Now Available: Feillor: God of Lammas

Feillor: God of Lammas

Book 6 of the Sons of Herne series

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Trapped in the last place he wanted to be...he will find the only thing he ever wanted.

Feillor, god of Lammas, is bringing in the first harvest for his sabbat ritual, a task that has grown more deplorable now that humans no longer demonstrate respect for the old ways. He raises his scythe and nearly “harvests” a beautiful woman who appears out of nowhere. Sensing the Fates’ meddling hand in the mortal’s sudden arrival, he demands that they return Salina to earth. The Fates agree on one condition: he must go with her and stay in the mortal realm for three days.

Salina has no intention of letting a local developer destroy the precious woods where she conducts her most sacred pagan rituals. Her prayer for guidance is interrupted when she is taken to the immortal world—almost straight into the blade of a horned god’s scythe. She thought her prayers to Herne were being answered, but she learns that Feillor is actually Herne’s son, and that he has little interest in the matters of humans. When he is zapped to Earth with her for three days, she decides to convince him that her cause is worth fighting for—and that not all humans deserve his scorn.

Feillor discovers much in his time with Salina, whose fiery beauty and passion for her cause—as well as for challenging his ideals—stirs something in him that he hadn’t felt for far too long. Admitting the truth about his view on humans could open his heart to the witch who is quickly enchanting him. But between the danger she finds herself in and the Fates returning him to his realm at the exact wrong moment, his epiphany alone won’t be enough to see her in his arms at last. He will have to use his power to act in the best interests of the race he had given up on.

Excerpt:

“Either silence your tongue or rise up so I may hear it properly,” he said. “Your words are muffled within the stalks of sacred wheat you are crushing.”

She shoved herself up on her knees, her long hair thankfully falling over the breasts she belatedly realized were exposed. She folded her hands over the thatch of hair between her legs as she sat on her heels.

“I didn’t mean to damage your wheat. I…I don’t even know where I am.”

“You are in the sacred fields of Avinar. Where no pure mortal has ever tread.” His voice was rich and deep, every bit as commanding and smoldering as she would have expected from a god.

“How did I get here?”

“How indeed.”

She risked a glance upward to find him staring down at her with the scythe hoisted casually over his shoulder. Blessed be, he was so…male. Every enticing inch was sculpted and bronzed, much like the statues of gods immortalized in classic Roman-Greco fashion. He wasn’t much more clothed than she was, wearing some kind of suede cloth around his hips and ankle boots to match. Cuffs of hammered gold clung to his forearms. All his muscles were on display, each one a taut, bulging testament to his gender. He was the sort of male that sparked inside women the need to surrender to his touch, a desire to bear his very children.

His long, reddish-brown hair was pulled back, save for a few wayward strands that blew across his carved features. His eyes penetrated her with an intensity that stopped the breath in her lungs, very masculine, but far from human. As was the rack of horns on his head that had given away his identity the moment she saw him.

“Didn’t you bring me here because you heard my prayer?” she asked.

A touch of derision fired his gaze. “I did not.” He paused. “Whom do you believe you were praying to?”

“To you. You’re Herne the hunter, god of the forest.”

He arched his already raised brow. “You are mistaken, but only by generation. I am Feillor, god of the harvest. Herne is my father.”

“Your father?” She blinked. “Then I really have no idea what I’m doing here.”

“I think I do. And I am not amused by it,” he added, raising his head and calling out overhead. “Not in the least.”

She glanced upward, seeing nothing but an impossibly colored gold and blue sky. “Who are you talking to?” she whispered. If there was something bigger and more intimidating out there than he was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to answer him.

He sighed and lowered the blade so it touched the ground. “The ones who will have to send you back.”

“Can’t you do that? You said you’re a god.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sending someone through the veil between worlds is not within my power. At least, not a human who has just weathered a crossing.” He lifted his chin. “Rise, she who prays to the old ones.”

With a shiver, she got to her feet, feeling his scrutiny slide over every molecule. If only her hair had been a few inches longer, she could completely cover the key parts he lingered on. His stare felt like a palpable force, a possession of her flesh. The nipples her pale waves were barely concealing stiffened.

“Do you always pray while naked?” he asked, and there was a faint whiff of humor in the tone. “Or did your clothing somehow stay on the other side?”

She spread her hands a bit to better cover herself. “I often go skyclad for rituals. And my friends call me Salina, by the way. It rolls off the tongue easier than ‘she who prays naked.’”

About the Sons of Herne series:

The god Herne has appointed eight of his most virile, headstrong sons as keepers of the pagan holidays. To honor their sabbat, each must join with a mortal female in a ritual to maintain the balance between worlds.

The Fates have secretly conspired to grant the gods one thing they lack--a true union of male and female that will last beyond the passion of a sabbat joining.

Herne’s sons will wrestle with the conflict between sacred duty and their own yearnings, a struggle that will not only challenge their beliefs, but may threaten the success of rituals that must be observed lest the mortal and immortal worlds collide in chaos.