Timeborne

by Sara Samuels

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Time Travel Romance

Synopsis

When the ancient scriptures are uttered.....you never know what might happen under the blinding light of a full moon.

She was born in darkness, under the shadow of a full moon during a solar eclipse, with a mysterious black dagger at her side.As a child, Olivia James witnessed her mother’s gruesome murder. As an adult, her godfather has trained her to be a skilled fighter. But when Olivia’s boyfriend betrays her and threatens her life, setting off a string of events that catapults her back in time from 21st century Seattle into 3rd century Rome, the secrets of her past begin to unravel. The discovery that she is a Timeborne, one with the ability to travel across time, is just the beginning.

Soon Olivia finds herself under the protection of—and owned by—Roman Alexander, a former gladiator and bodyguard to the emperor. Torn between his duty to his emperor, a desire for vengeance, and a longing to search for his lost twin brother, Roman now has the added complication of protecting this strange woman from the depravity of ancient Rome. Worse, he finds himself falling for her, despite accusations that she is an enemy spy.

But even Roman is no match for the dark shadow that has pursued Olivia into the past. A fighter in her own right, she’s forced to work with Roman to find a way back to her own time. Do the ancient scriptures on her dagger hold the key? Can she trust Roman with her secrets? And can she fight her enemies and protect her heart at the same time?

Timeborne is the first book in the Blade of Shadows series. Begin your adventure now!

 

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Release date: May 2, 2023

Print pages: 344

Sample

Chapter 1

Olivia

 

March 2004

 

It took one look at a creepy porcelain figurine to know my entire ten-year-old world was about to change forever.

You know those disturbing antique dolls, the kind with the eyelids that open and close with a soft tick? Their eyes stared at me blankly when I ran past the shelf they were sitting on at the back of my parents’ store full of outdated crip-crap. Each time I saw them, I wanted to rip off their heads, so they would stop looking at me.

And now, Mom was about to get another one. She was standing at the glass counter full of old pocket watches in her and Papa’s antique store, Life after Life Antiques.

An elderly grandmother-type woman stood across the counter from her, holding a porcelain doll.

I came here every day when I was done with school and had finished my homework. Today, I brought my homework with me. My teacher, Mr. Keys, gave us the assignment to write about something interesting, so I wrote about Life after Life. I walked up and down the aisles, sat near Mom, and wrote.

Most of the antiques were interesting. Some were strange, like when a customer brought in an old motorcycle with a trumpet where the exhaust valve should have been. Papa snatched that one right up and said he made a “small fortune on it” when he sold it.

Another one, a colorful metal “puppet theater,” had a hand-painted cardboard figure wearing a jester costume on the stage. The jester stood next to a ballerina. A lightbulb at the back of the stage lit the whole thing up. I cried so hard when Papa said he was going to sell it. So, he gave it to me for my eighth birthday a couple years ago. Two years later, I still had it on a shelf in my bedroom. When I pulled it off the shelf, my imagination took over, telling stories about the ballerina and her long-ago life.

I liked pretending about what it was like to live in the past.

And then, there were the coins Papa found at a yard sale. He excitedly showed them to my mom and said, “Would you look at this, Alina? Ancient Roman coins! Think of the money we’ll make on these coins!”

When I tried to look at the coins, Papa closed his hand around them. “Sorry, pumpkin, these coins are not for kids.”

Later, I found out why; I snuck into the drawer where he had stashed them. On one side was a guy’s head. On the other was a naked man with a, you know, that thing between his legs. But all the letters around the edge of the coins intrigued me. They were Roman numerals, something I learned about in school. And holding something supposedly hundreds of years old gave me a thrill.

“My, this one is unique,” Mom told the customer, a woman with a scrunched, wrinkled face, jerking me out of my daydreams. She held the doll before her and turned it from side to side.

The doll wore a torn, faded cloak with a hood, like Little Red Riding Hood. But I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. It sort of looked like a boy. Its face was smudged and smeared like it had melted. Limp, black hair fluffed about its head beneath the hood. I couldn’t tell if the skin was supposed to be dirty brown or sickly white. And its eyes—those eyes were the worst kind of eyes, tracking me wherever I moved. Whatever it was, the thing looked hideous.

