The Legacy of Buchanan’s Crossing by Rhea Rhodan Excerpt Tour & Giveaway

What price will destiny demand?

Warding the Crossing has always been Cayden Sinclair’s destiny. With her beloved Gran growing weaker, pressure on the little witch to take her place is mounting.

Juggling substantial curves for her frame and an inconvenient inability to control her power has been proving a serious challenge. But not until discovering her fated Keeper is the extremely hot, tragically clean-cut, insomniac who’s ignored her for months, does she truly fear failing her legacy.

Now that he’s finally on the road to the top with an offer from a big developer, Clint MacAllen can’t allow his struggling construction company to be threatened by a vicious nightmare or his inexplicable attraction to a goth clerk working the graveyard shift at HandiMart—no matter how potent they are. J. Milton Developments has its own agenda for Buchanan’s Crossing, and they’ll spill blood to get it.

The Legacy of Buchanan’s Crossing – Part of Chapter One

Publisher: Musa Publishing

Clint MacAllen’s eyes flew open, but he saw only darkness. Heart pounding, gasping for air, he struggled against clammy bonds. No, just sheets, soaked with the cold sweat drenching his body.Rising to rest his elbows on his knees, he took a deep breath.

It had been one hell of a nightmare.

The thing was, it had included everything he’d ever wanted: the Germansports car, a hot yet classy wife, two point five perfect kids, a big beautiful house. It was all there. The dream had begun with the proposal he’d received yesterday in the mail, a very real offer from a mega developer he was meeting later this morning. He’d have pounced on the job even if he weren’t desperate. The development was a green builder’s dream come true and a fast track to the top.

Yeah. Then he’d gotten a load of the view from up there and found himself in the pit of hell. Recalling the unnatural geometry made him queasy.

He walked unsteadily to the bathroom, filled the glass at the sink, and took a couple of swallows. A casual glance in the mirror made him jump. One side of his face was bathed in the eerie blue light of the electric toothbrush, the other in the red light from his razor’s recharging stand. The familiar face had been replaced by the image of someone he didn’t know and never wanted to meet. The man’s eyes were soulless, his lips twisted in a hideous grin.

Clint brought a hand to his face to reassure himself. His lips were pursed, not spread. But when he moved his hand, his reflection broke into a maniacal echoing laugh.

He screamed and jerked.

And found himself in bed, damp sheets sticking to him, sour breath scorching a parched throat.

Christ almighty.

A crow’s feather glinted in the moonlight as it drifted in through the open window. Clint closed it against the sudden draft and went to the kitchen this time, straight to the fridge for ice water. That was it. No matter how wide awake he was or how brave he felt, anchovies on late-night pizzas from HandiMart were off the menu.

His gaze strayed to the business card on the countertop next to the pile of overdue bills. Its raised blue letters glittered in the light from the stove’s digital clock. Five twelve. He leaned on the counter and guzzled the glass empty. A shower would help too, along with some aspirin for the blooming headache. Sleep, though, would be out of the question. It often was.

The shower’s multiple jets took their time working the pulsing hot water into his tense muscles. He dried off slowly, pleased he’d sprung for the extra-large bath sheets and not settled for those dinky regular-sized ones. He wrapped one around his waist and f lashed on unbidden memories of his youth, before he’d started working construction summers, when he’d been such a gangly weakling. Another batch of nightmares there. He grinned as he stepped up to the sink and caught his muscular reflection. Those days were long gone.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the drinking glass sitting on the edge of the sink and froze. It was half full.

Since one horrible night when he was barely a teenager, he had never walked away and left something partially consumed. He either ate it, drank it, or dumped it. Always. The layers of the nightmare started to come back to him in waves, then that awful view, then the beer and the pizza.

After drinking a glass and refilling it with a shaky hand, he drained it again and set it back on the shelf above the sink. Empty, damn it. Unfortunately, when he opened the medicine cabinet for some aspirin and something to settle his stomach, it was empty too. Fine and damned-dandy. Once his teeth were brushed, he’d have to drive back to the scene of the crime: HandiMart.

You can read more from chapter one on Rhea’s website, along with another excerpt further into the book and locate more information about her other works.

Exclusive Excerpt:

Monday, Bill had asked how the date went. Clint told him about the permanent damage to the paint on his truck and the nightmare. Clint had told Bill he thought they were a sign, that Cayden was like cigars, lavish but unhealthy. Bill had told him he was an idiot.

It was Friday night, and he was beginning to think Bill was right. Miserable, sleepless, and tortured by erotic visions of a mystifyingly frustrating woman was not how he’d pictured his glowing future. So much for the top of the world. Instead, he was standing outside Cayden’s apartment, knowing full well it represented the gates of delirium.

This awareness hadn’t lessened the dull twist in his gut when she hadn’t answered her gonging doorbell this late on a Friday night. He should go now. Wondering where she was, whom she was with, was killing him.

The sound of her voice coming up the stairwell thrilled him more than it should have. The sound of the man’s voice angered him a lot more than it should have. His feet remained rooted to the floor despite him telling them to hurry to the back stairs, as though they understood it was too late, that those perilous gates had already closed behind him. The voices became clearer, not so much because they were coming quickly but because they were raised.

“What do you mean I can’t have my parasol back?”

“Even if it wasn’t evidence, your umbrella has been illegally modified.”

“Illegally modified? That’s reaching a bit, don’t you think, Officer?” Officer? Evidence? What?

“Confiscating an umbrella with a spring-loaded twelve-inch spike on the end that maimed three men can hardly be called reaching, Ms. Sinclair.”

Purchase Links:

*Amazon * Barnes & Noble * iTunes * All Romance eBooks * Musa *

About The Author:

Rhea Rhodan resides in Minnetonka, Minnesota and has been telling herself stories since long before she could write. She attended the University of Minnesota with a focus on Journalism, then Brown Institute for Broadcast Journalism. After many adventures, misadventures, and a couple of short marriages, she found the love of her life in Regensburg, Germany, and has been living happily ever after since.

She journaled those adventures extensively (some might say rabidly) beginning in middle school, but didn’t combine her writing and story-telling until several years ago, when one of the stories grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she gave in and wrote it. Having tasted freedom, her muse refuses to return to the confines of her head, and has successfully turned the tables, keeping her at the keyboard to appease it.

Her stories always had a twist of magic or a touch of the paranormal. Why the romance? Because she believes in happy endings, and helping people imagine them inspires them to create the magic for finding their own.

* Website * Facebook * Goodreads *

 

Rhea will be awarding a $30 Amazon or Barnes & Noble GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. So be sure to follow the tour and comment on each stop-the more you comment the more chances you have to win. Head over to view the full list of blogs participating.