What they find at St. Brigid’s is a world beyond their imagination. Little by little they piece together the information of their family’s heritage, their estranged Father, and the legend of the Holder race that decrees Ryland is the one they’ve been waiting for. However, they are all–especially Becca–in for a surprise that will change what they thought they knew about themselves and their kind.
She meets Alex, a Holder who is fiercely loyal to their race, and for some reason, Becca and Ryland. There’s an attraction between Becca and Alex that can’t be denied, but her true nature seems destined to keep them apart. However, certain destinies may not be as clear cut as everyone has always believed them to be.
Becca is lost, but found at the same time. Can she bring herself to leave Ryland now that he’s settled and can clearly see his future? Will she be able to put the the feelings she has for Alex aside and head back to the US? And can Becca and Ryland ever forgive their father for what he’s done?
While Julianna had always excelled in writing throughout school, she’d never considered it a career possibility until about three years ago, when she’d gotten her first story idea and decided to go for it. She grabbed her laptop, started typing away, and has never looked back.
Excerpt from The Seers:
“The second set is beginning,” Bastian continued, coolly offering me his hand. “May I have the pleasure?”
I paused only slightly and took a moment to listen carefully to the song wafting through the air, praying it was a meter I recognized and would be able to dance to. Silently I began to count. There were three beats per bar which meant three/four time. It was a waltz. A quick glance at the couples who were already dancing confirmed my assessment and the slight tension in my shoulders broke. I had this.
Jocelyn, however, was clearly not as confident in my dancing abilities as I was. “I’m sure Becca would be delighted,” he said suddenly, obviously feeling this situation demanded he step in, “but I’m not sure she realizes–”
“I would love to,” I interrupted, taking Bastian’s hand with a smile.
As he led me away from the group and onto the dance floor, I knew Jocelyn wasn’t happy with me, but I wasn’t worried. If he was afraid that I was about to embarrass myself by stumbling all over the dance floor, then he was going to be pleasantly surprised. If his fear was that I would probe Bastian about spying on me back in Pennsylvania, well… he was right. But just because I planned to dig, didn’t mean I couldn’t handle the situation tactfully.
Though, given my history, I couldn’t pretend that his fears were entirely unfounded…
Trying to ignore the fact that every single eye in the room was fixed on us as we crossed the it and took to the floor, I kept my head high, my smile easy, and my mind on the mission. I wasn’t going to let their whispers and pointed stares get to me this time, not now that I fully understood the sort of shady frauds I was dealing with. These people were as underhanded as they came and had been playing us for fools. And by the end of this dance I planned to be able to prove it.
When we reached an open space in the center of the dance floor, we stopped and turned to face one another. My heart began to kick my ribs a bit as we assumed the dance position and I saw all the other couples twirling around us like extras from a Rodgers and Hammerstein show. Reminding myself that it was just a waltz and that I was more than capable, I held my breath and waited for his lead, trying my best to look as calm and collected as he did. He glanced down at me to confirm I was ready, and a moment later we were gliding around the room like pros.
Or he was anyway.
I was doing my best to keep up, while also making sure not to let anyone realize I was having trouble. I had been prepared to waltz, and we were waltzing all right, but it wasn’t the traditional box step that I was used to. Apparently Bastian preferred open footwork, which involved larger steps and a lot more spinning, consequently making it much grander than its box cousin – and more difficult. Maybe this was how he always waltzed, or maybe he assumed that I wouldn’t be able to handle the more difficult style and would have to bow out, but either way I was determined to hold my own. The dance may have looked and felt different, but it was still a waltz, and that meant that the footwork was generally the same. My other saving grace was the fact that, while still a lying cad, Bastian was a very strong lead and wittingly or no he was making me look far better than I was. Uncle Joe would have been proud.
As we twirled around the perimeter of the dance floor I waited for him to say something. After all, he had to know that I’d recognized him, so it was only a matter of time before he came at me with something: an excuse, a test question, or maybe even a threat. But the longer I waited the more clear it became that he didn’t plan on saying anything… at all. It looked like he didn’t have anything to say. But that was fine… because I had plenty.
“Nothing to say this evening?” I asked, keeping my sarcasm – just barely – in check.
“Forgive me,” he replied after a moment, though there was a new aloof, almost bored air to his tone, “I am not myself tonight. You look lovely this evening, and are quite a… proficient dancer… for an American.”
“The dance?” I asked, gritting my teeth as I let his blatant insult go. “Is that really what you want to discuss?”
“We are dancing,” he said with a haughty inflection that made me want to stomp on his foot, “so it seemed an appropriate subject. Would you prefer the weather, or perhaps a commentary on the entertainment this evening?”
God, what an ass!
I hadn’t known him all that well in school, so I wasn’t sure if he was acting this way to try and repel me and my questions, or if “self-righteous dick” was just his natural state, but I was not about to be deterred. “I was thinking something more like Mr Sacklehide’s honors English class, or maybe Mrs Tatala’s Algebra 3,” I said innocently, listing a few of the classes we’d shared.
Certain I had him in a corner, I looked up at his face as I waited for him to respond, looking for the spark of panic in his eyes. Unfortunately, he must have been prepared for my veiled accusations, because all I got from his expression was confusion and a mild hint of annoyance. “Am I supposed to know what you are referring to?” he asked after he realized I was not going to expand.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Then it would appear you are mistaken,” he replied casually, actually having the gall to roll his eyes.
So this is how it was going to go? Denials and lies? Playing dumb? Treating me like a pest wasting his precious time? Not a chance. If this asshole actually thought he was going to get away with this, he had no idea who he was dealing with – but he was about to find out.