Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m pleased to announce our featured Indie Author for today is Bri Clark! Bri has stopped by and is spotlighting her newest release Eternal Witch, Book Two of the Familial Witches Series. One lucky commenter will be getting an ARC of Eternal Witch!!

Aisleen is the last Familial Witch, and her soul hangs in the balance as the magical and temporal poisoning of the Blue Death ravages her body.

Lucien Lemoine, the feared and revered leader of the Eternals, searches for a cure. Unwilling to acknowledge the reason why he must save her he puts the needs of his clan aside for the witch he has only just met.

But when a vampire, Killian Kincaid, an Eternal’s  sworn enemy, appears out of nowhere hinting of a prior relationship with Aisleen, will Lucien fall in with his more primal male instincts? Or allow his potential rival to help the one woman who can fulfill the prophesy of his fate and heal his heart?


Want a sneek peak? Ask and you shall receive!


An Excerpt

The Blue Death, as it was called, would slowly kill off her body. It was a painful agonizing experience. Only one time in all of Lucien’s two centuries had he seen its effects. Now as it infected Aisleen emotions that had merely been peaking since he met her culminated together in one giant knot in his stomach. Blue Death came from wounds inflicted by venomous animals tainted by magic and only infected those blessed with the same skill. Worse still…there was no cure.

Guilt jumped out and plagued Lucien from his emotional knot . Why did I leave? I should have got to her sooner. Curse that beast! The thoughts repeated over and over in his mind until they became one tortuous stream of self-deprecation. The whole scene played out in his mind only adding to the torture. There before him stood the NighKat scaling the tree that Lucinda had climbed. The predator had been toying with her. The defensive wounds on Aisleen’s forearms had proven that. Just as the beast made its move to strike he jumped, attacked in midair, and broke its neck then dropped the body to the ground. Aisleen had clung to him as soon as he reached her. He wished he were magic so he could take those wounds upon himself instead of the compassionate woman who had saved him–when she had every right to leave him to his fate.

Lucien laid a crisp white bandage over the wound, knowing it would need replacement much too soon. Despair greater than he had ever known forced him to his knees, burying his face in the blanket that covered her chest. The weakness of her special fragrance only added to his misery.

“Please hear me Mother….” He started to pray then stopped knowing she would not answer. The last time the Mother Goddess had spoke to him was after he had ordered the annihilation of her gentle Familial Witches…Aisleen’s coven, “Only the Familial Witch that knows you as an eternal, sees you as a man, and accepts you as both will restore your daughter and your heart.”Those last words were her prophesy and his curse. The Mother hadn’t appeared to him or answered since. Nevertheless, this was his punishment…not Aisleen’s.

With the seed of knowledge that the Goddess loved Aisleen, courage sprouted from the hope within him. Dark worry filled eyes ran through Aisleen’s collection of ancient tomes as he sought out what he knew the Mother could not ignore. Calloused fingers inched along the shelf that was much too far for Aisleen’s natural reach. It was there his search ended. He smiled as he stretched his farthest. Cunning vixen probably did it on purpose to hide its importance.

Unsure if he could even open it Lucien ran his hand along the cover. His fingers brushed the same peony that represented Aisleen printed on the top of the leather binding, the distinct smell rose in the air, while his own living birthmark of lightning bolts and a half moon burned on the skin of his chest. Agony overtook him as the Peony shined…still he did not withdraw his hand. Then the pain left him, the book opened, and the pages turned of their own accord. Lucien looked on in shock as the magic of the Familial Witch worked before his eyes.

A reverent ghostlike calm filled the atmosphere of the cottage as the pages slowed, fluttered, and then stopped. There in front of him was the very spell he sought:

Summoning the Mother Goddess.

Lucky for Lucien being alive for two centuries meant he had learned a thing or two. The list of ingredients, he could figure out. Aisleen’s organization was impeccable. Each of her herb’s was stored in alphabetical order without labels. His eyes sought her offering his approval. But she lay still…deathlike.

Eyes back on the book, he began to read the incantation and ingredients. When finished, he gathered the supplies, only stopping to look at Aisleen one more time before going outside. Snow covered the ground in a blanket of deathly cold. The mist Trinity Forest was known for hovered just above the snow pack. His pace quickened to the spot just beyond her crude fence where the fog cleared as though if magic.

Lucien walked a wide berth, dragging a stick creating a circle in the snow. Still using the same crude tool, he drew lines within the sphere creating five points, identical to the symbols in Aisleen’s book. On top of the cover, he pinched and folded in the powdered ingredients from her herb storage. Then sprinkled the mixture at the top of each point before finally kneeling before the top, and sprinkling the leftovers of the powder…he ripped his shirt open revealing his mark of the Goddess and spoke the enchantment.

“I call upon my creator,

My mother,

My Goddess.

She who touched me,

She who knows me,

She who loved me.

Hear me great Goddess…

I implore thy mercy

And beseech thy presence.”


