At Water's Edge by S. McPherson:
Publisher: by S. McPherson Books (November 10, 2015)
Category: Romance/Fantasy
Tour Dates: October/November, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-993360503
Available in: Print & ebook, 347 Pages
‘At Water’s Edge’, tells the tale of two lovers trapped in two different worlds. One world is Earth, and the other is Coldivor; a dimension full of magic and danger. When Dezaray Storm is mistaken for the most powerful sorceress of this other realm her life changes forever. She finds love in the arms of Milo Thor, but this love can also lead to her death and the destruction of seven empires.
‘At Water’s Edge’ is book one in the ‘Water Rushes’ series.
EXCERPT:
‘It was so real,’ I tell Nathaniel the next morning as I pour myself a glass of fresh juice from the
juicer on the patio table. 'I can still his face. Hear his voice. I was there.'
‘Where exactly?’ Nathaniel says, fumbling with the petunias.
‘I don’t know,’ I reluctantly admit. ‘It was weird, weird but really real!’ I know Nathaniel is not convinced. Like the time I told him of the cloaked people coming from the shimmer in the distance. He is sure I am merely concussed from last night.
‘Perhaps you had a wonderful dream and you would rather believe in that than face reality,’ he offers. I surrender, although deep down I am aware of how different last night’s dream was to any other I have had before. I eventually finish my piece of toast and leave for my carpentry class at Sanifud College.
The snow and gravel crunch beneath my feet as the wind stings my cheeks and chaps my lips. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck and readjust the hood of my fur-lined coat. Artificial fur of course,
and not because I’m frightened of animal rights activists throwing blood or such like at me, but simply because the idea of having any dead parts of anything hanging from me, like cattle in a butcher’s freezer, is more than a little off-putting. I shudder at the thought then quickly replace it with memories of the handsome stranger from my dream. Though I obviously didn’t want to go with him, there was something about him I craved. His voice offered me a comfort I have not known since mum died and it was almost as if his eyes could see straight to my soul. Despite the fact that it sounds completely mad, I have to admit that this man, whoever he was, made me...well…almost happy; a feeling I wasn’t even aware I was capable of experiencing anymore. Then, an abnormal gust of wind knocks me to the ground, or at least that’s my story. It does not actually feel like wind at all and I
cannot escape the niggling feeling that I was in fact pushed over by but see no one; no one except a cluster of irritating girls from my class, leaning against a wall.
They are not impressed by my plain appearance: straight dark brown hair in a ponytail, un-plucked eyebrows and absolutely no makeup. Nor can they understand my genuine interest in our class
topics. Yet, for some mystifying reason, they do appear to enjoy having me around enough to let me know just how much they don’t.
‘Who exactly are you looking for?’ Annabelle Delovsky says derisively as her team of clones giggle beside her. I have half a mind to yell ‘For the person who knocked me over, you tramp’ but I don’t.
‘My guess?’ a male voice says. ‘She seeks the one who caused her to fall.’
I look up. It is that unusual lad from class, the one who speaks just as oddly as he lurks, and lurks just as eerily as he strolls. The laughter in response does not faze him as he saunters over and offers me his hand. His coat is much too large for him and the hood from his jumper, as always, hides his face. Though ordinarily I would refuse his hand, and anyone else’s for that matter, today, what he said has left me somewhat intrigued. I accept and allow him to pull me to my feet. We make our way to the doors of Sanifud in silence.
‘If it offers any comfort, I believe you,’ he says at last.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘I often see and feel things I too cannot explain. I imagine you encountered a spee’ad a moment ago.’
‘Why ever didn’t I jump to that conclusion myself?’ Though I feign sarcasm and disinterest I am itching for him to go on; perhaps explain what exactly a spee’ad is.
‘You are right to say nothing. I’ve learned it’s best to keep those sorts of far-stretched truths to oneself.’
‘Well, thank you, but I never did say I saw or felt a thing.’
‘Aye. So, when you fell, whom did you seek if not one who none can see?’ He opens the door and walks through, allowing it to shut gently in my face.
Thanks for taking part in the tour.
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