Inspiration
I’m so thrilled about this upcoming new series! And here’s an exclusive Sneak Peek. Erik is a retelling of the Phantom of the Opera and Book #1 in the Muse of Darkness series. It is a long-time coming project. I’m a HUGE fan of all things Phantom of the Opera. When this pandemic started and California locked down in March 2020, I was just so thankful to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber for offering the 25th Anniversary Special of his unforgettable musical. I bingewatched the thing over and over during that weekend. I went on to buy it because I could NOT get enough of the man behind the mask. His voice, his rendition made for a perfect Phantom, in my humble opinion.
My new obsession soon turned inspiration when I found out that Mr. Ramin Karimloo is an accomplished musician with his own band. I wrote the backbone story of this retelling of Phantom of the Opera in a couple of days, listening to Ramin’s impressive vocal range as I went through his whole catalogue. I highly recommend it, by the way. LOL
Unfortunately, a transcontinental move back to my home country turned my life upside down. I had to put the story aside. Still, I commissioned the covers for the whole series, which you find after the sneak peek. Now, I set the first book in pre-oder. It’ll release on my birthday because it’s that personal to me. It’s my gift to myself.
All that to say, I might tweak this first scene a little (or a lot) before I send the final version of the manuscript to my editor, but I wanted to share it with you.
Synopsis
He’s a rockstar with dark secrets.
She’s a tech genius with an angelic voice.
Erik Crawford has no illusions. Buried wounds have poisoned his soul and broken him beyond repair. Until her song hushes the chaos inside and her dangerous curves become his new obsession.
Christine Daae believes the sexy front man of Muse of Darkness wears his party-till-dawn attitude as a mask hiding his pain from the world. Determined to meet the rock star, she bribes her way into the production of the band’s biopic.
When Erik’s relentless pursue of Christine unearths ghosts from her past she thought long vanquished, she panics. But she soon finds out escaping her new tutor isn’t an option.
Can he teach her to trust again? Can her love mend his broken soul? Or are their emotional scars too deep to be healed?
One-click this book today for a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
Fans of Kylie Scott, Jaine Diamond, and Alexa Padgett will devour this steamy rock star romances. No cheating or cliffhangers.
This reimagining of the classical tale of The Phantom of the Opera deals with sensitive topics such as self-harm, drug abuse, suicide, and sexual assault. Although situations are not depicted in detail, they might trigger some readers.
Sneak Peek
Chapter 4 – Erik
(c) 2021 Liz Gavin
Inside my trailer, at the movie set, I lean against a desk, and sulk. I take the last swig from a bottle of beer to wash away another unproductive morning. A week past Memorial Day, we’ve accomplished very little, and fallen two weeks behind schedule.
“Amateurs.†I smash the empty bottle on the carpeted floor.
I sink into a crouch to collect the shards, disposing of them, even though they pose no threat to me. When my inner landscape gets out of control, I favor blades to restore balance.
As I stand upright again, a rich, warm soprano teases my ear, shushing my rage faster than any cold razor has ever done. This voice has lulled me around the backlot for days. Most of the times, I’ve heard her vocalizing. Today, a soulful guitar accompanies her and I can make out words.
Your face in the mirror beguiles
But I see past your magazine-cover smile
Let me dry your unshed tears
Leave behind your unspoken fears
Let me teach your heart to trust again
Believe me, I know you can
Her smooth, husky notes wrap around me like a cocoon as she describes her lover’s sorrows. That man’s pain resonates. I’ve felt it in my bones. Lyrics paint a picture, melody breathes life into a song. Her hopeful rendition, and sultry vibrato, pluck my heart strings. Her words incite my soul to yearn to fly to her. I wish I could leave all hurt behind.
I rub my palm along the tattoo covering my left arm. I can’t make out the scars under the artful design, but they remain there. All. The. Damn. Time.
Her voice echoes through muscles I’ve neglected for too long. Fueled by her passionate serenade, I indulge in a fantasy where love prevails. My heart flutters.
