This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Dianne Hartsock will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.
The Karthagans have regained their ancient powers of manipulating nature, but at the price of madness. In their lust for control, they’ve destroyed their island and most of their race. They come now to Belega, where one of them, Camron, seeks domination over the known world. The Mage has come from the northern continent of Sennia to bring peace but finding his strength no match for the coming struggle, he passes his abilities on to Natan, who only desires a simple life.Now only Natan has the ability to stop Camron, but the personal cost is more than he imagines. It is only with the combined strength of his friends, his Karthagan lover, Kavi, and his deep desire to bring lasting peace to the earth, that he finds the courage to overcome Camron and restore balance to the world.
Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt
“We must go before Mazzo becomes impatient,” Niko warned him, and Natan struggled to a crouch. He motioned to the strange red glow at the mouth of the cave and gave Niko a questioning look.
Niko hung his head. “He’s gone too far.”
The muttered words filled Natan with dread. He feared he’d soon learn what had caused the aura of despair that lingered in the grave. For grave it was. He could smell the bodies under the loose soil.
Niko led him outside. Night had fallen, and Natan stood blinking at the scene that met his eyes, not sure what it meant. A huge bonfire had been lit in the center of the clearing, the men gathered in a circle around it. Mazzo stood close to the fire in robes of silver and black. Natan faltered, but the prick of Niko’s blade at his throat told him he’d find no help there. Niko shoved him, and he walked with leaden feet toward the fire.
“Have you come to repent?” Mazzo asked in sonorous tones.
Natan looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Niko’s sharp hiss reminded him too late not to speak. With an angry roar, Mazzo stepped closer. Excitement glittered in his eyes.
“Silence,” he spat out. “The sorcerer is not to speak. Or should I call you Mage?” His voice turned deadly. “Are you our teacher then? A wise one? Arrogance! No matter. We’ll soon cure you of that.” He turned to the others and opened his arms. “Behold the transgressor, the perverter of nature.” He nodded sharply as men grabbed Natan. “Take him.”
Natan struggled violently, but the men merely laughed and painfully twisted his arms, while Danul replaced Niko with a knife to his throat. They dragged him close to the rushing flames. Stripping his shirt, they then tied him between two saplings by the wrists. He stood too close to the fire. Heat poured from the flames and reddened his skin. Sweat broke out on his face, and he grew faint as he breathed in the searing air. Mazzo approached him, and Natan couldn’t take his eyes off the iron tongs the man held in his trembling hands.
“Don’t worry, my boy,” the man crooned and caressed Natan’s hot face. “We shall save you. Those others—” He nodded toward the open grave. “—were weak. They died in sin. But I can feel the strength in you.” He placed an open palm on Natan’s chest. “I can also sense the dark magic in you.”
He turned from Natan and removed a burning stick from the bonfire with the tongs. He blew lightly on the end, watching the black smoke curl into the air.
“Never fear.” He moved closer. “We shall burn it out of you.”
About the Author 
Dianne grew up in one of the older homes in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. A house where ghosts lurk in the basement and the faces in the paintings watch you walk up the front stairs. Rooms where you keep the closet doors closed tight at night. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind.
She now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. Dianne says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee in her hands, which kindles her imagination.
Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.
Alex is twenty and confused. He always is. The world presses on him with its horrors and pain, with scintillating auras that bewilder his eyes and drive the migraines deeper. He hears the cries of the children, sees the brutal images of tortured victims. He feels out of control and his mind slips…
Dianne grew up in one of the older homes in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. A house where ghosts lurk in the basement and the faces in the paintings watch you walk up the front stairs. Rooms where you keep the closet doors closed tight at night. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind.
Luka makes a desperate wish and the earth shifts to his will. Regretting it immediately, he tries to undue the sorcery, but it is too late. He asked for hope, and to his horror, all the hope in the world is given into his keeping. He desires nothing more than to return this gift to the world.
Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.
