A Trace of Moonlight (Abby Sinclair #3) by Allison Pang
3.5/5 Stars
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Pocket Books/Simon and Schuster
Date of Publication: October 30, 2012
ISBN: 1439198365
Number of pages: 400
Book Description:
Drinking from the waters of lethe and offering herself up as
Faerie’s sacrificial Tithe . . . these just might be the least of Abby
Sinclair’s problems. Abby’s pact with a daemon—whether or not she remembers
making it—is binding, so she’d better count herself lucky that (in the words of
a daemon who knows better) there’s nearly always a loophole. But her friends’
reckless attempts to free her, well intentioned though they may be, set off a
disastrous chain of events. In no time at all, Abby turns her incubus lover
mortal, then gets herself killed, cursed, and married to an elven prince whose
mother wants her dead. On top of everything else, she’s lost the Key to the
CrossRoads to her mortal enemy, who promptly uses his restored power to wreak
havoc on the OtherWorld and put its very existence in jeopardy. Only one person
can make things right again, but to find her, Abby must place her trust in
allies of mixed loyalties, and conquer her nightmares once and for all.
Review:
I liked this book, it was a good read. Make sure you read
the first two books first because if you don’t you will be really lost. Allison
Pang did a good writing this. The storyline was enjoyable and I loved seeing
the different paranormal characters and how they interacted together and the
pace set for the book was great! I also loved the sarcastic banter back and
forth between the characters.
The only thing I had
a problem with was the love triangle. Abby can sacrifice herself for her
friends but she can’t do that and figure out who she loves she just keeps
string them a lo. Also the comment about her needing to learn how to fight, I
like strong characters and that comment drove me little crazy. I really hope
there will be a next book because there are still a lot of questions that need
to be answered.
Buy Links:
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
The fog eddied
from the darkness to cocoon me in a soft haze. Something niggled at the back of
my mind as I glanced down at my bare feet. They were swallowed below my calves
by the mist, but the crunch of sand under my toes felt familiar. The hiss of
waves slapped against the edge of a nearby shore.
The rolling
scent of brine slipped past on a tattered breeze. Drawn toward the sound of
water, I pressed forward, an uneasy chill sending clammy fingers skittering
over my skin.
Wrapping my arms
around my shoulders, I realized I was naked.
And yet a moment
later, a silk dress draped over my limbs, falling to midcalf. It should have
felt strange, to know the merest of thoughts took shape here . . . but it
didn’t. My feet brushed the edges of the wet sand and I paused. I could see
nothing beyond the darkness, but the warmth of the water lured me, beckoning
with a soft whisper.
Flickers of
memory flared up and slid away, the barest hint of scales and a cradle of blue
luminescence taking form, but I shook my head and the thought swirled out of
reach. Ridiculous idea, anyway. I’d never even seen a mermaid.
Another step and
the foam crested past my ankles.
I hesitated.
Abby. A name,
whispered upon the breeze. The waves rushed forward, the sudden undertow
sucking me into the sand as though it might drag me into its depths. I
stumbled, only to be pulled back by a hand upon my wrist.
I glanced over
my shoulder, frowning as I made out the features of a man. Ebony hair whipped
about his pale face; he gazed down at me, eyes haunted and aching and terrible.
I didn’t recognize him, and yet his presence radiated like a beacon of comfort
in the darkness.
Immediately the
waves receded, leaving us in guarded silence. He stared at me a moment longer.
When I said nothing, something like grief creased the corners of his mouth.
“If you enter
the sea you will be devoured,” he said finally.
“Devoured?” I
could only watch as the fog lifted at the slight motion of his hand. I saw fins
cutting through the surf; the moonlight shattered the darkness to reveal the
sharks, shining like living blades in the murk.
I swallowed hard
at my own folly. “Thank you,” I murmured, my fingers finding his in the shadows
to squeeze them. Abruptly he pulled away, his breath hissing as though I’d
burned him.
“Who are you? Do
you know where we are?”
“You’re
dreaming, Abby.” His lips pursed mockingly. “And I am but a shadow.” At my
puzzled look, he sighed. “It will be safer for you away from here. Follow me.”
Before us lay
tall cliffs and a worn path of sand and sea grass, a series of rocky
switchbacks leading to somewhere.
“Do you have a
name?” The words slipped out before I meant them to, but I dutifully trailed in
his wake, bunching the dress at my hips to climb up the bluff.
