Take a journey to another world with Tyalbrook
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Have you read The Prophecy of Tyalbrook series? This coming of age, historical fantasy romance came to life during carpool conversations with my middle-school-aged son back in 2011. We liked to toss creative ideas back and forth in the car. He was a gamer who loved Assassin’s Creed, and I was a lifelong reader and writer who finally decided to tell a story.
A girl is a key to something. A guy is her guardian.
That was the initial premise. We had the best time debating all the details. I don’t honestly think I used anything we discussed, but that wasn’t the point of our conversations. I didn’t need my son to help me plot a book. I needed my son to know that dreams matter, and regardless of what he did with his life, he should never give up on the things he’s passionate about.
That son is graduating college this spring. His thoughts about his future have changed many times, as they tend to do, since middle school. He’s still figuring out his next steps—especially in this COVID world—but he does have a few passions that he’s unwilling to give up.
Determination.
That is what I hope I’ve taught my kids, and that is what I hope I displayed in Tyalbrook’s heroine, Skye. A girl with no memory, no family to speak of, and no future until her path crosses with Xander’s. The world Skye learns of in Never Let You Fall is foreign to her, and her part in it is unfathomable, but she is determined to find the truth and play her role (after her initial freak out, of course!). In a world as crazy as ours is, may you find the strength and determination to reach for your dreams. And if you’re tired of our dimension, why don’t you try taking a trip to Tyalbrook. Go get lost in some magic for a while.
You can purchase the trilogy on Amazon or read it for free with a #KindleUnlimited subscription:
The Prophecy of Tyalbrook
If you’re new to the series, keep reading for the prologue…
PROLOGUE
“Skye? Skye? Can you hear me?”
I stirred at the distinctly male voice, recoiling as warmth brushed against my cheek. I moaned, and he cursed, but my eyes refused to open.
“What are you trying to do to yourself?” he asked as I was lifted by a pair of strong arms. Unable to respond, I rested my head on his chest as he carried me away.
* * *
“Skye?” he hissed in my ear. The heady timbre of his voice was gruff and firm, laced with unmistakable fear.
I groaned and rolled to my back. “Stop shaking me.”
My head felt groggy and disoriented. Unable to tell up from down, my stomach flipped as though I’d been on a boat for weeks. Heat returned to my ice-cold forehead, and this time I pushed into it. The chattering of my teeth filled my ears and made my jaw ache as I snuggled closer, seeking his warmth.
“What did you do tonight?”
My body reacted instinctively, inching closer toward his voice with each word he spoke. Why did he sound familiar? Curious, I peeled one eye open. The world spun and my stomach heaved. The voice cursed, panic no longer coloring his tone as he turned me to my side and I emptied my stomach of its liquid diet.
Spent, I fell to my back and lay there, the stench of my vomit-covered shirt so revolting it prompted me to undress. In my inebriated state, my arms failed to cooperate with my brain as I groped for the hem of my shirt. Or perhaps it was my brain not functioning properly? Nothing made sense.
“Hello?” I choked, hoping for assistance from my rescuer. No reply. Confused, I lifted my head and took in my surroundings through tear-blurred, alcohol-induced hazy vision.
“C’mon.” His voice startled me from behind. Helping me into a sitting position, he struggled with pulling my shirt off. “Let’s get you cleaned up so you can sleep this off.”
My limbs offered little help. All I succeeded in doing was laxly rocking from one side to the other as warm hands assisted me. Shirt stripped away, he carried me into a bathroom where steam collected from a running shower. His arm beneath my knees slid away as he lowered my feet to the tile floor of the shower. As my feet touched the ground, I pitched forward and felt his arms wrap around my torso, steadying me upright. We inched forward. One step, then another, until hot water streamed down my front. My heavy eyelids closed once again.
* * *
Xander
Sickened by her repeated behavior, I stood in the shower holding her in my arms. Her head hung low as the stream hit her hair and flowed down in a waterfall, rinsing vomit from the long, brown strands. She was completely wasted; her entire body weight rested in my arms. If I let go of her, she’d collapse to the tile floor, her alcohol-influenced muscles no stronger than a rag doll. My teeth clenched. What she did to herself time after time—going to parties, drowning her sorrows—it needed to stop. I watched her from afar for so long, but tonight I had to step in. No more watching her self-destruct. She’s running from something she’ll never outrun, not on her own. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Interfering tonight brought us here, standing in a shower, my arms around her waist. My fingers skimmed the soft skin over the ribs just below her chest as I adjusted my grip. Maintain your composure, Xander. This is torture. The removal of her shirt was necessary since it was covered in vomit and liquor. It wasn’t easy keeping my hands, or my eyes, from roaming her bare skin. The weight of the water pulled at her low-rise jeans and revealed more and more of her trim back, which revealed more and more of my weakness for her. I needed to get away from her, and quickly. The longer I stood with her in my arms, the harder it would be to remain aloof.
No contact. That was the rule as her Guardian. The job was to watch from afar and keep her safe until the time was right for her to learn about us. The consequences I could face for not following the plan rolled through my head as Skye shuddered. Her shoulders shook and I pulled her back against my chest as I deciphered her fractured words.
“Are you safe?”
The words were broken and repeated over and over. I remained quiet, waiting for more. Nothing came. She repeated herself again and again. She straightened and pushed her hair away from her face as she regained use of her limbs. Remaining unsteady, Skye glanced over her shoulder. Her vulnerable, brown eyes were dilated, but clearer; the hot shower had sobered her.
I supported her weight as she took a deep breath and searched my eyes. “Are you safe?”
I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what she meant as I stared into those eyes and watched the tears stream down her pale face. Her voice shook as her trembling hand held back her hair.
With a sigh, I resigned to the trouble this would cause and leaned close to her ear. “Yes. I promise you. I am safe.”
She broke into loud, wracking sobs. Her body crumbled against my chest as we sank to the tile floor. The hot water pulsed down on us, washing her tears, and the last of my resolve to stay away from her, down the drain with it.
