Kidnapped on his wedding day in the twelfth century and forced into a thousand years of servitude by a cold-hearted faery princess, rugged blacksmith Aidan dreams of nothing but revenge on his captor. Then the spell of a beautiful witch awakens him to the present day—and a passionate desire. But to build a future, he must first confront his past…
Modern witch and magic-shop owner Brooke doesn’t think her life is missing anything, until a wayward enchantment lands a brooding medieval blacksmith in her spell room—and in her arms. Yet even after their passion proves to be truly magical, Aidan’s first commitment is to vengeance. Now Brooke must team up with friends and ancient warriors alike—and push her own powers to their limits—to save her love from the wrath of an evil fae.
From the bestselling author of Changeling Moon, this thrilling and sensual novel adds a new chapter to Dani Harper’s Celtic folklore–themed Grim Series.
From Fangs, Wands and Fairy Dust:
The first book in this series, STORM WARRIOR, blew me away. This one is also a stunning story, well written and perfectly balanced between past and future, fae and human, good, evil and somewhere in between. …… A delicious and elegant read, filled with humor, beauty, friendship, hotness, and a little horror (as things with the fae often are). I think Dani Harper is a MUST READ!
Storm Bound Purchase Links:
EXCERPT FROM STORM BOUND
From his rocky hiding place far below the tossing waves, Aidan watched the Wild Hunt approach, riding upon the salt-sprayed air as if it were solid ground. Thunder and lightning exploded overhead from the ugly roiling clouds of the unnatural storm they created. The hounds were ahead of course, great red-eyed beasts, some white, some black, some mere shadows and others with foaming jaws. They cast back and forth, ahead and behind, seeking a scent or perhaps the essence of a soul. The riders had slowed their pace, their impatient mounts stamping their feet and frothing at the mouth as they chewed their cruel bits.
He felt sorry for any sailors that might be at sea this night. The Hunt would be invisible to them of course, save for the very rare human who had the gift to perceive them. All they would see is the horrendous storm, and wonder both at its fury and the suddenness with which it had blown up. Would any mortals die this night because Lurien’s host rode outside their usual bounds?
From the depths, Aidan strained to see his enemies with little success. The distance and the surging water distorted and colored his view as if he was looking through thick green glass. He knew what he expected to see, however.
When the Wild Hunt rode upon the land, they conscripted mortal horses from human pastures and stables, as fae horses were rare and few. Mortal men were swept up to ride the captive beasts – the greedy, the unjust, those who lied and cheated, those who stole and murdered, those who plotted and betrayed – however many the Hunt required were ridden down and forced to join. As a point of honor, the Tylwyth Teg would not steal. The horses would always be returned to their owners upon the next mortal morning – but many days might have passed in the faery realm. The hapless beasts would be worn and lathered, exhausted and often bleeding from the gouges of silver spurs. But they would be alive. Unlike the “borrowed” horses, the mortal men would not return, and their fate could only be guessed at.
That was how the Wild Hunt ran over the hills and valleys of Wales, and usually, they had no reason to leave Aidan’s fair homeland. Besides, what mortal horses could gallop in the air, or keep their footing upon a storm-tossed ocean? The handful of Fair Ones who drove the Hunt could compel the beasts to do so, of course, but it would take up a great deal of magic and energy. And as for the mortal men who were usually pressed into service, they could not stay astride the wild-tempered fae horses even if there had been enough of the rare creatures to go around.
Knowing all these things, Aidan had calculated that the hunters who now pursued him over the Great Waters must be Tylwyth Teg mounted on pure-blooded fae horses – and therefore very few in number.
Instead, a veritable horde passed solemnly overhead at a funereal pace. Here and there, the occasional fiery mount struck sparks from the air as it stamped impatiently, its fae rider wearing glowing leathers and wielding a whip of light that split the air with the deafening energy of lightning and magic combined.
The small company of Fair Ones were driving hollow-eyed horses, horses with lank manes and hides that were sunken and shriveled or bloated and split, animals that were merely stretched flesh over bone, and creatures that had no flesh at all. They churned the air over the waters far, far above Aidan, with lanky puppet-like limbs that ought not to be able to move at all. The riders were even more horrifying – their faces drawn and eyeless, jaws grinning as they clutched their mounts with boney fingers.
Lurien had called the dead to ride with the hunt.
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