Kellen Tavist has had the same dream most of her life. A dream of battle. Of war. Of loss. During a Halloween séance, she and her friends try to conjure the spirit of a departed loved one. Instead, they conjure a ghost from Kellen’s past life.
Unnerved, Kellen’s life soon begins to unravel. Not only are her dreams growing stronger, but someone seems to want her dead. She turns to freelance journalist Raney Williams to help her figure out what she saw that warrants her silence.
The past and present are intertwined, and she can only have a future if she can figure out the conflicting feelings that have come across everlasting time.
Half an hour later, she parked her car in the dark lot behind the shop. The streetlights failed to penetrate the shadows lining the dark alley leading to the front. She walked quickly, her gaze darting anxiously at every nook and cranny. As she rounded the corner, she bumped into a solid form, and hands grabbed her arm to steady her.
Kellen looked up into warm dark eyes that reminded her of melted chocolate. Black hair a tad too long curled over his ears. Tattoos in bright beautiful colors filled his left arm. The man had to be a couple of inches over six foot, with muscles bulging, but it was more than his rugged masculinity that caused the breath to leave her lungs in a dizzying whoosh. It was the fact that she’d had a flash of the knight in her dreams.
“Sorry,” he said in a rich, deep baritone.
“No,” she murmured. “My fault.”
He slowly let of her arms and took a step back. Even with the broken connection, she still felt him. Tingles lingered on the patches of skin he had touched.
“Do I know you?” he asked, cocking his head as he studied her.
“I don’t think so, but … maybe?” Although confident she’d never seen him before, something familiar brushed through her mind. “UCLA?”
He smiled. “I didn’t go to college there, but I’m suddenly wishing I was an alumnus.”
A car horn sounded. Kellen blinked, and the sensual haze that had enveloped them dissipated. She stepped back and cleared her throat.
“Again, sorry,” she muttered and walked by him.
