Jayne Castle - Obsidian Prey

I want to thank Nancy Halifax, proprietor of the Halifax Gallery (17 Quartz Lane, Old Quarter, Frequency City), for her professional insight and advice. Her bold efforts to expand the accepted critical boundaries of modern art have redefined the meaning and definition of the artistic vision.

And to Chimera, the daring artist who started it all.

Boy, howdy, I couldn't have written this book without you two. Any mistakes are, of course, entirely attributable to Miss Halifax and Chimera.

Welcome to my other world, Harmony.

Late in the twenty-first century, a vast energy Curtain opened in the vicinity of Earth, making interstellar travel practical for the first time. In typical human fashion, thousands of eager colonists packed up their stuff and lost no time heading out to create new homes and new societies on the unexplored worlds. Harmony was one of those worlds.

The colonists brought with them all the comforts of home: sophisticated technology, centuries of art and literature, and the latest fashions. Trade through the Curtain flourished and made it possible to stay in touch with families back on Earth. It also allowed the colonists to keep their computers and high-tech gadgets working. Things went swell for a while.

And then one day, without warning, the Curtain closed, disappearing as mysteriously as it had opened. Cut off from Earth, no longer able to obtain the equipment and supplies needed to keep their high-tech lifestyle going, the colonists were abruptly thrown back to a far more primitive existence. Forget the latest Earth fashions; just staying alive suddenly became a major problem.

But on Harmony, folks did one of the things humans do best: they survived. It wasn't easy, but two hundred years after the closing of the Curtain, the descendants of the First Generation colonists have managed to fight their way back from the brink to a level of civilization roughly equivalent to that of the early twenty-first century on Earth.

Here on Harmony, however, things are a little different, especially after dark. There are the creepy ruins of a long-vanished alien civilization, a mysterious underground rain forest, and a most unusual kind of animal companion. What's more, an increasingly wide variety of psychic powers are showing up in the population. Seems that something in the environment on Harmony is bringing out the latent psychic talents in people.

Of course, there are some folks who don't need any help from the environment. They already possess paranormal abilities. Turns out that several members of the Arcane Society were among the First Generation colonists. .

If, like me, you sometimes relish your romantic suspense with a paranormal twist, Harmony is the place for you.

Love,

Jayne

SOME MEN WALKED STRAIGHT OUT OF A WOMAN'S dreams. Some qualified as full-on nightmares. As far as Lyra Dore was concerned, Cruz Sweetwater had a booted foot planted solidly in both realms. When the jolt of awareness shot through her, she almost dropped her glass.

"I can't believe it," she said, sputtering a little on a sip of champagne. "The bastard is here."

But the truth was, she was not all that shocked or surprised. Deep down, she had known that sooner or later he would come back into her life. There had been a relentless, disturbing sense of inevitability about the whole thing. Like watching a slow-motion train wreck, she thought.

A part of her had even dared to hope that when he did come back, it would be on his knees. But with her luck—the infamously unreliable Dore luck—that was highly unlikely to happen.

That was the way with dreams. The good ones had the decency to vanish forever with the dawn. Nightmares, on the other hand, had a nasty tendency to return to haunt you again and again.

"You're kidding." Nancy Halifax looked around the crowded gallery, her attractive face alight with excitement. She did not have to ask who "the bastard" was. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Lyra muttered into her glass. Another whisper of intense awareness shivered across her senses. She knew Cruz was nearby in the same way she would have known if any other species of top-of-the-food-chain predator was in the vicinity.

"This is just a small gallery affair," Nancy said. "It isn't the sort of high-end auction or museum exhibition a Sweetwater would attend. There's only one reason why your guy would come here tonight. He knows you're here. He wants to talk to you."

"He's definitely not my guy, and if you think he's here to see me, I've got a lovely amber mine I can sell you," Lyra said. But deep inside, hope spiraled through her.

"I'll bet he wants to beg you to forgive him and take him back. I don't see him, though. Are you sure he's here?"

Nancy was a striking woman who stood close to six feet tall in her bare feet. Tonight she was wearing three-inch heels to accent her sleek-fitting black sheath. Her view of the room was no doubt excellent.

"Positive," Lyra said. "If you don't see him, it's because he doesn't want you to see him. Not yet, at any rate. He's hunting."

"Oh, come on, Lyra. You make him sound like a specter-cat stalking its prey."

"Wrong analogy."

"I should hope so."

"Think professional hit man," Lyra said. "A really, really well-dressed hit man."

"Isn't that just a little over-the-top?"

"Hmmm. No, I don't think so."

Lyra did not bother to search the crowd. There was no point. She was several inches shorter than Nancy, and even in her stiletto heels she would not be able to see over the heads of those around her. Besides, there was no need to look for Cruz. She already knew he was here. She could feel his presence with every fiber of her being.

She tried to fix her attention on the green quartz artifact in a nearby glass display case. The Swan Gallery's collection of alien antiquities was certainly respectable, but Nancy was right, the Swan wasn't a top-tier establishment like the Fairstead Gallery, which catered to the wealthiest and most exclusive collectors.

If the Swan had been such a high-end gallery, Lyra thought, she and Nancy would never have received invitations to the auction that was scheduled to begin in an hour. Neither of them moved in the higher circles of the art world. Neither of them was in a position to bid on any of the relics that would go on the block tonight. They were here only because they were friends of Harriet Swan, the proprietor. Harriet had been desperate to turn out a crowd.

"I still don't see him," Nancy said.

"That would be because he doesn't want anyone to notice him yet." Lyra downed another hasty swallow of champagne in a desperate effort to soothe her frazzled senses. "That's what all self-respecting predators do. They lie low, staying out of sight until they're ready to make their move. By the time you spot them, it's too late. Their teeth are clamped around your throat."

Nancy grinned. "Sounds interesting."

Lyra looked at her without saying a word.

"Sorry." Nancy had the grace to appear chagrined. "I know you have every reason to be well and truly pissed because of what Sweetwater did to you. But you've got to admit, those of us who didn't have a dust bunny in that fight have a right to be curious about him. I mean, he is a Sweetwater, after all."

"You didn't have a dust bunny in that fight?" Lyra repeated, outraged. "In case you didn't notice, that was your best friend who got mauled by Cruz Sweetwater and a bunch of overpaid Amber Inc. lawyers."