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That is until he answers Caroline Breslin's call, a cry for help out of his dreams that draws him into a fierce battle for a young woman's soul. In this first installment of "The New Orleans Paranormal Mystery" series, Caroline Breslin, an amazingly gifted empathy, is determined to strike out on her own and has moved out from the protection of her family home.

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All is going extremely well until of course she comes under siege from a devastating supernatural attack. The last thing Caroline wants is to run back to her family for help, even though she is painfully in over her head. What she really needs is a knight in shining armor or maybe just that guy that keeps haunting her dreams. The sky had darkened to the extent that at any moment one could expect a downpour. There was only enough time to make a decision whether or not to indulge the peculiar impulse that had been plaguing him all morning or to simply let it go.

So he did what he always did, following his instincts he took a deep breath and opened his car door; then slammed it abruptly behind him and literally tore up the steps of the Milton Latter Library just as the raindrops began to hit the outside of his sports coat.


As he pushed the heavy doors aside that felt nearly icy in his hands he watched the deluge of rain come down just outside. But shrugging off that notion he walked into the cold foyer of the library. The structure actually used to be the house or more aptly called the mansion of a former silent, movie star.

Charles Avenue. But last night had been plagued with dreams of this place, dreams of this place and a young woman with long chestnut-colored hair.

For dreams, as his very astute grandmother had once told him were something not to be ignored. The inside of the library was largely silent which made his entrance all the more noticeable or rather would have been if there was anyone around.

The Broken Vow: Vol. I of the Clandestine Exploits of a Werewolf (Unabridged)

He paused at the door, his eyes taking in the huge stretch of mildly wearing mosaic floor. This definitely had been a home once—someone's home, only now a bit unnaturally converted into this public building. The lingering of lives passed here long ago clung profoundly to the place; layers of impressions—the past clearly more powerful and dominant than the present.

He focused deeply trying to filter out the impressions that were non essential to him from those he sought. His light weight canvas tennis shoes hit the highly polished floor but were largely silent, fortunately. Again he focused on the dream—the young woman, green-eyed, long reddish brown hair. His feelings stretched out.

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Maximilian or Max as he preferred was a closet psychic. It was inexplicable the wash of despair that had flooded over her this morning, just pure cascades of desolation.

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Caroline had wandered around her Carrolton Avenue apartment aimlessly, her head nearly splitting open with a migraine incited by what she was experiencing. She'd phoned the law office where she worked as a paralegal to call in sick. It would be impossible to function there under these conditions.

She lit candles; she put out two bowls of water, tried a light meditation, but nothing was helping. Breathing deeply she sunk onto the overstuffed moss green love seat that her Aunt Elise had given her when she moved in. She sat cross-legged and attempted to clear her mind in a meditation. But almost in a flood as powerful as the emotions the images began to pour forth. She sighed deeply. Of course, the strange quiet girl one apartment and two to the left over hers. There was a darkness all around her.

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A self proclaimed Wiccan, she'd been attempting spells to bind the boyfriend to her—the one that lived there on occasion. Delia something was her name. They'd introduced themselves once but she was abominable in remembering last names. Remember you have to take extreme precautions when you move out Caroline, her mother had said. You're not like other people.

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What an extraordinary understatement, but she had to leave, had to leave the safe cocoon of her mother's lovely, sprawling Queen Anne style house on Prytania Street. Certainly it would have been easy enough to bury herself there with her Mom and her younger brother Jared who seemed more than content to set up shop in the great house for another millennia. But not her, Caroline Breslin would strike out on her own; now that she was twenty-five, find a way to deal with the pesky problem of being bombarded with other people's emotions. Damn, she exploded rubbing the sensitive spot.

This was not going to work, and it wouldn't due to have sick days at her job. Luckily it was Friday and she had the rest of the weekend to find a solution, short of having to move. She picked up her purse and sunglasses, heading out the front door with entirely no clue as to where she was going. The pull led him through the wide, dark wood lobby of the library. To either side were massive ornate reading rooms.

One was clearly a dining room from long ago with a high, ornately decorated ceiling and a massive, marble fireplace. Across the hall a similarly fashioned parlor now filled with tables and racks of newspapers. But he walked past, past the long desk and in the opposite direction of an imposing, black wood staircase that led up to the second floor. He'd remembered being here several times before. Once for a meeting of local, small business owners and once for a book sale that was concentrated on the grounds. If he'd wandered this area of the library before it hadn't made an impression.

As he drifted into one of the side reading rooms another doorway compelled him. Without hesitation he crossed the threshold, and the light flooded toward him. It was a lovely little nook, a sunroom surrounded by glass walls and filled with wicker chairs, one with a high rounded back that wouldn't have been out of place on a tropical island. And not unexpectedly, it was occupied. It helped just getting out of the apartment. Clearly Delia Whoever was the problem—what she hated was the fact that she'd become her problem.

Again the complaint circled around to a familiar theme— It wasn't fair. Why couldn't I be like everyone else? Over the years she'd thought she'd made peace with this reality. Her mother and her Aunt's approach had always been— You're gifted for a reason Caroline.

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Don't treat it like a curse. It was the psychic strain that ran throughout their family. Her brother Jared was a remarkable precognitive. Her Aunt Elise, amongst her many psychic gifts, she'd always found to be a walking lie detector—having an uncanny ability of nearly reading thoughts. And of course her mother was a healer, a gift she didn't really develop until after their father died nearly a decade before. Book Format: eBook.

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