Let me prove you can be whole again,
I’ll make mine your pain
I believe in you
If only you believed too.
Squeezing my eyes, I mutter, “Yeah, sure. That’s going to happen.â€
The singer goes on about real beauty underneath an artificial albeit stunning façade the other man wears. A twinge in my chest steals my breath. I pop my eyes open.
Her man and I draw apart right there. Only forbidding darkness lies beneath the graceful features I present to the world. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe she was laying bare my secrets.
I mutter, “What was I thinking?â€
To break her spell, and wrench myself from a vain daydream, I stalk to the desk and shuffle papers covering its glass top. Yet her music pulls me back like moth to a candle flame.
I’m positive she hasn’t shot any scenes while I was in the studio. I’d have recognized that voice. Shooting won’t resume for another hour, which is plenty of time for what me to try to unearth the mysterious singer.
I swing the only door open, scamper down the metal steps, and stalk around the trailer, following her melodious voice. I find her, sitting under an ash tree by the soundstage, propped against its trunk. She shelters from the scorching sun yet light emanates from her whole being.
My fingers itch to touch this radiant woman. My soul hungers for this bright muse. But, my heart shrinks. My own muse has always been as dark as a moonless night.
A dark-haired man by her side leans to correct the position of her fingers on the strings. I fist my hands, driving my nails into my palms. Is he the protagonist in her lyrics?
When the man turns his face, I flatten myself against the trailer, out of their sight. I glimpse his features, recognizing one of the musicians the recording label employs to accompany Muse of Darkness during studio sessions. I squint my eyes trying to remember his name. It’s Raul something or other.
I don’t care.
Shielded by the bulky edge of the trailer, I gaze at the singer. Rays of sun beam down through the thick canopy of leaves, lending an extra glow to her long, red curls. They form a halo around her face adding to the ethereal quality of this young woman. With eyes shut tightly, she sways with the rhythm of the ballad as if she’s surrounded, heart and soul, to the music she plays.
My heart thuds against my ribcage. Blood rushes faster as if I’ve run a marathon. My ears ring and I clutch at the sleek side of the trailer. Swallowing turn difficult when my throat parches.
It cannot be her. I’ve been wrong so many times before, I should know better than to think every redheaded might be my angel.
Something about this woman summons images to my mind that I’ve often dismissed as illusions. Over the past six years, I’ve convinced myself they were the product of my addled brain on drugs.
My foolish heart prefers to believe this singer, with her angelic voice, is the same angel who once visited me. Wishing to prove the old dreamer wrong, I continue to watch her pour her soul into the song.
A mystical crackle in the air raises the hair on my nape, while a phantom cord tugs at my midriff connecting us.
When the notes fade, she pries her eyes open, and raises an eyebrow at her companion as if pleading for an appraisal. She clutches the guitar against the bodice of her floral sundress with the same strengthen she would a lifeline in rough waters.
“That was a lovely song.†His words reach me as a whisper.
She flashes him a wide smile, but her hazel eyes remain cloaked, hiding secrets and grief not unlike mine. That thought hits me like a truckload of bricks. It’s all I can do not to scoop her up in my arms, cuddling her against my chest to alleviate her suffering.
Where did this come from? I shake my head, and turn on my heels before either of them notice me.
Back in the trailer, I slump on the chair behind the desk. Best thing I’ve got to do after having identified the mystery singer is forgetting all about her. Nothing good can come from me messing around with this innocent woman. I’d have destroyed her six years ago. I don’t deserve her now. Yes, I’ve put the drug-fueled days behind me, but they’re a drop in the ocean of issues I trudge in.
“Fuck,†I slam my palms on the glass top, before crossing my arms, and dropping my forehead on them.
After a moment of indulgence, I snap my head up, and fumble with the colorful pens sticking out of a metal holder. Picking a sleek black ballpoint pen, I jot tortured verses on a blank sheet of paper accompanied by musical notations.
It’s about time my muse of darkness returned.
Interested? Download this breathtaking retelling of the Phantom of the Opera now – here.
