Symphony of Light Series
Renea Mason
Fundraiser Linden Hill has a knack for reading people. She
always knows which conversations will put a prospect at ease, which drink will
loosen a patron’s lips—or his wallet, and how cleavage will make a donor
sweeten the deal. She’s even foreseen her dateless weekends four hundred and
sixty-four times in a row.
But ten years after watching life drain from her former
mentor’s and first love’s eyes, her skills for divining the predictable are
lost. When Cyril returns, he’s still gorgeous, but this time he’s beyond human,
far less dead, and pissed. His lack of memory drives him to desperate acts, and
his turbulent re-acquaintance with Linden pulls her into his war with a
creature hell-bent on his destruction. His group of six supernatural men share
a tantalizing secret, but despite the hunger, it’s love that leads her to
sacrifice everything to save him…
Love Paranormal Romance?
Described as Fifty Shades meets The Black Dagger Brotherhood
and Twilight. While others say it reminds them of the Night Huntress or Dark
Hunter series'. But most agree it's unlike any paranormal or erotic romance
they've ever read.
Buy the book
Impostors’ Kiss
Symphony of Light Book 0.5
Renea Mason
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance
Length: Short
Word Count: 7601
Page Count: 42
Price: 0.99
ISBN: 978-1-940223-62-9
Release Date: 11-15-2013
One night of sexual pleasure could teach a lesson in love.
Cyril is weary from weeks of traveling the Scottish moors,
but his luck takes a turn when he rescues a battered and broken child. To
express his gratitude, the boy’s father offers Cyril a night of carnal
indulgence with his eldest daughter. Cyril graciously accepts, looking forward
to a night of sexual release to ease the loneliness of his travels.
But what the supernatural sex god and deliverer of souls doesn’t
expect is to be taught a lesson in love from the young and beautiful Celestine.
In a night of passion, two lost spirits find solace in an
impostor’s kiss: one longing for a love that doesn’t yet exist, the other
drowning in pain and guilt over love lost. Neither is what they seem…but what
they learn will change them forever…
Coming Soon in 2014
Between the Waters – Symphony of Light Book Two
Curing Doctor Vincent – An Erotic Novella Trilogy
Author Bio: Renea
Mason writes steamy romances to help even out the estrogen to testosterone
imbalance caused by living in a house full of men.
When she isn’t putting pen to paper crafting sensual stories
filled with supernatural lovers, she spends time with her beyond-supportive
husband, two wonderful sons and three loving but needy cats.
Her debut novel, Symphony of Light and Winter, finished
second for Best New Paranormal Series of 2013 in Paranormal Cravings’ Battle of
the Books and received a third place award for Best New Paranormal Romance of
2013 in The Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewers Choice Awards.
Renea is a member of Romance Writers of America, The
Paranormal Romance Guild and The Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal subchapter
of the Romance Writers of America.
She is also a founding member of Coffee Talk Writers and the
Coffee Talk website–a site designed to support established writers and foster
new talent.
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Talk
Symphony of Light and Winter
“Your eyes are so lovely; please don’t hide them from me.
Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you.”
His sincerity must have been contagious because the words
slipped through my lips without permission. “I know you’d never hurt me
intentionally. It’s the unintentional consequences I fear.”
He brought his other hand up to cup my other cheek and, with
my face firmly held he said, “Linden, I’m not fool enough to think that the
gods don’t intentionally f**k with us.”
His use of that word was unexpected. Always a gentleman, but
always something more carnal beneath the surface too. The inconsistency seemed
natural.
“But if that ever happens, I will spend forever trying to
atone. Don’t turn away from me.” He stared at me for a moment and when his face
started to move toward mine, I thought for sure he would kiss my lips, but
instead he placed a lingering kiss to my forehead and pulled me into a hug. If
he felt anything for me other than friendship, that was his moment to prove it.
I had my answer. I gave a forced smile and pulled away.
“Please, play,” he said while trailing his hand over my
back.
Facing the piano, with my fingers lingering above the keys,
I tried not to allow disappointment to lace my words. “How did you know about
the song?” My racing heart slowed as I realized the kiss wouldn’t happen.
His response was casual. “I have very keen hearing and you
start to hum it every time you walk away from me to return home. Where is the
song from?”
Strange. Maybe I was louder than I thought.
“I don’t know where I learned it. I think I made it up, but
it’s hard to know for sure.”
“It’s beautiful, please...” He motioned to the piano.
He stood and I pressed one key to test to see if it was in
tune. Pitch-perfect, of course. I should have expected no less. I stretched to
measure the distance to the pedals. After my assessment, I began to play. As I
pressed the keys, I tried to forget he was even in the room, but that became
impossible as he provided subtle hints as to how I should adjust my posture. He
pushed back on my shoulders and lifted my elbows with a light touch. The
adjustment made a difference, and in time my composition transitioned to
something more graceful.
