I am very excited to announce that my new book, The Story of Enid: Vol. 2 of The Clandestine Exploits of a Werewolf, will be released at the beginning of July. And just as a little teaser, I am posting an excerpt from the book. I hope you enjoy. 🙂

The Story of Enid

What happens when your one true love reincarnates, and you just happen to be a werewolf?

Ethan Garraint is an old soul. He has been alive for hundreds of years, battling countless challenges and foes along the way. Not the least of which was living through the genocide of the Cathar people at Montsegur, a society that wholly embraced him despite his lycanthropic nature. But in Volume 2 of The Clandestine Exploits of a Werewolf, he faces a dilemma that brings his past and present full circle, merging them both.

In The Story of Enid, the sequel to The Broken Vow

Long ago, before he was Ethan Garraint, before the Cathars, before he became a werewolf, he was a man living in a land where enchantment ruled. He was a Knight known as Geraint who served a King. And it was then that he met the one woman who would own his heart.

“There was someone for you once.”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“Someone very special to you that, I think, perhaps you still mourn.”

“She was my wife.”

“And she left you.”

“Not of her free will, but yes, most do.”

When one realizes that a long-lost soulmate has been reincarnated, it poses some complications. When you have been a werewolf for nearly a millennium, the complications explode exponentially. Ethan Garraint understands that he should stay far away from Erin Holt, but she is in his city, New Orleans, and possibly in danger. And the truth is, he doesn’t want to stay away. He only wants to remind her of the lifetime they lived long ago, when they were more than lovers, when they became legend.

Excerpt:

She stood across the room from him, face pale, greenish-brown eyes wide and unmistakably filled with fear, but fear of what exactly he could not discern at the moment.

“Erin.” Ethan stood up. Nearly imperceivably, and, no doubt, only caught by him because he was watching her so closely, she stepped backward a fraction of an inch. Ah, it was clear that she was fearful of him for some reason. Cautiously, he moved around the desk. She held her ground, though, still watching him with those enormous eyes filled with shadows. Once he reached her, he couldn’t stop himself from gently placing his hands on her arms. “What’s happened?”

She was breathing deeply. He could feel the rhythm in his skin, his blood. Strange how he was so connected to someone whose real flesh-and-blood company he’d actually spent so little time in. But then again, this was a spiritual connection, a fact that Brother Guidrade had so repeatedly drummed into his head. It defied logical sensibilities. It simply was.

And then she closed her eyes, sighing deeply and slumping forward a bit so that her head was resting on his chest in what he could only describe as emotional exhaustion. “It’s going to sound ridiculous.”

He pulled her closer into his arms, stroking her lovely auburn hair that he’d become so fond of. “Ridiculous things can have their moment,” then he added, “Tell me, Erin.” However, admittedly, he had that pesky precognitive sense that he already knew.

“It was a dream but a very realistic one,” again, a deep sigh that he was not comfortable with. The thought that their entanglement had become so burdensome to her weighed on him considerably.

She pulled her head up and looked into his eyes in a way that startled him, not fearful now, not tired, but seeking deeply. “You were in it.”

He let his hands drop. Why, he couldn’t say. Perhaps he was a coward. Maybe he’d idyllically hoped they could spend these few days together unencumbered by the truth. “And?” he said because he had no choice.

“There was something with you in the dream, a creature. Well, actually a kind of wolf.”

He bravely held her gaze, though now he understood her initial fear. “I see.”

“You said it was your constant companion.”

And then he smiled. He couldn’t help it. What a benign thing for him to say. “Well, what do you think, Erin?”

She looked confused, “What do I think?”

He stepped backward, leaning against the desk but still watching her closely. “Yes, sorry, what do you feel might be a better question.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. Though he had an inkling, she had no idea she’d done so. “I-I don’t know. It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He watched her closely, feeling the jagged nuances of what she was wrestling with. Her modern sensibilities told her to ignore what her genuine innate senses were telling her. It was somewhat painful to witness how the mores of a world determined to ignore the old ways ostensibly split its inhabitants apart. “Erin,” he spoke softly so as not to further agitate her. “I need you to stop and take a moment. Try to forget what you think you should say, and use your senses, your inner self. And tell me what you truly feel.”

Her eyes widened a bit in confusion. He felt the battle within her. When she was younger, when she had no sight, she was not under such scrutiny, such pressure to suppress her very real and tangible gifts. But once she gained her sight, she was forced or perhaps even forced herself to quickly conform to a world that gave no credence to such abilities. Essentially, she had buried part of herself.

