Publication date: April 6th 2013
by Imdalind Press
Genre: YA Paranormal
Where to Buy: Amazon + B&N
Joclyn is in hiding, hunted by the man she still desperately loves. Ryland is gone, his mind erased, no memory of Joclyn remains. But, Joclyn’s heart desperately begs her to hold out hope. While, in reality the black eyed monster that possesses him, attempts to kill her over and over.
If it wasn’t for Ilyan, Joclyn would be dead by now.
Ilyan. The man who once stalked her, is now Joclyn’s protector, the only thing she has left. He protects Joclyn from the men who seek to end her life, and while she is haunted by dreams where Ryland begs her to break the bond between them.
Ilyan is there. Always there.
Ilyan trains and prepares her, teaching her everything she needs to know in the hope that one day she can avenge Ryland, if not protect herself from him.
And then there is her father.
The man who has never been there, is suddenly responsible for everything. And who he is has made Joclyn into something she never wanted to be.
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Rebecca Ethington has been telling stories since she was small. First, with writing crude scripts, and then on stage with years of theatrical performances. The Imdalind Series is her first stint into the world of literary writing. Rebecca is a mother to two, and wife to her best friend of 14 years. She was born and raised in the mountains of Salt Lake City, and hasn’t found the desire to leave yet. Her days are spent writing, running, and enjoying life with her amazing family.
I stood in the middle of the space and spun around. I was surrounded by thousands of crude drawings that covered walls and floor in a rainbow of color. What once had been an undefined space, was now enclosed by four walls. There were no windows or doors, so someone had taken the liberty to draw them in.
“Joclyn?” I spun around at the small voice to see Ryland standing in the middle of the room. His small five year old frame seemed to be glowing as I faced him, his blue eyes shining at seeing me there. Ryland as I knew him, as I was bound to him, was not this boy. He was not this age. This boy was only a subconscious projection, the last of the memories that his father had left him with.
“You came back!” He squealed and barreled into my legs, almost knocking me over onto the hard ground. He hugged me tightly, chalk and crayon dust wiping off onto my pants. I leaned down and ruffled his shaggy black curls.
“I take it you missed me then?” I asked softly.
“Of course I did! You were gone so long I thought I would be alone forever.”
“You haven’t left?” I asked as Ryland enthusiastically shook his head in answer. I arched my brow in confusion, that didn’t make sense. Ryland had always left before. He had left me alone in our space a number of times, and yet this time he was trapped.
“Nope, so I drew you a gift!” He motioned around him, his wide smile returning. “Do you like it?” He spun his fingers, and a bright red crayon appeared in-between them.
“You drew all this, for me?” Ryland’s face lit up at my response.
“I even drew a really, really special one for you. Do you want to see?”
“Umm... yeah.” I smiled at him and he skipped away, excited to be showing me one of his many masterpieces.
I followed him until he stopped near a wide expanse of blue I assumed to be a swimming pool.
“What is it, Ry?” I asked, coming to stand next to him and still not quite sure which of the surrounding images I should be looking at.
“It’s you,” he said quietly.
I followed his line of sight to a crayon drawing that was obviously meant to be life size. The portrait Ryland had drawn was of me, long dark hair, big eyes that were actually crude sketches of diamonds, and stick hands and legs.
The figure wore a purple robe and had a pink crown on her head. I wanted to laugh, but instead I smiled, feeling exceptionally happy.
I kneeled down next to him, wrapping my arms around his tiny shoulders.
“You drew this for me?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s beautiful, Ry. Thank you.”
“You like it?” he asked, his little voice bursting with pride. I squeezed him against me, his frame so small against mine. I was overcome by a memory of Ryland, the way he should be: large, older than me, muscles, and scars.
“I love it.” I said.
“Good! Now, you can draw one of me.” He pushed a blue crayon into my hand and struck a pose in expectation.