The Road to Alexander
Time For Alexander Book 1
by Jennifer Macaire
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Time Travel
Ashley is a time-travel journalist who has fought to prove herself in a world that that believes her road in life was paved by her parents' fortune. After winning a prestigious award, she is selected to travel through time and interview a historical figure. Choosing her childhood hero, Alexander the Great, she voyages back in time for less than a day to interview a man whose legend has survived to the present day. He mistakes her for Persephone, goddess of the dead, and kidnaps her. Stranded in the past, cold and aloof Ashley has to learn to befriend, to trust...and to love.
Join Ashley and Alexander the Great on their fabulous adventure. Fans of Diana Gabaldon, Jodi Taylor, and Diana Norman will enjoy this saga.
What everyone’s saying about The Road to Alexander:
"If you are a fan of Diana Gabaldon and her Outlander Series then you will love this story. The same heart wrenching trials and tribulations that she puts her characters through happen within this gripping tale." Lynda Warnock
"Fun, sexy and at times incredibly sad, the story held me to the end and the research was incredible." Karen King, author.
"If you love Time travel books then this one is not to be missed. Totally engrossing!!!!" Amazon reviewer.
"A Time for Alexander is a wonderful moving saga. Really more of a historical piece than a romance, there is more than enough heat between Alexander and Ashley to keep the pages smoldering." Goodreads.
"...A delightful read, I'm looking forward to the next book in the series." Amazon Reviewer.
" I found an engaging and light read, fun at times with some beautiful descriptive scenes of the cities, the landscape and life in the vast and growing empire of Alexander the Great in 333 - 330 BC." Amazon Reviewer.
"From the first page, I was intrigued by this story." Conan Tigard
"There wasn’t a piece of this book that didn’t fit, it kept a quick pace, the dialogue was witty and entertaining and the beautiful descriptions of ancient lands entice you into accompanying them on Alexander’s quest to conquer the world." Goodreads
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I tried to explain that the gods had nothing to do with my sandals but fell asleep in the middle of my sentence. It wasn’t that important anyway, I thought.
There was a new pair of sandals on the rug the next morning. They fitted perfectly. My old ones had disappeared, and I didn’t find out where they’d gone until I went into the village and passed by the temple. There, on the altar, were my sandals.
Fresh flowers, a bowl of warm milk, and a small snail made of clay surrounded them. A young girl in temple robes sat next to them murmuring a prayer. I tried to speak to her in Greek, but she didn’t understand me. I pursed my lips and went to find Nassar. Maybe he could explain.
Nassar was writing a letter for a tough-looking soldier. They were both sitting on a mat made of reeds, and every once in a while Nassar would throw his pen away and break off a reed. He would sharpen it quickly with his teeth and I realized with a small start that his front teeth had been carefully cut at a bias to trim reeds into pens. It was interesting and I resolved to have him explain how it was done. He dipped the reed into a little clay pot of ink and wrote on a rather cheap piece of papyrus. A dozen rolled-up letters were lying beside him, each one flattened and sealed with a blob of wax. He’d been busy all morning. When he finished the letter he rolled it up, tied it with a piece of grass and sealed it with hard wax. Then he flattened the whole thing with his fist, wrote the address on the outside, and placed it on top of the pile.
“Next?” he called out in his nasal voice.
“Good morning, Nassar,” I said as I approached.
He held his arms up in a stiff salute and then bowed, touching his forehead to the mat. “Hail Demeter’s daughter,” he intoned.
“Don’t do that!” I was upset. “Who told you that, anyway?”
“Oh, everyone knows,” he said smugly.
“Well, I’d like you to come to the temple with me to see about a pair of shoes,” I said.
“Oh! The Sacred Sandals! I should be honored! May I touch them, oh daughter of Demeter?”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “They aren’t sacred sandals,” I said. “And of course you can touch them. There’s been a mistake.”
“They weren’t your sandals? The captain of the guards took them to the shoemaker early this morning to have a copy made in leather and gave the originals to the temple. It is not a coincidence that the goddess of the harvest, Demeter, guards this town. It was why you were sent here. Now that Iskander has rescued you, the harvest is sure to be fantastic this year.”
“But isn’t the village protected by Ishtar?”
“It was, but it’s becoming Hellenicised. Now it has adopted Demeter, goddess of the harvest, because of what Iskander said last night in his speech.”
“His speech? What did he say?”
“You should have asked me to translate,” he said, reproach in his voice. “He said he was glad to be there and that he hoped the play would be entertaining, that he and his soldiers were very happy in the village, and he was honored everyone had made them feel so welcome, and how the two cultures would complement each other.” Nassar took a deep breath, like a swimmer, and plunged in again. “He said that the gods of Greece were stronger than our gods so we’d do well to adopt theirs. He said you had been sent as a sign and that he’d saved you from Hades himself, so Demeter would forever be grateful. He said that as a goddess you would personally see to the welfare of the village.” He finished in a rush and smiled at me. “I’m no longer an atheist,” he said proudly. “I believe in you. Why, if I want, I can actually touch your sandals.”
