His Pale Prisoner

His Pale Prisoner
His Pale Prisoner
A Historic Romance

Alana loves the beautiful ranch that her father has built along the edge of the western frontier, but she never considered the cost. She only comes to understand the depth of bloodshed that made her father’s dream a reality, when she finds herself at the mercy of the land’s former residents.

A Note From The Author:

I grew up in Arizona with access to wonderful monuments like the Canyon de Chelly. I loved imagining what it might have been like to live in one of those ancient cliff houses and they were a great inspiration in the writing of this book.

His Pale Prisoner is currently available in digital or paperback from most major bookstores. It can also be downloaded in .pdf or .rtf (Word doc) to read on your home computer, by visiting Smashwords, the first link below.

 His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall  His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall  His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall  His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall  His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall

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His Pale Prisoner by Celeste Hall

Read an Excerpt from ‘His Pale Prisoner’ by Celeste Hall
Warning: This excerpt contains spoilers!

Viho felt the girl fall limp in his arms, and although he struggled against it, he was glad for her sake.
He’d suspected the source of her discomfort from the moment that she had allowed herself to brace against his chest, but had been curious to see how long she would last before she begged for relief.
That white dog had said she was strong, but Viho hadn’t truly believed him.
What did a white man know of strength?
Yet Viho had underestimated her. She was just as proud as any girl of his tribe.
He shifted her weight so that both her legs were on one side of the horse, and her shoulder rested against his chest.
She weighed very little, he mused. How could so much strength find shelter within such a frail body?
His jaw grit with distaste as he discovered he felt a strange admiration for this scrawny white girl.
Was that why he had not killed her?
The thought brought bitterness to his heart.
For many years he had waited for an opportunity like this. When a strange white man had ridden into their camp two nights past, making it possible, Viho had at last felt some of his pride return.
Only now he discovered that he was weaker than he had ever believed.
He could sense the eyes of his men upon his back.
They knew it as well. The reason he could never lead his people to freedom. The reason he had run away from the tribe and become a renegade.
He was weak.
The bitterness turned to hate, and he was glad of it. It was easier to hate. Hatred did not make his gut twist with pain, or his brain burn with reason.
Hatred allowed him to see clearly. To see the girl for what she was.
Not the fragile child that now slept with a pale cheek resting against his chest, but as the offspring of his enemy. A child birthed of the evil that had taken the lives of so many of his family.
Hatred brought back the memories of his father’s death, and the screams of his sister.
Yes he would follow through with the plan.
This girl would give him back what he so desperately needed.
Her death would give him back his pride and restore the lives of his people.

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