The Chimera a race so old, the humans relegated them as a myth. The Gods feared the Chimeras’ powers; they believed they were a deadly race, with physical abilities beyond belief. So, they split their race in half condemning them to wander the earth, searching for their other half to be complete. Without their sodalis, each was destined to live life without dreams, without love, without hope. The future rested on finding their one true mate for life.
SHELBY O’NEILhas led a solitary life with her parents. So when she goes to school at Washington State University, she believes her life has just begun. Now in her second year, the dreams begin. She dreams with the same man, night after night for months. When her dream world becomes her reality, and her life becomes a danger zone, she quickly learns to trust the one man who has thrown her into this new and dangerous world.
DEVELON COLEis Chimera and his race has been on earth as long as humans. His people are desperate to find their one true mate for life, and Develon has just found his, in the small college town of Pullman Washington. His goal is to protect her against the hunter’s and guide her into who she was always destined to be, his sodalis, his mate.
Author Bio
Megan S. Johnston is a freelance writer and entrepreneur living in the Pacific Northwest. In addition to writing fiction, she runs several family-owned and operated businesses, which she started over twenty years ago. She is an avid reader of
paranormal romance and a member of the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. She has four children and seven grandchildren and lives with her husband and two dogs in Woodinville, Washington. Transition is her début novel.
An excerpt from Chapter 1 of Transition
Shelby O’Neil had been dreaming of the same gorgeous guy for the past several months, though she couldn’t remember exactly when it had started. He was very tall—she estimated about six foot six—and muscular. Not an inch of fat on him anywhere, he was ripped, six pack and all. His long, thick black hair, which was pulled back from a flawless face, was tied at the nape of his neck with a dark brown leather strap. He had a decidedly Greek nose, a straight line from top to bottom; his cheekbones were high and prominent; and a small dimple sat squarely in the center of his proud chin. All she could think about was nibbling on the edges of his plump, sensuous lips and gazing into his piercing green eyes, which blazed beneath their dark lashes with a savage fire. She knew if she looked into them long enough she wouldn’t be scorched, but simply drown in their depths.
His skin was darker than hers, very smooth, with a hint of chocolate and a healthy glow. His arms, shoulders, and much of his back were covered with a large tattoo of a white Siberian tiger; one of its sharp-clawed paws gripped the inside of his left wrist, its leg wrapped up and around his arm and across his large bicep and muscular shoulder. The rest of its sleek white body cascaded over and across the back of his neck, then down the right side of his back where its striped tail disappeared inside the top of his black denim jeans. The tiger appeared to be in 3D, nearly jumping off his skin with vibrancy and textures, making it appear alive.
Her dreams were becoming lucid; so vivid, so real. And, last night’s was no different.
In her dream, he relaxed against the side of a giant oak, one ankle resting over the other. The trunk of the tree was about fifteen feet in diameter. She looked up. The top of the branches disappeared magically into the hazy clouds above. The leaves were in full abundance; it must be spring.
The soft fragrance of lavender drifted in the air, and she looked around for the hidden flowers. Where was she? She couldn’t remember being here before, and she knew she had never seen this tree.
Shelby looked down at her hands. She held a brown vintage wicker picnic basket with woven slats. She glanced up at the handsome man. He held a red-and-white checkered blanket, and he was grinning at her. She smiled back and continued to take in her surroundings.
Two horses stood not far away drinking from a pristine lake, their tails swishing tirelessly at the flies on their backs. Had they ridden to this beautiful place?
She watched as he unfolded the blanket and laid it beneath the branches of the towering oak.
He placed his hand over the top of hers, and she shivered at the sensation of warmth that started deep inside and spiraled up through her body. They shared a bond, and it opened wide between them. She relaxed and felt the warmth tingle across her skin. She lifted her chin, looked into his eyes, and felt a blast of heat. Her body felt hot as the sensation vibrated off her skin. How could one touch from this man bring her such pleasure?
He took the basket from her hands and placed it in the center of the blanket. She watched him remove the contents: roast chicken, potato salad, plump red and green grapes, soft rolls with honey, and a bottle of sparkling cider. Her mouth watered not only from the aroma that emanated from the chicken, but also for the man himself.
Shelby watched intently, admiring the way he moved. Such precision in his motions, he was nature itself.
The landscape was breathtakingly beautiful, and she glanced once again toward the lake. The light from the sun shimmered on the water, reflecting the shapes of the birds passing overhead. The blaze from the sun was warm and brought a hint of moisture to her skin. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and wondered again how this could be just a dream. It seemed so real.
Her childhood had included family vacations to places just like this. It felt like home. Shelby pictured her mother and father standing by the lake laughing, which brought joy to her soul.
“Is this someplace you’ve been before?” she asked him. Then she sat on the blanket, her back against the tree.
He sat down next to her, slowly unfolding his long, graceful body. He held a piece of straw between clenched teeth. It was endearing. Shelby reached over and plucked the straw from his mouth and smiled.
Yes, the whisper of his voice entered her mind. Part of my life was here. My parents owned this ranch. It was a place for us to get away and relax. My father and I used to ride here for hours.
She knew this was a dream because he spoke directly into her mind, his lips not moving. They ate and talked for some time. His eyes never left her face.
You are so beautiful, anima vita. You are my soul, my life. He captured her hands with his, bringing them up against his lips, kissing each finger slowly. His hands engulfed hers. Then, he turned one hand over, pressing a kiss into the center of her palm.
Incredible warmth spiraled its way up her spine; this was something she had never felt before. She felt detached, but knew she was fully living in his emotions. They were his feelings, but now, somehow, hers too. She stroked her fingers over the back of his hand, closed her eyes, and inhaled. She leaned back against the giant oak and reveled in his feelings.
This is the first time I have been back since my parents’ death. My fondest memories of them were here. After that, I saw no reason to come back. Until now. It was a long time ago. Shelby, I need to leave. It will not be long until we are together. Soon, I promise.
Shelby felt his lips gently graze across hers. Oh God, she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted this dream to continue. “Wait . . . ,” she said. “Please, don’t go. There are so many things I want to ask you. So many things I don’t understand.” What did he mean, ‘Until we are together’? It seemed every dream they shared ended the same way, his corporeal body disappearing into a cloudy haze . . .
Beep! beep! beep! Her alarm began its annoying reminder, summoning her into wakefulness. Her sense of hearing had always been sensitive, so even the low chime grated on her nerves
Shelby groaned and opened one bleary eye. She tried focusing on the face of her clock. Was it already six o’clock in the morning?
It was time to get out of bed and get ready for school. She hit the snooze button, placing her hand over the top, resting it there. When it sounded again, she wanted to pick up the blasted thing and toss it out her loft window, a window that showcased her first attempt at making curtains. They were blue and white, horizontally striped, and lopsided. If she tilted her head just right, the stripes would straighten out. Her bedroom was on the second floor, so she knew no one would ever see them, and that was fine with her. As her mother could attest, her talents did not rest in her homemaking abilities.
Her loft was small, and she only had room for her twin-size bed and a small nightstand in her bedroom. She kept her clothes in plastic containers, which she stacked neatly against the wall.
What she truly wanted at this moment was a few more minutes alone with her dream guy. His voice was still a hushed whisper inside her mind. He used a word for “mate for life” that sounded like another language, but somehow she had understood the meaning.
To learn more about Megan Johnson and Transition you can find her at:
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