Hero’s Haven has become one of my favorites. Rebecca Zanetti has created an incredible paranormal world filled with suspense, romance, and humor that will keep readers wanting more.Harlequin Junkie
He's her darkest fantasy....
After years of struggling, Haven Daly has finally accepted that she's nuttier than a fruitcake. Why else would she see visions of a beautiful but tormented male every night...and actually believe she can talk to him, even feel his touch? But thanks to those dream journeys, she can paint images nobody else on earth can duplicate. In each brush stroke, she captures the blatant masculinity and raw desire in his eyes that promise he's coming for her...and soon.
She's the light that keeps him going....
Quade Kayrs has already suffered a lifetime of pain and torture. Completely isolated, he kept his sanity thanks to one beautiful female, a vision with kind emerald eyes. In the end, her soft voice led him out of hell. Now, naked and alone, he's in a strange world that bears little resemblance to the one he left behind. All he knows is Haven. All he wants is Haven. His final mission? To protect her from the evil hunting them both — whether she likes it or not...
Release date: January 21, 2020
Print pages: 306
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Listen to a sample
It was time to die.
Thank all the gods.
Quade Kayrs had spent lifetimes—too many to fathom—fulfilling his duty. Even when this world so far from home had changed from monotonous to pure hell for centuries upon centuries, he had done his job. Oh, he had died many times in this horrendous place. From the flashing fire to the freezing cold to the hungry creatures, many times the life had slid from his body. But as a vampire-demon hybrid, he returned to live again each time.
He sat in his cave, the rock ice-cold against his back, watching the lick of fire at the entryway. The weak flames sputtered and died. No more fire after a millennium of burning. The world trembled, finally giving up the fight. Ready to die along with him. The sky cracked wide open outside, revealing the other world, the one he was bound to keep trapped. His enemy was there somewhere; Quade could only hope that bastard would blow up along with him.
There was no way to guarantee that fact, but Quade had done his best. If the next life gave points for suffering in this one, he was going to be a freaking god.
Not that he cared.
He had stopped caring about anything but duty so long ago. He could barely remember himself, much less anybody else. Once, there had been brothers he trusted and loved. On his home world, their bones had to have been crushed to dust by now. Even though time moved faster in this hell, they could not possibly still be alive after all these centuries.
Shutting his eyes, he let his body go limp. No more fighting. No more pain. No more anything.
He smiled, his lips cracking from the rare movement. Finally. It was over. The freezing chill washed over him, while the ground started to shake as the world prepared to explode into nothingness. Shards of frozen rock fell, cutting his legs. He did not twitch. Pain was a companion, nothing to acknowledge. The walls shook. Something howled in the far distance, something not of this world. How many worlds would crumble with this one—destruction spreading like the ripples of water from a rock across a pond? He and his brothers had played such a game in his childhood.
Images of his existence before this place flashed before his eyes. His brothers. His friends. The life he had once enjoyed.
Ah. It was good to let go. Would he see them again? Hope was beyond him, so he let it, too, slide away. He exhaled slowly, the arctic air ripping through his lungs.
“Um, hello?” A soft voice had him forcing his eyes back open.
He blinked. She was a vision in the corner of the cave. Sun-kissed blond hair; one green eye and one black; tiny stature. “You,” he rumbled. When had he last imagined her? So long ago he could not count. An idea filtered through the fog in his brain. Before, she had looked like a demoness. Maybe that had been wrong. “Are you an angel?”
She looked around the darkening cave, her eyes wide. “Angel? No. My name is Haven.” Her shoulders slumped. “You’re not real.”
“You’re not real, either,” he returned, chuckling for the first time in eons. Funny. Nothing was real. Her name fit her, because for so long, the image of her had been his only haven. “You have not come for a while.”
“No.” Another creature screeched far away, and she jumped. “I’ve, ah, been taking new medication. It has worked so far.” She rubbed her arms and shivered. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Nobody should be here.” Soon, the angel would disappear like before. That was all right. Though why was he imaging her in such odd clothing? Blue pants, white shirt, tall boots? “Where is your proper dress?” His imagination was odd.
