Never Let You Go (Prophecy of Tyalbrook, book 2)
Genre: YA Fantasy Romance
Never Let You Go just got a little makeover..this is the incredibly amazing Xander. A guardian bent on protecting the girl he loves; even though their love is forbidden.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1e8Lyil
Barnes & Nobles: http://bit.ly/1eA1xB0
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1dj52S9
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Excerpt in Skye's POV:
Manda grasped my arm tightly; breaking off my confession as she motioned with a slight tip of her head to something behind me. I slowly turned to see a contingent of ten soldiers coming out of a covered walkway and making their way across the bailey towards us. My heart quickened at the sight of the men with their stern faces as they marched towards us.
The two soldiers closest to us stepped aside, and after a moment, the head of a tall, older man was visible through the bodies of soldiers. Manda released her grip on my arm and immediately sank into a deep curtsy. Jerking my gaze from her bent head to the man walking towards us, I made one quick conclusion.
He was the King. McClintock.
I stood my ground and scrutinized every move he made as he leisurely walked our way. It wasn’t until I saw him striding my way that I realized how much I’d pictured him to look like King Henry VIII in my mind. But this was no hefty King Henry coming my way.
His hair was the same dirty blond as Nickoli’s. However where Nickoli’s was trimmed short, McClintock’s was long; skimming his shoulders. His jaw line was covered with a blond beard streaked lightly with gray. But his most striking feature was his height and build. He was as tall, if not taller than Nickoli, with broad shoulders and a long stride. When he rounded the corner of men he slowed and his eyes connected with mine. From the roughly thirty feet separating us I couldn’t see his expression very well, but body language told the story. I saw him tense and straighten up before beginning to walk forward again.
He was dressed all in black; his legs ensconced in tall black boots and fitted pants, and a leather coat hung to his knees. The material was embroidered with a black-on-black swirling pattern, but the piece de resistance was the long, flowing cape trimmed in black fur.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” he spoke, his voice a deep, rich baritone as he came within an arm’s length of where I stood. His words were unexpected, and I checked the impulse to flinch as the men on both sides of him fanned out to form a human wall blocking the sight of our interaction from anyone in the inner ward. Beside me Manda rose from her curtsy, but still kept her head lowered. Curious behavior for someone whom he supposedly considered family.
“I beg your pardon?” I managed in my most haughty voice. “Did you know my mother?”
“Well of course. She was very, very dear to me, and you are an amazing image of her when she was about your age,” he informed me, and raised his arms out wide. “Welcome home, Princess.”
Love the cover.
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