Covalent Series
Book One
Libby Doyle
Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance
Publisher: Fairhill Publishing LLC
Date of Publication: March 20, 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9972985-0-5
ASIN: B01CCE4U8E
Number of pages: 303 in ePub
Word Count: 117,259
Cover Artist: Damonza
Book Description:
In loving him, she overcomes her pain, but to discover his true identity would shred the reality she thought she knew.
He is Barakiel. Warrior. Exile. Hopeless romantic. Barakiel is Covalent, a race of ancient beings who use their great power to keep the elemental forces of Creation and Destruction in Balance. The Covalent Council exiled Barakiel to the Earthly Realm as the price of the treachery of his father, Lucifer, who wages perpetual war against it. Lucifer also relentlessly pursues his son. The Council thinks Lucifer views his son’s power as a threat, but Barakiel knows his father seeks to destroy even the memory of love.
She is Alexandra “Zan” O'Gara. FBI Agent. Army veteran. Recovering drunk. Zan’s troubled past left her with little interest in men, but she had never encountered anyone like the stunning Rainer Barakiel. Zan believes Rainer is a wealthy businessman with expertise in edged weapons who can help her with a case. From the moment she meets him she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything, but her intense attraction is as frightening as it is thrilling.
This is their love story. As Zan’s deepening feelings for Rainer lead her to confront her emotional damage, he struggles to meet the demands of his home world so he will be free to love her, and to reveal his true nature. Through the gruesome crime that first brought Zan to his door, Barakiel learns that his presence in the Earthly Realm has placed some of its most vulnerable citizens in danger. Compelled to protect them, he undertakes a series of duties he may not survive, even as Zan rescues him from centuries of a deadened heart.
Book Trailer https://youtu.be/HGeVs2XgQjo
Excerpt from part one, Vernal Equinox, Chapter 1
The front of the main building had a set of massive wooden
double doors and a smaller heavy wooden door to the side with the bell. She
rang, and when the door opened she forgot she was supposed to speak. He was
gigantic, at least six foot eight, with broad shoulders and a lithe, athletic build.
A few strands of his unruly, mid-length blond hair fell over eyes that seemed
to be several shades of blue at once. They drew her in with more than their
beauty, as if something primeval was hidden in their depths, just barely
restrained. He faintly smiled. She knew her face was getting red.
What the hell. Don’t be
such a fool.
“Um, hello, I’m Special Agent Alexandra O’Gara of the FBI.”
She stuck out her hand. “My office made an appointment.”
“Yes. I’m Rainer Barakiel. A pleasure to meet you.” His
voice was rich and deep and he spoke with a slight accent. When he shook her
hand, she held it too long. She still felt flushed.
“I, um, I appreciate you taking the time for this, Mr.
Barakiel.”
“I’m happy to help.”
God, so lame. He must
have to deal with swooning women all the time, but I doubt he expected it from
an FBI agent.
Turning gracefully, he showed her through the door. Zan
tried not to stare at the way his jeans fit his hips, or the contours of his
muscles beneath his gray cashmere sweater. Gripped by a strong urge to run her
hands all over him, she was lucky his place was filled with fascinating things
to distract her. Antiques and art were arranged tastefully in the open space,
among brown leather couches and chairs and colorful woven rugs. Pale sun from
high skylights glinted off a sunburst mosaic above the mantle of a huge
concrete fireplace. Zan tried to concentrate on her surroundings, at least
until her pulse slowed down.
“What a fantastic place.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his head toward her in an
old-fashioned display of manners that she found charming.
“This whole property is great. What was it used for, before
you lived here?”
“This land was part of the old Rohm and Haas Chemical plant
you can still see as you enter. The facility was shut down in 2010.”
“I wish more people would reclaim these abandoned places by
the river. Most of it just goes to waste, and meanwhile they’re developing
Chester County farmland.”
“Yes.” He looked at her intensely. “I felt good about
redeveloping a brownfield. I had to do a lot of remediation, but now it’s an
excellent place to live.”
“All you need now is for the city to buy the front parcel
and turn it into a park.” Zan gave him her best sunny smile, with an openness
she knew made people trust her.
“That would be ideal,” he replied, “but I’m not holding my
breath.” He returned her smile.
My god, you’re
beautiful. How are you that beautiful? Why am I here? The knives.
“Um, in the interest of not taking up any more of your time
than necessary, these are the knives in question.” Zan held up the case.
“Daggers, I think. Did Professor Carson explain where we found them?”
“Superficially, yes.”
“Well, someone conducted some kind of ritual in
Independence National Historical Park. We wouldn’t be that concerned with weird
people doing weird things at night, but we found a human spleen. We tested the
DNA and ran it through the database and discovered that the spleen came from a
body found this past winter by the Philadelphia police. All its internal organs
had been removed. The police called us because they thought it might involve
organ trafficking, but we never found any evidence of it, so we weren’t much
help. No one ever filed a missing persons report on this man, and Philly PD was
never able to identify the corpse, let alone solve the crime.”
“Disturbing,” he said.
“Very. We thought if you could tell us something about the
knives it might give us some insight into what this whole thing was about,
maybe generate some sort of lead. They look old, and Professor Carson said you
are an expert in antique bladed weapons.”
“Yes. I collect them. I’ve learned a lot over the years.”
“Let’s take a look,” Zan said. He led her to a massive
carved table to the left near the kitchen area. She opened the case and laid
the daggers out on a cloth. After he leaned down to scrutinize them, he said
they were ceremonial daggers and asked if he could pick them up. Zan told him
that because they were evidence, he would need to wear latex gloves. She handed
him a pair. He tried to put one on for a minute, then frowned at her.
“I’m sorry. It’s too small.”
Zan stared at his hands. They were huge, but not meaty.
