New Release and Giveaway! WOLF’S KEEP by K.E. Turner (The Wolves of Langeais #1)

Her heart pounded and her throat tightened, but she pulled herself together.

There’s nothing there.

No apparition of a long dead chevalier, no ghostly wolf, nothing. Tomorrow she’d feel like a complete idiot and have a laugh at her own expense, especia

lly if Connor and Greg got wind of this. A muttered oath burst out from the darkness. Her body stiffened.

Oh God, there is someone there. Calm down, Erin. Take a breath.

She sucked in air. A security guard? She released her breath on a sigh. Yes, security doing the rounds, checking the site because the lights went out.

Without a torch?

Or more delinquent teenagers intent on mischief, taking advantage of the blackout.

“I know you’re there,” she called out, hands on her hips. Only kids. She could handle a bunch of kids. Maybe. “Show yourself.” She resisted the urge to stamp her foot.

A large shape coalesced, moving toward her. Erin held her ground. As the figure approached, the clouds covering the moon shifted and the darkness ebbed away. Her mouth dropped open. What the hell?

A man. A naked man.

Her gaze snapped to his face. Her breath whooshed from her lungs.

No, no, no, no.

Her blood turned to icy sludge, and her brain struggled to comprehend what her eyes were seeing. It couldn’t be. Ghosts weren’t real. No matter how many paranormal shows tried to convince you of their existence, ghosts weren’t real. They were a trick of the light, a product of an overactive imagination and a spooky atmosphere. A logical explanation could always be found.

Not this time. Nothing else could explain how he stood before her. In the flesh. Lots and lots of flesh!

“Gaharet d’Louncrais.” The air all but sucked out of her lungs. How was this possible? Her drawing was merely a romantic imagining from the most minimal descriptions they had, and yet… Those eyes, the patrician nose…

Erin shook her head. A wave of dizziness swamped her, and she groaned, holding her hand to her forehead. She winced at the tenderness beneath her palm. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, took deep breaths and concentrated on reinstating calm, rational thoughts. The sudden darkness, the disturbing nature of the cell and her fascination with the long dead chevalier had her seeing things that simply weren’t there. Ghosts did not exist, and they sure as hell did not show up naked.

You’ve got Gaharet d’Louncrais on the brain, Erin. That’s all.

She’d had a long day. Fatigue had to be playing a role. Add to that, an unexpected head injury, and she’d conjured him straight off the page and into…whatever this was. She would open her eyes and all she’d see would be the dark silhouette of the keep ruins. Nothing more. Trepidation almost choking her, she slowly prized her lids open.

He’s still there! And. Still. Naked!

Erin had worked on medieval grave sites, exhumed bones and worked well into the night many times before. Not once had she ever encountered an apparition. Could this be her first supernatural experience?

A ghost? In the buff?

They squared off, neither making a move toward the other, nor saying a word, and Erin’s curiosity spiked, battling it out with her fear for supremacy. Maybe she’d knocked herself out, lay unconscious on the ground and this was all a bad dream. Nope. The pain in her head was real. She narrowed her eyes at the figure before her. Who’d ever heard of a naked ghost?

Erin tried hard, really hard, to contain her gaze to his face, but her eyes refused to take orders from her bruised frontal lobe. The pleasure center of her brain, the part she held responsible for that ridiculous drawing, had control and it steered her gaze lower. Down over his muscular chest, taking in the flash of gold chain and jeweled pendant nestled in dark hair, before moving to his ripped abs. God, those abs—sculpted to perfection, except for a raised, jagged scar slicing across them. She itched to run her fingers over that scar.

Her fists clenched to her sides, she continued her exploration downward…for science, for history. She was a professional trained in research and practiced in observation. She licked her lips. She’d study every detail. To document her findings, of course.

Her gaze trailed a path down from those impeccable abs, following twin ropes of muscle leading to… Her mouth went dry, and her gaze did a nervous skip to his muscular thighs with their faint dusting of dark hair, but only for an instant before jerking back up to… Oh, my.