Excerpt of Exiled by Nina Croft

Around them, the air prickled with magic as though charged with electricity, and she rubbed her hands over her skin. Beside her, Freya muttered a prayer to the Goddess as the first flash of lightning burst across the blue sky above their heads. Cass drew her pistol and held it, arms outstretched, just in case Shayla brought any nasty surprises with her.

Jarrod lowered his staff and hurried toward them, taking Freya's hand and turning to watch. The air above them lit up with flashes of white, a great clap of thunder rumbled, and the sky turned crimson as a crack opened between the worlds.

Three figures appeared, hurled out of nothing. They crashed to the ground where Jarrod had stood moments before and lay unmoving. Cass had seen this enough times to know the reaction was normal. The experience disoriented even the strongest, and it usually took a few minutes to come around. She recognized Shayla immediately, her long, dark red hair spilled over the green grass. And that was definitely Tallon lying on top of her. So far, so good.

She turned to the third figure, and her grip on the gun tightened.

A tall man with fair hair. Something about the still figure caused a shiver of unease to trickle through her. When he pushed himself up onto his knees, she caught her first glimpse of his face. And the world stopped.

Even after a thousand years, she knew him instantly, but her mind rejected the information.

"No." She shook her head. The hand holding the pistol dropped to her side, and the gun tumbled from her numb fingers. It couldn't be.

"Who is it?" Freya asked.

But Cass couldn't speak the name. She wasn't sure she could speak at all. Her throat felt tight, and she struggled to breathe, as though the air had been sucked from the atmosphere. Taking a step back, she came up against the standing stone behind her.

"Cass? Are you all right?"

Hell no—she wasn't all right. She didn't know what she was, but ‘all right’ did not come into it. Swallowing hard, she ran a calming mantra through her head. She hadn't needed them for so long, though once they were all that kept her sane. From old habit, the words flowed through her mind, and she was able to think again. Callum.

Long dead. Yet...now in front of her. He couldn't be real. The last few days—seeing Jarrod again—had awoken the old hurts and fears. This was just a manifestation of the strain she'd been under, a figment of her tortured imagination.

Ignore him. Concentrate on the others.

And maybe he would vanish as quickly as he'd appeared.