The Darkness in Her Tears
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The Darkness in Her Tears
by S.D. Grady
Genre Paranormal Erotic Romance
Wild Darkness Calls imprint
Tags Romance, erotica, paranormal, shape-shifters, selkie, Ireland, historical, love charms, finnmann, Eynhallow, oceans, mid-summer's night, fantasy
Release April 24, 2015
Editor Susan Davis
Line Editor Greta Gunselman
Cover Designer Cora Graphics
Words 5619
Pages 26
ISBN 978-1-77127-713-6
Price $2.50
Back Cover
Moira has always longed for a man to love. But the men in her village shy away from the bold and wild woman, unable to trust that no other would steal her away while they are out to sea.
Desperate for the love of a devoted husband, she approaches the local witch for a love charm, but not before shedding seven tears into the ocean. Her tears summon Murtagh, a selkie and the one destined to be her mate.
The witch later tosses Moira's coin into the waters, which calls an evil finnmann Darcy to shore. He is bent on stealing away the dark beauty to serve as his captive wife under the waves until the end of time.
In the flickering light of the midsummer's bonfire, Moira is seduced by Murtagh. However, their joy is short lived when Darcy arrives, ready to challenge the selkie.
Under the silver shadows of the moonbeam, the shifters enter into an epic battle—one that will end in Moira's happiness, or her perpetual torment.
Excerpt
Moira stepped over the rugged terrain skirting the black pebbled beach. She kept one eye on the tufts of tall green grass and the other on the barquentine moored just beyond the arms of the small cove. Her long black hair whipped in the steady breeze. Low clouds scudded above. Days like this felt like she could touch the ominous Irish sky. Beyond the three-masted ship, she spied the blue of a midsummer’s day where wind whipped the clouds away. The moon would rise full and brilliant tonight.
The longboat lowered from the side of the ship.
Moira came to a halt on the edge of the small cliff, where the sea crashed against the dark gray stone. The familiar ache rose up in her chest. All the women in the village would have even more reason to celebrate tonight. Their men were returned to them.
But not her man.
She fisted the small bag of silver coins and tested its weight.
No man had ever begged for Moira’s favor. Even fair Connell had avoided her advances when he accepted the king’s coin.
“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he begged off. “No sane man would leave you behind whilst he’s at sea. With your bold eyes and ways, I could never be certain some silver-tongued devil wouldn’t spirit you away.”
Bitter jealousy ate at her. She chewed her lips to keep the emotion from swelling. Tonight, around the bonfire in the village, every woman would dance beneath the moon with the one that had chosen her as his wife. Except her.
As the sailors began to row, she watched their broad shoulders move in unison.
Oh, how wonderful it would be to feel that strength under her fingers! Tears, unbidden, traced her cheeks. She drew a sniff in annoyance and studied the bag she had stitched together out of an old sack. Would it work?
She looked back out to the undulating, briny mass of the ocean.
Would old Mother Ada make her a charm that would summon her true love? For even after all these years, Moira believed that for every woman there existed one who would be hers for all time.
A gust of wind slapped her brown skirt against her legs and stole the breath from her lungs. It swirled around her. Sea spray dampened her face, mingled with her tears, and danced away on the wings of the tempest.
She turned and followed the narrow track along the cliff, toward the far end of the cove. There, hidden beneath the hedge, Mother Ada lived. Moira would purchase the necessary charm to make this Midsummer’s Night one to remember.
* * * *
When the first tear dipped into the sea, the ripple shimmered through the waves. Murtagh paused in his pursuit of a small school of fish and blinked in the murky depths. His body tightened in anticipation when the second, third, and fourth drops landed. Eager to know if it was her—the one he had been watching for nigh on twenty years—he twisted and launched himself toward the surface. Flippers and tail pushed in unison, allowing the water to slip over his streamlined body. Bubbles released from under his fur.
He broke into the dull, afternoon sun, his small head bobbing alone in the cove. A tremor shook him to his very core when the last three tears broke the crest of a nearby swell.
At long last, she had called for him. By the grace of her frustration, tonight he could make her ripe body his, in every possible way.
He spied her running along the top of the low cliff. Round, long, and supple, her limbs would wrap around him and he would know the wonders of mating with a human.
Hungry for his first taste of Moira—her name had been embedded in his soul since she cried her first breath—Murtagh began the joyous leaping swim to the pebbled beach where he could shed his pelt and walk as a man for this one day. Would it be enough for her gentle, lonely heart? He didn’t know. But as a selkie, it was all he had to give.
