(Borderlands Saga #1)
Publication date: May 31st 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Fairy Tales, Fantasy
“I shouldn’t have to tell you this isn’t a fairy story…”
After her parents’ car crash ten years before, Amie Wentworth trusts books more than people. She may be a writer, but she believes in reality over fiction. She ignores the unexplained mysteries surrounding her, never mind the dreams of a past life, or the fact she can fry technology with a touch. Not even a timely invitation from her long-lost uncle in England gives Amie incentive for anything other than ire.
Until she is stabbed in an alley and brought back to life by a handsome stranger. Soon Amie is dragged into the very sort of tale she is used to selling. To make matters worse, the man who saved her life keeps turning up and her would-be-murderer is still at large.
After crossing the Atlantic to her father’s homeland, she discovers a world beyond imagining. Silver Hollow is a place of ancient traditions and supernatural dangers, where everything is the opposite of what it seems and few escape sane. Faced with an impossible choice, Amie is forced to confront a deadly family legacy while remembering a life she soon wishes to forget.
**Previously published in 2012. This NEW EDITION has been FULLY REVISED AND EXPANDED. The original novel is now no longer available.**
Jennifer Silverwood was raised deep in the heart of Texas and has been spinning yarns a mile high since childhood. In her spare time, she reads and writes and tries to sustain her wanderlust, whether it’s the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania, the highlands of Ecuador, or a road trip to the next town. Always on the lookout for her next adventure, in print or reality, she dreams of one day proving to the masses that everything really is better in Texas. She is the author of three series–Heaven’s Edge, Wylder Tales and the Borderlands Saga–and the stand-alone titles Stay and She Walks in Moonlight. She released her first serialized Urban Fantasy, Angel Blue in August 2018.
The green eyes staring back from her mirror widened as her scar chose to suddenly ache. A chill lay thick on the new skin, piercing through her supernaturally mended heart. She could almost still feel the cool blade of the knife and smell the pungent stink of her own blood.
At the same time, need for the loo, as the Brits called it, finally forced her out of her fortress of solitude. She was grateful for the excuse to move her legs again and leave her morbid musings behind. Unfortunately the toilet was in the next compartment down, and thus far Amie had managed not to run into a single other occupant of this train besides the ticket master. It was an odd train, she had to admit, as she braced against antiquated wood panels and tread thick blue carpet. Like an Agatha Christie novel, the proper setting for a real-life mystery.
Either side of her compartment was empty, dimly lit and despite the period film atmosphere, and disturbingly silent. She reached the door that would allow her to make the switch over and turned the knob without success. Amie beat against the door, hoping someone would hear her in the next car. “Hello? Anyone there?”
Silence trapped her words and the steady clanking clang beneath her feet drowned the rest. She leaned against the door to listen for signs of life, then pulled away to try the knob again.
No sooner had she grazed her fingers against gilded brass when the knob gave and the door pushed against her. Instinct propelled her forward and she threw her weight back against the wood. A frustrated grunt answered on the other side and Amie bit back a scream. Logic said it was most likely some other passenger on his or her way back from the toilet. Ten years of well-cultivated paranoia and her recent attack screamed otherwise.
The man on the opposite side of the door cursed and doubled his efforts but Amie held fast.
Don’t let him touch you, not ever again, unless you want him to finish the job!
She recalled the hatred in her attacker’s electric blue eyes then and with a grunt pushed the door into its frame with a resounding click. She didn’t waste time waiting for her attacker to try again. The train jolted, nearly throwing her off balance. Amie scrambled to her feet and ran for her compartment. She banged her fingers trying to slide the door shut. Fear would win over logic this time, it seemed. She was half embarrassed with herself for freaking out. But her voice betrayed her terror as she leaned her forehead against her compartment door and said, “Come on…get a grip!”
“Actually, you might want to duck,” a familiar voice called from over her shoulder.
Amie pivoted round so quickly she had to shove aside her unruly curls. “You!”
“Aye, me,” he replied from her former seat.
“How the hell did you get in here? Who are you anyway and just how long have you been stalking me?” The questions came barreling past her lips while her eyes remained fixed on his and all she could think was the way he cried her name when the knife entered her belly.
Why did you call me Nimue? The question was on the tip of her tongue when he stood, suddenly alert and concerned.
“Clearly we have a sizzling conversation ahead of us. Now you really should duck, lass,” he said, his black eyes darting to the doors and back to her.
“What do you mean…” Amie sputtered when he threw himself flat against the narrow space between the seats.
He lifted his head and groaned with exasperation, “What do you think I just said? Are you truly that daft?” He then threw his arm over her head and yelled, “DUCK!”
She did not remember tripping, but her feet flew up behind her, nonetheless. And she landed in an ungraceful heap on top of the strange man the same time the world exploded with sound. A rain of bullets showered overhead and poked noisy holes out the window. Amie threw her hands over her head and an embarrassing shriek escaped her.
“Only a few flimsy bullets…” her Brit mumbled in the brief silence after the gunfire ceased.
“A few bullets!” Her muffled screech was answered by his laughter.
Strange tingling sensations played about her skin while he lifted her into his arms and jumped to his feet. He stood a good head and a half taller and offered her a full manic grin as he smoothed back her wild mane. “No harm done.”
Amie socked his shoulder with her fist. “We could have been killed and those psychos are still out there!”
“Too right,” he acknowledged before lifting her by the arms and positioning her behind him. He turned to peek through the gaping holes left in through the pockmarked door.
“Oi! Everyone alright out there?” He called as he kicked aside what was left of the door and barreled into a crew of gun-toting mercenaries.
Amie squinted to see through the buzz of action. Her stalker was a blur of blue and brown amid a sea of black clad limbs. One moment it seemed he was dancing with them in a strange cinematic choreography of kicks and punches and the next, he didn’t appear to touch them at all, save the slightest flicks and punches of his palm to the air. Still they went flying and screaming. Lights flashed, changing the scene with contrasting technicolor. Her skin hummed and her fingers prickled with static.
The odd tingles she had felt at his touch doubled to a white-hot pain in her chest. She clutched her scar as she stumbled to lean against the open doorway. When she lifted her head once more her mouth fell open. Her knight stood alone atop a sea of unconscious, potentially lifeless bodies. All of them were clad in black jumpsuits and the guns they had brought were broken into scattered pieces about the carpeted aisle. The Brit’s shoulders heaved yet he didn’t spare a glance for her before moving his long legs across the car. He slammed the door shut and a strange light escaped the space between his hunched form and the brass knob.
Amie snatched her saddle bag over her shoulder and stepped awkwardly in the spaces between bodies. Upon reaching his side, she asked, “What is that, a laser? Did you seriously just laser them to death?”
This time he did turn to favor her with a dark grin and held up his empty hands. “Hope you can hold your water till we reach the station.”
“Where did you put the…” she began, only to gasp when he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to the other side of the train car. With his free hand, he pushed the door aside and led her to stand at the rickety space connecting the two cars. The tracks rushed beneath them in a metallic blur.
“Hang on!” he shouted over the howling winds. His arm slipped about her waist, pulling her up into his frame.
“No way! We are not jumping off a moving train, you idiot!”
Before either could move to do so, however, the opposite train car opened. They froze when faced by a group of angry faces who then screamed the inevitable words, “Get her!”
Her Brit only tightened his grip and shouted, “Jump!”