The Herald Väktare bears a new title in the apocalyptic battle of good vs. evil: Shira Hart amnesiac.
When a black magic spell strips her of her memory, powers and identity, Shira Black Hart faces the impossible question of what matters most: who you are or who you choose to be?
With secret enemies lurking in the shadows, there is no safe haven to run to. As Brin seemingly abandons her and a new forbidden attraction flares, she must decide whether to believe what her fractured mind is telling her or to follow her traitorous heart. Xydon’s son may desire to claim the Herald Väktare for himself, but evil’s secret weapon has risen from its grave. While Shira Hart must stop the consuming tide of darkness from rising, the only enemy standing in her way is the worst adversary of them all: herself.
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Prologue
A furious rattling roused me from my stupor.
I blinked confusedly, trying to adjust to the blackness around me. Instead of my pillow, my head was resting on dry sands. The sun rising over the horizon told me that this definitely wasn’t my bedroom, nor was I alone in my bed.
Well, I wouldn’t say alone. The irked rattlesnake at my feet paused its rattling long enough for me to scuttle backward in alarm. It slithered off with a curse sent in my direction after I sent it a hasty apology for disturbing it. Then I was alone in the low dawn light, the dusty soil dry and sharp under my palms. I was laying completely alone in the center of a very large, open expanse of desert.
Or was I? I could hear echoes in my mind that didn’t seem to belong to me. But then they were gone. Had I imagined the whole thing? Or was I losing my mind?
How had I gotten here? I had no memory of leaving my room in my grandfather’s underground compound. Last I remembered, Brin was carrying me to bed after dozing off during a movie, pressing a kiss to my cheek. He tucked me in as I fell asleep.
As I stumbled backward, I came into a whole new kind of horror. I recognized this place. This expanse of desert was one I’d been to only once, two months before. The debris may have been gone from the landscape, but the cactuses remained singed by the fires that had burned here. I would have recognized it anywhere, my insides constricting in panic like a vice.
I was standing on the edge of the crash zone where I’d absorbed Shitheed’s life force. But it couldn’t be. He was dead. I watched him die.
Yet as the dawn spread over the morning sky, I knew without a doubt that something was still to be unearthed. The restlessness in my soul was reawakening with gusto.
It wasn’t over. Somehow I had been brought back here. The question was why and, even better, how. A thousand voices sang in my head, “It’s not over. It’s just begun…”
But what could it be? Shitheed was dead.
Or was he…
Best Selling Author Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel 