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A Sorcerer's Night: The Order of the Black Oak - Warlocks, #2
A Sorcerer's Night: The Order of the Black Oak - Warlocks, #2
A Sorcerer's Night: The Order of the Black Oak - Warlocks, #2
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A Sorcerer's Night: The Order of the Black Oak - Warlocks, #2

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A SORCERER'S NIGHT: A Second Chance Urban Fantasy Romance

Meet the Order of the Black Oak: a powerful order of modern-day warriors fighting evil to protect the ones they love.

 

Despite defeating the dark mage who kidnapped his girlfriend, powerful sorcerer and shifter Sinclair Clarke is still haunted by the memory of his mother's murder at the hand of the very same evil spell-caster, and has vowed to protect his soul mate from darkness at all cost. Even if it means going against her will.

 

If you love loyal tough guys with hearts, satisfying slow-burn paranormal romance and safe Happily Ever Afters, the Black Oak World is for you.

 

***** Fantastic series of action, magic and awesome romance. You will fall in love with the characters and feel you are right with them.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 21, 2019
ISBN9781733503518
A Sorcerer's Night: The Order of the Black Oak - Warlocks, #2

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    Book preview

    A Sorcerer's Night - Marie-Claude Bourque

    Chapter 1

    Somewhere on I-95 in Rhode Island

    Present time


    You can’t leave now. Not after...

    The recent words from her mother echoed in Celeste Stanford’s mind. She watched the scrawny trees lining the highway zoom by her car as she sped away from her family in the dead cold winter afternoon.

    You can’t go, the sorceress had said. You need us.

    Why?

    Why would she need them? With their magic and mystical powers which had brought it all upon her.

    Celeste shuddered at the memory of her supernatural assault and let her foot fall heavier on the gas pedal to emphasize her resolve.

    Distance. That was what she needed.

    Between her and her family’s historical Seaport mansion. Between her and the warlocks. Between her and her trauma. She had never wanted a part in the magical ancestry of her family and their tight knit circle of friends, which dated back to a dark time in the late seventeenth century when a handful of young men had crossed paths with a mysterious stranger persecuted in a witch hunt and who’d revealed to them her secrets under a wide black oak tree.

    Celeste had never wanted to learn more and explore what lay inside her. At least, not until this past fall.

    But now that she truly needed to learn to protect herself, they had insisted she leave the magic alone, claimed they’d shield her from dark magic themselves. Keep her close, but defenseless.

    They were still so worried.

    The lower your abilities, the less likely shadow creatures will seek you out, her father had said.

    Fine, Dad, she’d responded. Whatever you want.

    But after her abduction from the sadistic dark mage James Rodney Burton had left her shattered and weak, she had sneaked into The Crest, her family’s mansion, to devour her late grandmother St-Amand’s countless books of shadows and grimoires hiding in her mother’s private sitting room.

    Crawling with witchcraft secrets that belonged only to her mother’s side of her family, the tomes spoke to her. Perhaps due to her Stanford magical blood legacy from her father, the St-Amand’s earth-based magic had come to her naturally. She had studied spell after spell, incantations, summons and bindings. And learned.

    Then, when she’d deemed the time right, she had taken her practice of the craft to the deep woods under the moon.

    No one had known.

    Celeste sighed, then caught the green sign at the side of the road. Mystic, Connecticut, 30 miles. Almost there. She could stop for dinner.

    She’d be away from it all soon. But sadly, he was still on her mind.

    Sinclair Clarke.

    She exhaled slowly. Just the name brought a quickening to her heart.

    She’d also left him behind. How could she love someone so badly, yet run away from him?

    And yes, that’s exactly what she was doing. Running.

    Away from her father and Sin’s father, both elders of the warlocks of the Black Oak, sorcerers hiding their otherworldly powers behind the ancestral lavish mansions in Seaport. Away from her brother Diesel, the Order’s new leader. And from her mom, who feared so much for her daughter that since the abduction, the sorceress had treated Celeste like a twelve-year-old.

    You need us around, she’d often said, you know, since... And her mother never finished those sentences. As if all that had happened on that fateful autumn day could be summarized in a series of hushed ellipses. Never to be talked about.

    But I want to talk about it.

    And Celeste also wanted to move on, leave her hometown. Against her earlier plans of building a life near her family, she’d now chosen to accept that law firm offer in New York City. She studied so much all these years. Why not make the most of it and seek the new possibilities her dedicated efforts now offered her?

    One day, she’d make partner.

    And like normal people with trauma, she would find herself a therapist she trusted to get through this with hard work. It seemed simple enough.

    But no. For her family, there were always these words, never quite fully expressed. Your ordeal, your trial. Your experience.

    What would they say if they knew she used what she was good at—persistent determined study, hours buried in books—to become as powerful as them?

    And Sinclair, even with his magic and dual nature—how she loved him, the man who could shift into a sleek and fierce panther when needed—even he would worry about her newfound powers. They came from a source entirely different than his.

    He would not be able to reconcile it. She knew it.

    Baby, don’t worry. He’ll never touch you again. I’m here for you.

    Baby, he’d say. So many times he called her baby now. Never sweetheart, or honey, or my love. No, just baby. A new habit. As if she’d turned into a tiny infant to be protected. Not the twenty-five-year-old Brown law graduate that she was.

    And all of Sin’s magic and shifting nature hadn’t prevented James Rodney Burton the Third to get to her.

    Celeste swallowed, disgust lodged in her throat and masked the fear that always came with the memory.

    Disguised as a perfect elderly gentleman, he came, seeking council at the local firm where she interned after graduation. One handshake, one deep look. She was caught off guard.

    What had he truly done to her, they would never know. They had found her dumped in front of her father’s estate on the side of the road. Unconscious.

    Her breath shortened for an instant, matching her racing heart. In that slumber he induced, there was nothing but death, darkness and horror. Repeated horror that assaulted her brain, wrung her organs raw and seized her heart in a frigid grip that would never let go. Over and over. Torture. For weeks.

    She automatically searched for air as she remembered the agony of never being able to draw a full breath. Her lungs crushed, forever seeking for a hint of life. The burn searing her esophagus each and every time. Thinking, horrified, that each scorching gulp was her last.

    But no. She hadn’t died. She had remained there, suspended. Her instinct madly fighting for relief while she truly wanted to end it all. Tormented beyond reason.

    She’d never forget what she saw, never forget the agony. Ever.

    No matter how often she took her sacred tools to the woods or sandy shores and asked for answers on why Burton had put her under his curse.

    She couldn’t forget.

    Relief did come at times, but never true recovery.

    Her hands tightened on the wheel as she let out a slow breath. She’d never again be someone’s tool.

    And for that, she had to leave them. Her parents, her brother. And even Sinclair, her sexy overbearing boyfriend.

    Regret shot through her heart. She already missed the feel of his silky skin under her lips. The planes of his muscular chest and flat stomach. His powerful arms around her. His scent, a mix of expensive soap and something utterly manly with that hint of the predator which was forever part of him.

    Yes, the pain and memories receded for a time in the protection of his arms. But how

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