Return
Egyptian
Moon Series
Book
1
Max
W. Miller
Genre: New Adult Paranormal
Romance
Publisher: Ironshield Marking LLC
ISBN: 9780985595562
ASIN: B00IX40TWO
Number of pages: 218 pages
Word Count: 67,000 words
Cover Artist: Kat Murphy
Book Description:
A young lady has to learn how to
function on a college campus without the guidance of her parents while dealing
with reincarnation. How will she fight and win the battle against the
aggressive soul of an ancient Egyptian princess who is determined to RETURN.
Available at Amazon
About
the Author:
Max W. Miller was born in
Savannah, Georgia, but has lived in North Carolina with her husband and two
children for many years. She comes from a large family with eight siblings who
have also experienced supernatural encounters.
Max enjoys writing science
fiction, fantasy, and all things paranormal because she believes that we have
three distinct parts to our being—body, mind and spirit (soul), and that other
life forms in other realms are just as real as we are. In her writing, Max uses
popular fantasy, science fiction and paranormal topics such as aliens, ghosts,
and witches, and expresses them in a way that is highly entertaining and
thought provoking.
Website and Blog http://www.scififantasyfiction.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/maxwmiller
FB Fanpage - http://www.facebook.com/MaxWMiller
Linkedin - www.linkedin.com/in/maxwmiller
Author Central for ALL Books - http://amzn.com/e/B009PEW2BW
Do You Believe In
Reincarnation - Egyptian Moon – Book 1 – Return
In her freshman year, Megan Smart has a terrifying chain of events to deal
with. As if leaving home for college isn’t stressful enough, Megan faced with having
to resist reincarnation!
The perfect boyfriend with a bright athletic
future …
The
haunting by a demi-god figure from a past life …
A mysterious teal eyed stranger stalking with
his own purpose in mind!
In New York City, after
Megan touched an artifact at the
Metropolitan Museum
of Art, she experienced a vision of an Egyptian couple embraced in an intimate
moment. When she left home to attend the same college
as her star quarterback boyfriend, Tyler, she experiences a serious
change in her personality so drastic that she jeopardizes her and Tyler’s
relationship.
At the
point of mental exhaustion, Megan goes home to meet with an empathic doctor,
who had been training her mother in astrology. Instantly, Dr. Epstein taps into
the root of Megan’s personality changes. Megan had connected with a past
life—one who intends to take-over hers.
EXCERPTS
Chapter Three
Dr.
Brogan had said not to touch the stone, but all of a sudden it seemed very cool
to have an opportunity to actually touch something thousands of years old. My
fingers reached for the closest broken pieces. Mom’s laughter echoing through
the room made me draw my hand back. I looked up and saw Tyler jetting away from
the group.
I covered my mouth. Apparently, Dr. Brogan had done
something with the sarcophagus that Tyler didn’t appreciate. “Oh, my, gosh.
What are they doing to him? I need to rescue my man.” I laughed as I got off
the stool, dropping my gaze once more to the clay. This was my last chance to
decide—to touch or not to touch. I reached for the bottom piece again, slowly
extending my right pointer finger. One little touch from one little finger
wouldn’t even be noticed. I reached further.
“Don’t touch
these tablets, okay? We’re still working to authenticate, and we don’t know how
fragile they are.”
Dr. Brogan’s words played back in my head. I
stopped my finger about an inch away from the tablet. I stared at the piece I’d
locked-in on, thinking about the beautiful room. Something beyond the norm
happened to me today. Maybe I needed to see it through, do this final deed.
Maybe I needed to … touch.
Before the words cleared my mind, I had gently
placed my finger on the end of the last broken piece of the Amarna tablet.
Nothing happened so I let my finger linger on the clay. I looked at the ancient
writing and something began to happen; I understood the language on that broken
piece.
I jerked my finger back. Shocked and confused, I
felt frozen in place. I read the words over and over again, too afraid to
scream, but knowing that I should. This couldn’t be real. What kind of game was
this? I squeezed my eyes closed, opening them only when I felt a pain like an
angry bee plunging its stinger into the end of my finger.
“Ouch!” I looked at my finger to see if I’d picked
up a splinter from the table. My finger looked normal except that the one bee
sting multiplied into two and three and then many, spreading to the other
fingers and moving upward. The stings burned pain throughout my right hand. I
couldn’t control the vibration that had started. I wanted to scream for help,
but then everyone would know what I had done, that I had touched the tablet.
