Persecuted. Lisa Childs

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      “Have you had any more visions, Elena?”

      She retreated from him, shaking her head as she tried to forget the vision she’d had that morning. Joseph opening her blouse, then her bra, staring at her breasts. Her heart pounded. “No.”

      “What did you see?” Joseph persisted.

      Heat rose to her face, then moved lower, spreading throughout her body. She swallowed hard, reminding herself it was just a dream. “Nothing.”

      “You didn’t act like it was nothing. You jumped when I touched you.” His hand slid from her shoulder down her arm. She trembled as desire coursed through her. “Like now.”

      “Leave me alone, Joseph.”

      “You shouldn’t be alone, Elena.” His voice deepened to a sensual growl. “Was it us? Like this?” he teased, bringing her closer until her body brushed against the hard length of his.

      “I’m not going to tell you.” I’d rather show you. The wicked thought flitted through her mind, but she fought the temptation.

      Joseph didn’t. His head dipped, his mouth brushing across hers once, twice, before taking it in a deep, intimate kiss.

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Award-winning author Lisa childs wrote her first book when she was six, a biography…of the family dog. Now she writes romantic suspense, paranormal romance and women’s fiction. The youngest of seven siblings, she holds family very dear in real life and her fiction, often infusing her books with compelling family dynamics. She lives in west Michigan with her husband, two daughters and a twenty-pound Siamese cat. For the latest on Lisa’s spine-tingling suspense and heart-warming women’s fiction, check out her website at www.lisachilds.com. She loves hearing from readers who can also reach her at Po Box 139, Marne, Michigan 49435, USA.

      Dear Reader,

      It’s a thrill to be writing NOCTURNE books! I hope you’re all enjoying this exciting new paranormal line!

      Persecuted, my second book in the WITCH HUNT series, was a tough one to write because I identify so closely with the heroine, Elena, a mother desperate to keep her child safe. As every mother knows, that’s not an easy task under normal circumstances, but Elena’s matching wits with a madman intent on killing all witches. Not only does he know that Elena’s a witch, he believes her young daughter is, too. Elena has to deal with her past, and accept who and what she is, as well as her future that comes to her in horrifying visions. Fortunately she has the help of her sister, Ariel (from Haunted), and her dream lover. While no white knight, by his own admission, Joseph’s determined to protect her and her daughter. But can Elena convince him to love her, too?

      I hope you enjoy Elena’s emotional adventure in Persecuted.

       Lisa

      Persecuted

      LISA CHILDS

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Mary Gardner, whose friendship and

      support keeps me sane! I love you!

      For the members of Mid-Michigan Romance

      Writers of America, who understand when I

      blow off meetings to meet deadlines instead.

      Thanks for the support!

      For Jennifer Green, as always,

      I love working with you!

      Chapter 1

      The muscles in Elena’s arms strained as she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists behind her back. Coarse fibers bit into her skin, scratching so deeply that blood, warm and sticky, ran down her wrists and pooled in her palms.

      She bit her lip, holding in a cry at the sting. But that pain was nothing in comparison to the heat of the flames springing up around her. Sweat ran down her face, nearly blinding her, but still she could see a man on the other side of the flames. A hood covered his head; a dark brown robe concealed his body. But his frame, his height and the breadth of his shoulders, identified him as male.

      Others stood behind him in the shadows and smoke, also clad in those dark brown robes. They chanted, their voices rising above the hiss and crackle of the flames.

      “Exstinguo…veneficus…”

      The words were unfamiliar but she suspected they called her a witch.

      “Nooo…” She wasn’t a witch. The smoke choked her, cutting off her protest and her breath.

      Her line of vision shifted, away from the cloaked figures, to the woman bound to the stake in the middle of the circle of flames. Was Elena the witch? The woman’s hair was dark and curly, not blond like Elena’s. The woman’s eyes were dark and wide, not pale blue.

      Uncaring of the pain, Elena continued to struggle, trying to free herself from the hold of the ropes, of the dream. Of the vision.

      A scream tore from her throat as she kicked at the covers and bolted upright in bed. Shaking, she settled into the pillows piled against her headboard and gasped for breath, her lungs burning.

      As the woman was burning…

      Even awake she could see her, illuminated by a flash of lightning inside Elena’s mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and began a chant of her own: “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.”

      But she wasn’t sleeping. She hardly ever slept anymore for fear of dreaming of torture and murder. The images rolled through her mind no matter where she was or what she was doing. They weren’t like the “dreams” she’d had her whole life, the innocuous images of something someone might do or say a day or two after she’d dreamt it. These weren’t little revelations of déjà vu. They were murder, and she was an eyewitness to the unspeakable horror.

      She reached out, needing the comfort of strong arms to hold her, to protect her. But for the blankets tangled around her legs, the bed was empty and cold. Her husband no longer shared their room. She’d been the one to throw out his stuff after accusing him of cheating. Not even his tyrant of a boss would send him out of town as often as Kirk was gone.

      Truthfully, she’d been gone a long time, too. Despite the fact she’d rarely left the house, she’d been absent from their marriage. She’d pushed him away. But why hadn’t he fought for her, for them? Had he ever loved her or only her money? The hurt that pressed on her heart wasn’t new, like an ache from an old injury rather than a fresh wound.

      She fumbled with the switch on the lamp beside the bed and flooded the room with light. Real light. Not that eerie flash only inside her head. The warm glow of the bulb in the Tiffany lamp offered no comfort, either.

      Although he СКАЧАТЬ