I wanted to run up to her and yell, “Don’t get it! Don’t get the gross doll!”

“Olivia?” Mom said. She lowered her head to look at me over the top of her reading glasses. “What do you think of this one?”

I was surprised she’d asked for my opinion.

“Me?” I said, pointing to my chest. Mom had made it clear before that she was the expert in antiques.

“Yes, you. What do you think? Should we get it?” She smiled the friendly smile she reserved for me.

I shook my head back and forth like a weathervane. My best friend, Sally, had a weathervane on top of her barn, and when the wind blew, it fluttered back and forth just like I was doing. I didn’t w

ant that toy thing, and I didn’t want Mom to get it.

“No?” she said.

“No,” I whispered. “I hate it.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.…what did you say your name is?” Mom said to the wrinkled grandma.

“Mrs. Johnson,” the woman said. “Are you sure you won’t take it? I’ll give you a great deal.”

“No, I’m sorry. It just doesn’t fit with our store.” Mom gave Mrs. Johnson one of her “I’m done with you, and if you keep bugging me, you’re going to get a spanking” looks.

Mrs. Johnson got the message, stuffed the horrible toy in the paper sack she brought, and left.

“Wasn’t that an odd doll?” Mom said to me and let out a shaky laugh.

I nodded, and she placed her hand on her lower back and stretched as she did when she was tired.

“What do you say to ice cream? I think we can take a break, don’t you?” she said.

“Goody! Who will run the store while we’re gone?” I said, placing my pen on the lined paper I was using to write my story.

“Your father, that’s who. Jack!” Mom called through the door leading to the back. They stored some of the antiques while deciding on prices and cleaning them up.

“What?” Papa called.

“Olivia and I are going to go get some ice cream at Cool Scoops. Do you want one?”

I loved ice cream, especially the kind at Cool Scoops just down the block.

Papa appeared in the doorway, smiling. As usual, his hair was all messy, and he looked like a mad scientist. “A double scoop of fudge brownie for me, please. In a bowl. With whipped cream on top.”

“I want a scoop of fudge brownie and vanilla chocolate chip in a sugar cone!” I said, hopping up and down.

“Then, let’s do it!” Mom reached behind the counter for her purse. “W

e’ll be back in a few,” she said to Papa, slung her bag over her shoulder, and extended her hand to mine.

I took it, and we exited Life after Life to the sound of the tinkling bells that clanged against the wooden door.

Outside, the sky was filled with heavy, gray clouds. A thunderstorm was coming.

Mom said, “Go back inside, and I’ll run to the parking lot and get my umbrella from my car.”

I raced back into the store and pressed my nose to the glass to watch for Mom.

When Mom returned and rounded the corner, a man approached her from the opposite direction.

The man was dressed in black everything, from his head to his toes. His hair was the color of midnight, long and wavy. He reminded me of that creepy doll. He lifted his head and stared at me in the same way that toy-thing looked at me in the store. Only the doll’s glass peepers looked like they belonged on a kitten’s face compared to the frigid-blue orbs of evil that stared back at me from this man.

The image of his face branded itself into my mind. I stared, transfixed.

He broke eye contact and approached my mom.

Mom looked up. She seemed to recognize him, and the two began to talk, accenting their words with sharp, angled gestures.

Suddenly, the man lunged at my mother, shoving her backward.

Mom’s lips formed an outraged O shape. She thrust her hand into her purse and retrieved a dangerous-looking blade.

I had no idea Mom carried such a lethal-looking weapon.

Assuming some sort of bent-leg fighter’s stance, Mom waved the knife at the man’s face.

The scary-looking guy matched Mom’s stance, and he put his arms out, ducking and dancing out of the way of her blade.

As the man gracefully evaded her attack, mom continued to strike and thrust with her weapon.

A terrible grin spread across his face as if he were enjoying their fight.

Both of my palms pressed into the glass as I watched, unable to look away. Please don’t let anything happen to my mommy.

People stopped to stare at the fight, but no one moved a muscle to help. It seemed they were more interested in the outcome than the fact that they were witnessing a vicious act of violence.

