The Highlander, mm fantasy romance about Elves by Kasia Bacon comes out tomorrow. Read on to learn more about the book and its author, together with a short excerpt. Enjoy!
Blurb
I, Lochan of the famed Féyes clan, know all about fighting.
As a half-breed Elf, I have struggled against prejudice and feelings of inadequacy.
A recluse by nature, I have battled my aversion to touch and interaction with others.
To become an assassin of The Order, I have learnt to overcome the limitations of my mind and body.
But denying the power Ervyn Morryés holds over me might be the one fight I lose. The truth is—damn it all—the relentless Highlander brings me to my knees.
Note: This novelette is the second in the Order Series, and not a stand-alone installment. Reading THE MUTT is crucial for its full enjoyment.
Preorder link: Amazon
Author Bio and Links
A linguist and an avid reader with a particular fondness for fantasy and paranormal genres, KASIA BACON lives in London with her husband. When not tearing her hair out over a translating project, she writes stories about the shenanigans of emotionally constipated assassins and sexy Elves. Otherwise, she can be found shaking her loins at a Zumba class, binging on anime or admiring throwing knives on Pinterest. She has a mild coffee and lemon tart addiction. A lover of MMA and Muay Thai, she also enjoys nature and the great outdoors. She dreams of becoming independently wealthy, leaving the city and moving into her wooden mini-manor—located in the heart of stunning forests resembling those of the Elven Country depicted in her tales.
Excerpt
Ervyn’s hand immediately
rose to brush my cheek and jaw line. “I missed you,” he murmured.
My pulse jumped a notch.
He tended to say things
like that, nonchalant, as if betraying one’s thoughts cost nothing. His
impulsivity meant he rarely bothered to conceal his wants and intentions. Such
a barefaced approach shocked the hell out of me, although I partly admired,
partly envied his readiness to show emotion.
My eyes slid closed at
the warm, rough feel of his thickened fingertips: the draw hand of the archer.
Somehow this heightened my pleasure. The smell of pine needles, leather and
horses hit my nostrils.
His thumb skimmed my
bottom lip.
I moaned, already so aroused
I could kill with my hard-on. Which, in fairness, would be a handy skill to
have for an assassin.
Touch me. More. I need
you.
But then he stalled and
drew back a little.
Bastard.
I knew precisely what he
was after. What he thrived on: my pleas and desperation.
I offered him both,
having no shame left at that point.
“Please,” I whispered,
clinging to him. I ran my tongue over my lip, extending it so it would swirl
around the pad of his thumb, too. “Don’t stop.”
He gave a satisfied
grunt in response, and hearing him express approval almost made me spill myself
inside my leathers. The realisation that I held the power to please him never
failed to fill me with a thrill of lustful pride. The reason behind why I
wanted—no, needed—to do so in the
first place remained a disturbing mystery. But right then, wondering about it,
or fighting it for that matter, didn’t feature high on my agenda. I was close
to exploding even though we’d barely done anything yet.
“It’s going to be
quick,” he warned, as if reading my scrambled thoughts. His breaths, stuttering
right in my ear, cranked my want even higher. His body, taut and ready,
trembled against mine.
Thank fuck I wasn’t the
only one frantic.
I stifled a laugh. “You
don’t say.”
Gods, he had no idea.
Ervyn murmured
something, latching his mouth onto mine again. I could tell by his sweet and
spicy taste that he’d chewed on a root of darhê, which—as did most Dark
Elves—he had a fondness for. My brain already associated this flavour with
pleasure.
He ended the deep, slow
kiss all too soon with a little nip to my bottom lip.
I groaned in protest, but knew better than to chase
after his mouth.