Lightning cracked across the sky, propelling her toward him. “We have to get out of here.”
He laughed. Full-on belly laugh. This was a good way to die. “Right. My mind wants out.” His body was done.
Then she touched him, grasping his arm.
He jolted, his body electrified. What the hell? He slapped a hand over hers, feeling warmth. In the few times she had come to him through the years, the female had never touched him. Her hand felt real and fragile beneath his. So far, dying was lovely. As was she. He smiled. “You are taking me home?”
More rocks dropped, one slicing her forehead. Blood welled, and she cried out.
He blinked. She could feel pain? The beast at his core, the one long dormant, stretched awake at the fresh scent of her blood. “I do not understand.”
She grabbed his other arm and tugged. “We have to go. Now.”
He shook his head. “Nowhere to go.” Once, there were portals to other places, ones he had ignored and purposely kept closed, to do his duty. But as his world began to die, he had searched for them; they were gone. That made sense, really. If this place was to go, it would be better if it failed to take others with it. “Sit with me.” He might as well take comfort in his imagination as he left the world.
She pulled harder and then smacked him across the face. “Dude. We have to go. Now.” Frantic, she looked wildly around. Then she settled, her eyes closing and her breath evening out. “I can do this.” She opened her eyes, and those intriguing orbs focused on him. “Please. Trust me.”
Beautiful. His last view was going to be of beauty. He liked that. “As you wish.” He pushed to his feet, his bones creaking.
She took his hand and led him to the edge of the cave, staring down the jagged cliff.
He looked down as well. Maybe this was how the end would come. All right.
She tightened her hold. “Ready?”
He nodded. Then, keeping her hand, he jumped toward death.
* * * *
Haven Daly sat up in the bed, screaming silently. A trick she’d learned at way too young an age. Her heart thundered, and sweat prickled over her skin. She gasped, trying to breathe, letting the panic roll through her because she couldn’t beat it. All she could do was let it take her and then pick up the pieces afterward.
She pounded her palms against her closed eyes. No, no, no. She rocked back and forth, trying to slow her breathing. Not again. Not the nightmares again.
Something wet her hand, and she slowly lowered it to see blood. Ouch. She frowned, gingerly probing the cut above her eye. The rock in the cave had cut her. That was impossible. It was only a dream. Had she somehow self-harmed during the dream? That was a new one. But it was the only thing that made sense.
Man, she missed her cat. She’d left him with an elderly neighbor in Portland because she wasn’t sure how long she’d be running.
This time her dreams had been different. Something had pulled her in opposite directions, and she’d had to fight to follow Quade’s voice. What had tried to force her to go another way this time?
Just as her breathing leveled out, the urge to flee north took her. Not again. Her legs trembling, she stood on the clean motel carpet and tried to fight the compulsion. Dawn had yet to arrive outside, but she’d slept with the bathroom light on, as usual, so she could see.
For months, she’d been drawn north, ending up in a small Idaho town in this quaint motel for several nights. She was on the run, so that suited her purposes fine. Wallace was a sweet town with a rich heritage of mining and construction, and the people had been kind to her all week. The waitresses at the motel had learned how to make her coffee and had nicely given her a cupcake yesterday for her birthday. Even strangers on the street said hello, for no other reason than to be polite.
It was a nice place to be drawn to. Even as she had the thought, she began dressing in faded jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, and her brown boots. After using the facilities, she pulled her long hair into a ponytail and quickly packed.
When the compulsion took her, it won. Every time.
She checked out of the hotel and ran for her battered Jeep, her boots slipping on the snow. Sparkling Christmas lights twinkled from the surrounding trees, looking cheerful despite the winter storm blasting around and the wind cutting into her. Putting the heat on full force, she drove away from Wallace and back onto I-90, once again having no clue where she was going. But she was done fighting, so she just drove, peering into the swirling mass of snow. Reaching Kingston, she pulled off, driving past a still closed restaurant called the Snake Pit, and then along a winding river.