Finally, the man seized my mother’s wrist and whirled around, pinning her arm behind her back.

Mom kicked her leg backward and landed a blow on his shins.

He let out a grunt and whispered something in her ear. Then, in a lightning-quick maneuver, he whipped a dagger from his pocket and plunged it into Mom’s chest.

I let out a scream.

Mom cried out and collapsed on the sidewalk, gently guided by the killer’s arms. Her weapon clattered to the ground.

Why would he help her to the ground? It didn’t make sense to my ten-year-old brain. None of this made sense.

The murderer crouched, whispered something in her ear, and then kissed her lips gently as if he loved her. Afterward, he grabbed my mother’s knife from the sidewalk where it had fallen and tucked both blades into his pocket. He flashed me a wicked evil smile and disappeared like he was never there.

I rushed out the door and ran to my mother’s side. I fell beside her body and screamed some more.

A dark, red stain bloomed on the front of Mom’s dress.

“Mom! Mommy!” I cried, and tears poured from my eyes.

My father ran out of the store and picked me up. “Olivia, get in the back—now!”

“But Mommy…” I blubbered.

“Now, Olivia. Go!” He pointed at the door. “Get in the back and stay there while I call the police.”

He reached for his ce

ll phone in his pocket.

“But…” I said, staring at my mom, who was groaning on the sidewalk.

“Now.”

I raced inside, ran into the back, and huddled between two crates that had arrived last week. I pressed my hands to my ears as sirens wailed outside and people shouted. I didn’t know how much time had passed until Papa returned to the shop.

He looked awful, with pale, sweaty skin and worried eyes.

A policeman came with him.

“Sweetheart? Are you back here?” Papa asked.

I whimpered from between the two crates.

“Oh, there you are. Officer Daily would like to ask you a question. Can you come out here?”

I scrunched my face, tears still streaming down my cheeks. “No!”

Footsteps clattered across the floor, and Papa crouched in front of me. “Sweetheart, you’re safe. Officer Daily only has to ask you one or two questions, okay?”

I shook my head.

“Did you see who stabbed your mom?” Papa said.

I shook my head again. I didn’t think I could explain how the evil man I witnessed could simply disappear, like smoke wisping into the air.

“Dearie, did you get a good look at him?” Officer Daily said.

I looked at Papa and shook my head once more.

“Come here.” Papa opened his arms, and I rushed to him, hugging him tightly. “You’re safe, sweetheart.”

“But Mommy…” I wailed.

“The ambulance took her away. They’re going to take good care of her.” He turned toward the policeman. “My daughter’s pretty traumatized. I think your questions will have to wait.”

Officer Daily said something about, “If you think of anything or she tells you anything…” but I blotted out the rest.

I was terrified that the man who stabbed my mom would come for me next.

Papa said, “You must let go of me, Olivia, so I can show the policeman out.”

“It’s fine,” Officer Daily said. “I’ll see myself out. You take care of your little girl.”

He strode away with clomping footsteps that echoed into the building.

Papa pried my arms from around his neck, stood, and took my hand. “I’ve got to make a phone call. Let’s go into the office.”

He led me into the small, windowless office where he and Mom did their paperwork.

I sat on one of the wooden chairs opposite the metal filing cabinets while Papa sat in front of the desk.

He pulled the green plastic phone toward him when it rang and answered.

“She what?” Papa asked after the voice on the other end spoke. He covered his eyes with his free hand, and his chest shuddered. When he removed his hand from his eyes, it looked like he was crying. “I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening.”

He slammed the handset into the cradle with a crash. Then, he lifted it again and dialed. “Moon Lee. I need you here right away. Alina’s been killed.”

I started to cry, too.

Within fifteen minutes, Lee’s voice came from the front of the store.

I shuffled to the doorway and peeked around the corner.

Lee said, “What did you see?”

Papa said, “I didn’t see anything. I was in the store, and Olivia was staring out the door waiting for Alina to take her for ice cream. Suddenly, Olivia screamed and rushed out the door. A moment later, I found Alina on the ground with blood pooling over her body and Olivia crying by her side. Lee, it happened so fast… Lee, you have to tell me, was Alina in any kind of danger? Did she have any enemies that would want to kill her?”

