Genevra Thorne
Extras &
Excerpts
A Faerie Tale: The Beloved
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, giving Eden’s eyes sight just before she reached the darkness. She stopped in her tracks before the dripping beast illuminated by the steely light. His head was thrown back in some kind of torment that shook her to her bones. She saw his corded throat, his sculpted chest, and the breadth of his shoulders cloaked in clingy wool. She saw his long, carved fingers closing into fists just before shadows engulfed him once again.
Her heart broke for him, for she knew sadness. She couldn’t see his face, but it must be terrible. She understood sorrow well and knew what it could do to the soul. She wanted to comfort him as he had comforted her the night before.
She thought he might object when she entered the darkness with him. She would not have listened if he had. She wanted to touch him, to feel his closeness without the hesitation she’d suffered throughout the years.
Reaching her hand out, she searched blindly until she touched the hard muscle of his arm. “You’re wet from the rain.” She stepped closer to him and heard the sharp intake of breath above her. “Let me help you take off your shirt. I will dry you.” She moved to his side, tracing her fingers up his shoulder while she went. It was the first time she had stood next to him. Even in the darkness, his powerful physique made her quiver. When she stepped behind him, lifting her other hand to peel his shirt away, her fingertips floated across the flare of his back. The touch of his hair along her knuckles was like a sensual breath that made her knees weak. Never had she been so taken with a man. She suspected it was the light, or lack of it, that she found so alluring. She ran her palms over the warm flesh of his back like a sculptor delighting in the mounds and hollows of her creation. The darkness gave life to every shudder of muscle beneath her fingers. The silence amplified his ragged breath.
Continuing his slow uncloaking, Eden spread her fingers down the muscles in his arms, which strained at her touch. When she reached his hand, his fingers opened to hers and then closed around them. She thought, as her defenses crumbled around her, the simple act of holding her hand might be the single most intimate thing anyone had ever shared with her.
A Faerie Tale: The Enchanted
STARS MISTED THE VELVET SKY. They twinkled in rhythm to the music drifting through the deep forest. A cool, moist breeze fondled the moonlit treetops, filling the young girl who ran barefoot beneath the branches with wild abandon. She didn’t see the shining eyes of the forest animals watching her while she ran and twirled, her bare arms above her head. Her eyes were closed, lost to a symphony that only she could hear. The music called her deeper and deeper into the wisteria-canopied woods. The sweet melody pulsed through her veins, embracing her heart and flesh and giving her small feet flight, her heart wings.
“Taryn,” a boy called. His voice was as beautiful as the music. “Come hither, Taryn.”
She lifted her skirts to her knees and ran toward him, twirling as she searched for him within the trees.
“Say my name, Taryn.” He laughed from somewhere to her right. “Or you shall never find me.”
“Tell me your name and I’ll say it,” she promised, but the boy left her. She felt his absence like a hole in her belly and fell to the ground in a heap of sobs and creamy wool. A name flirted at the edges of her consciousness, as elusive as the breeze blowing her hair away from her face. Something soft touched her cheek. She reached for it, wiping her nose with her other hand. It was an amber-colored leaf in the shape of an arrow, different from the others that sprinkled the forest floor. She studied it for a moment and then, without knowing why, put the leaf in her mouth and ate it.
A sound drew her attention to the right. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then she rubbed them again. For it was no longer night in the forest, and she was no longer a child. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the vermilion fire of sunlight streaming through the canopy. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned toward a curtained wall of gnarled branches where more of the little, arrow-shaped amber leaves swayed in a silent breeze.
Taryn’s pulse raced when the branches began to move. She wasn’t afraid. Oh no, her heart battered madly against her ribs because she could not wait another moment to see him. The heavy boughs creaked and bent, creating an opening from which a dusty, black boot appeared out of the shadows. It was followed by a muscular leg encased in black woolen pants. Taryn watched, breathless, while a hand appeared next. Long, chiseled fingers waved away the pliant boughs without touching them.
A man stepped out of the darkness and into Taryn’s vision like a fantasy come to life. He looked around for a moment, as if this place was unfamiliar to him. His stance was guarded yet confident, like that of a warrior. When his riveting gaze finally came to rest on her, it halted Taryn’s heart. His face was a masterwork of compelling emotions all concentrated within the brilliant peacock-blue depths of his eyes. He wore a full shirt of rich scarlet that stretched across his broad shoulders when he inhaled the fragrant air. A cluster of amber leaves floated from the boughs above him and fell into his rich raven hair, forming a perfect circlet above his brow. Taryn felt the urge to bow to him, but she knew that her knees would never hold out if she did.