Where was she going this time?
She’d been taking her medication, the new stuff, as well as several herbal supplements. For a short time, they had helped curb her craziness.
Unfortunately, she’d learned early on that crazy always won. The last shrink, the one in Oregon, had diagnosed her with a bizarre delusional disorder. At one time or another through her life, she’d been diagnosed with many a mental illness. Nothing had cured her, so she’d accepted there was no cure. She’d done better in Oregon, painting consistently enough that the local gallery had offered her a show. Looked like it had been a success. She’d had to leave before the big night and hadn’t attended. However, her bank account, the one in Texas, was now a little fatter. That was nice.
The wind increased in power and the snow fell so thickly she couldn’t see beyond the headlights. She slowed on the icy river road. Closed for the season cabins and locked guardrails protecting empty private camping areas lined the river road, while trees covered the other side. Cottonwoods, pines, and spruces, all blanketed in snow.
Where was she going?
She rubbed the cut above her eyelid. It had stopped bleeding; it must not be too deep. The dream delusion had been stronger than ever before. This time, she’d touched him. The wounded and angry man. Quade. He’d told her his name on her second visit. Why had her imagination named him Quade? She’d never known a Quade. Why was she seeing him again? It didn’t make sense.
Things rarely did.
Almost on its own, the Jeep turned down a road with public access to the river for rafters. A wide, icy parking area lay empty as the snow billowed all around.
Sighing, she parked the vehicle and stepped out, watching the clouds lighten across the river as dawn arrived. Cold blasted her and the snow hit her hard. Shivering, she reached in the back seat for her down jacket, shrugging into it and zipping quickly. Her gloves were in her pocket, and she drew them on before walking toward the river. Was she supposed to look in the dark blue, freezing water?
Shrugging, she let the delusion take her. The water was fathomless and looked cold.
All right. A twig snapped, and she swiveled to see a couple of deer tramping along the tree line, their noses down as they foraged for food.
One glanced up at her and went still.
So did she.
Finally, the doe turned and bounded into the forest. Fair enough. “Why am I here?” Haven muttered.
Another sound caught her, and she turned the other way. Beyond the brown camping sign that reminded people to pack out their litter, a rumble echoed. Blinking snow from her eyes, she tilted her head and picked her way across the icy ground toward a locked building holding bathrooms. Her coat was soon covered with snow, as was her hair.
The sound had come from behind the wooden building.
Swallowing, she let the pull take her, slogging through snow and around the building to find . . . more trees. The river wound by in cold silence, as if taking a break from its chatter before the snowpack melted to cause rapids. She shivered, rubbing her arms to warm up.
What in the hell was going on? Why was she here? Maybe her brain had finally broken completely. What now?
The sound came again. A low groan.
Her breath quickened, and her head jerked. Her legs bunched to run away, but instead of obeying her mind, they started moving toward two naked cottonwood trees. She coughed out a sob, fighting herself, but her legs had taken over. Or rather, her craziness had taken over completely.
The snow grew thicker, and she struggled through the chilly powder, fighting to stay on her feet. Finally, as she moved between two spruce trees, her delusion manifested itself fully. She had to blink several times to take in the sight before her.
A naked Quade was slumped in the snow against the trunk of a pine tree, his body unmoving, his eyes closed, bruises covering him. Snow had already gathered in his long black hair and beard.
“Well,” she murmured out loud. “This is new.”
Then his eyes opened. Deep and bluish-green and sizzling. “Haven,” he rumbled.
Quade hurt too much to be dead. Damn it. Cold tinged his skin, and his head ached. He rubbed his ear, not surprised to bring back blood on his fingers. His vocal cords, not used for anything but screaming for so long, ached as he said her name. Instinct took over, and he grasped snow, bringing it to his mouth. The flakes disintegrated in his mouth, cooling down his damaged throat.