“I can’t tell you that, J

ack.”

“What?” Papa said. “Why can’t you tell me? You and Alina were always so close, closer than I was ever with my wife. You and your secret glances with each other. Holding secrets from me, and now she’s dead, Lee, dead…gone forever….so I’m going to ask you again—was Alina in any kind of danger?”

“I can’t tell you!” Lee said regarding my father with an impassive expression.

“Then, don’t tell me.” Papa’s voice was getting louder like he was mad. “Keep your little secrets. But you’re Olivia’s godfather. Goddamn it, I’m going to need help raising her! I can’t do it alone.”

Lee said, “I have a plan. You’ve got to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

I began sobbing so hard I could barely hear a thing.

I only made out the phrases: “Why does Liv need to learn how to fight?” and, “Fine! You think it’s important, so fine.”

Papa and Lee stalked toward the back room.

Seeing me, Papa crouched and said, “Shh, sweetie, Lee’s going to help us.”

“I want my Mommy!” I wailed. Where did my mommy go? The thought of living without Mom brought a fresh wave of tears. I wanted to hide…run…wake up from this nightmare, throw my arms around my mom, and be comforted by her.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Me, too.” He glared at Lee.

Lee lowered himself to the floor. “Little Moon, listen to me.” He pushed my hair away from my snot-covered face.

I took a shuddering breath and looked up at him.

“Do you trust me?” Lee said.

I nodded.

“Good. I’m going to train you to fight. You’re going to have to work very hard. I couldn’t save your mother, but at least I can try to save you.”

Chatper 2

March 2019, 14 years later

 

Beads of sweat dripped down my face as I pummeled the boxing bag in the gym at Lee’s cabin, deep in the Cougar Mountain woods near where my father lived. Slivers of sunlight forced their way through the jalousie windows that lined the top of the walls.

I’d been at it for over an hour. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t stop. I hit left and right, striking my fists rhythmically against the white leather bag. This was a sport I couldn’t live without. Ever since my mom was killed, I’d trained like this as often as I could. I had to protect myself and my father. The man who killed my mother could still be out there, waiting to strike when we least expected it.

Or, he could have killed others. Hence, my job was to train people of all ages to defend themselves and make weapons of whatever was available. I taught both groups of children and adults and private, one-on-one sessions.

No one should ever have to experience what my father and I went through.

When my arms and body were officially trashed, I dropped to the bench beside me. I wiped off my sweating face with the towel hanging around my neck. I grabbed my phone from my gym bag and noticed a missed call from my father.

How odd…he usually never calls me this early. Papa is more of a night owl, spending time with his research.

Panic overtook me, and my already thundering heart rate increased. I quickly unlocked my phone and dialed Papa.

“Hi, sweetheart,” my father chirped.

I smiled, and my anxiety disappeared. “Good morning, Papa. How are you?”

“I’m doing well, honey. I’m just checking in on you.” He paused a beat. “I, um, I thought maybe we could have breakfast today if you’re not busy. I made all

 your favorites.”

“That sounds great. I’ll be there! What’s the special occasion?”

“No special occasion, darling, just a lonely father that misses his only child and dearly wants to see her.”

The delivery of his words was cheerful and warm, but something about his request gave me pause.

“Of course. I’ll be there. I’ve got to shower first. Give me an hour, and I’ll come over.”

“Oh, honey, I’m glad to hear it. See you soon!”

I ended the phone call and headed for the shower. Having breakfast with my father was unusual. I usually had dinner with him or maybe lunch. But breakfast? We seldom had a morning meal together. I always woke up early for training and never had time for morning meals.

I finished the shower, dried myself, and put on my white sunflower dress. It was a favorite dress that always made me feel fresh and free. I grabbed my Glock 22 and strapped it against my thigh. I trained with many weapons, but the Glock 22 was my favorite gun.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The young woman staring back at me appeared capable and confident. Nodding, I thought, Today’s going to be a good day.