The vibration and stings moved on up my arm. All
bets were off, I stopped fighting it alone. What if this was a heart attack
taking place through my right arm instead of my left? Based on the chain of
events of this day, anything sounded possible. I staggered backward and let out
a blood-curdling scream.
“Aaaaaaaah, Daddy, come quick!”
I knocked over the stool behind me and hit the
floor with a crash. Everyone ran toward me as I laid on my side, pounding my
left fist against my right arm, trying to keep the bee stings from reaching my
heart.
“I’m having a heart attack. Daddy, start CPR on me
while Mom call for the ambulance.” I kept yelling.
It took Dad quite a while to calm me down, and to
convince me that since I was still talking there was no need for CPR. We all
agreed on one thing, our special basement tour turned out to be special, but
for the wrong reasons.
Dad concluded that my arm had apparently lost
connection with proper circulatory flow and some other medical babble. To be on
the safe side, Dad asked Dr. Brogan to take him to the nearest emergency room
where I received immediate attention once they found out who Dad was.
Dr. Brogan apologized to everyone for the train
wreck of a day and offered to take us to the New York City dream restaurant of
our choice. Mom felt it was best that I rest for the evening so we went back to
our hotel suite and ordered room service.
That night, I made Tyler swear that neither Tangie,
who was his cousin and my best friend, or any other friends of mine or his,
could ever know about me falling out in the basement of the Metropolitan Museum
of Art. If anybody asked anything about our trip, we both agreed that we would
say the trip to New York was off the chain. Tyler’s failure to abide by his
promise would result in his football team knowing that he’d ran from a mummy.
The day after the basement fiasco, I woke feeling
renewed from the bad experience with no signs of residual effects in my right
arm. I refused to think about the beautiful room or what happened to me after
touching the broken clay. Every time I remembered the words I had read in an
ancient language, I rammed those words into a dark corner of my mind. No way
was I believing I’d been a part of understanding something written by dead
people. Mom and I booked a spa and shopping excursion through the hotel
concierge. Dr. Brogan, with his vast connections, set it up so that Tyler could
visit the Metlife Stadium in New Jersey where the New York Giants were putting
on an exhibition. Then he accompanied Dad to New York Presbyterian Hospital.
Dad wanted him to meet some of his colleagues.
Later on, the four of us met for dinner. Dr. Brogan
could not join us; he went home to his ailing wife. After we returned to the
hotel, Tyler and I sat on the sofa. I shared some pictures on Facebook and
texted Tangie.
Tyler had quite a following on Twitter, so he
tweeted to his followers and the MNU football team about his exciting visit
with the Giants. He showed me some of their gross, jock-head replies. There
were a couple of text messages he refused to reveal—as if I didn’t know the
question the jocks asked: had he gotten any?
It had been a long day, and I welcomed my
king-sized bed—even more so if I could sneak Tyler into it, but neither one of
us possessed bravery enough to chance an encounter with the dreaded Katie
Smart.
I’d just showered, dried off, misted on my favorite
Bath and Body Works fragrance, Moonlight Path, and slipped on a silk cami with
a matching barely-there bottom. Walking toward my king-sized, totally empty
bed, all I could think of was Tyler. He was right next door, but he might as
well have been a thousand miles away.
I flopped onto the bed and looked up at the
ceiling, spreading my legs to welcome the cool room air between my thighs. I
relaxed, giving my mind time to think about subjects I’d avoided all day—the
beautiful room and the bee stings—worst of all, the language I understood on
the tablet. I thought about how the freaky things that happened to me had come
after a visit from my personal nemesis—the quivering in my left eye lid. It
started in the hallway of the museum and now it was starting up again.
“Well,” I muttered, “there you are. What are you
bringing this time?” I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move, as if something
had glued me to the bed. What the hell? The quiver in my eyelid had brought
something worse than ever.
My heart pounded. I wondered what would happen
next. It didn’t take long for me to find out. As if the hand of a master artist
stroked his brush while someone rolled out his canvas, the same room I’d seen
in the basement of the museum was etched upon the ceiling. A portal had opened
to show me a scene from another time.
The room was more beautiful, the colors even more
brilliant than the first time I’d seen them. Shadings of gold, red, and blue
drenched the columns, large pieces of furniture, wall art, and floor coverings.
A tall slim
young lady, maybe my age or younger, now occupied the lavish room.
Reaching back into the limited information I’d
gleamed all these years, I decided she looked like upper-class Egyptian royalty.
I was so captivated by her, I forgot about being a hostage in my own bed—forgot
to be afraid of what I had to face: that these episodes were bizarre visions.