I closed my eyes again and waited for the wave of pain that was sure to come. Pretending to be a goddess must rate among the three top reasons for erasing a Time-traveling journalist. After a few seconds I opened one eye, then the other. Nothing had happened. I was still sitting in front of Nassar, and he was watching me with a rapt expression on his narrow, rat-like face.
“Did your mother speak to you?” he whispered, his eyes wide.
“No. No, she didn’t. Excuse me, Nassar, but I think I’ll just go lie down. I have to think about all this.” I stood up, shivering with disquiet, and walked back to the tent where Alexander was having a game of dice with a tall man I recognized as the village priest. I wondered if I could sneak away, but they turned and saw me.
“Oh! There you are!” cried Alexander, standing up and holding out his arms. “I was worried. Did you find your new shoes? Yes, I see you did. The village priest has come to thank you for your sandals. In exchange, he has agreed to forsake all virgin sacrifices. Isn’t that wonderful? Your mother will be thrilled.”
“I’m sure she will be,” I said with the utmost truthfulness. Then I went into the tent and collapsed.
Legends of Persia
Time For Alexander Book 2
Following Alexander the Great’s army on its journey across Persia, Ashley is walking the knife edge of history. As a presumed goddess, Ashley is expected to bless crops, make sure battles are won and somehow keep herself out of the history books.
Can Ashley avoid the wrath of the Time Institute while keeping the man she loves alive?
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Son of the Moon
Time For Alexander Book 3
Alexander the Great journeys to India, where he and Ashley are welcomed with feasts and treachery.
With their son, Paul, being worshiped as the Son of the Moon, and Alexander’s looming death, Ashley considers the unthinkable: how to save them and whether she dares to cheat Fate?
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Storms Over Babylon
Time For Alexander Book 4
Alexander the Great is now king of Persia and Greece – but his reign will be short.
Time-travelling Ashley knows when her husband will die. She’s determined to cheat Fate and save Alexander and her children, even if it brings the gates of time crashing down.
Following Alexander on a tour of his new kingdom, she plans her moves and bides her time. She must, however, convince Alexander to abandon his crown and his kingdom.
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‘How do you feel now?’ I asked him for the hundredth time that day, after Usse gave him his medicine.
Alexander opened one eye and stared at me. It was his blue eye, I noticed. ‘I would feel better if my head stopped hurting,’ he admitted. ‘The fever is making me thirsty. Do you have any water nearby?’
I poured water from the pitcher into his golden cup and held it for him as he drank. The muscles in his throat worked as the water went down. Then he lay back on the bed with a sigh. ‘Do I die of malaria then?’ he asked. He tried to grin, but his mouth trembled suddenly. I leaned down and kissed him on his lips. They were hot and dry despite the cool drink.
‘Are you afraid?’
‘I thought I wouldn’t be.’ He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. ‘But that was when I thought the only thing that counted was my kingdom.’
‘And now?’ I asked him.
‘I’ve had time to think. When you saved Plexis that’s when things began to change for me. I realized something I hadn’t known before. I want to stay with you. I love you, Ashley of the Sacred Sandals. I have told you that twice before. I should have said it more. Now, with this fever making my bones ache, I will tell you a third time. I want to see the babe you carry. I want to grow old surrounded by my loved ones. I no longer want to die. Does that answer your question? Yes, I am afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid. I love you too, Alex.’
‘So why do you cry?’ He reached a hand to my cheek and brushed tears away.
‘Because I never dared hope that you would let go of your dream.’ My tears fell faster now. Teardrops sparkled on his hands like diamonds.
‘It took me long enough to understand that my dream was an empty one without you and Plexis by my side, and that my future was an illusion. Ashley, don’t cry. Please. I feel as if I’ve woken up from a long nightmare. All the battles and bloodshed, all the good men who died following me, they will lie on my conscious for ever. Only you will be able to ease my mind. You have seen the future, so you can tell me that it was not all futile.’
‘Of course not, Alexander. Nothing you did was futile.’
‘It feels that way now,’ he said. His eyes were very bright. I frowned at him. He was starting to sound distinctly un-Alexander-like. I put my hand on his forehead and jerked it back with a muffled cry. He was burning up.
Chants to Persephone
Time For Alexander Book 5
But the Thief of Souls not only captured Alexander’s soul. He also wants Paul, and the druids have raised an army to capture him. In the heart of winter, in ancient Gaul, a terrible sacrifice is made to Persephone, goddess of the Underworld – and Ashley finds herself taking part in a deadly ceremony.
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‘In Celtic myth, it’s a druid who can steal souls.’ He made a face. ‘I’m not explaining this very well. I’m not Celt you see. But if Anoramix was afraid of him, I would be frightened too. Anoramix was never afraid of anything, not even death. There’s one last thing I should tell you.’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘Selena told me never to trust you. She said you were really Persephone, the Queen of Ice and Darkness, and that your heart was like a stone.’
‘She was still upset about Anoramix,’ I said uncertainly.
‘She blamed you for his death and wanted revenge. She forbade me to tell you that Voltarrix is still seeking Paul. She said that Paul would never be safe, and that no one could protect him.’
‘What does he want with Paul?’
