As with Persuasion, Pride can be found at Amazon, Nook, Kobo, iBooks and Scribd! Copy and paste the following links to find your copy today! Happy Friday!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0744196VX
books2read.com/u/mVZ7AA
Also, since it's Friday, here's the blurb and excerpt from the first chapter of Pride! Meet Rhiannon, a mysterious woman whose memory is slowly, dangerously returning.
They have lived for centuries. An ancient, secretive race of were-panthers faced with near extinction. To assure their survival they must conceal their identities and abilities, while protecting mankind from an unimaginable, primordial evil.
Pride: The Abcynians, Book II
Plagued by headaches and memory loss after a life-threatening injury, Rhiannon has spent years confined behind the walls of a decrepit castle. When a loathsome earl attempts to earn her favor with an extravagant painting, she is inexplicably drawn to its depiction of an ancient, mythical race. Believing the Florentine artist could be the key to unlocking her past, she and her maid escape, hoping to enlist his aid. Upon reaching the Piazza della Signoria months later, she is unaware that the handsomest man amongst the lavish merchants is the one she seeks.
Dante Luciano is considered the most renowned artist of his time. His patrons are wealthy and powerful. His charm and prowess with women legendary. Yet, as the adopted son of the king of his kind, he must guard his secrets. For he possesses the heart and soul of a panthera prince, therefore, able to shift into a lion. Taken by the discovery of a rare Abcynian female nearby, he recognizes her as his destined mate. Discovering Rhiannon is stricken with debilitating pain, he takes her home, providing the remedies, protection, and knowledge she needs to survive.
While she heals, they fall in love, beginning to plan a future together. However, when her memory returns, imminent danger looms. It’ll take all of Dante’s abilities and the Abcynians to save Rhiannon from a vicious, beastly foe.
Pride: The Abcynians, Book II
Plagued by headaches and memory loss after a life-threatening injury, Rhiannon has spent years confined behind the walls of a decrepit castle. When a loathsome earl attempts to earn her favor with an extravagant painting, she is inexplicably drawn to its depiction of an ancient, mythical race. Believing the Florentine artist could be the key to unlocking her past, she and her maid escape, hoping to enlist his aid. Upon reaching the Piazza della Signoria months later, she is unaware that the handsomest man amongst the lavish merchants is the one she seeks.
Dante Luciano is considered the most renowned artist of his time. His patrons are wealthy and powerful. His charm and prowess with women legendary. Yet, as the adopted son of the king of his kind, he must guard his secrets. For he possesses the heart and soul of a panthera prince, therefore, able to shift into a lion. Taken by the discovery of a rare Abcynian female nearby, he recognizes her as his destined mate. Discovering Rhiannon is stricken with debilitating pain, he takes her home, providing the remedies, protection, and knowledge she needs to survive.
While she heals, they fall in love, beginning to plan a future together. However, when her memory returns, imminent danger looms. It’ll take all of Dante’s abilities and the Abcynians to save Rhiannon from a vicious, beastly foe.
Rhiannon stood upon a parapet looking out at the rough, dry land that
seemed to have no end. Warding off a chill, she tugged at the cape draped about
her shoulders, trying desperately to understand who she was.
Lifting her chin toward the sky, she breathed in. The scent of baking
bread and a roasting pig from the kitchen reached her nostrils. Her mouth
watered. The earth smelled of the veil of ice that dusted the land.
How odd it seemed that she could scent such simple things and know their
origin, yet she could not remember her surname.
“Who am I?” Rhiannon asked aloud, closing her eyes, but balking when pain
pounded within her temples. Her last bout of headaches had kept her abed for
three days. She did not relish spending another day in seclusion.
“Pray tell me the answer,” she demanded of the heavens. “Why have I
forgotten? Why have I been forgotten?”
Her only answer was always the same. Whenever she dreamt of the past,
images of frightening beasts loomed in her mind. In truth, she feared that
she’d been involved in some sort of sorcery before her memory had gone.
But it never felt right to think she was wicked. She attended church
whenever she could, felt welcomed by the parish priest. If he could not detect
evil within her spirit, she must be wrong. The frightening images of men and
women interchanging with leopards and lions were nothing more than dreams.
“Rhiannon, you shouldn’t be outside,” Mary Baker, her maid, said from the
doorway. “Come back inside. The Baron has summoned you to the salon, we dare
not keep him waiting.”
“Aye, I am coming.” Rhiannon turned and headed toward Mary. With each
step her feet felt heavy, her body as weak as if she’d trudged fathoms before
taking the maid’s hand.
“Are you still weak, dear?” Mary asked, catching Rhiannon’s elbow and
aiding her inside. “You shouldn’t have ventured far from bed if you weren’t
feeling well.”
“I’m well enough,” Rhiannon insisted.
Out of habit, she shifted the golden bracelet adorning her left wrist.
The delicate gold chain always felt so heavy, but she’d been schooled to wear
it by her guardian.
“Soon I pray I will rid myself of illness. I am tired of feeling
helpless.”
“Mayhap you should consider removing that bracelet? My husband, God rest
his soul, had an aversion to milk. Whenever he drank it, he became ill.”
Rhiannon allowed Mary to lead her to an ornate wooden chair. “Are you
suggesting gold is the cause of my headaches and weakness? I cannot fathom such
a thing.”
“Milady, you wear more than the bracelet. I know of the necklace that
adorns your throat. I’ve never seen it gone. Likewise, your ankles are so
adorned.”