I’d never seen anything like a vision until I
stepped over the threshold of those red doors. I thought these kinds of sightings
only happened to prophets, evangelists, voodoo priest, psychics or witches.
Yet, inside our New York suite, the unexplainable played out before my eyes.
She wore a gorgeous, white, strapless gown that
hugged her long, shapely body so completely it looked as if it had been poured
around her. The material appeared soft and delicately textured, hanging
flawlessly from her breasts downward.
Her slender long neck and young shoulders seemed
too fragile to wear the heavy-looking gold jewelry. Even the gold band trimming
her gown from underneath her torso and trailing to her mid-thigh, looked too
heavy. But her straight posture made me think she was used to the feel. She
stood elegantly poised, with her arms clasped behind her back. Her chest and
chin were lifted and one leg slightly crossed in front of the other, a
professional model just waiting for the photographer to take the perfect shot.
Her dark complexion radiated a soft glow, bringing
attention to her high cheekbones and full moist lips. Maybe she was an angel,
here to give me a special message. No, she couldn’t be an angel because angels
don’t glue a person in their bed.
I took a deep breath, letting the beautiful scene
calm me, glancing from her to an object hanging on the wall behind her head. I
recognized it as an ankh, the ancient Egyptian symbol of life.
My eyes fell back to her thick, black hair. She
wore fluffy bangs that accentuated heavy dark eye makeup. She stood in composed
anticipation, waiting for something to happen, or maybe someone to come. And
then, without warning, the artist painting on my ceiling breathed life into his
creation. The scene became three dimensional, like an interactive video game,
and then she moved.
Her head tilted ever so slightly in my direction.
With beautiful brown eyes, she looked at me. Still pinned to the surface of my
bed, I felt compelled to gawk at her. My eyes strained against the sockets as
her lips moved, and she said something to me that I could not hear. Any
previously peaceful moment had gone to hell. Now, I wanted out!
After a few seconds of her speaking and me not
hearing, she turned her head in another direction. Shortly after, a man
appeared from behind the heavy tapestry curtains. Even though she held her
pose, her lips curved upward. A dance filled her eyes as he crossed the room.
She waited for him, slightly shifting one hip in a flirtatious move, a
dignified show of excitement.
So far, I could only see his back. He wore an
over-the-top, two-toned headdress, a leopard-skin wrap crossed his chest, and a
brown, wrap-around man skirt, at least that was what I called it when I used to
thumb through the pictures in our library. Dad called it by its proper
name—shendyt.
His clothing seemed to represent someone with
authority, not a commoner. This was her man, and he was somebody special. I
jerked my right elbow and it lifted, taking my arm and shoulder with it. The
other parts of my body rejoiced in movement too. Now I could run from the room,
get out of this … nightmare.
“Really, a nightmare?” I said softly. The scene
before me didn’t feel like a nightmare anymore; it seemed like a part of me,
something I should see. If I could see them and the lady tried to talk to me,
maybe this tall dude with the broad shoulders might want to say something too.
Honestly, I just wanted to see what this totally
hot couple was going to do, so I settled back to enjoy the ride.
His bare arms exposed muscles stacked underneath
his brown skin. When he came close enough, her arms unlocked from behind her
and moved underneath the animal skin, unlocking the fastener that held it. She
ripped the sliding animal skin from him and sailed it across the room. A smile
brightened her already beautiful features, white teeth against fine chocolate.
He held his arms wide, bidding her to have her way.
No confusion remained in my mind about what they were about to get into. How I
fitted into this totally private moment still remained a mystery to me.
She undressed his bottom, first the wrap, then
bending down before him, she loosened the side ties on probably the first
edition of the male thong. I squeezed my eyes tight. Somehow I’d connected with
this room in ancient Egypt and now the mummies were making their own porno
movie just for me.
My eyes opened, and my petrified brain looked back
inside mummy land. Maybe this was a curse placed on me for touching the ancient
broken tablet when Dr. Brogan explicitly told me not to. Tyler had listened,
but I didn’t, and now I might have to watch ancient zombie movies for the rest
of my life.
The couple went deeper into their love making.
Mummy porno, right on the ceiling of my room! Her beautiful white dress lay
crumpled on a rug, her lean curvy body naked. I tuned in just in time to see
him sucking on her bottom lip then going into her mouth for her tongue. Her
hands grabbed as much of his ass as she could, while he seemed to enjoy
trailing deep and passionate kisses from her mouth, taking a greedy journey to
her breast. Her hands went limp as she arched her neck and lifted her chest to
him, letting him tease her nipples with his tongue.
