"A Treasure Worth Any Price"
Reviewed by Kathyrn Little
Posted June 21, 2012
Romance Paranormal
Marguerite has been locked away for one hundred years with
no one except Thorne to comfort her. Over the years, she
has grown to really love Thorne and doesn't imagine
anything beyond his touch. However, when she is finally
set free, Marguerite goes a little overboard with her
freedom. She is used to having strict control and Thorne
more or less by her side and must adjust. Little does she
know that Thorne has never left her side, he craves her
like he craves blood. Marguerite must develop her own seer
powers and learn to control again, she must also come to
terms with the fact that she is the Breh-Hedden to Thorne,
a very powerful warrior.
Marguerite is slightly prickly at times, but hard
not to love. She is sassy, funny, and intelligent. Thorne
is the ultimate man's man. He is strong, charismatic, and
handsome. Caris Roane always delivers a powerful, passionate, and
entrancing story. You will find yourself very
invested in the main characters. The love scenes are very
erotic and the spark between the main characters feels very
real. The plot itself is great and punctuated by
amazing love scenes. Obsidian Flame is a book not to miss!
SUMMARY
For a hundred years, Marguerite has been imprisoned and
used for her powerful psychic abilities. Her only relief
comes from her regular visits with Thorne, her vampire
lover. His every touch leaves her hungry for more..and
aching for their next encounter. When Marguerite is
finally set free, she returns to Mortal Earth to begin a
new life for herself. She dyes her hair white-blonde,
paints her nails blood-red, and seduces a sexy-hot
stranger. Why can’t she stop thinking about Thorne? Now that Marguerite is gone, Thorne craves her more than
ever..and follows her to Mortal Earth. Unfortunately, he
is not the only vampire who wants her. As one of three
powerful women with obsidian flame abilities, Marguerite
is a valuable treasure—and a dangerous weapon. For Thorne,
she is a soulmate he must protect at any cost…even his own
life.
ExcerptWho can change,But the one ready for magnificence. Collected Proverbs -- Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter One Thorne, out of ancient Britain in AD 11, stood outside
a vile smelling dive, a real shithole, somewhere in El
Paso One, Mortal Earth. He took deep breaths trying to
calm the hell down so that he didn't draw his sword, go
back inside, and impale a beefy-looking mortal who was
more innocent than guilty in this little flirtation drama.
He whipped his Droid Ascender from the pocket of his
jeans, a sweet inter-dimensional piece of technology that
allowed him to call home. He all but punched the screen.
Shit, his hand trembled. He had so much adrenaline and
testosterone flooding his system, that yeah, he was
shaking like a drunk off a bender.
The phone rang several times.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up."
Finally, Alison's voice came on the line. "Sorry. Had
to get out of Endelle's office before I answered."
"Okay, good." In the past three weeks since he'd left
Second Earth, he'd grown dependent on Alison for a couple
of reasons. She helped him keep his head screwed on
straight and she kept him informed on that little detail
called the war against commander Greaves.
He was about to launch into his current dilemma, as in
what to do about his woman who was making moves on another
man, when Alison cut him off. "Thorne, there's something
you've got to know right away, and it's bad."
His body stilled. Alison wasn't given to drama of any
kind. From the day of her ascension over a year ago,
she'd been an equalizing force among the Warriors of the
Blood and especially with Endelle, serving as she did as
the scorpion queen's executive assistant.
His hearing became focused, laser-like, on exactly what
Alison would say next. He took another deep breath. "Let
me have it."
"It's been all over the news for the past hour. In
three days, Greaves is conducting a spectacle-grade
military review that will last four, maybe six hours.
Rumors are that he's marching an army of two hundred
thousand troops, his ‘Ascender Liberation Army', down the
Moscow Two avenue, the one that forms an arc in front of
that newly constructed stone edifice. Do you remember I
told you about that a couple of days ago? It's the one
that's been worrying Marcus for the last three weeks."
Marcus split his time between battling at the Borderlands
with the rest of the Warriors of the Blood, and serving in
an administrative capacity at Endelle's HQ.
Thorne's lips parted because he needed to keep
breathing but he wasn't sure his lungs were working at all.
Greaves had just upped the stakes at the same moment
that Thorne had gone AWOL to chase after a woman who
wanted nothing to do with him.
Perfect.
