Seer's Promise (Book 2 of The Seer Trilogy) - Excerpt Only

Seer's Promise - Excerpt (Chapter One)

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SEER'S PROMISE (Book Two of The Seer Trilogy)

By Maree Anderson  

Hope's Sehani powers have finally grown strong enough to risk returning to Earth. Gods willing, she'll find a way to rid her daughter of the soul-eater that possesses her, and convince Romana to return with her to Dayamaria.

Romana is captivated by the prospect of becoming a powerful Sehan like her mother. But her dreams are shattered when everything she'd hoped for is bestowed upon someone who couldn't care less about wielding Sehani magic. She craves power with every fiber of her being... and when she finds a way to take what she wants the cost is devastating for gods and humankind alike.

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Copyright 2013 by Maree Anderson 

License Notes  

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.  

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SEER'S PROMISE

PROLOGUE  

It's happening again. She clenches her teeth until her jaw aches, tenses her muscles to hold her body rigid. She's desperate to keep it locked inside her. Desperate not to speak the vicious words that spew from her lips when it takes control of her. Because her greatest fear is that one day—maybe today—even her guardian will turn away in disgust. And then she'll be alone.

She can feel its terrible glee boiling inside her. It's winning. It wants her to know that—wants her to despair. Stubbornly she holds on.

Sweat oozes from her pores, plastering the flimsy cotton nightdress against her skin. Fury and hatred seethe in her veins, infecting her body with every frantic pump of her heart. She smothers these emotions as best she can. Hatred feeds it. Anger makes it stronger. And fear? It enjoys fear most of all.

A sharp, unexpected pain blooms, and its cruel laughter echoes in her skull.

Moisture worms down her chin. She's bitten through her lip. She licks the blood, tasting it. Savoring it. Delicious. So warm and sweet and—

These aren't her thoughts.

Horror skims her skin. She snatches a breath and rallies for one last effort. And as her spine bows and her legs flail on the mattress, inch by inch her hand moves upward toward the pillows.

An age later her fingertips brush the cool smoothness of a crystal sphere. It's her most precious possession. Her guardian believes it's a gift from the mother who abandoned her so long ago. And God, how she wants—needs—to believe that.

Her fingers curl about the crystal. Clinging to hope that this will work, that she hasn't imagined what she saw, she begins the slow, painful journey to extract the sphere from its hiding place.

Almost there. She peels open eyelids that are unimaginably heavy, and it takes a mammoth effort to angle her head until she can see the glint of the crystal in the periphery of her vision. Her hand jerks half an inch across the coverlet, brushing a lighter patch in the knap of the plush velvet. Just a little more....