My Haven, My Midnight (The Cynn Cruors Bloodline Series Book 5)
Amaryllis Hart has lived a hard life. Falsely accused of theft, she decides to live the life thrown at her until one encounter tosses her into a world she does not believe exists and into the arms of the immortal who steals her heart.
Colin Butler, Dux of the Leeds Cynn Cruors and his second, Craig Shaw, return to Leeds abruptly after a secret Colin has been keeping for centuries, returns. In their attempts to keep it under wraps, another situation blows up in their faces, bringing Colin face to face with his past and his future—a violet eyed beauty who heals his soul.
As luck would have it, Colin’s secret is unearthed. To top it all, Dac Valerian and Herod D’Argyl are in Leeds and the Ancients’ enforcer arrives to pass judgement on the Dux of the Leeds Cynn Cruors.
Colin has to make the hardest decision of his life. Either he walks away from the past that will forever haunt him or make up for a past he had no control of and lose the woman he loves.
EXCERPT
“Where are you?” Colin moved away from the group even as he opened his telepathic link with his men. He left the security room and made a beeline for the alleyway.
Keep Seth and the rest occupied.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Mackenzie—”
There was an angry growl. “I’m not Mackenzie. I haven’t been for a very long time.”
“Then why call me brother?” Colin knew he was goading Mackenzie. He could not help it. The need to know if his brother was still inside that Scatha shell was overpowering. He was desperate. He wanted his brother back. He wanted his fellow Cynn Cruor returned. Mack had always been a bit short tempered, ever since their parents died. Colin pushed the fire door and walked into the alley.
“Fuck you!”
Colin’s hand rested on his hip and he looked up at the sky framed by the buildings’ rooftops. Yup, his brother was still there. A humourless smile crossed Colin’s mouth. “That’s quite a unique name you’ve given me.” When he heard a moan in the background, Colin lowered his head, his eyes narrowing at the brick wall in front of him. “Where are you Mackenzie?”
“I’m not—”
“No matter what you think or do or say, you’re still bràthair to me.”
A painful moan.
“What the bloody hell did you do now?” Colin asked, his voice furious. He paced the alley.
“Always my fault, isn’t it?” Mackenzie accused. “I didn’t want to be a Scatha. You made it happen but it will always be my fault. Why can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours that you’re to blame?”
Colin’s chest tightened with the guilt that never left him since Mackenzie’s transformation. Now was not the time or place to dwell on it. “Where is she? I swear to God if you hurt her—”
“I’m the worse Scatha there is. I’ve got a fucking bloody conscience! I hate it!” His brother snapped before muttering, “I don’t know why the fuck I’m doing this.”
Colin kept quiet, his empty hand curling. “Where are you?” He repeated. “Let her go. Leave her in a place where we can pick her up. I won’t chase after you tonight.”
“No. I can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?” Colin blazed, pacing the narrow alley. He bluffed. “We know where the Scatha lair is.”
“I’m sure you do, but I’m not there.”
“We’re just running in circles, Mackenzie.”
“I’m here. At the Faesten.”
“What?” Colin stopped dead. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want the Scathas to know about her.” He sighed, resigned. “She needs the Cynn Cruors’ protection.”
About the Author:
Isobelle Cate is a woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional, scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the little known, the secret stories, about the people and the nations: the English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.
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