Epiphany
Christina Jean Michaels“I had my first psychic dream when I was nine. Psychic implied power, and powerful wasn’t a word I’d use to describe myself. I couldn’t foretell the future or conjure visions at will, but I couldn’t think of a more fitting word to describe what I sometimes saw in my dreams.”
For 23-year-old Mackenzie Hill, tossing her life down the garbage disposal is easy after a painful incident shatters her life. Her heart is bleeding, and moving to Watcher’s Point is a chance to start anew, only she isn’t prepared for the guy who walks out of her dreams and into the flesh. Literally . . . because she’s been dreaming about this sexy stranger for years. Mackenzie is even less prepared to face the dark nature of her dreams. They’ve turned disturbingly gruesome, full of blood and murder, and when they begin to coincide with the media’s headlines, she and Aidan realize her visions might be the key to stopping a madman from killing again.
Only Aidan has painful secrets of his own, and perhaps the biggest danger of all is falling for him.
Excerpt
“Holy shit . . .” Aidan slammed on the brakes and lunged for his gun.
“What are you gonna do?” I cried.
“Whatever I have to. Call McFayden.”
I pulled my cell out and dropped it twice before punching in the number. The van jerked into motion, and Aidan angled the car in a way that blocked the exit. The van sped toward us anyway, showing no signs of slowing.
“He’s gonna hit us, Aidan!” I screamed just as McFayden’s voice came over the line.
Aidan swerved to the side at the last second. “Damn!” He locked his jaw and began to wheel around, preparing to give chase.
“Wait!” Ignoring the sheriff’s frantic questions, I grabbed Aidan’s arm. “Look!” I said, pointing to a tree at the end of the drive. Its contorted branches reached over the rocky incline. The branches weren’t the only things suspended above the sea. A woman dangled from a limb, her naked body unmoving.
He cursed, and sending one last glance at the van’s taillights, stomped on the gas pedal. We jerked to a stop, his front fender almost smashing into the tree. “Use this if he comes back.” He pushed the gun into my hand, and I dropped it, startled by the heavy feel of metal in my palm. “And stay in the car!” He was out and running toward the woman before I could utter a word.
Like hell I was staying in the car.
About the Author
Christina Jean Michaels was born in Paradise, California, but she has found the true home of her heart in Eugene, Oregon where she finds plenty of inspiration for storytelling.
When she was young, her mother said she hated words. Now she can't imagine not writing. She became an avid reader when she was thirteen and discovered the world of Sweet Valley High. About a year later she realized she could play God and write about her own characters. She has been writing in some form ever since.
She lives with her husband and their four children—three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone’s attention.
When she was young, her mother said she hated words. Now she can't imagine not writing. She became an avid reader when she was thirteen and discovered the world of Sweet Valley High. About a year later she realized she could play God and write about her own characters. She has been writing in some form ever since.
She lives with her husband and their four children—three rambunctious UFC/wrestling-loving boys and one girl who steals everyone’s attention.
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