In the 6th century Sir Gawain volunteered without hesitation when King Arthur asked him to track down a sorceress building influence through a terrible power. Now, his quest has pitched him through time into 21st century New York City and he must fulfill his original pledge to his king to stop an evil cult bent on enslaving humanity.
Tara O'Malley has recently assumed responsiblity for her family pub in Brooklyn, the family finances, and the safety of a medieval dagger that has been handed down for generations. When the dagger is stolen, she soon discovers her best hope to recover it rests on the broad shoulders of a golden stranger who seems to have stepped right out of a Renaissance fair.
Together Gawain and Tara must overcome the myths and curses of the past to safeguard humanity and any chance they might have for a future.
Excerpt from Timeless Vision
His body sore and aching, Gawain opened his eyes to find his vision blurred and unsettling. It happened whenever his physical sight blended with the mystical bond that allowed him to see the world through his greyhound’s eyes as well. He’d long ago stopped cursing the roots of magic in his family that made the union possible, as the gift had saved his life on the battlefield more than once.
At the moment, his hound’s view was full of Gawain’s profile. The devotion warmed him, though it wasn’t helpful. Had they succeeded in putting an end to Morgana’s followers? He could tell by the cool air and near darkness they were in a cave. Suppressing a shudder at the thought, he blinked several times until he was seeing only with his natural eyes.
Looking about, he saw they were in what amounted to a stone tomb. Hearing water flowing nearby, he muttered a prayer of thanks to his squire for following directions. Slowly, Gawain stretched his stiff muscles and sat up, reaching over to pet the hound’s perked ears. At least one of them was alert. “How have we fared?”
The hound replied with a soft whine as he snuffled at Gawain’s beard, then his ears.
He soothed the dog while he regained his bearings. Images, memories, and plans tumbled through his mind while he struggled to put his thoughts in a logical order. Though his armor was gone, his sword and scabbard were at his side. Interesting. He scratched at the thick whiskers on his chin and cheeks, concerned by the excessive length of his beard.
The hopeful justification for his current state was that his last-resort spell had rendered them exhausted and they’d been mistaken for dead. Even as he considered the notion, it felt wrong. His empty stomach rumbled with raw hunger. How much time had passed since he’d been forced to cast the spell?
If all had gone well, if his sacrifice had worked, he shouldn’t have woken at all.
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