After I climbed into my vehicle—a Forest Green Jeep Wrangler beast of a car—I affixed my mobile phone to a magnet on the dash. Then, I called my boyfriend, Tristan.

Tristan and I had been in a relationship for two years and were madly in love. I would have even gone so far as to call us soulmates. He was the perfect man: kind, sweet, strong, and classy, everything a girl wanted in a man. We were always together; we shared an apartment off 45th street. But this morning, he’d said he had to deal with something for his job as an Emergency Room Technician at Priority One Hospital.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said sweetly.

“Morning, babe.” I fit the key in the ignition and powered it up. The engine roared to life with a satisfying growl.

“How was yo

ur workout this morning?” he asked.

“It was good. Muscles are destroyed, though, I’m afraid.” Stepping on the gas pedal, I navigated down the dirt driveway and headed toward my father’s house.

Tristan laughed a deep laugh that stirred my insides to steam. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m always dying after our workouts while you seem ready for at least another hour.”

I smiled as the Jeep lurched over the uneven terrain. “I must maintain my stamina to match you in other ways, hint, hint.”

“Mmm, and you do it so well, babe,” Tristan practically purred. “Why aren’t you here?”

I frowned. “I thought you had to be at the hospital this morning.”

“Would you believe I forgot my frigging work badge?” He made a tsking sound. “I had to drive all the way back here to get it. I’m heading out the door as we speak.”

“Boy, that sucks. The traffic can be a bitch in the morning.” Except for out here. There wasn’t another car for miles.

After Mom died, Papa and Lee moved out of their apartments in Seattle. They settled in an isolated wooded area about thirty minutes from downtown Seattle. Neither could see the other’s house, but I could get from one to the other via a quick jog through the forest.

“You got that right. So, what are you up to?” Tristan said.

“I’m heading to my father’s for breakfast. He said he misses me.”

The conversation paused.

“Did I lose you?” I said.

“No, sorry. Looking for my work badge,” Tristan said.

I frowned. Didn’t he just say he was heading out the door? “Tristan, you always leave it in the same place—on the side stand next to the bed. I saw it there when I left this morning.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, did you lose your mind this morning?”

“I must have…I was in such a rush to get to work on time,” he said. “And you’re right—t

here it is.”

“What a goof you are. Anyway, I’ve got to focus on the bumpy road here. I’ll see you tonight,” I said.

“Have a good time eating breakfast while I check in stab wounds and drunks,” he said.

My voice softened when I said, “Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too,” he said in a husky voice.

When I arrived at my father’s house, he was peppy and warm, but something seemed off. I couldn’t put my finger on it. But I noticed his hands trembled when he reached for a coffee mug from the cupboard.

I often worried about my father. So did Lee.

When I was a teen, Lee had told me Papa’s mental health had always been fragile. So much so that Papa contemplated leaping from a clock tower window at McMont College in Vancouver, B.C. That’s where he’d pursued his education in something he only vaguely hinted at over the years. Apparently, he’d presented a dissertation that wasn’t well received. He’d been mocked and ridiculed.

People could be so mean.

“Keep an eye on your father, Olivia,” Lee had told me. “Your mother saved him from ending his life—that’s how they met and married. Now, it’s your turn to watch over him.”

I never knew what troubled Papa so much that made him want to end his life. Whenever I asked Lee, the only thing Lee would tell me was, “It’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“Are you all right, Papa?” I said, setting two chipped China plates on the small round table in his kitchen.

A pitcher of orange juice rested on a placemat in the middle of the table and a carafe of coffee.

“What, me?” he said, hurrying to the stove to flip the blueberry pancakes he was preparing. “Fine, fine, never better.”

He donned an oven g

love and reached in the oven to retrieve a plate of thick, fragrant bacon. “Nice and crispy, just the way you like it.”

He waved the plate in front of my nose.

My stomach growled.

“You’re such a tease, Papa,” I said, grinning at him.

“Just a loving father,” he said, setting the plate of bacon in the middle of the table. “Now, sit, sit—let’s eat!”

I settled on one of the white-painted chairs, watching my dad as he hustled about the kitchen. His posture was slightly stooped, and his hair was thinning. He was a tall, ...