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Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Anger. Fear. Love. - Sing For Me by Gracie Madison

Sing For Me is a paranormal romance novel set within an opera house. The main character, Madeline, is the supporting soprano for the Eden theater company’s production of The Magic Flute. She also happens to be a specific breed of angel called a Choir, which, in the mythology of Sing For Me, means she is a creature created specifically for music and the entertainment of the angelic realm.

Description:

Published: January 23rd, 2015

Madeline Noel fled war-torn Heaven to hide within the mortal world, but the blessing that could protect her from evil is the holy realm’s forbidden power.

As a talented soprano for the Eden Theatre Company, Madeline hides among prima donnas and tone-deaf flutists. Her perfect voice may entertain audiences, but a careless laugh may shatter glass, and her greatest scream can kill. To control her unrestrained voice, the angels forbid Madeline from embracing the emotions that strengthen her song. Anger. Fear.

Love.

The demon-hunter Damascus vows to defend Madeline from Hell’s relentless evil, but he cannot protect her from her own feelings. Though they deny their dangerous attraction, her guardian becomes her greatest temptation.

Surrendering to desire may awaken the gift suppressed within Madeline’s soul, and neither Heaven nor Hell will allow such absolute power to exist.

EXCERPT




She flicked the light to her bedroom and dropped her towel in the hamper.
“Magdala.”
Her hand merely muffled the screeched yelp. Madeline fell backward, smacking against the closet. She tripped and clattered into the hamper. Damascus apologized, but her gasp shattered the perfume container on her vanity.
Madeline yanked the towel from the laundry. The wet scrap of material wove over her body, and she clutched the fraying edges.
Damascus’s silence stole any sound she might have uttered.
His muscles bound, tight and tensed, more prepared for war than the glimpse of her bared skin. The gold in his eyes burned molten. Madeline shifted, her bare toes gripping the carpet to prevent her from toppling over once more.
She shivered. It wasn’t the wet hair that whispered the goose bumps along her spine. Damascus saw far more than the thin strip of cloth hid. His gaze warmed her curves and tickled the swell of her breasts. Her nipples hardened. She prayed he hadn’t noticed.
He did.
The memory of the soap in the shower tortured the twisting in her lower belly. For a single, blissful, blasphemous moment, she imagined it had been Damascus’s hand washing her.
She exhaled.
Damascus growled.
His every movement strengthened with need. The wild, uninhibited, dangerous desire would claim them both. Madeline clamored backward, the apology shrill and muffled by her hand.
She hadn’t needed to speak, drop the towel, or offer any secrets. The heat smoldering low escaped in a sigh. The soft puff promised more than she intended. She breathed an invitation.
A seduction.
And he answered.
Damascus shuddered. He blinked, hard, and rubbed his head.
“I apologize.” Damascus forced his words. “I… I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
Madeline tugged the towel lower over her thighs. “You didn’t know.”
“I should let you—”
“Don’t worry about it. Here.”  She hobbled toward the robe lying over her bed.
“Let me—”
“I’ve got it.”
Damascus’s motions stiffened. He retrieved the robe as Madeline lunged for the fuzzy pink arm. Her toes banged against the bedpost, and the surge of pain toppled her into Damascus’s waiting arms.
He smelled of the Realm, of warmth and radiance, citrus and holy incense.
Fire.
The towel shifted, and his fingers brushed over her bare back. His calloused hands heated, as if he wielded his sword. The heat lashed her—a punishment seared within a delicious reward. The towel tumbled, and she pushed against him to hide what nearly exposed.
His embrace was everything as she imagined, the heat, the intensity of his grip, the fluttering within her stomach and her body upon his. His hands bound a supreme authority over her. He pressed her skin with possessive fingertips. He handled her as if she were delicate and precious.
The shock of it all drove her to silence.
He protected her, but he never held her.
Watched over her, but never touched her.
Saved her from demons, but never reassured her.
He never mourned with her when a Choir was killed.
Every moment hidden far from the Realm passed in painful isolation, and he was the lone simple comfort of home. The sweet, dangerous touch protected her more than his sword or his distant promises. The heat settled the dissonance capturing her mind.
The Realm forbid their touch. A hug cried sacrilege.
Madeline closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

*******

Singing while Veiled was a travesty. Her words might have mumbled, her vocal cords strained, and the warmth of her pitch muffled without the range and complexities she studied in the Realm.
She searched the bar and found him.
Damascus always listened—within the Realm or within a tiny bar with a tinny karaoke machine sputtering a melody.
And, for him, she’d sing forever.
The song blended between their voices, though Madeline’s warm harmony unintentionally overpowered Danielle’s tired lead. Usually, she wove caution within her notes. Prevented the beauty from striking each beat and bursting within the measures.
Usually.
Her gaze strayed to the table. To him.
The blessing of chastity corrupted with a glance to the one listening so intently. The Realm created the Choirs to entertain all, and yet, Madeline meticulously sang each note for one being only. All her songs echoed only for him.
His attention forged a fire that sliced her body and razed every bit of her defenses in consecrated, dangerous heat. No alcohol was that intoxicating or that sensual.
She hummed over the notes, layering each word in sultry meter. An unintentional seduction molded from the very thoughts she fought to hide. The emotion trapped within her voice. Swelled. The feminine growl in her melody suppressed with her weakening resolve.
He’d hear her longing, and she wanted him to understand it.
The bar shifted and sighed. Hands brushed arms. Whispers passed in the shadows. Giggles yielded to hushed promises. Her song led them all. The power of her voice broke the inhibitions of even the sober cast and crew members. In the corner, a couple kissed despite the wedding rings on their fingers. A chorus girl hopped onto the bar while another woman embraced her.
A cool shudder teased her flesh with the prickle of forbidden goose bumps. Her voice wavered, but not from weakness. The secret delight caressed the music from her lips and presented the song to him like a soft kiss. The shadows of the room concealed what she could not. The heat touched her brow, and she flushed a damning pink.
It was time to stop. Before everyone in the pub abandoned modesty and gave into the one passion she created in them but never experienced for herself.
The music resonated within her, but she couldn’t steal her gaze from Damascus. Every moment only teased her with the promise of his song, the cadence of his breath, and the drumming of his need.
The song crescendoed.
Her body ached to feel the same.
But the music crackled and sizzled into silence. Madeline’s music lost in a shuddering gasp.
The song affected more than the mortals edging close to one and other, holding hands. Leaning into the shadows. Whispering. Touching.
Damascus’s steps thudded the very earth beneath his feet.  The heat flared from his body. Or maybe her own. Music had never dizzied her so much.
He moved, drawn by the promise of the melody. A thrill cascaded through her, sobering and affirming all at once.
The warrior submitted to the maiden.




About the author:

Gracie Madison would spend every day, all day writing…if it were socially acceptable. Ever since she was a little girl scribbling with a crayon, Gracie’s dedicated herself to her books and all the supernatural and paranormal, creepy and beautiful stories and characters born within the pages. Now Gracie is committed to finally sharing those books with the world. When the laptop is pried from her hands, Gracie is probably working her day job, rooting on the Steelers, or out with her husband searching for Pittsburgh’s best sushi.

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