“If you do not
know it, I cannot tell you.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“I know,” he
muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Believe me when I tell you this
is not the way things were supposed to have been, but we have no other choice.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me.
“And we have
very little time left.” As though to emphasize the point, he reached to take my
hand, helping me over a piece of driftwood. Now his fingers entwined with mine.
A wash of heat swept through me.
“I don’t ever
remember having such a lucid dream before,” I said.
His grip
tightened, but he said nothing in return, leading us up the cliff and down a
winding path until we came to an iron gate. It was overgrown by high weeds,
shut tightly with a lock.
My inner voice
was strangely silent. If it knew something, it clearly wasn’t planning on
saying anything. I frowned at the gate, reaching out to stroke the rusted
flakes with a curious finger. The metal chilled my hands to the bone and I got
a sense of unhappiness
from it.
Which was
ridiculous. This was a dream, wasn’t it? Inanimate objects didn’t have
feelings.
“Knock it off,”
I told it, blinking when the gate snapped open, letting out a long-suffering
creak.
“One problem
solved.” The man’s eyes slid sideways toward me as I gazed up at the
dilapidated house.
A once-stately
Victorian construct, the place had seen better days. The shutters hung
haphazardly and the paint peeled from the siding like strips of tattered paper.
The rotting steps made a dubious whimper as we mounted them and headed for the
outer porch.
“What a dump,” I
said.
The stranger
flinched, releasing my arm, and an unexplainable sorrow lanced through me.
“I just meant as
far as dreams go,” I amended hastily, somehow wanting his approval despite
myself. “I mean, I live in a friggin’ tree palace right now . . . you’d think
I’d be dreaming with slightly higher standards.”
“You’d think,”
he retorted. Abruptly he turned toward me. “Who are you?”
“You already
know my name. You said it back there. Which reminds me, how do you know who I
am?” It seemed like a fair enough question for a dream.
“Name tag.” He
pointed to my chest. Sure enough, I glanced down to see it—a simple little
plastic rectangle, the letters spelling out ABBY SINCLAIR in lopsided relief.
I frowned. “That
wasn’t there before.”
He gestured
about us. “Dreaming, remember? Shall we go inside?”
I shrugged,
intrigued. “I guess.” I doubted there would be anything of interest in this
rundown piece of crap, but I couldn’t remember another dream taking hold of my
mind so vividly. Might as well let it play out.
The door opened
beneath my touch and I crossed the threshold with a slight twitch of
nervousness. For all my brave thoughts, it was still a creepy old house, not
counting the stranger, who shadowed my steps with an aura of expectancy.
Inside was
nothing special—hardwood floors and dusty shelves, lights flickering as though
they might go out at any moment. “I wonder if there’s a fuse box somewhere.”
“I doubt it.” He
glanced at me with a ripple of amusement and I flushed.
“Yeah, yeah,” I
muttered. Ignoring him, I continued walking until I stood in what looked like a family room. The fireplace was choked
with old ashes, the dying embers banked into dull sparks. A record player
perched on a narrow table in the corner, a stack of records before it.
Something about them seemed so familiar, but I dismissed the albums when I read
the titles. Who the hell still listened to Tom Jones anyway?
Snorting, I
circled the rest of the room, noting the tattered quilt on the faded sofa and
the bowl of strawberry potpourri. The man leaned in the doorway, his arms
crossed as he watched me.
“This is all
very lovely,” I said finally. “But there’s nothing here for me. It’s so . . .
empty.”
He didn’t speak,
but his gaze strayed toward the mantel of the fireplace. “Who are you?”
“I thought we
already established that.”
“I told you what
your name was,” he countered. “I never heard it from you.”
“Abby . . . Abby
Sinclair.” I tugged on the name tag. “For all that this is apparently some sort
of Alice in Wonderland moment.” A smile drifted over my face. “I’m a princess,
you know.”
His voice
darkened. “A princess? Surely that seems like a lofty achievement.”
He brushed past
me to the mantel, taking something from the top and tossing it to me. I caught
it without a second thought, staring down at the bundled pair of pointe shoes
bemusedly.
“Ballet
slippers?” My brow furrowed. “What am I supposed to do with these? I’ve never
danced a day in my life. Hell, even my betrothed admits I have two left feet.”
He halted as
though I’d slapped him. “Betrothed is it?”
