Laurell K. Hamilton - A Caress of Twilight

HAMILTON CREATES
A FANTASTIC,
GLITTERING WORLD

with complex characters that revel in their non-humanity. Intricate relationships highlight the otherworldly ambience and raise the heat index to high!

Romantic Times

A delicious delectation of dark delight, one any reader can enjoy.

Cinescape

I havent been this entranced by a series of books since I bought the first four Gabaldon titles and read them back-to-back. Fun and more fun, folks. [A Caress of Twilight and A Kiss of Shadows] are absolutely worth a read; they are what escapism is all about. If you enjoy good reading and enjoy exploring one of the most imaginative fantasy series around, you shouldnt pass up this opportunity. Buy them today!

Romance Reviews Today

In the second Meredith Gentry adventure, Hamilton weaves the modern and magical seamlessly in a compelling tale of the effects of three kinds of powermagical, sexual, and the most dangerous, political.

Booklist

[A] top-notch novel The story will stay in your head long after youve put the book down.

The News-Star

Steamy prose An exciting climax.

Publishers Weekly

By Laurell K. Hamilton

A KISS OF SHADOWS
A CARESS OF TWILIGHT

Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming hardcover edition of Seduced by Moonlight by Laurell K. Hamilton. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

A Ballantine Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright 2002 by Laurell K. Hamilton
Excerpt from Seduced by Moonlight by Laurell K. Hamilton copyright 2003 by Laurell K. Hamilton

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

www.ballantinebooks.com

eISBN: 978-0-307-55495-6

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This ones for J., who brought me endless cups of chai and, for the first time, watched the process from beginning to end. He loves me still, and for all of you married to us artistic types, you know just how much that says about both of us.

For Shauna Summers, my new editor, thanks for the professionalism. Darla Cook, who helped proof this book when there wasnt time to send it around. To my long-suffering writing group: Tom Drennan, Rhett MacPherson, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands, Sharon Shinn, and Mark Sumner. Thanks for having patience with me while my world fell apart and remade itself.

MOONLIGHT SILVERED THE ROOM, PAINTING THE BED IN A HUNDRED shades of grey, white, and black. The two men in the bed were deeply asleep. So deeply that when Id crawled out from between them, theyd barely stirred. My skin glowed white with the kiss of moonlight. The pure bloodred of my hair looked black. Id pulled on a silk robe, because it was chilly. People can talk about sunny California, but in the wee hours of the night, when dawn is but a distant dream, its still chilly. The night that fell like a soft blessing through my window was a December night. If Id been home in Illinois, there would have been the smell of snow, crisp enough, almost, to melt along the tongue. Cold enough to sear the lungs. So cold it was like breathing icy fire. That was the way air was supposed to taste in early December. The breeze crawling through the window at my back held the dry tang of eucalyptus and the distant smell of the sea. Salt, water, and something else, that indefinable scent that says ocean, not lake, nothing usable, nothing drinkable. You can die of thirst on the shores of an ocean.

For three years Id stood on the shores of this particular ocean and died a little bit every day. Not literallyId have survivedbut mere survival can get pretty lonely. Id been born Princess Meredith Nic-Essus, a member of the high court of faerie. I was a real-life faerie princess, the only one ever born on American soil. When I vanished from sight about three years ago, the media had gone crazy. Sightings of the missing Elven American Princess had rivaled Elvis sightings. Id been spotted all around the world. In reality Id been in Los Angeles the entire time. Id hidden myself, been just plain Meredith Gentry, Merry to my friends. Just another human with fey ancestry working for the Grey Detective Agency, where we specialized in supernatural problems, magical solutions.

Legend says that a fey exiled from faerie will wither and fade, die. Thats both true and untrue. I have enough human blood in my background that being surrounded by metal and technology doesnt bother me. Some of the lesser fey would literally wither and die in a man-made city. But most fey can manage in a city; they may not be happy, but they can survive. But part of them does wither, that part that knows that not all the butterflies you see are actually butterflies. That part that has seen the night sky filled with a rushing of wings like a hurricane wind, wings of flesh and scale to make humans whisper of dragons and demons; that part that has seen the sidhe ride by on horses made of starlight and dreams. That part begins to die.

I hadnt been exiled; Id fled, because I couldnt survive the assassination attempts. I just didnt have the magic or the political clout to protect myself. Id saved my life but lost something else. Id lost the touch of faerie. Id lost my home.

Now, leaning on my windowsill with the smell of the Pacific Ocean on the air, I looked down at the two men and knew I was home. They were both high-court sidhe, Unseelie sidhe, part of that darkling throng that I might someday rule if I could stay ahead of the assassins. Rhys lay on his stomach, one hand hanging off the bed, the other lost under his pillow. Even in repose that one visible arm was muscled. His hair was a shining fall of white curls caressing his bare shoulders, trailing down the strong line of his back. The right side of his face was pressed to the pillow, and so I couldnt see the scars where his eye had been taken. His cupid-bow mouth was turned upward, half smiling in his sleep. He was boyishly handsome and would be forever.

Nicca lay curled on his side. Awake, his face was handsome, bordering on pretty; asleep, he had the face of an angelic child. Innocent he looked, fragile. Even his body was softer, less muscled. His hands were still rough from sword practice, and there was muscle under the velvet smoothness of his skin, but he was soft compared to the other guards, more courtier than mercenary. The face did, and did not, match the body. He was just over six feet, most of it long, long legs; his slender waist and long, graceful arms balanced all that length. Most of Nicca was shades of brown. His skin was the color of pale milk chocolate, and the hair that fell in a straight fall to his knees was a rich, dark true brown. Not brunette, but the color of fresh turned leaves that had lain a long, long time on the forest floor until when stirred they were a rich, moist brown, something you could plunge your hands into and come away wet and smelling of new life.