âHave you had any more visions, Elena?â
She retreated from him, shaking her head as she tried to forget the vision sheâd had that morning. Joseph opening her blouse, then her bra, staring at her breasts. Her heart pounded. âNo.â
âWhat did you see?â Joseph persisted.
Heat rose to her face, then moved lower, spreading throughout her body. She swallowed hard, reminding herself it was just a dream. âNothing.â
âYou didnât act like it was nothing. You jumped when I touched you.â His hand slid from her shoulder down her arm. She trembled as desire coursed through her. âLike now.â
âLeave me alone, Joseph.â
âYou shouldnât be alone, Elena.â His voice deepened to a sensual growl. âWas it us? Like this?â he teased, bringing her closer until her body brushed against the hard length of his.
âIâm not going to tell you.â Iâd rather show you. The wicked thought flitted through her mind, but she fought the temptation.
Joseph didnât. 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 biographyâ¦of the family dog. Now she writes romantic suspense, paranormal romance and womenâs 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 Lisaâs spine-tingling suspense and heart-warming womenâs 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,
Itâs a thrill to be writing NOCTURNE books! I hope youâre 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, thatâs not an easy task under normal circumstances, but Elenaâs matching wits with a madman intent on killing all witches. Not only does he know that Elenaâs 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, Josephâs determined to protect her and her daughter. But can Elena convince him to love her, too?
I hope you enjoy Elenaâs emotional adventure in Persecuted.
Lisa
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 Elenaâs 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.
âExstinguoâ¦veneficusâ¦â
The words were unfamiliar but she suspected they called her a witch.
âNoooâ¦â She wasnât 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 womanâs hair was dark and curly, not blond like Elenaâs. The womanâs 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 burningâ¦
Even awake she could see her, illuminated by a flash of lightning inside Elenaâs mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and began a chant of her own: âItâs just a dream. Itâs just a dream.â
But she wasnât 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 werenât like the âdreamsâ sheâd had her whole life, the innocuous images of something someone might do or say a day or two after sheâd dreamt it. These werenât little revelations of déjà vu. They were murder, and she was an eyewitness to the unspeakable horror.