"Are you there?" Alison asked.
"What?"
"Thorne, did you hear what I said?"
"Yes. Processing. Shit." He shook his head but like
Alison could see that. "This is a completely illegal
maneuver. COPASS can't let this slide, not this
time. ‘No entity shall engage in a public display of
military prowess'. The rules are clear."
"Marcus has been on the phone non-stop to the
international COPASS HQ in Prague. Every answer he's been
given goes something like, the committee has the
Commander's request for permits under review. But we all
know what that means."
"Squat."
"Exactly. I hate to ask this, but can you come home?
This news has got all of the High Administrators still
aligned with Endelle jumpy. Three shifted their alliance
to Greaves just because of the announcement. Three."
"Oh, shit."
"Exactly."
He turned back to face the run-down building that
blared some lively Mexican music; trumpets, guitars, and a
quick beat.
Marguerite, his woman, his vampire bond-mate, was in
there, getting one huge motherfucker of a Mexican all
worked up with her long, blood-red nails and short
platinum hair.
He'd followed her to Mortal Earth because he'd had no
choice in the matter. Much to his surprise the goddamn
breh-hedden had hit him flush in the jaw and torn all his
good sense from its usual strong footings. All the
warriors had thought the breh-hedden was a myth, then
Alison had shown up and knocked Kerrick on his ass, the
one who had vowed never to marry again. Three other
warriors had followed, like dominos; Marcus, Medichi, and
just a few weeks ago, Jean-Pierre.
Now it was his turn.
And Greaves had decided this was the hour to let the
world know that he'd built an army, worthy of victory, and
was getting ready to launch his takeover bid of both
Second Earth and Mortal Earth.
Fucking great.
He turned again, to once more face away from the bar.
He felt the call of his world, of Second Earth, and of
something more, something vast that had begun pulsing in
the center of his brain. He lived with two aches now, the
heavy pounding in his head and the stiff pulsing in his
groin.
He was a man torn, now more than ever, because of the
implied threat of a spectacle-based military review.
Damn, there'd be fireworks and massive orchestral music as
well as hundreds of DNA altered swans and geese. Second
Earth lived for spectacle and Greaves knew it. The damn
thing was genius.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. Alison,
thank God, had fallen silent, giving him space, the
usual. She'd been a counselor before she ascended. She
knew how to let a moment breathe.
Finally, he said, "I'm going to do everything I can to
move things along here. But I can't leave Marguerite
right now and it isn't just because of the breh-hedden.
Because she's obsidian flame, Greaves wants her dead.
She's unprotected if I just take off. You know Endelle
was counting on her emerging power to make a difference in
the war. At the very least, I need to bring her home with
me."
"You're right," Alison said, some of the tension
leaving her voice. "I'd gotten so wrapped up in this
review, I'd forgotten about Marguerite's power. Don't
worry. I'll talk it over with Marcus. He'll understand.
More than anyone, he'll understand." Marcus was four
thousand years old and had only recently returned to
Second Earth and to the Warriors of the Blood after a two-
hundred year absence, his own form of desertion.
Yeah, if anyone would understand all the dilemmas
facing Thorne, Marcus would.
Alison puffed a sigh into the phone. "On the other
hand, Endelle won't be nearly as rational but she'll just
have to deal with it."
Endelle. Thorne so did not want to think about her.
He'd been blocking their shared mind-link from the second
he'd jumped into the Trough and headed to Phoenix One.
She was pissed as hell that he'd left. Thorne had thought
about contacting her at least a dozen times, but each
time, that pulsing in his brain got stronger and some part
of him got really mad, even though honestly, he wasn't
sure exactly why. But yeah, he was pissed.
"I'd better go," he said.
"I almost forgot, what did you call for?"
"Nothing. I mean, I'll work it out." He laughed as he
pushed a hand through his hair and all but dislodged his
cadroen. "I may be calling you later. I've got a
situation in El Paso Two."
Alison's voice dropped. "Oh, shit, Endelle just walked
into my office. Gotta go."
The line went dead.
A military spectacle review. Jesus H. Christ.
He returned his phone to his jeans. He lowered his
chin and went back into the bar. He sure could use a
drink right about now, but for this ride, he'd stopped
with the Ketel One. Everything was coming to a head fast
and he needed to see things just as they were, not through
a vodka haze. But it sure didn't help that Marguerite was
flashing a smile at that goddamn, good-looking Mexican.
