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Sparkle Book Tours
Ghost's Dilemma – A M/M Fantasy Romance
by Morwen Navarre
"Moon shine on me, Ghost. When you look at me like this, how can I even think of anything but making love to you?"
Ghost is content to spend all his free time in bed with Gerry. But scandal and hate surrounding Ghost's appointment as the first male witch and a deadly epidemic force Ghost to make choices that might cost him Gerry's love.
Spurred on by a message from his mentor, Ghost embarks alone on a journey through mystical underground tunnels and lost civilizations to the frozen lands of his origin, seeking a way to neutralize the threat back home. While he struggles to find a balance between his duties as a witch and his calling as a seer, all Ghost really wants is to return to the haven he has found in Gerry's arms.
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"The little one wakes." A deep, rumbling voice pierced his fog of sleep.
Ghost shoved hard against the arms holding him. He wriggled free and sat up. He heard a door close somewhere behind him. "Let go of me," he growled. He was wide awake now, his heart pounding against his ribs.
The man belonging to the arms was bare-chested, as was Ghost, to his chagrin. He was quite relieved to see he still wore his breeches, though relief didn't stop him from glaring at the man in the bed with him.
"You're fierce, little one. This is good to see. It means you are not too soft, like the rest of the outlanders from down below." The man sat up as well. His long white hair was bound back in many braids, each one tipped with a bead carved from the red wood of the South. An intricate black tattoo covered both his arms. The man's blue eyes watched Ghost with undisguised amusement. "You have jewels in your head, little one. Did the woman decorate you so?"
"What woman?" Ghost retorted, watching the man for any untoward movement. "Are you talking about the Witch? Is she here?"
"Outlanders do not ask. They listen. And answer." The man's voice dropped to a warning snarl. "Hair and eyes do not make you one of us, little one. Do not presume you have a place here."
"I don't want a place here," Ghost snapped. "I want to talk to the Witch. She may have the solution I need. The people of my village await my return."
A large, calloused hand clapped Ghost's shoulder as the man barked out a laugh. "There was not a single question in all your words. This is good to know. You are both fierce and can listen."
Ghost snorted, moving out from under the hand and off the bed, the central feature of the room. The walls were timber, broad planks lacquered to a glossy shine. White hide curtains closed off a small window. Below the window was a carved wooden chest with a rounded lid, painted as elaborately as the man's tattooed arms. He looked around for the rest of his clothing. "Makes one of us," he muttered, not looking up. He tried to ignore the laughter from the bed as he found his thick linen shirt and heavy leather tunic tossed in a corner.
Getting dressed made Ghost feel much better, and finding his tall boots more so. He looked around for a place to sit to put them on, but there was only the large bed with the muscular Norther in it, and Ghost had no intentions of getting close to the man again. He sat on the floor and tugged the first boot over his foot.
"Will you talk about the stones?" the big man asked, crossing thick arms over his broad, muscled chest.
"Only if you tell me why I was in bed with you." Ghost stood, peering around the room to see if he could spot his pouches and his beautiful cloak. If this oaf of a Norther had taken his cloak, Ghost was going to figure out a way to inflict a proper curse on the bastard.
"Which earns you my name. Not many people would bargain with me. I am Njall, son of Falkor. Do you have a name, little one?" The man watched Ghost with open amusement.
"I am Ghost, mate of Gerry, witch to my village." Ghost eyed Njall. "I'm still waiting for my answer."
"You were found in the snow, half-frozen and asleep, little Ghost. You tried to make a shelter, which was wise, but you slept before you were done. Not so wise." Njall shrugged. "Your pretty cloak marked you as an outlander almost as much as the unfinished shelter. Now, my answer?"
"I'm not sure what woman you mean," Ghost replied, not looking away from Njall. "But if you mean a woman with three joined spirals in red on her forehead, then yes. She gave me my witchmark." He crossed his own arms over his chest. "She is who I came to find."
"The woman with the triskele, yes. She is an outlander, but she is fierce as well. She came to speak with Falkor, and when I mistook her for a thrall, a serving woman, she slapped me." Njall laughed his rumbling laugh. "I like her, although she is too old to give me sons. She had a boy with her, though."
This reminded Ghost of his own missing items. "I'd like my cloak back. And my pouches. The cloak was a gift from my mate. He made it with his own hands. The pouches hold my healers' supplies, and I need those for my people."
Read more here: http://www.torquerepress.com/fiction/ghostsdilemma.html#sample
I've always been a writer in some way, whether it was writing on the walls as a child, the copious notebooks I filled as a teen, or the volumes of fan fiction I wrote as an adult. Now I write erotic romance. We are creatures of sensation, craving touch and filled with desires we might not even want to admit to ourselves. Try as we might to ignore and deny the passion inside us, it's still there. It cries for attention and finds its outlet in my writing.Ghost's Sight was written in response to a prompt from a friend and is an impassioned tale of two men who find each other in unexpected circumstances. Their story continues with Ghost's Dilemma and possibly a third volume yet to come.
Tour Schedule – One Week Blog Tour Ghost’s Dilemma by Morwen Navarre from Feb 16 to Feb 24, 2015.
Feb 16
Indy Book Fairy
Fictional Rendezvous Book Blog
Feb 17
Literary Musing
Portals to New Worlds
Feb 18
Ravyn Rayne Reads
Books Books Books
Feb 19
Angels with Attitude Book Reviews
Booky Ramblings of a Neurotic Mom
Feb 20
The Avid Reader
Feb 23
Eclipse Reviews
Feb 24
Book Groupies
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