Yovanix spoke as if weighing his words. ‘If it’s true Iskander lost his soul, I think I know why. If Voltarrix captured Paul and put Iskander’s soul in his body, can you imagine what would happen? Paul can no longer call the moon, but he can grow up to lead an army. The Druids are starting to feel the end of their world approaching. They speak of only one thing now; stopping the Romans before it’s too late. Some think it’s already too late. Voltarrix is one of the old ones who believe that time can be twisted.’
‘Twisted?’ I echoed. My voice sounded odd.
‘The druids believe that time can be changed, like a river’s course. They can change it, slow it, or speed it up. With enough work, they can even make it flow backward. Time is the foundation of the druid’s religion’
It was starting to make sense. Time. The Aztecs had foreseen the date their empire would topple, and they had tried to turn back time with their ceremonies. Nothing had worked for them. Nothing would work for the druids. The Romans would take over and usher in the modern world. Unless a boy, who never should have been born, somehow changed time.
It was conceivable – there were still two hundred years. After that, nothing would halt the inexorable march of the Roman Empire and the event that changed the world; the birth of Christ.
But suppose the druids somehow managed to unite the Norsemen, Celts, and Gauls against the Romans? What if Paul were somehow the catalyst? Paul – with Iskander’s soul.
I took a deep breath. I would have to think about this. There were three people in the world who should never have been born: Paul, Chiron, and Cleopatra – and I was not supposed to be in this time or place. Anyone of us could, conceivably, change the world. A butterfly’s wings indeed.
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I write time travel novels, so I'm keen on history. I also write erotica. The three subjects are related - honest, and you'll see how. I started writing when I was in Argentina. My twins were just two, we were in the middle of nowhere, and there was nothing to do, really. My husband was off buying horses, and could be gone days at a time. (Argentina is huge - he'd go off in a small plane, land on a grass strip on someone's backyard, and come back with tales of flamingos flying under the plane, and cattle blocking the runway.) We stayed in a wonderful old house that had no electricity. It had a fireplace in each bedroom, and I fell asleep watching the red flames and listening to the soft crackle of a burning eucalyptus branches. The house was surrounded by a lazy river and a miles and miles of forest and plains. One day, I left the twins in my husband's care and took a ride through the forest with one of the farmers. We saw a herd of red deer and flocks of emerald parakeets. And in the evenings, when the twins were sleeping, and my husband was away, I would write longhand on a yellow notepad by the light of a kerosene lamp. I started to write short stories, and sold a few to magazines.
Then I started one about a time-traveller who goes back to ancient Greece. Perhaps staying on a farm with no electric lights or heat made it easier to imagine. At night, the stars blazed, the Milky Way was a glittering swath, and thinking about the cold light from the stars finally reaching us after millions of years of travel through space made time travel seem plausible. I started a short story about Alexander the Great, and after ten pages, I realized this was going to be a novel. After several chapters, I knew I had to stop, draw and outline, and start researching not only Alexander the Great, but ancient Greece, Persia, and Bactria as well. For the rest of our stay in Argentina, I made notes of small things like lighting fires, how to slaughter and cook a chicken, a sheep, even a bull. I watched the "domadores" training horses. I walked outside at night and looked at the stars, so unbelievably bright, and I taught the twins to swim and took them on horseback for rides around the farm.
When I went back to France, I haunted libraries, the internet, wrote letters to professors, doctors, historians, and wrote the Time for Alexander series. After two years, it was finished and I started to shop it around. Anyone who has every tried to sell a novel knows it's hard - but try to sell a cross-genre novel about a politically incorrect conqueror (although his bisexuality made him a hit with a certain crowd) - well, it was nearly impossible. I racked up more rejections than a sex-toy vendor at a Sunday-school picnic. Actually, I think the vendor would have done better than me. I didn't give up. In the meantime, I kept publishing short stories and a YA novel, so I knew it was just a matter of finding the right publisher. I finally found one in Australia, and they published the first book in the series, and three months later I got a check for 75.00$ (Did I mention that authors only get 7% of the cover price of a book?) and a note congratulating me on having a best seller in Australia. I called my mother and told her I was hanging up my typewriter (or hanging myself by the ribbon, whichever came first). Over the phone I heard my mother's friend Sam saying "No, don't give up! Write something sexy! Write Erotica! That's where the money is!" I told him that if I did, I'd take his name as my pen name. Samantha Winston was born that night. After I hung up I got to work on my first erotic romance, and I published 20 books for Loose Id, Changeling Press, Totally Bound, and the late Ellora's Cave. Well, publishers do fold. Ellora's Cave kicked the bucket and I had a bunch of orphan erotica romances to re-home, and my Australian publisher closed as well, and here I was, with Alexander the Great and his time traveling wife looking for a new home. Thankfully, I'd read a very fun series of time travel books (Jodi Taylor's Saint Mary's terrific series), and I contacted their publisher (Accent Press) and they accepted Alexander - and so it goes. And that's how a love of history, time travel, and erotica got roped together. And if you want to know more about Alexander and Ashley, his time travelling wife, and their sensuous romp through history - well, you can start with book I, The Road to Alexander. I hope you enjoy the voyage!
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