If you read The Last Guardian and need more, Joan Hazel's new book has arrived. We're featuring an excerpt from Burdens of a Saint today on Fresh Pot of Tea:
When Janet
Beesinger writes the words in red on her calendar, she has no idea what they
mean. But, as a psychic, she knows when the universe gifts you with personal
information, you listen. How was
she to know the Universe meant an irritating and sexy shape-shifter who would
challenge everything about her life?
Saint Wolfe can
feel the gravity of his arrangement with the goddess Hel closing in around him,
forcing him to confront his past and the betrayal of the woman he was to marry.
Needing to make peace with his past, he returns to New Orleans in search of
forgiveness, only to be confronted by his own immortality. His only hope for
atonement lies in the hands of a woman claiming to be a psychic. Will she be
able to help Saint find salvation before his debt to Hel comes due?
And here is the wonderful excerpt:
Fergus
pushed away from the wall. With whirlwind speed, he flipped Ghost sideways, and
without losing momentum, Fergus shoved Ghost above his head. Walking toward a
window, Fergus paused in contemplation.
"Don't
just stand there!" CJ yelled to Saint. "Do something!"
Saint
hated to admit it, but he was torn. The storm between Fergus and Ghost had been
brewing for quite a while, and frankly, he was tired of playing the peacemaker
between the two of them.
His
logical side said to stop them. It was the right and proper thing for him to
do. Yet his illogical side told him to let the pair fight it out. Whatever
troubled them needed to be brought out in the open, even if it meant they tore
each other limb from limb. After all, they were shape shifters and would heal. The
furniture, on the other hand, had taken enough punishment.
With more
calm than he actually felt, Saint crossed the battle-torn room. "Let him
go, brother." Saint spoke in even tones.
"Not
until this dirty, little fice learns his place," Fergus grunted.
“Are you
ever going to come into the twenty-first century? Really, who says fice
anymore?” Ghost asked nonchalantly, which seemed rather odd, considering his
present predicament.
“I say
fice because that is what you are, a small, snappy, contemptuous little
mongrel. No other word fits quite as well,” Fergus answered.
"Your
words mean nothing to me," Ghost spat. "I’m tired of standing in the
shadow of the big badass Fergus Wolfe. Ass being the important word in that
sentence."
Fergus
lifted Ghost higher above his head. "Bastard!”
"Ora
basta!" Saint commanded in Italian. “That’s enough.”
Ghost
thinks only Fergus uses antiquated words. He has no idea the words I want to
use, Saint thought. Even though
the battle between his brothers had pushed Saint beyond his breaking point, he
remained the epitome of composure.
He placed
a calming hand on Fergus's arm. "You know you don’t want to do this."
"By
the gods, I want nothing more," Fergus spat.
Saint
noted that neither Fergus's voice nor his body showed the strain of holding a
fully grown man above his head. After nearly three hundred years, Saint was
still amazed by his brother's strength and control.
"Then
do it!" Ghost barked. "Throw me out like the garbage you think I
am."
Joan Hazel has written three
novels that range from paranormal fantasy to contemporary to historical
fiction. An accomplished actress and vocalist, she has performed with companies
across the eastern United States. In her spare time, she plays with a colorful
cast of characters who live in her head. She currently
resides in DeLand, Fla., with her husband, Ricky, and their two fur kids.
