Blood of the Sorceress. Maggie Shayne
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Praise for the novels of
MAGGIE SHAYNE
“Shayne crafts a convincing world, tweaking vampire legends just enough to draw fresh blood.”
—Publishers Weekly on Demon’s Kiss
“This story will have readers on the edge of their seats and begging for more.”
—RT Book Reviews on Twilight Fulfilled
“A tasty, tension-packed read”
—Publishers Weekly on Thicker Than Water
“Tense … frightening … a page-turner in the best sense”
—RT Book Reviews on Colder Than Ice
“Mystery and danger abound in Darker Than Midnight, a fast-paced, chilling thrill read that will keep readers turning the pages long after bedtime … Suspense, mystery, danger and passion—no one does them better than Maggie Shayne.”
—Romance Reviews Today on Darker Than Midnight [winner of a Perfect 10 award]
“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”
—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
“Shayne’s haunting tale is intricately woven … A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man
“[A] gripping story of small-town secrets. The suspense will keep you guessing. The characters will steal your heart.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner on The Gingerbread Man
Kiss of the Shadow Man is a “crackerjack novel of romantic suspense”.
—RT Book Reviews
Also by Maggie Shayne
The Portal
DAUGHTER OF THE SPELLCASTER
MARK OF THE WITCH
LEGACY OF THE WITCH
Secrets of Shadow Falls
KISS ME, KILL ME
KILL ME AGAIN
KILLING ME SOFTLY
BLOODLINE
ANGEL’S PAIN
LOVER’S BITE
DEMON’S KISS
Wings in the Night
BLUE TWILIGHT
BEFORE BLUE TWILIGHT
EDGE OF TWILIGHT
RUN FROM TWILIGHT
EMBRACE THE TWILIGHT
TWILIGHT HUNGER
TWILIGHT VOWS
BORN IN TWILIGHT
BEYOND TWILIGHT
TWILIGHT ILLUSIONS
TWILIGHT MEMORIES
TWILIGHT PHANTASIES
DARKER THAN MIDNIGHT
COLDER THAN ICE
THICKER THAN WATER
Blood of the Sorceress
Maggie Shayne
MILLS & BOON
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In Loving Memory of
Jane O’Connor
A woman who soared above challenges
that would have held most to the ground.
Founder of the Central New York Romance Writers,
which has since turned out more than a
dozen authors and well over a hundred novels
that might not otherwise even have been written, much
less published. We love you, Jane.
You led us to our careers and, more important,
to each other. Thank you will never be enough.
But thank you all the same.
Prologue
February 2, Imbolc
Lilia was no angel. Lilia was a witch. Even though she was currently hovering between the worlds, watching over her beloved, waiting for the right time to manifest as a silvery-blond-haired, blue-eyed woman and save his life, she was still a witch. Had been for thirty-five-hundred years. Would be for as long as her soul lived on.
She watched, awestruck, as her beautiful Demetrius flashed into existence fully formed, fully grown, completely naked. The Portal, the opening between dimensions through which he had escaped his Underworld prison, was in the cave behind a waterfall. He arrived in the physical world in a blaze of light, crouching on the stones near that cascade.
Goddess, he was beautiful. She reached out as if to touch him. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
He was the same as she remembered him. His body had been reconstituted just as it had once been, since his soul had been ripped away before he died, an unnatural perversion of the order of things. She wouldn’t get her own body back when she returned to earth to join him. Hers had been dashed against the rocky ground from a great height before her own soul had flown free. She would have to manifest a fresh new form when the time came. She’d glimpsed that new form in a vision, so different from her former body that it had shocked her.
Oh, but look at him.
He rose from his crouched position, looking around, blinking in confusion, and her heart ached. So long … it had been so long!
He looked the same, and her heart twisted in her chest with a mingling of joy that she had come this far, was this close to success, and heartache that he was still out of reach. She hadn’t seen him since that bloody dawn in 1501 BC, in Babylon, when he’d murdered the King in defense of the woman he loved, the King’s harem slave: Lilia herself. When the quarters she shared with her two sisters were searched, the tools of their forbidden magic had been found and the three of them sentenced to be sacrificed to Marduk, chief god of the pantheon. Demetrius had been the King’s right hand, his friend. She never should have fallen in love with him. The cost had been so high.
But she had loved him. She loved him still.
The