Symphony
of Light and Winter
Symphony
of Light
Book
One
Renea
Mason
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance
ISBN: 978-1-940223-10-0
Release Date: 06/21/2013
Word Count: 88,375
Page Count: 389
Blurb
One woman. Seven men. All bound
by one man’s undying devotion.
Fundraiser Linden Hill has a
knack for reading people. She always knows which conversations will put a
prospect at ease, which drink will loosen a patron’s lips—or his wallet, and
how cleavage will make a donor sweeten the deal. She’s even foreseen her
dateless weekends four hundred and sixty-four times in a row.
But ten years after watching life
drain from her former mentor’s and first love’s eyes, her skills for divining
the predictable are lost. When Cyril returns, he’s still gorgeous, but this time
he’s beyond human, far less dead, and pissed. His lack of memory drives him to
desperate acts, and his turbulent re-acquaintance with Linden pulls her into
his war with a creature hell-bent on his destruction. His group of six
supernatural men share a tantalizing secret, but despite the hunger, it’s love
that leads her to sacrifice everything to save him…
3rd Place – Best Paranormal Romance
Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewers
Choice
2nd Place – Best New Paranormal Series
Paranormal Cravings Battle of the Books
Reviews
“Renea Mason’s book has
everything you could want—a unique world, a panty dropping alpha male, a
gripping plot and seamless writing that would never let on this was her first
novel.”- lbookbliss.com
“If you love Alexandra Ivy, Lara
Adrian, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Lynsay Sands, Laura Wright, and all those other
amazing paranormal authors that I absolutely love with all my heart…then you
will LOVE Renea Mason and her brand new “Symphony of Light” Series.” - BookReadsandReviews.com
“Linden is a feisty woman who is
not afraid to stand up to Cyril, in spite of not knowing exactly what he is
capable of. The book is keeps your interest throughout. I recommend this book and hope that the next
in the series comes out soon.” -Paranormalromanceguild.com
Symphony of Light and Winter - PG Excerpt
“Your eyes are
so lovely; please don’t hide them from me. Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt
you.”
His sincerity
must have been contagious because the words slipped through my lips without
permission. “I know you’d never hurt me intentionally. It’s the unintentional
consequences I fear.”
He brought his
other hand up to cup my other cheek and, with my face firmly held he said,
“Linden, I’m not fool enough to think that the gods don’t intentionally f**k
with us.”
His use of that
word was unexpected. Always a gentleman, but always something more carnal
beneath the surface too. The inconsistency seemed natural.
“But if that
ever happens, I will spend forever trying to atone. Don’t turn away from me.”
He stared at me for a moment and when his face started to move toward mine, I
thought for sure he would kiss my lips, but instead he placed a lingering kiss
to my forehead and pulled me into a hug. If he felt anything for me other than
friendship, that was his moment to prove it. I had my answer. I gave a forced
smile and pulled away.
“Please, play,”
he said while trailing his hand over my back.
Facing the
piano, with my fingers lingering above the keys, I tried not to allow
disappointment to lace my words. “How did you know about the song?” My racing
heart slowed as I realized the kiss wouldn’t happen.
His response was
casual. “I have very keen hearing and you start to hum it every time you walk
away from me to return home. Where is the song from?”
Strange. Maybe I
was louder than I thought.
“I don’t know
where I learned it. I think I made it up, but it’s hard to know for sure.”
“It’s beautiful,
please...” He motioned to the piano.
He stood and I
pressed one key to test to see if it was in tune. Pitch-perfect, of course. I
should have expected no less. I stretched to measure the distance to the
pedals. After my assessment, I began to play. As I pressed the keys, I tried to
forget he was even in the room, but that became impossible as he provided
subtle hints as to how I should adjust my posture. He pushed back on my
shoulders and lifted my elbows with a light touch. The adjustment made a difference,
and in time my composition transitioned to something more graceful.
He placed his
hands on my shoulders as he stood behind me and whispered, “Now relax, the
music is in control. Give in to it. Let it take you, command you, while you
find freedom in its control.”
His finger made
small massaging circles on my neck and shoulders, and the more he touched me,
the more at ease I became. I played better than I ever had.
He ran his hands
up and down my forearms, coaxing the notes from my fingers as he whispered in
my ear, “That’s it. You are much more relaxed. Music is energy, Linden. With
energy, you must first make yourself an attractive conduit. Energy does not
like resistance. The less resistant you are, the more it can take hold, become
stronger—make you stronger. Allow it to embody you, become one with you, and
embrace its possession.” His breath teased as his words sent waves of
electricity through me.