With his powerful arms, he lifted her straight up.
Her long model-like legs and thighs spread outward, and then wrapped around his
waist, using her legs to lock her in place. She wrapped her arms around his
neck; he responded to her passionate twining around his body by flooding her
with kisses. The motion of their jaws showed evidence of heavy tongue action.
Awareness that their foreplay was beginning to
arouse me eased icy horror into my pores—a horror that I fought without the
cooperation of my warming body. The bee stings from touching a piece of the
Amarna tablet came back into the tip of my pointer finger, not with the
discomfort felt at the museum, but stimulating enough to prove that the feeling
hadn’t left for good.
A throbbing yearning gripped me, sending a
sensitivity to my tongue, my mouth, the tips of my breasts and between my legs,
a feeling that my shy, reserved sexual nature had never let go of with Tyler,
my first.
I tried to look away. I really did. I knew that
this streaming video was not a part of services provided by an expensive New
York hotel suite. This video streamed for me alone. With every move they made,
I noticed my chest rising and falling, my breathing deepening, my hunger to
have Tyler inside me. I heard a moan inside my throat and realized that my
hands were under my cami, touching and rubbing, enjoying the feel of me.
“Get, up, Meg,” I said to myself as I tried to get
my body to obey my brain, tried to run away from where my hands wanted to go
next. “Please, Megan,” I begged myself. “Don’t let them make you, you’re not
their puppet, not their—” I stumbled the words out as my hands went lower and
lower.
I freed the lower part of me from my barely-there
sleeper bottom, too confining for this new level of heat. I opened my thighs
and drew my legs up, letting my knees fall outward. My hands slid between my
thighs. Lightly, I rubbed and caressed and made my own pleasure, panting softly
until the heat required more. I released then looked up at her.
Her brown eyes fixed on me. I thought I saw a smile
and maybe a slight wink. At that moment, I felt like they had compelled me to
take part in getting to know them better, edged me toward an active role in
their love making. I felt used, stimulated through mummies making out on a
hotel ceiling.
The man’s face looked handsome and strong as he
carried her toward a huge tall bed that had wide oval steps leading up to it. I
took notice of his well-developed calf muscles. As he walked with her clinging
to the front of him, she never broke her gaze from me. I heard the only words
she wanted me to.
“The beautiful
one has come.”
Her voice sounded stern and commanding. I didn’t
think she and I would have been friends in this life. As the scene slowly faded
off the ceiling, one thing I admitted to myself: the control belonged to them.
They sucker-punched me with their emotions the moment I walked out of the
bathroom. I’d watched their mummy sexual foreplay and it turned me into another
kind of Megan. Scary shit!
In one way, I hoped the mummy-porno-watching Megan
was gone forever. But for tonight, my flesh wanted to roll with my newfound
sexual freedom and pray that I didn’t get used to this transformation. One side
of my thinking didn’t want to waste this brave new Megan, who wanted walk right
past her parents’ bedroom door and turn the knob on Tyler’s.
Mom didn’t trust Tyler; she had no idea how
straight-laced he was. Flashes of my real-self, shy and reserved, stood up
against the emerging self, thinking about heading for Tyler’s bedroom. Could
either side of me really go to Tyler’s room with my parents right in the same
hotel suite? No. I wouldn’t, I fought to strike down the hint of what my body
suggested. I would never let that happen. I walked around in my room, fighting
the urge to go to him.
The bags from me and Mom’s spa and shopping day
laid piled in a corner. I distinctly remembered buying several pairs of thongs
at Victoria’s Secret while Mom browsed in Crate & Barrel. She would have tripped
out to know that I’d bought them.
I’d stood in disbelief at the register. Thongs were
not my thing. I’d always hated how they rode between your cheeks, irritating
everything in their path. Yet, there I was, buying a black, neutral, and pink
pair. After this night’s activity, I realized that the love mummies’ influence
had started way before their ceiling performance.
I found the bag with the thongs, preferring to dangle the pink one in
the air, I slipped it on, standing in the mirror, bare chested, turning from
side to side. He would love to see me like this. I had fought against this
thing as best I knew. All reservations faded into thin air. Tyler wanted me
just as much as I wanted him. Someone just needed to make the first move.
Outfitted with bare breasts, pink thong, and a short, pink floral robe, I knew
the mummies had chosen me to be the brave one.
“Remember
the dream of the places you’ve never been. Could it be memories from another
time?”
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