When Fate makes you her bitch, accept it and adapt. Or die.
The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1
Looking back on the wish she made on Midsummer’s Eve, Maddy Niteclif should have been more specific. She only wanted to escape the shadowy nightmares that plagued her nights, not to be thrust into a completely altered reality.
If a strangely familiar, sexy dragon-shifter named Bahlin, who causes a never-to-be-mentioned-again fainting spell, isn’t enough to make her question her sanity, his insistence she’s the Niteclif ought to do the job. Prophesied super-sleuth of the supernatural world—a world that desperately needs her help—isn’t a job she’s remotely qualified for no matter what her family tree says.
Catapulted into a very different London ruled by dark mythology, mystery and murder, Maddy makes a few startling discoveries. Paranormal creatures exist. Getting shot really sucks. And her body responds remarkably well to dragon magic—in more ways than simple wound healing.
But in this kill-or-be-killed world, reality bites. And Maddy must choose to go back to what she knows…or stay and fight for the man she knows she can’t live without.
Excerpt (with permission):
I once heard someone say it’s a good thing the world sucks or we’d all fall off. At the time, I laughed. Now I’m thinking of having it tattooed on my ass. Everything has changed for me in the last three months, and I’m so emotionally tired in the wake of the changes that I’m nearly dangerous to myself and others. My parents were killed in a train derailment. I had been an only child—now I’m an orphan. I no longer believe in a happily-ever-after that will last. Too many things, important and irreplaceable things, can be taken from you in the blink of an eye. In a moment of rash behavior I sold everything I owned, quit my stable, predictable job as a copy editor and decided to go to the United Kingdom for a month to try and rebalance my life. Total bug nut behavior if there ever was such a thing.
There’s a strong pull to be there, in England. I don’t understand it. It may have something to do with my dreams, dreams that are dark and disturbing. If nighttime is my enemy, sleep is my nemesis. There is a need to stand and commune with the past at the stone circle I see when I fall victim to sleep. There are aerial shadows that make me duck and run, skittering like a mouse from cover to cover, knowing I’m chased by something beloved yet deadly. There is something separate that moves among the forests of my mind like mist, never materializing enough to identify itself as ally or enemy. But it follows me, and in my dreams I shift away from it instinctively. Then there are the bodies. They weep the tears of the dead, holding out their hands to me in pleading supplication. They beg silently, mouths gaping, for help. I wake up screaming, terrified and full of a longing for the smell of London fog and the feel of Highland heather under my feet… Things I’ve never known before, but that feel as familiar to me as breathing.
All I know for sure is that right now I need to be somewhere, anywhere, but here.