“I-I don’t know.”

He frowned because that was not at all what he felt. She did indeed know but was afraid to say. He reached out and grabbed one of her hands, pulling her closer to him. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You know, I was foolish to believe it would take a backseat and remain hidden from you.”

Hesitantly, she spoke, “It? What does that mean?”

“Dreams, you know, aren’t meaningless. The spirit within us takes flight in dreams, leaves behind our earthly form, and explores other dimensions and realities, revealing truths we cannot easily reach in the physical world.”

“Ethan, you’re scaring me.”

“You don’t have to be afraid, Erin. You just have to open your mind to other possibilities.” And then he squeezed the hand that he held in his own. “Now, tell me, my dearest one. What do you feel?”

She looked at him almost sadly, and it pierced his heart deeply in a way that he had not thought was still possible. How was it that she could so easily reach him when others were wholly incapable of breaching the ice built up around his emotions through centuries of his protracted existence? “You hold the key to each other, one that is unique and cannot be denied.” They were words from the Cathar Master, still so poignant and relevant now.

“I,” she stopped herself, so frightened of letting go.

And then he took the other hand in his, perhaps to give her strength, perhaps to provide him with some. “Yes,” he said softly.

“It’s real,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he repeated. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at those lovely, gentle hands he held clasped in his own.

“How can that be?”

And then he looked up into her beautiful eyes that seemed in this moment as though they would engulf him. “Well, it happened long ago when the world was still filled with magic and demons. Although it still is, though much better hidden, one might say.”

She shook her head, “I don’t understand.”

And then he laughed at the twisted sort of perversity of the moment. How did one deliver the news to his lover that he was not a man but a sort of devil? “I am a werewolf, Erin. It’s that simple.”

And then there was something else in her eyes, a fire that he remembered from long ago and was very glad to see in some respects. Very deliberately, she pulled her hands out of his grasp. At this moment, he realized this would be much more complicated than he had anticipated. “Ethan, that’s simply impossible.”

She realized, granted not for the first time, how she despised feeling as though she was not in control of things in her life, not in control of her decisions. It was a scar, she supposed, from that huge expanse of time when it felt like everyone else in the world was making decisions for her. That very frustration prompted her to get on that plane from Arkansas and come here alone to New Orleans. And that frustration was now pushing her to whole-heartedly reject this preposterous assertion that the man in front of her had just made.

Werewolf, indeed, did he think she was so naïve to swallow any ridiculous thing he might throw her way? Did he think she was so swept up in this romantic spell, this fog she’d seemed to be operating under, and simply embrace any laughable delusion he decided to feed her?

She didn’t stop to think that it indeed had been her dream.

She didn’t stop to think that the memories she’d recovered about their relationship before she regained her sight were in her head, her mind.

She was frustrated and, in a rage, born of a life that had left her largely powerless.

He hadn’t said anything. He was just looking at her, still casually leaning back against his desk. It reminded her of the first time she’d seen him in the French Quarter, watching her from across the street, with no expression, just waiting, waiting for what she couldn’t imagine.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What would you like me to say?” he responded rather flatly.

It felt a bit like a punch. She wasn’t at all sure what she’d expected but not this. “You do understand how ridiculous that sounds. Werewolves? They’re imaginary, made-up stories.”

“Old stories from long ago.”

“Yes,” she said a little shakily. It felt like she was losing ground, though she didn’t know why.

“Where do you think those stories come from? Those old legends?”

“So, I suppose you’re going to tell me vampires exist as well.”

“I spent a good amount of time with one when I was a priest at Chartres Cathedral in France.”

She took a quick breath that felt oddly painful. “What? When?”

He stood up straight but did not walk forward even an inch toward her. “It was around 1350.”

“1350? Do you really expect me to believe—” Then she stopped, almost choking on the words.

“Do I expect you to believe me? Evidently not, though I assure you that it is wholly and sadly the truth.”

“I-I can’t just accept this. I—” And then she felt the room begin to spin, actually quite purposefully spin all around her in a cataclysmic motion.

It made her feel sick. It made her want to drop to her knees, but somehow, somehow, she didn’t.

When it finally, thankfully, stopped, she was somewhere else. She was in another room, a cold room made of stone.

Copyright © 2025 by Evelyn Klebert