https://brianfeehanauthor.com/books/
Debut author Brian Feehan, son of #1 New York Times
bestselling author Christine Feehan, delivers an electric paranormal
romance novel, HARMONY OF FIRE. Brian adds a gripping new voice to the
genre and explores a fascinating take
on angel mythology which will appeal to fans of Laurell K. Hamilton and
Patricia Briggs.
New York Times bestselling author Anne Elizabeth calls the novel, “hauntingly compelling, uniquely lyrical, and intensely memorable.”
About the Book
The
We walk among us—beings who existed long before humans ever did, filled
with powerful magic. Owen and Alice are both Etherealist, rare humans
born with magic and a target for those We that
wish to take it from them. At nine years old and against her will,
Alice's soul was tied to one such powerful and evil We. She escaped and
was trained as a weapon so she might one day break the bond and safely
return home. Everything is going to plan until
she meets Owen.
Owen is a musician who is trying to outrun his past while keeping those around him safe in an increasingly dangerous world. Owen keeps them on the move until a band of Hunters makes their discovery inevitable. Owen must go home, a place he swore never to return, and seek protection from the We who could destroy them. And then he meets Alice. Only through finding each other do either Alice or Owen have a chance of survival..
HARMONY OF FIRE—Non-Exclusive Excerpt
“Hey, you! Hey you
there! Give me the stamp. I need the stamp!”
Warning bells flitted
through Owen’s mind as a long, skinny arm wearing a simple black and gold
leather watch knocked down hard on top of the bar. The clasp to the watch faced
up, veins and tendons in the wrist creating lines and valleys for his eyes to follow.
He is freaking out! The thought hit him and reverberated through Owen’s body like a siren
going off. He is freaking out. Is this where it starts?
“I need the stamp?
Wait! What are you? What the hell are you? You’re not one of the owners? I
don’t care. I need protection. Where is the owner?” His voice was fast, and
drove in like a ram’s horns, twisting Owen’s gut.
The stranger’s hand
reversed from pressing flat and open into a tightened fist, demanding
satisfaction. Owen looked from the fist to the stranger’s face.
A sea of humans
enjoying the music, atmosphere, or simply wanting drinks framed the new
customer. Air in motion stilled as Owen looked, examined, studied. Owen made
mental notes of the creature speaking, in case he ever might have a need to find him again.
Five foot eight, on the thin side, black hair parted to the left,
wrinkles around the eyes, oval face, nose slightly long, not overly bulbous.
Asian American, most likely. Well dressed, in a gray suit, open-collar white
shirt, expensive material. Appearance ruffled, sweat around the rim of his
hair.
Blue underglow shading just
beneath the right eye, as well as along the right jawline. A level two and very
frightened.
One of the creatures
before earth. One of the We who had celebrated with God, before their choice
between going to war, or staying here… One of the We.
Frightened always means deadly when it comes to the We. He doesn’t
know who I am. I have to give him something he can hold on to. Be the
bartender.
“Hello, sir. Aurei is one of the owners and she just went to the back.
She will be out in a moment, and she can help you with what you are looking for.
My name is Owen. How about while you wait, I get you a drink, something cold?
You look thirsty.”
A
patron to the We’s left spoke up. “Hey, I have been waiting for like ten
minutes, and this guy just walks in here and you’re going to help him? This is
bull. I have girls waiting on me. I was
next.”
“Quiet,
you fool!” the level two commanded, striking out by infusing his voice with
ethereal energy.
Owen
watched the wave of words fan out, slamming hard into the patron who had spoken
like a blow to the throat. Instantly the patron’s windpipe closed, but the
choking didn’t make a sound. The wave of spoken power rippled past like a stone
in a pond, silencing those gathered nearest as well.
The power shattered
against Owen’s own protection. Like the itch, the protection was a byproduct of
ethereal energy stored within, and Owen had more than most.
I hate level twos. They don’t know their ass from their elbow.
Owen’s right hand
moved out to the side, with the message Hold.
I have this. A clear sign for both Clover and Jessie, who were looking his
way.
The release of power
in the air was like a foghorn going off to anyone with ethereal power inside
the building.
Using the white
cooler, Owen stepped up and in one smooth motion leaped over the bar, one hand
touching the thick, polished wood for balance as he slipped himself into the
small gap that had formed.
The maneuver created reactions but Owen ignored them all, focusing on
the thin We with the specs and the human patron who could no longer breathe.
Brian Feehan lives in his mind, creating vibrant characters who talk very loudly and far too often. When real life comes knocking, it is likely to be the love of his life, Michelle, or their son, Dylan. Together, the three of them live on the northern coast of California, which is far different than any other part of California. Learn more online at brianfeehanauthor.com
Author Photo by: Michael Greene
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