Book Name: Enigma
Release
Date: Re-release with new cover and general cleaning up
Blurb:
Troubled
residents come and go at the Care House where River Caulfield is a caregiver,
working towards fulfilling his dream of becoming a nurse. When Silver arrives,
a patient found on a roadside near death after suffering terrible abuse, River
finds his previous personal detachment is compromised. Seeking to help the
mysterious and enigmatic young man locked inside his own mind and memories,
River finds his professionalism slipping as Silver begins to open up and live
again.
But as their relationship begins to blossom, the roots of Silver's past abuse and the abuser who forced him into such a mental state sends forth new shoots of darkness enveloping them in dangers threatening not only Silver's sanity, but their very lives. With River's devotion and help, will Silver finally be able to break away from his past? The answer lies in the words of a priest, a painting and a long walk through a churchyard harbouring the secrets of the enigma that is Silver.
But as their relationship begins to blossom, the roots of Silver's past abuse and the abuser who forced him into such a mental state sends forth new shoots of darkness enveloping them in dangers threatening not only Silver's sanity, but their very lives. With River's devotion and help, will Silver finally be able to break away from his past? The answer lies in the words of a priest, a painting and a long walk through a churchyard harbouring the secrets of the enigma that is Silver.
Pages or Words: 98,000 words
Categories: Contemporary, Gay Fiction,
M/M Romance
Excerpt:
Feeling
more confident and realising that I have to ‘project a confident and
professional air to reassure the resident and help to ease them into the new
surrounding and routine that mark their transition from the institutional
environment and the radically different routine and environment of a
residential setting’, I compose myself.
Yeah, I know, I’m a geek with a photographic memory, although knowing
the rules doesn’t necessarily mean I always follow them.
“Silver,”
I say softly as I shake him gently by the shoulder. I wonder how many times he has heard a smirk
in the voice that calls him by name. I
know that I have, often enough.
With
a sigh the figure in the bed turns over, flinging out an arm with a soft
moan. I freeze. Fucking hell... I mean what the fuck....
fucking HELL.
He
is nothing like I had expected, not that I had really been expecting anything,
but with a name like Silver I had kind of expected him to be fair; ash blonde or
something. But he isn’t. He’s dark, very dark. His hair is jet black and long, and even
tangled and dry as it is; it makes me want to run my fingers through it. I can imagine myself gently tugging out the
knots and running conditioner down the length of it, strand by strand. It would be soft and silky and....
Shit!
And that’s just his hair. The things I
want to do with those lips. Fuck. Never
in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined.... Gods he is beautiful; not just
cute like Max, not handsome or pretty or any of the other words used to
describe how someone looks; he isn’t even drop dead gorgeous: he is beautiful,
simple as. Lying there with his hair all
over the place, his long coal black lashes trembling on his milk white cheeks,
one arm thrown out revealing the creamy skin and well defined muscles of his
bare shoulders and chest he is a fucking angel... a real, living, breathing,
flesh and blood angel.
Gods
damn them; they knew. The bastards knew
the effect he would have on me and all the giggling and snickering now make
sense. Shit, I am practically creaming
my pants just looking at him. I shake my
head and laugh at myself. Get a grip,
River. Just keep your mind above your
waist and remember that this is a resident, a patient, a sick person who needs
you to be strictly professional and... Ah fuck, why did he have to stir right
at this moment? Why did he have to let
out that cute little sigh that parts his lips and makes me want to... to... Shit!!!!
Moving
his head from side to side drowsily on the pillow, Silver gives a sleepy little
grunty moan thing and yawns showing absolutely perfect white teeth... of
course, although I notice that there is a gap right at the back on the bottom. I don’t know why but that makes me smile;
somehow, something that mars that perfection, even to such a slight degree, is
a huge relief.
Just
when I am managing to get myself under control and have a goofy smile on my
face, Silver opens his eyes. If I had
thought that Silver with his eyes closed was beautiful, Silver with his eyes
open is... unreal. At least now I
understand why he is called Silver. His
eyes are grey, a strange pale silvery grey with an almost metallic sheen, like
mercury. For a full minute I just stare
at him and he stares back. There is no
curiosity in his eyes, no fear, no challenge; no anything. I have never seen eyes that are so blank.