He drew his mist in tight. He was good at creating the
preternatural disguise that kept him invisible to anyone
around him, especially here on Mortal Earth. Anyone, of
course, except Marguerite. She could see him even though
she'd been ignoring him all night. By now she was used to
his hovering presence since he'd been dogging her heels
from the first night he'd touched down on Mortal Earth.
They'd argued plenty, but this was the worst she'd
been, sitting as close as she was on a tall stool next to
her current prey. It looked as though she'd made up her
mind that tonight was the night.
He took up his former station, leaning against the
wall, close to the door. He crossed his arms over his
chest. His biceps flexed involuntarily. His nostrils
flared. His breathing was still pretty uneven especially
since, even at this distance, he could smell her rose
scent, rich red roses. It was the one sure sign that this
woman was meant for him.
Yet he had no real claim on Marguerite, even though
they'd been lovers for over a century. She'd broken with
him, needing to go her own way, but his brain just wasn't
getting the message. He was too hopped up on some kind of
primordial caveman juice to really figure things out. So,
here he was, his back pinned to a goddamn wall in a
stinking bar and he couldn't leave her alone, he couldn't
pull back, he couldn't let her go.
He stared at the new Marguerite. She was as beautiful
as ever, an almost perfectly oval face, strong arched
brows, and large brown eyes, eyes he'd looked into ten
thousand times while making love to her. She used to have
really long straight brown hair that he would hold wrapped
around his forearm when he would take her from behind.
Now, she had short platinum blond hair, white blond, and
blood-red fingernails about an inch long.
She sipped a very crimson cosmo, her current favorite
drink, the same color as the lights flashing in his head.
She had her elbow on the bar, her long nails flicking the
feathered spikes and layers of her hair.
The bastard next to her had his left knee about a
millimeter away from hers. His eyelids lazed low.
Shit. Thorne knew exactly what that look meant, that
the only thought running through the bastard's head would
be just how soon he could get this woman on her back, or
settled on his hips and riding him hard. He shuddered
through a few more deep breaths.
He wasn't entirely to blame. The breh-hedden had him
hooked in deep, forcing him to look at Marguerite not just
as a woman but as his mate, his fucking mate. His mind
swirled with a variety of impulses that kept shouting
things like use your fists and beat the shit out of that
asshole or worse, use your sword and take the smile off
his face permanently.
This particular mortal wasn't half bad looking if you
liked a scruff of a beard, a scar on the right cheek,
thick black hair combed back straight, and tats on the
neck, shoulders and forearms. He was big, too. Warrior
big.
This was so not going to end well.
Under-fucking-statement.
Even through the stench of beer, smoke, and male
bodies, all he could really process was a light floral
scent that kept his dick in an uproar, a sure sign that
this woman was meant for him.
The bastard made his move. He reached out and grazed
Marguerite's elbow with the tips of two fingers, then
moved away, a smooth quick testing of the waters.
Marguerite smiled. She leaned in toward him and
reached out with her hand to stroke his bicep.
Stroke his bicep.
Stroke his bicep.
The red strobes in his head spun faster. His fists
balled. Creator help him. His palm itched for his
sword. He spread his fingers wide, ready to catch some
steel.
For a split second, he almost completed the mental
sequence that would have brought his sword into his hand.
He saw the carnage as plain as day; one asshole with his
head split wide, one woman caught up under his arm and
hauled out of this hellhole kicking and screaming.
He was so close.
His fingers trembled.
He wanted his sword in his hand.
He wanted the bastard dead.
He didn't so much as have the thought as he acted
because in the next split second, he dematerialized out of
the smoke and re-formed in the deep night shadows, well
beyond the bar, well away from temptation. He bent over.
He shook. He came within an inch of puking his guts out.
Shit. He'd almost killed an innocent man. Thorne,
Warrior of the Blood, protector of the innocent, preserver
of life, keeper of the peace, and he'd almost killed an
innocent man. Creator help him.
So, here he was, almost losing the Buffalo wings he'd
gorged on, tortured because his woman, who was not his
woman, was pursuing her favorite hunting-sport: men.
There was only one real question to answer: how the
hell was he supposed to keep from killing this man if she
succeeded in taking him into her bed?
What do you think about this review?
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