Date of Publication: 11/17/16
ASIN: B01M2URFOK
Number of pages: 186
Word Count: 70,000
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
Harper Adams is a witch on the run--from her past as a faith healer turned accidental arsonist, and from the power she's kept locked away her whole life. She thinks she's finally found a place she can settle down and call home in the picturesque town of Cold Creek, Vermont, but a mysterious white cat who may or may not be bent on taking the curvaceous witch's soul has other plans.
Harper's compassion soon gets the best of her and earns her an unwanted reputation as the town miracle worker as well as the ire of sexy veterinarian and militant atheist, Darren St. Clair. Cold Creek's residents have a few supernatural secrets of their own, and Harper will have to face the destiny that led her to the last place a witch in hiding needs to be--that is, if Darren doesn't have her chased out of town with a pitchfork-wielding mob before she gets the chance.
Without a word, the strange man stepped closer. His silken hair was too perfectly white to be a natural color, yet there wasn't a trace of darkness at his roots. On closer inspection, Harper was horrified to realize that his eyes weren't just the color of a cat's but the shape, too. She tried to tell herself they were just theatrical contacts, but they shrunk so realistically as he stepped underneath the light that she began to doubt the only reasonable explanation.
"S-stay back," she stammered, finding her voice once he was too close to dismiss as an illusion.
To her amazement, he halted in his steady approach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice for someone so imposing. The contrast was so unsettling it made her shiver. His statuesque body and almost feminine facial features reminded her too much of the awful weeping angel statues in her church's graveyard. Harper had always feared them as a child and now it seemed that one had come to life. The intruder was even beautiful in the same ethereal, almost grotesque way the statues were. "After all," he continued in that melodic voice, "you did save my life."
Harper stared at him in bewilderment. The words of a madman rarely made sense, she supposed. "I don't even know you."
"Maybe not, but I know you, Harper--or should I say, Alyssa? I've been watching over you for some time."
She tried to swallow but the coffee had left her mouth dry. "How do you know that name?"
His stone lips curved into a slight smile. "I know everything about you. For instance, I know your father's name is Byron Hurlow and he's the preacher at the Rockport Trinity Tabernacle in Little Rock, Arkansas. I know you've been running for a little over two years now, and I know that you fear angels more than anything except maybe hurting the ones you love." His cat eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a knowing tone as he said, "I also know about the fire."
Harper took a step back only to trip into a stack of boxes behind her. Before she could save herself, the man caught her and rested his hands on her shoulders, keeping a slight distance between them. She marveled at the bizarre display of propriety in the midst of such threatening behavior, but she didn't complain. His skin was surprisingly warm.
"Be careful," he murmured. "You always were a klutz."
He said it so casually, as if they were old friends. "Who are you?" she asked shakily. "How could you possibly know about the --"
"The fire?" he offered. "Like I said, I've been watching you for a very long time."
"Are you an angel?" Harper asked, pleading internally for the answer to be no.
The tall, white-haired man gave a low chuckle. "Not quite. What I am isn't nearly as important as who you are--and what I can do for you."
"You could start by putting on some clothes."
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