Quite
suddenly it occurs to me that I am staring and really not being very
professional at all. I force myself to smile, a tight professional smile and
not the goofy grin that is threatening to break out at any moment.
“Hello
Silver, my name is River, did you sleep well?”
The
silver grey eyes regard me steadily but there is no indication that he has even
heard me let alone understood me. I
broaden my smile and try again.
“It’s
morning, Silver, time to get up. Do you
need me to help you with that?”
At
last there is a reaction, just a tiny shake of the head. The silver eyes flicker and with a sigh he
throws back the quilt and I am blinded.
At least I wish I had gone blind because if I had I wouldn’t have been
staring at that body with quite so much raw hunger. Fuck he is beautiful all over.
Turning
away I walk to the chest of drawers, hoping that he had brought some clothes
with him. The first drawer contains
pyjamas and I wonder why the hell they hadn’t put any on him last night,
although a moment’s reflection supplies the answer: bastard.
Trying
to keep my face turned and my eyes well above the waist I hand Silver the
pyjamas.
“Can
you put these on?”
Without
making a sound he takes the clothes from my hands and slips them on. I have to watch, I just can’t help it. I don’t know what kind of condition he was in
before whatever happened, happened, or when he woke up out of the coma but
those physiotherapists have sure done one amazing job over the past six
months. He is slender, even thin, but so
well defined that, even through the cotton pyjamas it is possible to see that
he is toned to perfection, every muscle group well defined.
Shit,
he’s fucking perfect in every way. And
when he starts to walk...
My
great grandmother used to be a dancer, way back in the twenties. She was
something of a celebrity back then, and I can remember my grandfather talking
about her with fierce pride on his face.
When he was a child he used to go to the theatre to watch her practice
and perform and he would say that even when she was not on the stage, even when
she was just walking down the street, across a room, getting on a train; she
was always dancing. He used to say she
‘walked lightly on the earth’. I have always remembered that phrase - walked
lightly on the earth - and I thought I knew what he meant... until now.
Damn
those physiotherapists have done a good job, a great job, there isn’t so much
as a hint of a limp and he stands very erect with his head up and... walks
lightly on the earth. It’s hard to describe, but he flows, hardly making a
sound, so lightly that it makes you feel that he wouldn’t make a footprint in
snow.
He
pauses in the doorway, waiting. I am
staring again. “Do you dance Silver?”
The words just slip out. I forget that
he doesn’t know, that he doesn’t want to know; it’s just that the way he walks
makes me think so much of my great grandmother that I am suddenly sure that he
must be a dancer too.
Buy the book:
Meet the author:
Nephy Hart was born into a poor
mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at
the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a
stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen.
They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Nephy has always been a
storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and
cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.
Later in life, Nephy became the
storyteller for a re enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of
life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting
people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds,
sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was
sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began to appreciate
the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the
wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of
the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic
has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still
wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Nephy lives in a
terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, hamster and two cats. Her
daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s
never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself
entirely to her twin loves of writing and art.
Where to find the author:
Goodreads
Link:
Publisher: Flying with Red Haircrow
Cover
Artist: Red Haircrow
Tour Dates & Stops:
Parker
Williams, Andrew Q. Gordon, Sinfully
Addicted to All Male Romance, Bonkers
About Books, Bayou
Book Junkie, Jessie
G. Books, Havan
Fellows, Rainbow
Gold Reviews, BFD Book Blog,
MM
Good Book Reviews, Wicked
Faerie's Tales and Reviews, The
Hat Party, KathyMac Reviews, Dawn’s
Reading Nook, Cheekypee
Reads and Reviews, Full
Moon Dreaming, Vampires,
Werewolves, and Fairies, Oh My, Scattered
Thoughts & Rogue Words, Fangirl
Moments and My Two Cents, The
Jena Wade, Unquietly Me, Louise
Lyons, Charley
Descoteaux
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