“Of course. To
be handfasted, anyway.” I stroked the satin of the slippers. They were no mere
decoration. The well-worn toes were proof enough of that. “I’m not really a
princess, though. Not yet. But I will be. A Faery princess, in fact.”
“Oh, a fine
thing, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically. “It seems your fiancé neglected to
mention that particular detail when he asked me to come here. Typical elf.” He
fixed me with a thin-lipped smile. “I suppose you truly have forgotten, though
the Dreamer in you
has not.”
“Forgotten what?
You talk in riddles.”
“It doesn’t
matter.” He sighed. “I had hoped things might be different here. This complicates
things immensely, but I will make the best of it.”
I threw the
slippers onto the couch. “You can try, you mean. I don’t know what the hell
you’re talking about, but I think it’s time I left or woke up or whatever.” I
glanced up at the ceiling as though I might will it to happen.
“Stop,” he
whispered, taking my hand. “Don’t leave yet.”
Slowly, I turned
toward him, a flare of heat sliding up my arm like a welcome friend. I knew
this touch. This feeling. His finger brushed my cheek, tipping my chin toward
him. A dull thrum beat in my ears, the blood pulsing hot with sudden desire. A
hint of gold encircled his pupils, flaring into a brilliant nimbus.
“I . . . know
you,” I said hoarsely, my knees going weak.
“Yes.” And then
his mouth was upon mine, and I knew I wanted him. Dream or not, stranger or
not, the wanting of him burned the edges of my skin, flooding my limbs like
liquid fire.
“What is this?”
I gasped, letting him wrap his arms around me, his hand snaking down my hips to
cup my ass.
“A gift. The
last I can give you.” He kissed me again and my eyes shut against the
intensity, even as his tongue swept deep. He captured my soft groan. “Look at
me, Abby.”
I blinked in
surprise. We were no longer in a house at all . . . but a ballroom? I gaped as
a cluster of masked dancers twirled by us in a rush of spirited laughter and
hazy silks. Beneath my feet gleamed a black-and-white marble floor, tiled in a
dizzying pattern. Soft light shone above us from a great crystal chandelier.
“I don’t understand.”
“I owe you a
wooing of sorts, I suspect. Consider it a parting memory.” He flicked his
fingers, and the soft strains of a violin echoed from the far corner of the
hall before I could ask him what he meant. I caught a dim glimpse of a cloaked
player, but my would-be
suitor had other
plans than allowing me to discover who it was, for he turned me neatly, his
hand upon my waist.
A moment later
and I was dressed the same as the other dancers, but in pastel blues and silver
threads.
“A corset?”
He shrugged.
“You might as well get used to it, Princess. Besides, I’ll enjoy trying to get
you out of it.”
“Easy for you to
say,” I grumbled. “You’re wearing pants.” Which he was. Tight, low-slung
leathers and a scarlet lawn shirt. “You look like some sort of ridiculous
vampire.”
A genuine laugh
rolled from his chest. “Can’t have that, can we?” He dipped me low and I
realized he was now dressed in shimmering blue to match my dress. “Better?”
“Still cliché,
but I’ll manage.”
“That’s my
girl.” He pulled me close again as the music took on a sultry tone, something
slower and seductive. “There’s only time for one dance, I’m afraid.”
“Well, then, I
guess we’d better make the most of it.” His lips curled into something
predatory, but he clung to me harder in a desperate motion that didn’t quite
touch his eyes. Unaware of anything but the delicious way he swiveled his
waist, I let my feet go where they would. Strangely, the steps flowed into each
other as though I’d been doing them forever, graceful and unhesitating.
Odd things,
dreams.
And my partner
was no slouch either.
Our skillful
movements soon turned the dance into something else entirely. Fingers stroked
over my neck, my shoulders, tracing down my spine. His hips ground into my
mine, his mouth upon my jaw. And all of it was subtle enough to seem as though
it were part of the dance itself.
We’d done this
before.
Halfway through
the piece, I realized my stays were coming undone. Struggling to keep the
corset from sliding off my chest, I paused, catching a smirk upon his face.
“Charming.” I
snorted, wondering if he’d been undoing them by hand or by other means. Not
that it mattered, really. Dreams were dreams and I was enjoying the hell out of
this one. Immediately I stopped squirming and lowered my hands, leaving the
corset to slip off as it would.
Spinning away
from him, I swayed my hips enticingly. The other dancers faded away, and even
the music became nothing more than a distant echo. My bare feet touched the
softest of carpets, the lights retreating to only a dim glow.
