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MARCH CONTEST MADNESS!
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Time to believe in magic.

Hard to believe it was almost seven years ago when I sat in front of my laptop and began to spin the story of the Guardians, starting with Malakai and Siobhan. 

In that time, Kai and Voni have been joined by Galen, Calliope, Bastian, Miranda, and heaven forbid, I leave out Eamon or Viktor. 

The next Guardian, peace loving Anton, and his volatile mate, Danika, will hopefully make his debut by year's end. 

Until then, I will tease and torment you, my loyal fans, with juicy tidbits from Anton's story each month. Hope you enjoy!

The winner for February's contest is:

Sharon Villone Doucett

Be looking for a swag pack in the mail!

March Madness

 
It's time for fun and a new contest. As always, the winner will receive a swag pack with tons of awesome goodies.

For March, I'm looking for some great pictures. What would be the best is a photo of my great fans with any copy of my book. Tag me on Facebook, share it on Twitter or any other social platform.

Let the postings begin!
When Anton Yurchenko was first recruited nearly a thousand year ago, never could he have imagined how far life would take him. Nor did he expect to find his spiritmate in such a dangerous package. 

Seems life has an interesting way of turning out...



Anton stayed perfectly still as his unlikely savior contemplated his innocent offer. She had a touch of wildness in her, something deeper than the surface survival instinct he picked up on earlier. Keen intelligence reflected in her chestnut brown eyes, her pale cheeks kissed with a smattering of freckles. Wispy bangs covered her forehead, their tips resting on her eyebrows. He guessed her to be at least half Irish, but the rest was a mystery. As was her name.

Reaching out his arm to cut the tension between them, he dipped his chin.

“My name is Anton Yurchenko, and I thank you for saving my life.”

She frowned and held her self-protective stance. Seconds ticked by and he had almost given up when she grasped his hand.

“I’m Danika.”

Her grip was firm and was surely meant to dissuade him from taking an interest. On the contrary, it only intrigued him more. The old bomber jacket swallowed her and he shivered at the threadbare state of her painted on jeans and once black high tops sneakers. She wore no make-up, but she needed none as far as he was concerned. A soft oval face, defined cheekbones and a stubborn jaw with a pouty lower lip.

Perfect for nibbling on.

He bit his tongue to stop the stray thought from taking vocal form. Something in her stance told him she might not be open to any such advances. And again, that only added to his growing interest. She was far too serious for one so young, no laugh lines crinkled her eyes and she carried herself with a feral grace. Life had not given her a decent turn until now.

He lingered a moment longer than customary with the handshake. His special skills as a Guardian Conduit could have given him complete access to her innermost thoughts and he could watch the events of her life in a single heartbeat. Yet never before had he pressed that advantage with a female, and he had no intention of breaking that rule now.

He would take his time and learn of her what she was willing to share. A quiet voice in the back of his head whispered the word spiritmate, but it was far too early to make that call.

She tugged her eyebrows together and slid her hand from his, wiping her palm along her jeans with a quaint gesture.

“Yeah. So, anyway, um, Anton. You seem to be alive enough.” She turned and headed down the steps leading back to the street. “I know a place a block up that serves an okay meal.”

“Shouldn’t we lock your apartment?” He hesitated at the main door.

 “That ain’t my place. I live up on the fifth floor.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, shrugging as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. His stunned expression encouraged her to continue. “What? You didn’t really expect me to drag your happy ass up five flights, did ya?”


More to come in April!
 
Copyright © 2017 Tessa McFionn, All rights reserved.


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