Burning pain erupted from his living tattoo. Each lightning bolt seemed to radiate a vibrating sting while the half moon simply blazed continually. The ache caused a sheen of sweat upon his forehead and he leaned forward with his fists clenched refusing to scream. Then as abruptly as it began, he was released. Unable to find the strength to stay upright he fell in the snow. Wet cold flakes relieved his burnt chest. Laying there it occurred to him that he didn’t even hesitate using the language of magic…of the beautiful yet deceitful enchantresses. They who possessed the power to snare the unsuspecting in deadly traps using their guile and physical beauty, they who preyed on the fear and insecurities of mortal and immortal alike, they who took his only daughter away causing him his greatest heartache. Familial Witches were natural and kind…calling upon their surroundings to fuel their magic. Their only motivation was to relieve others of illness, plight or to ease their burdens. It was there tongue as well. Once again, he had grouped two very different beings into one prejudice.

Ethereal stillness surrounded him as he moved up to his knees. There was a chance The Mother would banish him for calling upon her…but she couldn’t refuse this summons. The spell called for a symbol of binding, or unity, such as a witch of a coven would use a cord. Lucien’s symbol was his birthmark—that which bound him to the Mother unequivocally. Mysteriously, he was unafraid of his potential punishment…only thinking of Aisleen instead.

The air above the circle of symbols he’d created distorted. If it wasn’t for his heightened vision, he may not have seen it. Then one flake after another floated upward, slowly at first, eventually gaining speed as more and more joined into a beautiful tornado. Finally, a silhouette appeared and there before him in all her glory was the Mother Goddess.

Eyes to the ground, Lucien dared not lift them. He couldn’t bare to look upon her face. His breath came out in pants as he struggled with the relief that Aisleen may have a chance now.

“Do not cower before me, my son. I will not harm you,” she promised. Her voice was enchanting in its sweetness and frightening in its strength. Anyone who heard it knew she held the power to both create and destroy.

Slowly, showing his utmost respect, Lucien lifted his head.

Once again, her beauty overwhelmed him as every time before. Long tresses so black almost appearing turquoise formed behind her like a cape of protection. Rose and white tinted robes fitted around her shoulders and chest then billowed outward to fall around her in soft waves. Within the beauty of her ghostly face lie the same penetrating emerald eyes as Aisleen. An overwhelming sensation of comfort and love enveloped him. It was a feeling he knew from being in her graces. A feeling he hadn’t felt in so long the joy was indescribable. Even knowing she was not displeased, he still could not look into her eyes for he wanted to see another’s green gaze much more. This thought confused and astonished him.

“Well my son, haven’t you become resourceful?” She said floating around within the sphere. He was unable to reply. After a slow inspection, she stopped in front of him.

“Your silence is shocking. Before you would never hesitate when speaking to me… but now only quiet….most intriguing. While I can easily see what ails you, I want to hear it from your lips. Go ahead my child; tell me what you would ask of me.”

The warm words gave him courage, “Great Mother…I ask not something for myself but for she whom I have hurt just as much as I injured you.” He paused, trying desperately to swallow the lump that formed when the words he must say appeared in his mind’s eye. “It’s Aisleen…she’s dying. Please help her…I’ll do anything.” He finished on a gasp and finally looked her in the eye.

Greenery filled his vision as the Mother looked into his soul. When she did this, it was both painful and thrilling. Like the sensation of falling only to realize at the end, great pain awaited. One other time, experienced the inspection…when he had asked for his daughter’s location. The answer then had been a disappointing no. Green faded to white as the snow-covered landscape seeped back into his vision. Unable to kneel any longer, he fell over again in the snow and allowed exhaustion to claim him.

To his shock, she approached and as her foot stepped beyond the bounds of the circle, she made footprints in the snow. Never in all his time had in this realm had she ever appeared to him in a mortal form. Yet there she was. Adding to his dismay, she was a spitting image of Aisleen. From the flowing midnight tresses to the crimson red lips, long delicate fingers reached down but with the strength of a divinity helped him to his feet.

Much taller than the Mother in this form Lucien, was unsure what to do…kneel or stand…speak or stay silent.

She looked up at him, ran her blood red finger nail along his jaw and spoke, “I feel your confusion. Why I revealed myself to you in this form is unimportant right now. Know this my son, Aisleen; I created exactly in my image for a reason. As for saving her…I promise you will find it. But it will require something from you.”

“Anything…” Lucien promised again, and renewed hope for Aisleen’s survival blossomed in his heart.

“I’m pleased with your growth my child. All I ask of you is to be more.” A wolf howled in the background and on instinct, Lucien assumed a protective stance in front of the Mother. The echo of the words still clung on the air, but The Mother Goddess had vanished.


Bri, Thank you so much for being our featured Indie Author for the day!

If you would like to learn more about Bri Clark and her fantastic books you can find her at

Official Website



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