Epiphany by Christina Jean Michaels
Publication date: July, 2013Genre: NA/17+ Romantic Suspense
“I had my first psychic dream when I was nine.
Psychic implied power, and powerful wasn’t a word I’d use to describe
myself. I couldn’t foretell the future or conjure visions at will,
but I couldn’t think of a more fitting word to describe what I sometimes
saw in my dreams.”
For 23-year-old Mackenzie Hill, tossing her life down the garbage disposal
is easy after a painful incident shatters her life. Her heart is bleeding,
and moving to Watcher’s Point is a chance to start anew, only she
isn’t prepared for the guy who walks out of her dreams and into the flesh.
Literally . . . because she’s been dreaming about this sexy stranger
for years.
Mackenzie is even less prepared to face the dark nature of her
dreams. They’ve turned disturbingly gruesome, full of blood and murder,
and when they begin to coincide with the media’s headlines, she and
Aidan realize her visions might be the key to stopping a madman from
killing again.
Only Aidan has painful secrets of his own, and perhaps the biggest danger of
all is falling for him.
“You’re horrible!” The alcohol infiltrated my bloodstream
with amazing speed. I couldn’t say how long we danced. Three songs? Four? Ten?
By the time she pulled me to a less crowded corner of the bar, I’d gulped down
another drink and my ability to walk straight worsened by ten degrees.
“What was in that stuff?” I asked her.
“What stuff?”
“The blue crap you gave me!”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she stated with a laugh.
“There’s a reason they named it Adiós Mother fuck—”
“Okay,” I interrupted, “I get the idea.” The ceiling
suddenly whirled in a nauseating spin. “Oh, shit. Be right back.” I covered my
mouth and pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for the restroom. In my
haste to escape inside, I tripped over a boot. Two strong arms reached out and
grabbed me, and how did I thank my rescuer?
I barfed down the front of his brown leather jacket.
“Oh God, I am so sorry!” I raised my eyes, initially
surprised he wasn’t wearing a mask like everyone else, and then I gaped at him.
His familiar mahogany eyes stared back, and the Earth halted, crashed into
Jupiter for all I knew. In that moment nothing else existed.
I must be dreaming.
To test the theory, I dug my fingernails into my arm. Okay,
not dreaming, but something wasn’t right. The blue drink from hell must produce
hallucinations because the guy I’d dreamed about for years had his arms around
me, and I was very much awake.
“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced down at his soiled jacket
and winced. “I’ll live.”
I opened my mouth and willed a word out—any word—but
couldn’t find my voice.
He lowered his arms and stepped back, watching me carefully
as if he believed I might crumble to the floor. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I mumbled. Not okay. Not okay at all. I’ve
finally succumbed to insanity.
His gaze fell to his jacket again. “I’ll be right back. I’m
gonna grab some paper towels.”
As soon as he disappeared into the men’s restroom, I bolted.
Christina Jean Michaels was born in
Paradise, California, but she has found the true home of her heart in
Eugene, Oregon, where she finds plenty of inspiration
for storytelling.
When she was young, her mother said she hated words. Now she can't imagine not writing. She became an avid reader when she was thirteen and discovered the world of Sweet Valley High. About a year later she realized she could play God and write about her own characters. She has been writing in some form ever since.
She lives with her husband and their four children—three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone’s attention.
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Website: http://christinajmichaels.blogspot.ca/
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