I’m so excited about this book! It brings together characters and events that have been woven into the story since the prequel, Cold Backed. Today, I want to share a short excerpt to whet your appetite. If you haven’t already preordered your copy while the ebook is only 99c, get it today. Universal link to all outlets. And Amazon
It was when I turned to retrieve my purse that I felt the weird shift, went cold at what it meant.
Shit. Slamming my eyes closed, I sent up a quick prayer that when I opened them, I wouldn’t see a horse in the cow pasture or anywhere else nearby. Not because equines don’t sometimes share fields with bovines. It was one horse in particular I didn’t want to see. The one who used to haunt my dreams. Last time I’d seen Wastrel, he’d manifested right in front of me while I was fully awake. Despite having been my favorite ride when alive, as a dead messenger, he never brought glad tidings.
I cracked one eyelid. A shimmer surrounded us. Noire whimpered and leaned against my leg. He snorted. Wastrel, that is. Even without looking, I’d know his scent, that mix of a chocolate milkshake, lilacs, bacon frying, freshly-turned earth, new-mown grass, a just-washed baby, and the air on top of a mountain or at the sea that somehow combined into something delicious and peaceful and uplifting unlike anything you’d ever smell on Earth.
I sighed and stroked his cheek. Each time he showed himself, I hoped it was the last. Maybe for a change he was bringing good news, or an answer to the questions swirling in my mind like the tornado that’d hit west of us the week before. He stood right in—through—the wire fence separating me from my purse, which, I noticed, had landed just a scooch shy of a wet cow patty.
“What do you want?” I asked, but not with anger. I could never be mad at Wastrel.
Noire licked my hand.
“Not you, sweetie,” I said, resting my knuckles against her muzzle. “This guy. Can you see him?”
She thumped her tail but gave no indication one way or the other about the big bay. Perhaps she simply accepted the appearance of a ghost horse as normal. Perhaps I should begin to think that way, too. Wanting him to go away hadn’t done me any good.
Wastrel tossed his head. The shimmery light coalesced into a dense fog, muffling light and sound as surely as a padded cell. I stepped closer, put my arms around his neck, leaned into his warmth, closed my eyes again.
And saw what he’d showed me in dreams several times a few months back. Us riding a jump course at a horse show—that jump course—the one where he crashed and died. Crashed and died on purpose, nearly taking me with him to oblivion.
As in the dreams of last summer, something feels off, like he’s lame, or the footing is bad, and he can’t find his balance. But I wouldn’t ride him if he were hurt or the ground was too hard or slippery. His owner would have tried to force us to compete no matter what, but I would have refused. Small wonder I was fired as often as I was hired back then. If only there had been a reason to say no that day.
Get caught up on the Dream Horse Mysteries today. Start with the prequel, Cold Backed (always free). This universal link provides links to get Cold Backed everywhere it’s available, but here is one for Amazon as well.
I hope your summer is going beautifully. As always, enjoy the ride!!