I added
improvisational parts to the song I had never imagined. I played sequences far
beyond my skill level without effort. As I neared the end of the song, the
magical feeling broke down, and with it went my newfound ability. It was as if
I took a drug to make me a better musician and it had begun to wear off, but I
knew it wasn’t a drug. It was Cyril.
As the last
notes breathed their final whisper to the air, I heard him say, “Well done! I
bet you even surprised yourself.”
“How did you do
that?”
“I didn’t do
anything. I simply taught you to sit up and concentrate. Other than that, it
was all you. Music can’t possess the unwilling.”
I shot him a
suspicious glare. “All right...your turn.” I went to get up.
“No, please
stay. Let me see...I’ll play something you know. How about Beethoven’s Sonata
quasi una fantasia? You may know it as the Moonlight Sonata.”
I nodded. He
could have played Chopsticks and I would have been happy.
He began with
the solemn phrasing of the piece. Every languid note held so much emotion. My
fingers mindlessly stroked the side of his leg in the slow melodic tempo of the
first movement. The mournful timbre accented the sadness I felt knowing that
every minute I stayed with him, it was going to be much harder to accept I
could never have him.
I had only heard
the first movement of the piece but as the somber melody transitioned into a
more energetic strain, I knew it would be an experience I would never forget.
His enthusiastic
gestures, the bounce of his hair as he pounded out the rapid notes, all added
to the look of determination on his face. The notes were saturated in passion,
and violence defined him. I watched him with intense concentration and wondered
if he brought that same passion to his kisses, his bed, and his love. It would
be a miracle if one person could harness him.
When he played
the last note, his breathing was heavy and a thin film of perspiration coated
the skin of his brow and neck. He looked down at the floor and then slowly into
my eyes. That instant, the connection formed again. He reached up and brushed
the hair from my face and I did the same to him, draping his thick, dark,
sweat-moistened locks behind his ear.
“That was
magnificent. I’ve never...”
His hand reached
up to cup my face. His thumb caressed my lower lip as I spoke.
“Heard...or
seen...anything like you. I mean that.”
He smiled and
continued to outline my lip.
“Linden...” he
said with a breathy whisper, “there are so many things I want to show you,
teach you. I want you to make me a promise.”
I answered
without hesitation. “Yes.”
“The way you are
looking at me right now... Please, always look at me this way. Stare into my
eyes and see me for who I am and know that there is nothing more than this.
When the world calls things into question, you need not question me because I
will always be here for you. The comfort I find in your eyes is new and
frightening.”
I found it
difficult to believe anything frightened this man. He cupped my cheek and with
tenderness that mirrored his words, he caressed my face and trailed his hand to
rest on my chest just below my neck. I wrapped my hand around his wrist,
holding him to me.
He leaned in,
pinning our arms between us, and breathed, “Promise me.”
I closed my
eyes, reveling in his closeness, his scent, his heat. “OK.”
“Good.”
He inhaled. “I
will make you a promise in return. I cannot bring you into my world as I would
like, so I will not ask you to indulge me further. I should let you go, but I’m
sorry, I am far too selfish to break all ties. I do promise to always be your
friend, your mentor.”
Deep down,
hopeful he might love me and see me as a woman, I opened my eyes and managed a
smile filled with sadness and disappointment.
Protégé was the
title bestowed upon me, not girlfriend, lover, or wife. I looked away from him
to try to pull back the tears that escaped my eyes.
“Already
breaking your promise?”
I looked up and
he brushed my tears away with his thumb.
“I’m not immune,
Linden. I feel it too. I just need to be stronger than this, for you.” He
pulled me into his embrace.
His arms were
tight around me. He smiled but something sad lingered behind it. “It’s getting
late. I should get you home.”
About
the Author:
Renea Mason writes steamy
romances to help even out the estrogen to testosterone imbalance caused by
living in a house full of men.
When she isn’t putting pen to
paper crafting sensual stories filled with supernatural lovers, she spends time
with her beyond-supportive husband, two wonderful sons and three loving but
needy cats.
Her debut novel, Symphony of
Light and Winter, finished second for Best New Paranormal Series of 2013 in
Paranormal Cravings’ Battle of the Books and received a third place award for
Best New Paranormal Romance of 2013 in The Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewers
Choice Awards.
Renea is a member of Romance
Writers of America, The Paranormal Romance Guild and The Fantasy, Futuristic
and Paranormal subchapter of the Romance Writers of America.
She is also a founding member of
Coffee Talk Writers and the Coffee Talk website–a site designed to support
established writers and foster new talent.
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