He placed his hands on my shoulders as he stood behind me
and whispered, “Now relax, the music is in control. Give in to it. Let it take
you, command you, while you find freedom in its control.”
His finger made small massaging circles on my neck and shoulders, and the more he touched me, the more at ease I became. I played better than I ever had.
He ran his hands up and down my forearms, coaxing the notes
from my fingers as he whispered in my ear, “That’s it. You are much more
relaxed. Music is energy, Linden. With energy, you must first make yourself an
attractive conduit. Energy does not like resistance. The less resistant you
are, the more it can take hold, become stronger—make you stronger. Allow it to
embody you, become one with you, and embrace its possession.” His breath teased
as his words sent waves of electricity through me.
I added improvisational parts to the song I had never
imagined. I played sequences far beyond my skill level without effort. As I
neared the end of the song, the magical feeling broke down, and with it went my
newfound ability. It was as if I took a drug to make me a better musician and
it had begun to wear off, but I knew it wasn’t a drug. It was Cyril.
As the last notes breathed their final whisper to the air, I
heard him say, “Well done! I bet you even surprised yourself.”
“How did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything. I simply taught you to sit up and
concentrate. Other than that, it was all you. Music can’t possess the
unwilling.”
I shot him a suspicious glare. “All right...your turn.” I
went to get up.
“No, please stay. Let me see...I’ll play something you know.
How about Beethoven’s Sonata quasi una fantasia? You may know it as the
Moonlight Sonata.”
I nodded. He could have played Chopsticks and I would have
been happy.
He began with the solemn phrasing of the piece. Every
languid note held so much emotion. My fingers mindlessly stroked the side of
his leg in the slow melodic tempo of the first movement. The mournful timbre
accented the sadness I felt knowing that every minute I stayed with him, it was
going to be much harder to accept I could never have him.
I had only heard the first movement of the piece but as the
somber melody transitioned into a more energetic strain, I knew it would be an
experience I would never forget.
His enthusiastic gestures, the bounce of his hair as he
pounded out the rapid notes, all added to the look of determination on his
face. The notes were saturated in passion, and violence defined him. I watched
him with intense concentration and wondered if he brought that same passion to
his kisses, his bed, and his love. It would be a miracle if one person could
harness him.
When he played the last note, his breathing was heavy and a
thin film of perspiration coated the skin of his brow and neck. He looked down
at the floor and then slowly into my eyes. That instant, the connection formed
again. He reached up and brushed the hair from my face and I did the same to
him, draping his thick, dark, sweat-moistened locks behind his ear.
“That was magnificent. I’ve never...”
His hand reached up to cup my face. His thumb caressed my
lower lip as I spoke.
“Heard...or seen...anything like you. I mean that.”
He smiled and continued to outline my lip.
“Linden...” he said with a breathy whisper, “there are so
many things I want to show you, teach you. I want you to make me a promise.”
I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“The way you are looking at me right now... Please, always
look at me this way. Stare into my eyes and see me for who I am and know that
there is nothing more than this. When the world calls things into question, you
need not question me because I will always be here for you. The comfort I find
in your eyes is new and frightening.”
I found it difficult to believe anything frightened this
man. He cupped my cheek and with tenderness that mirrored his words, he
caressed my face and trailed his hand to rest on my chest just below my neck. I
wrapped my hand around his wrist, holding him to me.
He leaned in, pinning our arms between us, and breathed,
“Promise me.”
I closed my eyes, reveling in his closeness, his scent, his
heat. “OK.”
“Good.”
He inhaled. “I will make you a promise in return. I cannot
bring you into my world as I would like, so I will not ask you to indulge me
further. I should let you go, but I’m sorry, I am far too selfish to break all
ties. I do promise to always be your friend, your mentor.”
Deep down, hopeful he might love me and see me as a woman, I
opened my eyes and managed a smile filled with sadness and disappointment.
Protégé was the title bestowed upon me, not girlfriend,
lover, or wife. I looked away from him to try to pull back the tears that
escaped my eyes.
“Already breaking your promise?”
I looked up and he brushed my tears away with his thumb.
“I’m not immune, Linden. I feel it too. I just need to be
stronger than this, for you.” He pulled me into his embrace.
His arms were tight around me. He smiled but something sad lingered behind it. “It’s getting late. I should get you home.”
Impostors’ Kiss
“Who is she?”
This was not a question I expected. Even though I was
comfortable being nude, most humans were not. I saw in her mind what horrors
men had bestowed upon her. The massive erection I sported should have
frightened her, but with each quick glance I made in her direction, I saw she
stood firm and resolute, while twirling the blindfold between her fingers.
“Who?” Not the time
to speak riddles.
“The woman for whom
that kiss was intended.”
“Oh.” I
brushed my hands through my hair. The long, black strands fell one by one back
into place. I sighed. “She’s my love. My light. But she is out of reach.”
“I have a
confession.”
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