This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nadia will be awarding the box set of Sacred Breath Series or the box set of Thirty Minutes to Heartbreak (winner's choice)to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Meet the brave and fearless Visola; a woman unlike any you've ever encountered. Her wit and humor take her through the darkest of dangers with a smile always on her face--and her smile only grows larger as the odds become more impossible. With no concern for her own safety, Visola dives headfirst into the throes of battle to protect the people and country she loves, even if it means facing her worst enemy--the one man who can get inside her head and break her down like no other: her own husband...Visola was curled up in her corner of the tiny space. She stared at Vachlan’s back as she played with a small knife. Her leg was probably well enough to walk on for a few miles, but she did not think he deserved to know this. No, he would have to keep on carrying her until they reached a city.
“Are you thinking about killing me?” Vachlan asked gruffly. He yawned and stretched, having just awoken.
“Yep,” Visola said in a chipper tone as she toyed with spinning the dagger between them. Occasionally it would point west at him, and occasionally it would point east toward her. Occasionally it would point north or south at neither of them. Continuously, when it stopped, she would consider what it meant with respect to fate, and whether fate was guiding her to take action, or to just continue being useless. A voice teased her internally. You have never gone beneath the truth. You cannot navigate the endless fathoms of forgiveness. She was reminded of the fact that she had felt somewhat comfortable and safe when Vachlan had been her clear-cut, straightforward enemy, and now that he was showing her tenderness she was becoming increasingly confused.
“So why don’t you just do it?” he asked.
“Need you to carry me around. Can’t move on my own—leg smashed.”
“Then once I get you home?”
“Sticking you in an oven and cooking you up with some salt and pepper. Having a scrumptious feast—eating your testicles first.”
“You can’t cook, Viso.”
“That’s true,” she said. She sighed, reaching up and began to trace patterns in the fabric of the tent. “To be perfectly honest, what I’m actually considering is divorce.”
He sat up abruptly, his head hitting the small tent and making it shake. “That’s impossible. There’s no such thing for sea-dwellers.”
Nadia Scrieva lives in Toronto, Canada with no husband, no kids, and no pets. She does own a very attractive houseplant which she occasionally remembers to water between her all-consuming writing marathons.Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple, Smashwords, or Google Play.
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