A sound caught his attention through the wild storm, and he turned his head. Water. Planting his hand on the frozen snow, he shoved himself up and then ran toward the sound.
“Quade,” the woman called from behind him.
He could not stop. Not a chance. He grabbed the branch of a tree, a real tree, and barreled around it, leaping for the rushing water. Like an animal, he dropped to his knees and dunked his head. His forehead hit a rock, and he winced, but he kept drinking. Rapidly. So much water.
Finally, when he could take no more, he lifted his head. The snowy world spun around him, and he shut his eyes to dispel the dizziness.
He partially turned, acutely aware of his nudity and animalistic position. “Where?” he grunted.
The female took a step back, her already pale face turning stark white. Even her lips had taken on a light blue color. She must be freezing.
He shook his head, trying to grasp reality. Wiping water off his face, he stood again, wobbling a little. The air was lighter here. “Where am I?”
She hunched farther into her coat. “Idaho.”
Idaho? Where the hell was Idaho? He smelled pine. Real pine and fresh water. The scents of his youth. Eons ago, when he had endured the ritual of the Seven, he had crossed through different worlds, but none with a name. “Who is in Idaho?” His voice, rusty and hoarse, sounded odd after all this time.
She eyed him as if he was a starving animal. “Um, we are?” She wiped snow off her face and shivered, her gaze staying above his neck.
He had opened his mouth to ask more questions when dizziness blasted him between the eyes. He went down as if struck with a club, his knees smashing through frozen snow to hit the raw ground.
“You’re going to freeze.” Apparently making up her mind, she kicked through the snow to reach him, grabbing his arm. “Come on. I have a Jeep over here.” She tugged, an ineffectual but stubborn little thing. Heat and a new, unexpected pain flashed along his right palm, and he pressed it into the snow. Steam rose. What the hell? He lifted his hand and looked. The marking. The Kayrs marking.
It was impossible. He was not to mate. No matter what, the Seven would not mate, because their lives were not their own. They were sacrifices in the end.
She looked down at the improbable mark and shook her head. “This is an over-the-top delusion.” Indecision and confusion clouded her pretty face.
He nodded, staring at his palm and the raw brand of the letter K surrounded by a Celtic knot and jagged lines. The marking a demon got when he met his mate. It should not be on his hand. “You are real,” he murmured, looking up at her.
“You’re not,” she retorted, pulling on his arm. “Though you feel real.”
None of this was making sense. He allowed her to pull him up. “We require shelter.” The storm seemed to be getting worse. He tried to transport himself, taking her through time and space to the place of his youth, but his ability was gone.
“This way.” Grasping his hand, the one covered in scars from the Seven ritual, she turned back toward the trees.
He followed her, his steps light. The air around him was different from the world he had just left, making breathing and moving much easier. The female was small but trudged on with determination. He liked that about her. They emerged in an icy field with a snow-covered small shelter in the middle. Was it blue?
She pulled him, her head down, her boots sliding. “Come on.”
He tried to scout the area for threats, but the storm was too powerful for him to get a bead on enemies. She tugged him around the odd shelter and pulled open a door to reveal two thick chairs separated by a box. “Sit. Now,” she urged.
How very odd. He slid onto the seat, which was smooth. The female pulled open another door behind him and retrieved a blanket off a long seat, which she planted over him. He clutched the material, which was soft and warm. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” She shut his door and ran around the front.
What an odd shelter. Would they just sit in it and stare outside until the storm passed? He knocked on the clear glass. Glass. He remembered that vaguely.
Haven opened her door and took her seat, shutting them in. A wheel was in front of her. Silence descended inside the shelter. She reached to the side of the wheel for something dangling and twisted her wrist. The shelter rumbled and bumped.
Quade froze, his chest filling.
She pulled on a knob in front of her, and heat blew toward him from vents. He dropped his head, looking inside. “There is a fire in there?” How was all of this possible? “Where are we?” He truly did not understand.
