I celebrate Halloween differently than a lot of people. Don’t get me wrong. I love candy and cheesy old monster movies, and I welcome any chance to wear a costume in public. But I’m a Celtic-path pagan, so for me the special aspect of Halloween or Samhain (which, coincidentally or not, also the name of the publisher of the Duals and Donovans series) is that it’s a time to honor and reconnect with ancestors and dead loved ones. After I hand out candy to little ghouls and goblins, I’m meditating, introspective…remembering that love never dies. I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, it’s healthy and beautiful, though sad, to call forth memories of those I’ve lost, to remind myself they’re not truly lost as long as they’re in my heart.
So if you trick-or-treat at my house, you may find me with red eyes and a wistful expression. But it’s all good. For me, it’s more a part of Halloween than the fun size candy bars and the cat ears. (Because, hey, I’m also a full-time writer, so I can wear my cat ears any time I please.)
Witches’ Waves is all about witches and shapeshifters. The scary aspect, though, isn’t the paranormal beings, but a branch of the US government. (Art reflecting life? I’m not saying anything, just in case Big Brother is watching.) But this is definitely a sexy, spooky book, full of magic and danger and the kind of love that changes not only the characters’ lives, but the world. It won’t be out until mid-November, but a little Halloween throwback while you’re getting ready for Thanksgiving isn’t a bad thing.
Witches’ Waves (Duals and Donovans: The Different, book 4)
Out 11/18/14 from Samhain Publishing. Pre-order now!
The ocean is on their side. But the fight is on land—and it’s about to get dirty.
Long held captive as the Agency’s secret weapon—a blind witch with visions—Meaghan has come to a line she refuses to cross. Rather than betray the infant “child of five bloods” to the Agency’s scientists, she chooses death. Except when she throws herself into the ocean, she doesn’t die. Her repressed water magic comes to life.
When the sodden, delirious witch drifts into Kyle’s arms, his otter dual instincts tell him to get her to the Donovans as fast as possible. Even though one particular surfer-dude Donovan broke his heart.
Declan Donovan continually kicks himself for pushing Kyle away, but his touchy combination of water, earth and lightning magic is too volatile, and Kyle wanted more than Deck was ready to give.
When they come together to help Meaghan control her new magic, it leads the Agency straight to the child of five bloods. They’ll have to dive head-first into total trust—in their magics, in themselves and in each other—to save the child and stop the Agency once and for all.
Warning: Contains an oceanful of sex between an ethereal blind heroine who swears like a pissed-off Marine, an overly serious otter shifter, a would-be beach bum who may be descended from a Norse god, in permutations as fluid as the sea – and themes of abuse and recovery.
And here’s a slightly spooky taste. Otter dual Kyle has just rescued a drowning human woman…and things are getting weird.
The girl stirred and muttered something under her breath.
He swore he heard her say Donovan.
No, couldn’t be. It was just because he’d been thinking about Deck—Declan Donovan,
his Donovan, or the one he wished were his—that he thought he heard the name.
He looked down at her, staring intently as if trying to see through her fragile, fair skin
to the person inside. Could she be one of Deck’s witchy relatives, far from home and in
trouble? She didn’t look familiar but he hadn’t met all of Deck’s siblings, let alone the whole
huge extended family.
Still, Kyle had met a lot of Donovans while visiting Deck. They’d all been fair-skinned,
mostly with fine bones and delicate features like this girl’s, though Deck and some of his
siblings were blond, big, brawny Viking types, more like their Norwegian mother than their
Irish-American father. But witches worked closely with natural energies, and even the most
ethereal-looking of Deck’s relatives, like his scholarly cousins Paul and Portia, had a rosy
glow to their fair skin, an outdoorsy vibe. So the girl was probably not one of the witchy
But they weren’t the only Donovans on the planet, or even in the Pacific Northwest. For
that matter, it could be a first name.
Besides, she’d probably said something different.
She muttered again, and this time there was no question about what Kyle heard: Donovan. Oregon. Baby.
And then she began to convulse.
Her hair stood straight out behind her—her wet, thick hair that up until now had been clinging to her shoulders like nothing would ever move it.
Kyle let out what he hoped was a manly shriek.
If it had been up to his strength of will and professional training alone, Kyle would have turned otter and humped and slithered back to the safety of the water.
What kept him by the girl’s side, making sure she stayed safe during this seizure, possession or whatever it was, was an otter’s curiosity, stronger than fear or common sense. Something freaky was up here, something he’d never seen before. He’d had a relationship (well, almost a relationship) with Deck Donovan, who rode waves like an otter and summoned lightning from a clear sky. He’d been on the Donovan estate and met the chatty family ghosts and Deck’s grandmother Roslyn who could pull cancer out of people’s bodies, and Paul’s wife, who was an immortal avatar of Trickster. Kyle thought he knew weird. But everything else he’d seen before paled in comparison to whatever was happening to the poor near-drowned girl. And he wanted to know what was going on.