“Uncle Garfield insists that a noblewoman should wear fine jewelry,”
Rhiannon said, staring at the bracelet on her wrist. “I shall ask him if I may
remove the jewelry for short amounts of time. Mayhap we can ascertain if
they’re the cause of my ailments.”
“I shall pray that he will agree.” Mary patted Rhiannon’s hand in the way
an aunt or mother would, only Rhiannon always felt older than her maid. “Allow
me to look at you. You are to meet the Earl of Cliffton this eve. You’ll want
to look your very best.”
Stunned, Rhiannon stiffened. “What mean you, Mary? Why am I to meet him?”
“He’s the man you’re expected to
marry.”
Rhiannon felt ill. She couldn’t marry someone. “How can this be?”
“Oh, my dear, I thought you understood why the Baron has afforded you a
noblewoman’s education. Lord Cliffton is favored by Queen Mary. You’re likely
to be taken to court before you marry. Think of it. You could finally leave the
castle, as you’ve wanted for a long time.”
“Aye, I wish to travel. Mayhap leave England altogether. I have no wish
to marry.”
“For nearly twenty years I have watched over you, Rhiannon.” Mary’s
kindness was the one true bright spot in her haze of confusion and melancholy.
“I confess, you were so sad and ill from your head injury, I feared we would
lose you. Now that you have come into your own, the Earl will favor you kindly,
I’m sure.”
Rhiannon glanced down. She wore a green damask gown with long sleeves, a
narrow waist, split skirt, and a gold brocade underskirt. As Mary hummed and
brushed her small hands down along the skirt, she took notice of her maid’s
hands. They seemed less agile than they’d once been. Light brown age spots had
begun to form on Mary’s fingers. Her once dark brown hair was peppered with
gray.
Frowning, Rhiannon lifted her left hand. Her fingers were long and
tapered to clean, trimmed nails. Her palms were unburdened by time or calluses.
They were the hands of a young woman. For as long as she remembered, her almost
white blonde hair had never thinned or shown strands of age. Mayhap she was
cursed with a face so hideous that her body refused to age along with it.
“Mary, might I ask you something?”
“You may.”
“How long have you served at Linwood? You’ve been my only friend here.
You must think me selfish for not asking before.” It was true. For as long as
she could remember, the other maids and attendants in Linwood kept their
distance, as if she’d had the plague.
“You’ve been battling illness since I arrived twenty years ago, dear. You
needn’t think poorly of yourself. While I’ve never been fond of the Baron, I
stayed to look after you and prayed for you to learn who you are. Whatever the
answer, I believe you are a good woman and deserve happiness.”
“I suppose it is safe to admit that I’m trying to guess my age. When I
first came here, I was young, yet I always feel old.”
“Well, when you first arrived you were believed to be about
eighteen.”
“How old do I look now?” Rhiannon asked.
“Do you not know what you look like?”
“Nay, the maids who assist with my ablutions and dressing rush me from
the chamber to my lessons.”
“Had I not been so busy tending to
Baron Linwood’s household, I’d have realized it sooner. His lordship needs a
wife, not a lady’s maid. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I don’t want to look at myself
anyway.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“The servants stare at me when you’re
not around to shoo them off. The Baron rarely allows me to venture beyond
Linwood Castle unless we are to attend church. Even then, people stared. I must
be hideous.”
“Men stare at you?”
“Aye, and Baron Linwood is ashamed of me and wishes to marry me off to
some poor, misguided man. Why else would the other maids deny me the right to a
looking glass?”
“I shall correct the staff as soon as I can. Right now, I’ve proof that
you are lovely,” Mary said, rushing across the room to search through clothing
trunks and an armoire. When she didn’t find what she was looking for she left.
Confused, Rhiannon waited. Mary returned with a mirror in her hand,
coming up and holding it at eye level. “Look at yourself. Do not be afraid.”
With Mary’s encouragement, Rhiannon met her own eyes for the first time
in twenty years. “Merciful heavens!” she exclaimed, slapping her hands to her
cheeks.
“You are lovely in face and form. Unlike many English beauties, your skin
is like burnished gold. Your eyes are as beautiful as amber. Your nose is so
elegant it reminds one of a cat’s.”
Mary was right. She was pretty. But when she looked in the mirror she saw
not a cat. She saw a…female lion.
Immediately, her head pounded, warning her away from the thought. “Pray
take it away. I’ve seen enough.”
“If it is your wish,” Mary said, lowering the mirror. “We mustn’t delay
much longer. It’s important to make a favorable impression upon the Earl of
Cliffton. It is my hope that he is sincere in his intentions toward you. If he
is, you’ll be able to live your life again, far away from here.”
“I fear you may be disappointed. I’ve no intention of marrying any man
until I regain my memory. Mercy, I may have been married.”
“You were not. The Baron made certain a midwife examined you when you
came here. You’ve never lain with a man.”
“Dare not mention such things.” Rhiannon gasped, embarrassed to know such
intimacies had been gained from her person.
“I did not mean to offend you, dear.
Something is different about you this eve. I cannot ascertain what it is, but I
feel as if you’re ready to confront whatever it is that’s held you back.”
“My past. I wish to reclaim it.” From the hallway, Rhiannon heard the
pitter patter of a maid’s feet coming toward them. “Harriet comes.”
Mary frowned, facing the doorway. “How do you know…” Unable to finish her
question, she fell silent when Harriet opened the door.
“Baron Linwood requests your presence
in the great hall, milady,” the maid said from the hallway.
Aware
that there was little choice, Rhiannon nodded to Harriet and allowed Mary to
finish preparing her for audience with the Baron and his guest. 
