Growing up with an unconventional mom was hard. Her days were spent performing romani rituals in the kitchen, with the occasional pointed reminder of my wasted potential. Instead of listening, I just rolled my eyes as I focused on getting my masters, working towards a new life for us.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 '''𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥.
In an attempt to be a good roma daughter, I went to her grave to send her soul off in the old ways, like she would've wanted.
While singing her soul song, a stunning man with a rich accent and beautifully scrawled tattoos appeared beside me, asking oddly specific questions. Next thing I knew, my body grew limp and his whispered words the last thing I remembered.
𝙒𝙚’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤'''𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙬. ��𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙤.
When I awoke, I was chained to a bed by three psychopaths demanding to know more about my mothers past. Now, there was a new goal—surviving my captors.
Not only did that occupy my mind, but I started having oddly vivid dreams with burning symbols, moody doves, and voices telling me these men, my captors, were mine.
The more I learned about these men, the more my bleeding heart reached out for them, echoing their darkness with my own.
As their fathers demands coiled around us, they had to make a choice. Me or the family. Was our bond enough to save me? Or, in the end, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞��� 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙟��𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩?
Please check the authors website for content concerns. www.KiraStanleyAuthor.com
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 '''𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥.
In an attempt to be a good roma daughter, I went to her grave to send her soul off in the old ways, like she would've wanted.
While singing her soul song, a stunning man with a rich accent and beautifully scrawled tattoos appeared beside me, asking oddly specific questions. Next thing I knew, my body grew limp and his whispered words the last thing I remembered.
𝙒𝙚’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤'''𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙬. ��𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙤.
When I awoke, I was chained to a bed by three psychopaths demanding to know more about my mothers past. Now, there was a new goal—surviving my captors.
Not only did that occupy my mind, but I started having oddly vivid dreams with burning symbols, moody doves, and voices telling me these men, my captors, were mine.
The more I learned about these men, the more my bleeding heart reached out for them, echoing their darkness with my own.
As their fathers demands coiled around us, they had to make a choice. Me or the family. Was our bond enough to save me? Or, in the end, 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙞��� 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙟��𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩?
Please check the authors website for content concerns. www.KiraStanleyAuthor.com
Used availability for Kira Stanley's Veiled Calls at Twilight