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.

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