“If you enjoy urban fantasy novels filled with mythological creatures, plots twist and battles between the forces of good and evil then you will enjoy Warrior’s Rise.” Review by Ollie Bitten of Paranormal Books http://tiny.cc/usc61
For Fae-human half-breed Deva Morgan, life as she knows it changes on her thirtieth birthday. One moment she’s a barkeep, the next she is a warrior fated to save Earth from the Dark Lord and his demon horde. Shunned by both her races, she faces a danger-filled quest with few allies. Too bad her powers haven’t fully emerged or stabilized.
For Deva it is life or death, on-the-job training with her companion, Padraig O’Neal, a Fae warrior with a shadowed past. Can he quiet the storm raging inside her, help her harness the growing power within her, and provide a barrier between Deva and a fatal outcome? Will their love be enough to save Deva and stop the Dark Lord’s demons from entering Earth?
Padraig ignored the snarling werewolf in front of him, the throbbing beat of ‘70’s rock, the whirling of the ceiling fan, and scanned the near-empty bar. No human norms present. Good, it made his job easier, cleaner.
His gaze locked onto the woman behind the aged mahogany counter. She was beautiful, almost ethereal. Strange, considering she was about six feet and all angles. Even her face was a series of planes. Yet it all fit together in a unique, mesmerizing image.
Inhaling, he filtered out the residual odor of norms and their stale cigarette smoke. Her scent of summer with just a hint of wisteria, drew him, enveloped him, singed him with the heat of her presence.
Her bored expression didn’t hide the quick assessing look in her cool hazel eyes, then dismissal.
Damn it to the Abyss. Her icy disdain combined with the unfamiliar pull of her sensuality were complications he did not need.
Not now. Not ever.
The werewolf moved and blocked further entry. “I said we’re closed.”
Padraig looked down at the Alpha and jerked his head toward the man at the bar. “I’m here for him.” From the blond hair, brown pants, dull green shirt and sockless feet in boat shoes, his target fit in with all the tourists who docked near the bar. But he wasn’t a tourist. He was a Fomorii Demon here to kill the lovely bartender, the budding Cáidh Arm, Holy Weapon of the Goddess.
Not on his watch.
“Make it quick,” the Alpha growled low in his throat.
He arched a brow and held the steely stare of the brindle-haired werewolf. “Right.” Seconds later, he eased onto the seat to the left of the Fomorii.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, her neutral tone not quite matching her quick look of speculation.
“An iced longneck.”
She waited a half second before turning to grab the bottle from the cooler behind the bar. Padraig bit back a groan as she moved with the fluid motion he’d seen only in dancers and warriors. His eyes lingered on strands of strawberry blond hair that had broken free of the single braid brushing the top of her waist.
Definitely a complication—one he couldn’t afford.
From his warrior’s In-between space, he commanded his twenty-six-inch-long Katana-style sword to solid form in his right hand and rested it against his chest, hidden beneath his coat.
The cap chinged into the tiny waste drum as she plunked his beer in front of him.
He slapped five dollars on the bar, lifted the bottle to his lips, took a long pull and opened his senses, letting them spread throughout the room, touching everything and everyone. The Alpha had joined his second by the pool tables, from the looks of it his littermate. The presence of a witch somewhere in the building tickled his nerve endings.
Padraig lowered the bottle with his left hand as his right lashed out backhanded with the Katana. The blade cleaved the Fomorii’s neck. The head bounced along the floor, leaving an ash trail behind it. He lifted his beer and drained it, biting back a sigh as the cold, tart liquid flowed down his throat, then slammed the empty bottle on the scarred mahogany top.
You can find LJ DeLeon at:
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