By Mary M. Ricksen
Paranormal Time-Travel Romance 274 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud
A horrific car accident, a Celtic ring and destiny, send a young woman on a journey to the past. In a desperate search for her lost sister, she follows the instructions left her in a bank vault from a hundred years ago.
Little did she know the ring would save her life and change it in ways she could never imagine. Does she have the strength to live through her nightmare and find her destiny?
Can she face her sister now that things have changed so drastically? Only time will tell…
Consciousness returned one blurry image at a time. When she wiped her eyes, she saw blood on her hands. King’s whimpering cry and raspy tongue on her face brought it all back. She tried to focus both her eyes and her brain; then it hit her. The car, an accident, she was alive. She’d seen a strange vision, but…
“Blythe!” she shrieked, her voice hoarse already, the pungent smell of burning wires harsh to her senses. Fire! Acrid smoke rapidly filled the car, choking her as it scorched her throat. Frantic, she waved it away, barely able to see.
In abject panic, Lacy looked toward Blythe and gasped. Raw terror overcame her when she saw the extent of her cousin’s injuries. Blythe had hit the dashboard and windshield with her head so hard she cracked it. Tuffs of her hair embedded in the glass around a deeply impacted area. Unconscious, blood streamed from her nose and ears, while it trickled from the corner of her mouth. The entire front of her shirt bloomed crimson. Blythe lay at an odd angle, her body a bit askew, head tilted at an unnatural angle. A shattered thigh bone protruded through the shredded fabric of what had been her slacks. Blythe’s lower limbs were unrecognizable.
Lacy turned to the back seat. Flames engulfed the rear of the car, rapidly heading forward toward the three of them. In the front seat, King huddled as close to her as possible, howling and barking.
“Quiet, King!” she shouted. His loud barks gave way to pathetic whines. “Blythe, wake up, Blythe! We’ll burn to death.” Blythe didn’t respond. Lacy struggled to open her crumpled door to no avail. “Blythe.” She reached past King and touched her to rouse her. A small shot of relief flew through Lacy as Blythe’s eyes fluttered open.
“Lacy, I can’t move. I’m so tired.” Blythe could barely speak.
“No!” Lacy begged her to listen. “We’ll get out, get help, you’ll be all right.” Frantically she tried to move Blythe, to reach past her to her door—if she could only open her door. Flames reached their seats, and Lacy’s hair began to burn. Hysterical, she smacked at her head to stop it.
“I’m tired,” Blythe rasped, “Wanna sleep, so tired…”