There's always something good to read on Cover Reveals: Cover Reveal

Cover & Excerpt

Beyond Fate by Amalia Dillin
Fate of the Gods Trilogy Book Three

The epic conclusion to the Fate of the Gods trilogy

When Adam left Eve, abandoning his wife and their newborn daughter Elah, he thought he was saving the world. But he hadn't counted on the influence of Michael, twisting Elah's love for her parents into paranoia, or the slow, leaching death of the world she rules. Even with the help of Raphael, Elah is becoming her father's daughter, a master manipulator, and she's determined to have her way, even if it means betraying her own mother's trust.

With Loki and the Aesir gone, Thor thinks he’s protected Eve from the ravages of Ragnarok, but there are forces in play even the gods can’t see. When Thor arrives in Eve's next life, offering her everything she ever wanted from Adam, and more -- eternity without death or rebirth, and the freedom to live outside of her daughter's reach -- Eve is more than tempted. But can the world survive with only Adam to protect it?

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Content/Theme(s): Gods, Archangels, Mythology, Fantasy, Romance
Release Date: September 16, 2014
Publisher: World Weaver Press

Excerpt & More

Purchase links: WWP Amazon IndieBound Kobo B&N
Excerpt:
She turned toward the library – they’d become bookstores as well, sometime before her last life, in Montreal – and walked face first into a wall of flesh.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, stumbling back. “So sorry. I didn’t realize you were there.”

A broad palm reached out, catching her by the elbow with a steadying hand. “My mistake, I assure you. I couldn’t help but overhear you say something about real books? I didn’t even realize they still sold them.”

The voice, affectionate and throaty and richly masculine, froze her completely. Worse, it was familiar. She stared at the hand on her elbow, followed it to the wrist, then the well-muscled forearm and the even more defined bicep. Wide shoulders, broad chest, and mountainously tall. Her breath caught when she finally forced herself to look at his face. She tore her arm free, tripping backwards until her back hit the oak tree and her hands clutched rough bark.

Familiar blue eyes, warm enough to make her shiver, that nose with its bump in the arch from an old break, a strong, square jaw and red-gold hair pulled neatly back from his face. But she didn’t need him to let it down to know how long it would be, how it would rest just perfectly against his shoulders. She’d seen it before. Seen him before.

“You should be dead.”

“I hope that isn’t wishful thinking, Eve.”

She blinked, absorbing the sound of her name—her real name—from his lips. Soft, as if he savored the saying of it as much as her ears delighted in the listening. Her eyes devoured the shape of it on his lips. Blinding hope speared through her, sudden and intense. “If the DeLeons sent you – ”

“They didn’t.”

She swallowed her disappointment, blinked back the pressure behind her eyes that heralded tears. Of course they didn’t. Of course. “But you must be one of Owen’s line?”

He pressed his lips together. “It would not be entirely untrue to say so, but I’m afraid I had to mislead you as to our exact relationship the last time we met.”

“The last time!” she half-choked on the words. “The last time we met, you were–I was–”

“Married,” he supplied. “To Garrit DeLeon, two hundred years ago.”

She shook her head, closed her eyes. Was she this desperate for connection, for family, that she’d invented him completely? It was just a hallucination. A memory. She’d done her fair share of that during her last life, but now? It made no sense.

He laughed lowly. “Why are you always so certain I’m a ghost? Tell me there isn’t some small part of you that doesn’t wish otherwise. That hopes desperately for the opposite?”

Eve pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, a strangled sound escaping before she could stop it. “If you were in my head, some hallucination, you’d already know the answer to that question. You’d know without even the smallest doubt. But it doesn’t matter. It isn’t possible. Medicine has advanced, but no one lives 200 years. Even the oldest, healthiest people don’t live beyond 120. Not without – without some kind of cybernetics and that much modification sends the body into shock. It doesn’t work, and I couldn’t bear it if you were some android. I just. I can’t. You can’t be here.”

“Eve.” His voice was so gentle, so sympathetic, and then his hand had closed around her wrist, warm and calloused and so familiar. “Look at me, I beg of you, and then I will go, if you wish it.”

“No!” She clutched at his shirt, at his hand, her heart constricting at the thought that she might never see him again. Even if he wasn’t real. She hadn’t realized how much she still wanted it, to be herself, to be free of all the lies, but it hit her like a punch to the gut. And all the more precious for what Elah had taken from her.

He was smiling when she met his eyes, gently, kindly, as if he knew how difficult this must be for her. And how could he know? How could he know what looking at him, seeing him in the flesh did to her? The memories it brought to the surface of her thoughts so perfectly clear, all joy and happiness and the bittersweet knowledge that it would end. That it always ended. And that was why it couldn’t matter, now, and she wouldn’t have any part of it, of him, of any of it.

Love wasn’t enough. Love didn’t stop them all from dying, and it made the grief of it, the loss, so much more difficult to face. Even more so when the person she lost knew her and loved her as Eve.

And he couldn’t know any of that.

“My name isn’t Thorgrim,” he said firmly, catching hold of her chin when she would have looked away, forcing her to face him, to see him. “Nor is it Lars Owen, no matter what Garrit might have told you.”

His eyes. Had his eyes always burned that way? Not in that first life, so long ago, when she had been his wife. She would have remembered. Just like she remembered, now, staring up at him, that he was the only husband who had outlived her. His face had been the last thing she had seen, his hand on hers the last comfort she had felt. She swallowed hard, then did it again, because her throat was so thick, and just the memory made her eyes mist. But she couldn’t look away.

She didn’t want to look away.

“My name is Thor, Eve, and like you, my father is a god.”
~~~~~~
Purchase links: WWP Amazon IndieBound Kobo B&N
Other titles by Amalia Dillin: