Welcome to Devyn Quinn's guest blog

Hello, Love Romances and More! My name is Devyn Quinn and I’ve arranged for a day to come in and blog about my latest Kensington Aphrodisia release, Possession. I’m pretty proud of this book, one Romantic Times calls, “…a romance with well-executed elements of suspense and mystery. Altogether, a deliciously hot page-turner… 4 ½ stars.”

To tell you about the book, I will admit right off that I stole the idea for the book from the Johnny Depp movie, The 9th Gate. Yes, the movie wasn’t so great, but the idea of the book Depp searched for in the movie really caught my interest. Though I changed to details about the creator my book, Servants of the Realm of Shadows, none of it would have happened if I hadn't saw the movie and got to thinking "what if..."

Today, I’ll be sharing an excerpt and giving away a signed copy to one lucky reader. To enter your name into the drawing, simply email me at: admin@devynquinn.com
And now, a little taste of Possession:

The manuscript is old...very old. Its title is simple, deceptive.
Delomelanicon.
Penned by Satan, the text in its various forms has disappeared and reappeared through the ages. Lost for centuries, the writings coveted by scholars of demonology have again reemerged to infest mankind.
Those daring to possess the book will be taken on a sinister journey guaranteed to change their perception of body, mind and spirit…




Chapter One

In a library crammed wall to floor with a collection of books unmatched by any public collection in the world, a specially constructed steel lectern stood by itself. A leather bound book rested beneath an enclosure of glass. Adorned with a discolored pentagram that might have once been etched in a rich carmine shade, a faded title printed in Latin was barely discernable: Delo Melas.
To summon darkness…
Looking at the book, Kendra Carter felt a chill form at the nape of her neck. “Don’t tell me you’ve found it.”
Gerald Carter smiled. “Indeed, I have. The book you are looking at now is one of the few surviving copies of the ‘Servants of the Realm of Darkness’.”
The icy sensation crawled down her spine, sending a splatter of goose bumps across her skin. “I thought there were no surviving copies.”
“One came onto the market just a few weeks ago,” he explained. “The owner was very eager to sell.”
Kendra gave him a sharp look. “And no doubt you stepped right up to buy it,” she commented dryly.
He maneuvered around her disapproval with ease. “You’re damn right I did. Do you know why this book is so coveted by collectors of demonology?”
Kendra shook her head. “No, I don’t.” She’d never cared for Gerald’s interest in the supernatural. Her step-brother’s collection of demonic and witchcraft themed items unsettled her. Other pieces of cultic paraphernalia enhanced his collection, including an impressive array of ceremonial daggers from all over the world. Like the book, they were displayed behind glass, never to be touched. All together, the entire assortment was priceless.
“This book is a rarity because it’s presumed to be based upon a composition written by the Devil himself after Christ resisted his temptations in the Gardens of Gethsemane,” he explained. “The original text of the Delomelanicon is reputed to have been in the possession of the papacy since the arrival of Saint-Peter in Rome. What you are looking at now is one of the few surviving copies of a book privately commissioned by Pope Alexander the sixth in 1495, reputedly transcribed from the firsthand version.”
Kendra’s brows rose in surprise. The not-so-familiar name jarred a memory. “The Borgia Pope?” she asked, recalling a college class she’d attended on religion and culture.
Gerald’s frown turned to a smile of approval. “Yes, correct. The relic you see here is five hundred and fourteen years old. That is a rarity within itself, and well worth the investment.”
“I’m not a complete moron,” she huffed. The crucial root of their conversation had yet to arise, namely how much he’d paid for his newest purchase.
“I never said you were.” Gerald reached toward his prize, hands clenching into fists a few inches above the glass protecting its delicate pages. “But this is a prize, indeed, the unholy bible. Of the thirteen copies Pope Alexander commissioned for his private collection, only half a dozen are known to have survived the Holy Inquisition.”
She sighed. He’d obviously done his research. “You seem to know its history well.”
Amusement lit his gaze. “It’s taken me over a decade to track the history and verify the authenticity of this volume,” he said. “Of the six known to have escaped burning, four have disappeared into the hands of private collectors who aren’t inclined to part with their copies.”
The math was simple enough. “That leaves two copies.”
Gerald nodded gravely. “More fascinating still is the fifth copy is believed to have fallen into Hitler’s hands in 1933. His interest in the occult and attempts to use it to manipulate his rise to power are well known. Though it’s unconfirmed, that book is supposedly held under lock and key in Germany’s war archives, never again to be viewed by human eyes.”
And that left one. “And I suppose yours is the sixth and final surviving volume?”
“Yes.” Gerald gloated with no small satisfaction. “Thanks to the persuasion of two million dollars, the Delomelanicon now belongs to the Carter estate.”
Jaw dropping, Kendra gasped. Though she’d suspected he’d spent lavishly to acquire his prize, she had no idea he’d squander such an outrageous sum.
She bristled. “You don’t have that much free cash in your personal account, Gerald. How did you get the money?”
He shot her an infuriatingly bland look. “I drew it out of our trust.” In an attempt to mollify her, he added, “It’s an investment for the estate, and certainly worth the cost to obtain it.”
Patience thinning, Kendra folded her arms across her chest. Because Gerald tended to be so damn frivolous, she had to be the tightfisted one. Money was the one thing they argued about, bitterly and constantly. “And you didn’t bother to discuss it with me?”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed, his gaze glinting in subtle challenge. “Considering you were incapacitated at the time, I was well within my right as co-trustee to authorize the withdrawal and transfer of the funds for this purchase.” He sighed with long suffering patience. “I’ve been holding things together the best I could since your nervous breakdown.”
Insides clenching with trepidation, Kendra shivered at the implication behind his words. Nervous breakdown. Society’s polite way of saying she’d gone temporarily bonkers. Her alleged suicide attempt was little more than a blur; her senses addled by grief, too many glasses of wine and a handful of sedatives.
She didn’t remember swallowing the pills. Perhaps it had been in the back of her mind when she’d opened the wine, downing one bottle, and then another. The pain had to stop. The memories had to stop. Since her father’s death, her mind had pushed rewind and play, relentlessly plying her with the terrible images of glass and metal grinding around her from all sides.
Horror started low in her belly, bubbling upward, expanding and growing until it threatened to choke her. The accident.
Swaying on her feet, Kendra’s lips thinned. Eleven months had passed but time had failed to dull the ache of tragedy. As the only survivor, she wore the scars.
And carried the guilt.
Nathaniel Carter was angry, driving recklessly. She’d begged him to slow down. He’d ignored her, punching the accelerator in his rush to get home—to get away from the daughter he’d just threatened to disown. Ignoring the hazards of the rain, he was driving too damn fast for the narrow exit lane, rounding the curve in a deadly arc…
Clenching her fists and taking a deep breath, Kendra mentally willed the ugly visions away. It wasn’t my fault, damn it. Despite her efforts, remorse continued to linger. She should have been the one who died, a worthless and weak fool. Not a man in his prime and at the top of a prominent legal career.
She’d have to work on her depression, but without the aid of alcohol and pills to help her cope. That lethal combination had almost managed to squelch her guilt.
Permanently.
A strong hand closed around her arm. “Are you all right?” Gerald’s question interrupted her turbulent thoughts.
Kendra opened her eyes, blinking a few times to regain her sense of place. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Just a little dizzy.”
Gerald’s grip tightened. “I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he said by way of an apology. He started to lead her away from the lectern. “If you need to rest—”
Shaking her head, Kendra dug in her heels. She tugged her arm out of his grip. “I’m fine. Stop treating me like a half-wit and invalid.” It was time to take responsibility, get a better grip on her emotions. She was twenty-three, for God’s sake, not twelve.
His hand immediately dropped. He took a step back. “Of course.”
Murky thoughts washed through her mind, the black tide rising. “I-I didn’t try to kill myself, Gerald. It wasn’t a deliberate overdose. I just had too much wine and forgot how many pills I took.”