The dream had
changed again.
I glanced
demurely over my shoulder at him, one brow arched in challenge. My heart
hammered in my chest at the thought of what I was about to do. Whatever was
happening here felt terribly right, even if my head couldn’t quite wrap itself
around the concept.
My dance partner
stood several paces behind me, the rise and fall of his chest suggesting a
severe lack of oxygen. “When you look at me like that, I forget why I’m here,”
he said hoarsely.
My breasts were
about to slip free of the corset— the barest of motions would send it tumbling
past my waist.
“And why are you
here exactly? Assuming you aren’t a manifestation of prewedding jitters?”
“Hush.” His
mouth compressed at my words and I arched my back in apology. His hand casually
stretched up to push my hair behind my ear. His gaze became half-lidded and
hot, drawn to the taut nipple that had escaped its confines.
“Now how did
that happen, I wonder?”
“The mind
boggles,” he purred. “I suppose the only thing to do is to make a matched
pair.” He found the other breast, his thumb rolling it behind the corset with
the faintest of pressure. “It might get lonely.”
“Can’t have that
. . .” I tipped my head as though to expose more of myself to him. Soft heat
pooled at the base of my throat and I realized he was kissing me there, his
tongue tracing hot circles at the pulse. Something about the gesture niggled at
me, its familiarity ringing true, and I said as much.
He grunted in
reply, too caught up in my squirming reaction to care, but a moment later he
had pulled away. “Change in plans, Abby.”
My body
shuddered with disappointment. “I wasn’t aware there was supposed to be an
agenda. This is my dream, right?”
He let out a
humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “As much as it ever was, I suppose. Don’t
worry about it yet. I’m going to ask something of you shortly. There isn’t any
time to explain, but I need your word that you will do it.”
“Is it going to
hurt?”
“Not exactly.
Not you, anyway,” he admitted. “Promise me you will do what I ask? I’m not going to get another shot at it if it doesn’t
work.” The intensity of his expression became despairing and I could only nod
in answer.
“And until
then?” There was nothing glib about my words, but my body continued to thrum
with thwarted desire.
He leaned
forward to kiss me, even as he gently laid me upon the bed that had
mysteriously appeared behind us. “I’d think that would be obvious,” he
murmured. “I take what is mine.”
As though this
last interchange had freed him from whatever thoughts had been tormenting him,
he tugged at the top of my corset, growling with approval
at the newly
revealed flesh. “Gods, but I’ve missed this.” He went silent, suckling at the
nipples until I jerked toward him, an electric pulse of pleasure shooting to my
groin. I rolled my hips at him, but he was already there, one hand rucking the
skirt up to
my waist.
If I’d been
wearing underwear, it was gone a moment later, his hand sliding between my
thighs. I scissored them wide and bucked up to meet his fingers, letting out a
gasp of relief when he slipped one inside.
I tore at his
shoulders, pulling the shirt away from him like paper. My palms stroked his
naked chest and down the muscled ridge of his abdomen. With a groan he laid
claim to my mouth. The motion of his fingers grew bold. I rocked in time to the
movements, feeling them echoed in the way he slid against me. He chuckled at my
whimper.
“Too easy.” His
eyes glowed brighter still. I caught the flicker of what might have been
antlers sprouting from his brow, but he turned—and they were gone.
“You talk too
much.” I brushed my lips over his jawline, grinding harder against him. Small
ripples of pleasure radiated with each clever stroke. “And what’s too easy?”
One dark brow
arched in amusement, his fingers crooking up as his thumb pressed down. “This.”
Rational thought
fled as I tumbled over the edge, the orgasm hitting me fast and hard, leaving
me almost sobbing with its intensity. A satisfied croon rumbled from his chest.
Was he laughing? My body continued to vibrate happily along, not caring.
“Delicious,” he
sighed, his lips parted as though he was . . . drinking? His face lowered, gaze
burning at me. “Whatever happens, Abby, I have no regrets. About any of it.”
Confused, I frowned at him. “The mechanics are going to be too difficult to
explain right now . . . just do as I ask. You have the power, Dreamer. Please.”
“What are you
going to do?” I shifted as though to roll out from under him, but his hands
tightened around me. A tremor ran through him, but it wasn’t desire.
It was fear.
Clasping me to
him, he pulled me onto his lap. His erection remained beneath me, but it seemed to be an afterthought for him at this
point. One hand stroked my cheek, the other cradled my head. “I’m going to kiss
you now, Abby.”
