ISBN-10: 1440589143
ISBN-13: 978-1440589140
World War II veteran Peter Blackstone traded his soul so that his wife could live. That was 1945. Since then, Peter has lived an unnaturally long life as a hired killer, providing the life forces upon which Jerahmeel feeds to survive.
Doctor Allison La Croix has a big problem. She randomly sees people’s deaths. She has longed to be free of her twisted “gift” to live a normal life without fear of predicting yet another loved one’s demise.
After a horrific accident, a severely injured Peter arrives in Allison’s ER. The vision Allison experiences when she touches him nearly kills her. He teaches her to block these devastating episodes as she finds a way to unlock his forgotten, passionate soul.
But Jerahmeel’s minion has orders to destroy Peter and anyone he loves. Will Peter’s and Allison’s shattered souls survive the devious plan? Or could their love save them both? Someone will have hell to pay.
Excerpt:
Allison placed the bell of her stethoscope over the man’s broad chest. Normal heart rate. Lungs clear. Pressing on his ribcage dusted with dark hair and his flat abdomen, she found no crepitus or rigidity. She inhaled deeply.
A nurse raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“No trace of alcohol or drugs.” All she smelled was the metallic scent of blood and a typical male essence like almonds and very faint cologne.
With the Velcro straps off, the staff carefully logrolled him to one side, a maneuver that kept his neck, spine, and hips in safe alignment so she could evaluate his back for injuries. Once the staff rolled him back onto the backboard and re-secured the wide straps, radiology personnel shot a quick neck x-ray.
A final assessment of his muscled extremities completed the exam. She felt oddly flushed, like his skin radiated too much heat. Strange.
When she touched him, a vibration flowed through her gloved hands. She had never gotten a vision through gloves. Then again, she’d never gotten a warning signal, either. What the hell was going on here? The vibration jolted up her arms.
Oh God, not now. Please wait until I finish treating this man. Please.
“Do we have a set of vitals?” she asked.
Her patient breathed on his own, unlabored. An old, scratched watch with a dried leather band was fastened around his thick, tanned wrist. Despite the horrific bruises over his body, only his head injury needed intervention. Damn it, she had to examine his wound. She shook her hand, hesitated, then took a deep breath and braced herself. When she lifted the palm-sized flap of scalp, it bled into his dark hair until she taped the gauze back down. She could repair the wound after the CT scan. Jerking her hand away from the buzzing sensation, she pulled off her gloves and replaced them with a clean pair.
She stepped away from her patient and relaxed. Maybe this man’s injuries weren’t as life threatening as she had initially thought.
The EMT frowned. “Blood pressure is one thirty over ninety, pulse eighty, respiration sixteen, temperature … 107?”
“Okay.” She stared at the EMT. “Wait. What? Could you retake that temperature, please? That can’t be right.”
“Ma’am, I already rechecked it with a different machine. It’s 107.3 to be exact.”
With her heart thudding, she searched the unconscious man for obvious signs of infection or malignant hyperthermia from drug use, anything to explain the temperature reading.
“Start him on IV fluids and get a cooling blanket hooked up.”
Screw those visions, she had to touch him again. She needed to figure out what was wrong with this patient before his brain fried.
She eased his eyes open and flashed her penlight. Normal pupillary responses. The deep brown, almost black color of his eyes surprised her with their darkness. His open eye locked onto hers and focused, at the same time a blast of vibration drilled from his face through her hand.
The depth of that gaze pulled her like a particle into a black hole. Her heart expanded then contracted, and her breath caught. Vertigo washed over her. She grabbed the IV pole for balance. The rush of vision took hold, blocking out all sound, like voices obscured by a stiff wind. Faces swam too quickly to make out details. Far in the distance of her mind’s eye, the focus sharpened onto a man. She could see–
A radiology tech tapped her on the arm. “Doc? Doc?”
Allison moved her hand away. The patient’s eye fell closed, and the vortex sensation ebbed.
About the Author:
Jillian David lives near the end of the Earth with her nut of a husband and two bossy cats. To escape the sometimes-stressful world of the rural physician, she writes while on call and in her free time. She enjoys taking realistic settings and adding a twist of “what if.” Running or hiking on local trails often promotes plot development.
She would love for readers to connect on Twitter @jilliandavid13 or on her blog at http://jilliandavid.net. Readers are always welcome to e-mail her at jilliandavid13@yahoo.com.