From "Kansas Dreamer: Fury in Sumner County" by Kae Cheatham

Disquiet filled her. It seemed she would be ill, her stomach rolling, fingertips chilled. And the vision returned: The man smiles at her. Fringe. Dark. Falling.

“Marshal,” she said, her voice tight. “Marshal Stamford!” She jerked Phineas to a stop.

Stamford turned, smiling as he reined up his horse. Cra-ack! His lips formed a grimace, green eyes wide with surprise as he jolted forward, still in the saddle, but he held his right shoulder and clutched his horse’s neck, struggling for balance. His horse tossed its head and pranced. Ellen spurred Phineas forward, vaguely hearing Lutecia’s exhortation to take cover. She grabbed the sorrel’s headstall. Craack, came another shot. Phineas snorted. Ellen urged Stamford’s horse toward the tall serviceberry bushes beside the trail. Two shots came from Lutecia’s Pettingill.

“Get down!” Stamford growled at her. “It’s you he’s after!” The dark stain on his jacket spread as he took control of his horse and slid to the ground. With his left hand, he pulled his rifle from the scabbard.

Craack! Phineas jerked. Red blossomed across the big draft’s left ear and the horse whinnied a protest and bolted into the thickets.

“Run, Ellen! We’ll hold him down!” Lutecia called.

From "Kindred Spirits: Book One: An Unexpected Love" by Roger Delray

Her cry of pain, as the back of the attackers hand struck her across the face,  shook him from his thoughts, his conditioning and forethought were all for nothing. Suddenly, the woman on the ground was no longer a stranger as a million memories rushed through his mind, igniting hundreds of years of a simmering, bitter rage.

Moving fast thru the darkness, the man never had a chance to even see the red glow of his eyes, nor the extended fangs before he felt strong hands lift him to his feet.  The cold fear was yet to register on his sweaty face and before he even fully felt the pain, he heard a commanding voice ask,  “Was this what you were trying to present to the lady?"

As he fell to the ground, the man’s eyes reflected his understanding of the fact that the balance of power had rapidly shifted. As the life began to fade from his eyes, he realized he would never rape again as he saw what was held in the bloody palm of his attackers hand.

From "Darlin' Druid" by Lyn Horner

Desperate to find the stranger who haunts her dreams, Jessie Devlin daringly tests her ability to look into the future:

. . . something shifted inside her, like a hidden door opening. Eyes focused on the candle’s reflection, she gradually lost touch with her surroundings. She no longer felt the cold or smelled the lilacs or heard the frogs. Sight was the only sense left to her, sight that reached out, searching.

The water grew hazy and a pair of gray-green eyes topped by dark, rakishly slanted brows appeared. It was him, the man who always saved her in fiery nightmares. As usual, his other features remained a blur, but she knew those gentle, caressing eyes.
“Where shall I find you?” she asked, her voice an entranced whisper. At first no answer came, but she waited and was soon rewarded.

“Look west,” a ghostly voice replied in her head.

She had but a moment to register the words. Then those familiar eyes faded away; from the dark depths emerged a second pair of eyes. Flame-orange, they glared at her with maniacal hatred. A black, clawed hand reached out for her.

Jessie screamed and recoiled, tumbling backward onto the wet grass.

From "White Sands" by Philip Corbett

I had been waiting for this moment for years. I had never asked, knowing this day would come, but now, I spoke. Both men gave me their full attention, as if I were speaking my first words.

"My curiosity, when it burns, burns hot and bright, but most days it is doused in the contentment of my Navajo life, my Navajo family. Clay," I looked him straight in the eye, "you are a match to the kindling of my questions. You are bilagaana. You bring more questions to my mind than you bring answers. I ask you nothing about my life, yet I think you know much." Clay struggled to hide his discomfort. "You chose to turn your back on the way of the white man. You chose the Indian life. That decision was denied me, it was not mine to make, but I would know my past. I would have my memory set free."

"No good can come of this," Clay stressed. His eyes pleaded with mine. What could he know of my past?

I turned to my father.

"I am ready."

Niyol nodded.

That night, I went to the mountain.