“All right,” I
said slowly. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, a bitter smile crossing
his face as he lowered his mouth to mine. It was strangely chaste, hovering and
light as though he couldn’t quite find the right rhythm.
What the hell.
I’d make it easy for him.
My fingers
twined through the dark locks of his hair. He stiffened slightly, but I tugged
him closer, opening myself to him as well as I could. He nipped at my lower
lip, our breath mingling hotly.
“All of me I give
to you,” he whispered, the words slipping away into the darkness, and his eyes
flared painfully bright like golden waves in an infinite sea. He shuddered, his
exhalation filling my lungs until they burned. “Now drink my dreams.”
I struggled, but
his hands held me firmly in place. I heard the distant chimes of bells as
visions darkened my sight, wrapping me in the memories of an . . .
. . . Incubus .
. .
. . . I was
crouched in the darkness outside a white picket fence with thorny edges, my
hands bleeding from my failed attempts to scale it. Anything to get back to the
place of my birth, the warmth of the Dreaming womb, and the inadvertent love of
a mother who never knew me . . .
. . . I was
learning to feed, gleaning off the dreams of others, taking all that I could
and leaving only a hollowed longing for an unobtainable sexual perfection . . .
. . . I was
singing on a stage, holding the attention of everyone. So easy to let my power
roll out, lust and desire curling through the room like the flicking tongue of
a snake. I could taste the scant edges of their dreams, the weight and the
measure as I decided who I would visit tonight, what Contract I would make . .
.
. . . I was
wrapped in her arms and the darkness, her Dreaming Heart welcomes me like a
beacon of light in the shadows. I would never belong there, but for a moment I
could pretend . . .
“Ion.” The name
fell from my tongue with an easy roll. He uttered a low cry, his form seeming
to waver, his body vibrating in my arms. A rush of energy pulsed through my
limbs once. Twice. And then he faded, a ghostly shadow slipping away.
Remember me . .
.
His voice echoed
in my mind, even as the white bed seemed to open up, swallowing me into
darkness. The scent of rose petals and earth and decaying leaves assaulted my
senses. I was falling, my fingers scrabbling at nothing as I hurtled into
oblivion.
OOO
I’d been crying
in my sleep. The damp trace of tears still clung to my lashes. Dimly, I rubbed
at them with my hand as I sat up in my bed, trying to remember what had
happened. My body thrummed uncomfortably and I knew it had been an arousing
dream of sorts, but more than that I couldn’t say. I would have to ask Talivar
about it in the morning.
The elven prince
had a way of being able to see to the heart of my thoughts, even when I
couldn’t quite understand them myself. Not that he was here now. For
propriety’s sake we had separate bedrooms. I’d never slept with him before. At
least, I didn’t think I had.
There’d been
some sort of accident in my recent past, one that had apparently taken my
long-term memory. No one seemed to want to elaborate on the details.
Considering I was supposed to get married to the man, it was a bitch of a thing
not to remember the actual proposal.
Perhaps my dream
was just a manifestation of wedding jitters like I’d guessed, or even pent-up
hormones. But tears? Flopping down in frustration, I stared out the carved window at the moonless night, a rustling of
branches the only sound. Usually I found it comforting, but right then it
mocked me with its secrets, as though it knew more of me than it cared to tell.
I shifted onto
my side in irritation, something hard digging into my hip. Puzzled, I reached
beneath me to find several small, round somethings. They jingled, a lost and lonely
chime that made my heart ache. I lit the bedside candle and held the objects up
to the flickering
glow, swallowing
hard when I realized I was holding a set of bells, tangled in red thread.
About the author:
A marine biologist in a former life, Allison Pang
turned to a life of crime to finance her wild spending habits and need to collect
Faberge eggs. A cat thief of notable repute, she spends her days sleeping and
nights scaling walls and wooing dancing boys….Well, at least the marine biology
part is true. But she was taloned by a hawk once. She also loves Hello Kitty, sparkly shoes,
and gorgeous violinists.
She spends her days in Northern Virginia working
as a cube grunt and her nights waiting on her kids and cats, punctuated by the
occasional husbandly serenade. Sometimes she even manages to write. Mostly she
just makes it up as she goes.
Sounds like a good book. Can't wait to read it. I will have to get the first two first. Thanks for the giveaway.
ReplyDeleteMackenzie