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Passion and danger in this life—and the next
Eryss Norling knows that she has lived through many lives. And she knows that she has had the same lover across the ages. But where is he now? After performing a summoning spell, she meets Dane Winthur. Yes, he’s gorgeous, but he’s also a scientist devoted to debunking the paranormal. How can he love a witch? And why are these two drawn to each other over and over? The answer to these questions is nothing that either of them could imagine. The fate that brings them together, life after life, is the fate that may destroy them—again.
“I never live to thirty?” Eryss gasped out as her heart fell.
Her thirtieth birthday was less than a week away. “Some man kills me? The same one? So many times?”
Midge nodded. “He must reincarnate, as well. And to find you in every lifetime? Has to be a curse. I am positive it was the same man in each reincarnation.”
“Did you get a look at his face?”
“No. But you know we never reincarnate into the same physical manifestation. I didn’t see your face, either. But that isn’t what’s important.”
“Of course not. Who is he? What is he?”
The witch exhaled and leaned forward, pressing her palms to the table, and said carefully, “A witch hunter.”
MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com.
Taming the Hunter
Michele Hauf
Contents
Anacampserote (n.): something that can bring back a lost love
Winter Solstice...
After padding through the soft emerald grass that carpeted the floor of her sanctuary, Eryss Norling knelt before the altar she kept tucked between the pink-and-white petals of bleeding hearts and the cool winter stars of forget-me-nots. Behind those, crinkle-petaled hollyhocks bloomed as if it were summer. A dragonfly flitted among the leafy canopy that climbed to the top of the two-story glass-walled conservatory.
Tucking her long, loose chestnut hair over an ear, Eryss bowed to light the large yellow beeswax candle on the simple wooden altar. Then she turned to light the eight smaller blue candles she’d placed around the altar to enclose