherhood of Amhas-draoi descended like a wrath of battle crows that, to succeed, authority must be vested in a single man—a master-mage with the commitment to sacrifice all. To allow no sentimentality to sway him. To use any means necessary to bring about a new age of Other dominance. He was that man. His continued existence obscured within a web of Unseelie concealment, he’d called upon the dark magics to re-create life. Resurrecting an ancient Welsh warrior as one of the Domnuathi . A soldier of Domnu in thrall to its master and imbued with all the sinister powers that inspired its rebirth. That first trial had ended in failure. The creature escaping Máelodor’s control. But he had learned from his mistakes. It would not happen a second time. Once resurrected, the High King would serve the man who restored his life and his crown. Would obey the mage who brought forth a host of Unseelie demons to fight for his cause. And would fear his master as all slaves must. Mage energy danced pale in the green, humid air, mistaken by any who might stumble into this corner of the wood as dust caught w...
