Touch of Salar - Book 1 by Alexis Duran

Touch of Salar (Masters and Mages - Book 1)

๐Ÿ”ฅHot Damn Featured Book!๐Ÿ”ฅ

"Bewitching, Exotic, Sensual" ~ Rainbow Book Reviews

In a world ruled by tyrannical kings and fickle gods, the young monk M'lan finds himself at the center of royal intrigue as his healing powers attract the attention of his superiors. When he learns the handsome warrior whose body he’s tending to is not only a noble, but a king's assassin, any attachment to him might prove fatal. Despite the danger, he can't stop himself from falling in love. Can he risk the abandon of passion when a slip of the tongue might force his lover to execute him?

Major Jamil Jarka comes to the temple with one intention—heal his wounds so he can return to the fight against the rebellion. When the monk assigned to him turns out to be stunningly attractive, he sees this as a pleasant distraction, no more. But soon he finds himself becoming obsessed with M'lan and is torn between the fear of betrayal and the lure of love.

Sinister forces strive to turn the monk and the warrior against each other—a conflict neither will survive if they cannot trust their lives to love and the healing power of Salar.

$2.99 at Time of Posting
FREE on kindleunlimited
Published: May 6, 2018
Length: 123 Pages

About Alexis Duran



Psychic, photographer, poet, fairy godmother, writer, woman on a train.

I am a writer of fantasy, science fiction, romance and erotic m/m everything. Most likely my stories will have a paranormal element, but I’m dreaming up some “real world” recovery romances as well. I’m thrilled to be working with Loose Id on both my Masters and Mages series (Touch of Salar is Book 1) and my high fantasy novella, To Catch a Threeve.

Like my characters, I am a figment of someone else’s imagination.

I was conceived on the Orient Express, somewhere between Venice and Istanbul. That trip was one of many revival attempts at the old, romantic line and the year was 1965. Three years before the Russian crackdown, my father, a Czech diplomat, was traveling with a cultural delegation promoting socialist writers.

My mother was an American housewife on the run.

What was she running from? Boredom. Also from turning 30. From being old and boring, she ran. She’d won a national cooking contest for her Mexicali Macaroni and Cheese. She took her winnings and bought a one-way ticket to Paris. As often happens when you seize your dream by its uni-horn and jump the track, fate intervened to keep my mother alive and moving for over a year in a Europe she knew nothing about. She spoke very little French and no Czech. My father spoke a smattering of English, only enough to flirt with the vivacious Californian in the bar car.

My mother wasn’t sure about most of what he said, but she’s pretty sure he said his name was Alex Duran. She never saw him again after that fateful night, but they did exchange postcards for many years in code, via a post office box Prague. He signed his cards A.D.

Fate again played a hand because it was also on a train, this time between Prague and Munich, that I met my first star-crossed lovers whose tale demanded to be immortalized.

Though it might seem more natural for a writer to insert herself in the middle of her fantasies, I have been content to remain an observer, friend and biographer of my soul-bound friends. I spent three months in Sophia, Bulgaria with an old witch woman learning how to channel the many spirits and forms which they’ve taken over the centuries and dimensions, in order to record their adventures. I consider it an honor to be the woman on the train, and take my own pleasures where I find them. They often begin in the bar car of international high speed trains.





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