Amber Ruin is coming in October and I thought I’d give you a little glimpse into what is coming. Enjoy!

Patrick stood in our shared closet, lost. His back straight and his fingers walking across hangers, I could hear him mumbling to himself but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. I sat on the floor with my back against the wall next to the door to our walk-in closet. Watching. This was fascinating. From the moment I’d met him, Patrick had always been perfect. He’d looked like GQ come to life and this flustered side of him was . . . cute.

“Figured it out yet?” I asked, not able to keep the smile from my lips.

“No,” he grumbled, running his hand through his thick, onyx hair. “What should I pack for this type of event?” he asked, frustration finally bleeding through.

“Jeans,” Dean called from our bedroom. He also sounded frustrated. That’s all Dean owned was jeans. Oh sure, he had a suit or two for meetings, but that was it. The moment the meeting was over, he was back in jeans and a t-shirt.

“That isn’t very helpful,” Patrick snorted.

Getting to my feet, I took the several steps to close the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his waist. I breathed in his scent of death, blood, and mysteriously . . . old books. Something in my brain clicked home. He stroked his fingers along my arm and his body relaxed against me. “You’ll be fine,” I whispered, understanding the underlying problem that he didn’t want to voice. Being mystically married, I got a little extra insight to the men I loved that normal humans didn’t get. It was really helpful to be able to see inside their soul and know what they were feeling, what they weren’t saying. Shit, I was married. Mystically or not. Sometimes it just hit me, a bolt of lightning to the brain. I was married.