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The Crystal Warrior

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THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR is the first book in THE CRYSTAL WARRIORS SERIES.

Download your FREE electronic edition of THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR at Smashwords, Apple iBooks Stores, some Amazon stores, B&N, Kobo, Google Play, and All Romance eBooks.

You can buy RUBY'S DREAM, JADE'S CHOICE & OPAL'S WISH, the next three books in THE CRYSTAL WARRIORS SERIES, now at Smashwords, Apple iBooks Stores worldwide, Amazon worldwide, B&N, Kobo, Google Play, and All Romance eBooks.

The trade paperback edition of THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR is also now available: 
ISBN: 9780992249854 / 0992249856

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THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR

By Maree Anderson

A career-focused dancer who's sworn off men...

A cursed crystal warrior on borrowed time....

When career-focused dancer Chalcedony (Chalcey) is given a piece of wulfenite crystal, Wulfenite, Lord Keeper of the Shifting Sands fief, emerges from the crystal and kisses her like there’s no tomorrow. He’s dressed like an ad for We Love Leather, with killer abs and delectable pectorals. He looks like the man of her dreams, but you know what they say: “If he looks too good to be true, run like hell!”

 

Wulf has finally escaped a centuries-long imprisonment and he wants Chalcedony more than anything he’s wanted in his life. She doesn’t stand a chance. Before she realizes what’s at stake, she’s bonded to Wulf and his life is in her hands. And when the Crystal Guardian’s curse threatens everything she’s worked for, Chalcey must figure out how to save Wulf before it’s too late.

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Copyright 2011 by Maree Anderson

This novel is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved; the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever without the express permission of the author is forbidden.

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THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR

By Maree Anderson

PROLOGUE

Pieter observed the approaching warriors in the fist-sized hunk of polished beryl that served as his scrying ball. The raiders called themselves Styrians, Storm Riders. Pieter’s countrymen had named them the Stone Warriors—men hard and cold and unforgiving as the crystals for which each was named. They ranged far and wide, raiding village after village with swift and deadly precision. Comely women of childbearing age, they enslaved. Children and those females too young or too elderly for their purposes, they abandoned to fend for themselves. Not a hint of mercy shadowed their piercing, sapphire-hued eyes. Truly, they were men of stone.

The inhabitants of the defenseless small villages scattered around the countryside quailed before these fearsome warriors. None had dared make more than a token stand. Until now. Magic had brought them here, just as Pieter had foreseen, and ’twas magic would vanquish them. He had read the portents and spent years preparing himself for this day, searching far and wide for the necessary crystals, be-spelling them to the best of his ability. He was ready…. He hoped. And prayed in his heart of hearts that he would prove himself worthy of the gifts his goddess had bestowed upon him.

He shuffled to the hearth. Using a wadded cloth, he took his battered old kettle from the fire and poured the pain-killing tea into the silver cup that was his most prized possession. As he sipped the tea, Pieter ran gnarled fingers over the patterns engraved on the cup and muttered the incantation beneath his breath. He must remain strong and focused. His intent must not falter, not even for an instant.

He drained the cup and set it carefully aside before snatching up the precious bundle of crystals. He cradled it to his chest as he hurried from his hut. ’Twas time to meet his destiny.

The thundering of hooves heralded their arrival. Pieter had to shield his eyes against the glare of the noon-day sun before he spied them, silhouetted against the hillside. They rode with no accompanying hue or cry. Each man was silent as the grave.

The same could not be said of the villagers. Shrieks of terror split the air. Most ran to their huts and cowered within. Bah. As if mere wood and thatch would save them.

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