They looked like they could crush a man’s skull, but also assemble a fine Swiss
watch.
Or maybe gently touch
me.
She felt the heat rise to her face again. He raised an
eyebrow.
“You can use the glove like a handkerchief and just pick it
up that way,” she said, fixing her gaze on the floor.
Picking up a dagger, he held it level with his eyes. When
he had done the same to all four and they were back in the case, he motioned
Zan closer and directed her to lean down. He showed her the intricate motifs
and the manner in which the blades were joined to the hilts. He explained that
from these features, he could determine that the blades were ceremonial, made
in France in the late 19th century. She struggled to listen to what
he was saying. That impossible face was so close, and she could smell him. He
smelled like a pristine forest in the spring.
“What kind of ritual was it?” he asked. “These daggers
would have been used for ceremonies, like the opening or closing of a formal
meeting. They are valuable as antiques but they are not real weapons.”
“We haven’t really explored the evidence in terms of the
ritual yet, because we’ve been concentrating on the spleen.” Zan shook her
head. “That sounds odd, doesn’t it?”
“It’s an odd situation.”
“If I showed you some crime scene photos, do you think you
would have any insight?”
He rubbed his chin. “I might be able to say whether the
daggers were related to the ritual.”
“That could be helpful. May I bring them by?” Zan asked,
failing to disguise her pleasure at the idea.
“I’m leaving town for a few days tomorrow. Can you come
back this evening?”
“Yes, I think so.” She paused to consider for a moment. “I
need to remind you that you can’t discuss anything about this with anyone. Did
you read the agreement?”
“Yes. I understand that I’ve agreed to keep all this
confidential.”
“Good. I should be able to come back around 7:00.”
“I’ll be here. In the meantime, if I may take some photos
of these daggers, I can send a few emails. My contacts may be able to discover
their provenance.”
“That would be extremely helpful. Just don’t reveal that
they were involved in a crime.” He nodded and began to snap pictures of the
knives with his phone.
“I have to say, Professor Carson was right,” Zan said. “I’m
amazed you were able to identify a time period and a use for those in just a
few minutes. I would love to have that kind of expertise. I know a lot about
guns because it comes with the job, but I love edged weapons. They’re so
elegant.”
“Yes.” He looked at her intensely again. “Would you like to
see my collection?”
“It’s here?”
“Of course.”
“I’d love to.”
Just great, O’Gara. One
handsome face and you toss your professionalism right out the window.
They moved to the left, behind the open kitchen, to an
ultra-modern staircase of black and silver and honey-toned wood leading to a
mezzanine lined with bookshelves. Zan enjoyed following him up the stairs.
Look at that ass. That
ass is perfect.
They walked along the mezzanine to a huge sunny room at the
back. Zan stood gaping when they entered. Save for several large windows, every
square foot of the stucco walls was hung with bladed weapons: axes, pikes,
halberds, and swords, mostly swords, in more styles and sizes than Zan knew
existed. Wood and glass cases filled with daggers and other small blades sat at
the far ends, with an island of leather couches and chairs at the center,
rimmed around a thick Persian rug in velvety red.
“This is the coolest room I have ever seen,” she said. He
chuckled and thanked her.
That was adorable. God.
Get ahold of yourself.
“So, um, Mr. Barakiel, what kind of time span do these
weapons represent?” she asked.
“Please, call me Rainer.” Zan flushed and looked up at him.
He still had that adorable look on his face, like a little boy showing someone
his secret clubhouse. Before she gave a thought to what she was doing, she had
asked him to call her Zan.
About the Author:
Libby Doyle is the pen name of an attorney and former journalist who took a walk around the corporate world and didn’t like it. Considering she’s written an extravagant yarn filled with sex and violence, she thought a pen name would be prudent. She also thinks it’s kind of fun.
Libby grew up on the East Coast of the United States. She attended college in the 1980s and became immersed in the underground music scene. She met talented people and troubled people. She met people who taught her what it means to be your own person. In the 1990s, she went back to school to get a master's degree in journalism. Before beginning work in her chosen field, an attack of wanderlust set her traveling. For all that Libby loves books, she believes nothing compares to the education of travel.
After her wanderings, she returned to her career. For more than a decade, Libby worked as a journalist, until her interests led her to law school. She kept her full-time job while attending law school at night, the most brutal experience she’s ever had. She cursed her own stupidity countless times as her body and mind became sick with exhaustion, but she’s glad she did it.
Libby knows she’s a lucky woman. She’s had countless adventures, memories that feed her imagination. She stood atop a hill in Connemara in a cold wind, watching sunlight sparkle off the pristine sea below. She crested a trail after a grueling hike to find the glory of the Continental Divide spread before her. She was followed by a howler monkey in a Mexican jungle, shared the midday meal with Buddhist monks in Korea, and got pummeled by an opponent in a martial arts test in Japan. She trekked for days among the Himalayas, mountains so high and timeless they made her feel completely insignificant.
She’s married to a man who is funny and kind and patient enough to listen to her chatter on about her characters. They're not even real, but she feels like they're her friends. She’s confident they'll keep you entertained. Through her fanciful tale, she hopes they speak to you.
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4 comments:
Good afternoon! Happy Spring! Libby Doyle here. Many thanks to Fangtastic Books for hosting my release day festivities. It's the vernal equinox. The Passion Season has begun! Get some passion in your life. Read my book. 18+ please. This book contains foul language, explicit sex, violence and descriptions of sexual violence. As the first in a series, some storylines are left unresolved.
Please feel free to ask me questions in the comments, or through Goodreads. I'll be checking in. Libby
This sounds like a fantastic series.
Many apologies for the technical glitch. Updated URL for the book trailer -
http://goo.gl/CzouH5
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