“We need to find you clothes.” She looked over his blanket-wrapped body. “Nothing I have will remotely cover you.” She turned back to the wheel, moved a lever between them, and the shelter began to move.
Shock filled him, followed by a chilled heat that made his heart thump harder than it had in years. Then Quade Kayrs, one of the most dangerous and feared hybrids in any existing world, fainted like a virginal maiden.
* * * *
Haven drove through the storm, her shoulders hunched, her eyes squinting as she peered into the swirling mass of white. Even so, she glanced at the man sleeping beside her. Biting her lip, she reached out and nudged him on his muscular bare upper arm. He felt real. Everything felt so real.
How could this be another dream?
When he’d shown her his palm and the striking K tattoo, she’d nearly jumped out of her boots. For years, she’d been drawing that symbol. Painting it, even.
Of course, if all of this was in her head, if she’d finally disengaged from reality, that made sense. Nothing else did.
Her car dinged, and she started, looking at the gauge. Shit. The compulsion had taken her, and she hadn’t checked the gas tank. It was almost empty, and when her old Jeep started dinging, she had less than a couple of miles left. She was way too far along the river road to make it back.
Okay. She could handle this. Probably none of it was real, anyway.
She drove for another half mile until she could make out a rough snowy drive off the road. Holding her breath, she turned the vehicle and drove over bumpy ice toward the river, twisting several times and wincing when tree branches scraped the sides of the Jeep. She took a final turn and drove up to a dark and weathered A-frame cabin surrounded by snow. Nobody had cleared a path, and the cabin appeared winterized with windows boarded up.
She parked and silently debated whether to turn off the vehicle or not. It probably didn’t matter. She didn’t have enough gas to make it back to the main road, so she left the heat blowing on the sleeping giant before jumping out and softly closing the door.
The storm fought her, and she had to struggle through drifts of snow, but she finally reached the weathered wooden door. She bent to look at the meager lock and then removed her gloves before taking out a couple of bobby pins from her purse. Picking locks was an ability she’d learned at one of her foster homes, along with picking pockets. Both were skills she hadn’t had to use in quite a while.
The lock gave easily. She pushed the door wide open and quickly moved inside, studying the space. A sliding glass door let in light from across the main room, revealing the winding river. While eaves protected the door, snow had piled high on the porch and narrow deck beyond.
The faint scent of lemons still hung in the dusty air. She moved forward and removed a plain white sheet from a cedar log sofa that faced a stone fireplace. A small kitchen lay behind the sofa with a bathroom to the right. Wooden steps with a hand-cut log railing led up to a loft, where the bedroom probably was situated.
Logs were arranged perfectly in the basket to the side of the fireplace, probably more decorative than practical, but they’d work for now. Long matches in a pretty box were next to the logs. She ducked down and started a fire, using bark for kindling. Another lesson learned in a different foster family. Gently, making sure the flue was open, she leaned in and blew on the sparking fire until it caught.
She stood up and pinched her arm. Nope. Not sleeping. Maybe in a psychotic state?
“The fire burned out in your moving blue shelter outside.” Quade stood in the doorframe, his shoulders touching each side, the blanket wrapped around his hips. His chest and abs looked as if there was a steel chest plate right beneath his skin. Hard and ridged and beyond masculine. Four scars, deep slashes, cut over his heart. What had attacked him?
Man, he was tall. And broad. And seriously dangerous looking. She shook her head and tried to focus on his words. “The heat stopped in the Jeep? Yeah. We’re out of gas.”
He looked around the cabin and stepped inside, his eyes stark and his hair a wild mass around his head. A gust of wind sprayed snow inside. He moved closer and shut the door behind himself, his gaze not leaving hers. “Are your people anywhere near here?”
Her voice took a moment to work. “I don’t have people.”
One of his impossibly dark eyebrows rose. “You are a demoness, no?”
Shock and pain slashed into her so quickly, she swayed. “No. I am not a demon, nor am I possessed.” How dare he? The memories of those times her family had tried to exorcise demons from her still caused. . .
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