Mouth tightening into a thin line, Gerald tossed off a shrug. “You don’t have to try and make excuses, Kendra.” He sighed. “It’s been a bad year. First the wreck, then Michael breaking off your engagement.” He reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Anyone would fall apart. I should have been there for you, paid more attention.” His words trailed off. His mother had committed suicide over a decade ago, and the topic was one he preferred to avoid.
The rise of depression receded a little. Despite their differences as non-blood bonded siblings, she and Gerald had always managed to overcome their differences and live in reasonable peace. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay?” She offered a little smile. “It won’t happen again. The past is over and done with.”
He gave her a little chuck under the chin, the way he used to when they were children and he was trying to cheer her up. “Promise?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I promise.”
“Then that’s the last we’ll say about the whole matter,” he agreed.
Facing an awkward silence, Kendra blinked, trying to refocus on her reason for being in the library to begin with. “I still don’t understand why you feel you had to spend two million. Daddy is rolling over in his grave now, I’m sure. Why is it so important you have this book?”
Tossing back tawny locks, Gerald graced her with a slow, intimate look that slammed into her gut like a well aimed fist. Her step-brother was a master at putting on the charm, a persuasive tactic he often used to get his way.
“Let the old man roll. Aside from its absolute rarity on the collector’s market, I believe the writings to be absolutely authentic.”
She stepped back, looking up at him keenly. “You believe the devil actually wrote a primer on demons?”
He arched a single brow against her sarcasm. “Think about it a minute. There must be some kernel of truth rooted in the legend for the church to have taken such pains to preserve the writings—and to suppress them.”
The unbidden chill returned, whisking across her skin. Though not overly religious, she’d always believed there was a battle between two opposing forces; equally strong, but precariously unbalanced by the passions and emotions of mankind.
“Why would anyone want private copies?”
Another seductive grin flickered effortlessly across Gerald’s unblemished face. “Beneath the robes of the papacy, Rodrigo Borgia was a human who succumbed to the temptations of the ultimate thing forbidden to him as a man of God; summoning demons to serve him. It is historically accurate to say during his reign as Pope, the church was brought to its lowest levels of degradation.”
She shot the lectern a narrow look and scowled. “That was his own vices at work, not the intrigue of demons. The same with Hitler and his attempt to twist the world around to fit his megalomaniacal visions. They were men who reaped the consequences by leading evil lives. “
“Are you so sure?” Gerald spread his hands reverently toward the precious treasure it guarded. “These writings are reputed to be the Devil’s gift to mankind. The power of all hell’s demons are said to be contained within these pages. Summon them and they will answer. It’s no wonder the book is so coveted.”
A laugh of disbelief escaped her. “Do you seriously think that book is the key force behind Borgia and Hitler’s rise to power?”
He leveled a laser beam stare at her, one that cut right through to the bone. “I am saying nothing of the sort. I merely put forth my own speculations as a collector and observer of human nature, though I would urge you to remember the grimoire’s purpose: Any desire a living soul seeks will be granted.”
Contemplating the unthinkable, Kendra licked dry lips. “You’re not going to try and use this thing, are you?”
Gerald laughed, breaking the tension. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a collector. Owning the book is one thing. Calling up the Devil is another, a fool’s errand. I’m knowledgeable enough to know the occult is nothing to be trifled with. It is only to the man who attempts to use this knowledge unwisely that misfortune will fall.”
Relieved that her brother wasn’t a total nut, Kendra nodded. “I’m glad you don’t take such nonsense seriously.”
Even as the words left her mouth, the strangely magnetic force of half-repulsed fascination drew her attention back to the ragged tome. Its austere leather cover was no more attractive than her own face, and yet another reminder how her life had changed since the accident.
She mentally flinched at the sight of her pale features reflected in the transparent glass. She felt a surge in the pit of her stomach. The coppery tinge of self-revulsion welled up in her mouth. No one with eyes found her worth looking at nowadays. Not with the scars.

If it were possible to have my greatest desires fulfilled, what would I ask for?
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