Thank you for updating. I am enjoying your fanfic! Please update soon. 

I like your story but who shippo dad? 

more please 

Baahhhh! I lo e this story, I just wish the chapters were longer! 

Keep up the good work!

Its a hard thing to over come. I'm a single parent... I talk to my kid like she's an adult.. but get around other adults... I get extremely awkward.  I can name every single my little pony... And haven't watched an adult show in ages....

Uh oh.... Look at that top dog ... You get her boy! *Snickers*

Awww.... They should be so proud of their little ones, I would be. Taking responsibility and standing up for the weaker ones. *Gushes* 

I knew it! ... Go Shippo!! You rock!! 

That was just too cute!

Love this story! What a cliff hanger!  LoL  I don't want to sound rude or anything but what is up with Anonymous's review? Just strange.

            “DO YOU HAVE THIS EFFECT ON ALL WOMEN?”

    Liz questioned, thinking what beautiful eyes he hadf—for a lunatic.

Liz’s breath caught in her throat. She might as well be honest with herself, she decided. To her dismay, an undeniable chemistry existed between them, regardless of the fact that history branded Garrett a murderer

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Vivian Knight Jenkins is a native North Carolinian and lives in a rural community three hours from the mountains and the coastline. She works in the academic advising center of a local college.

A creature of habit, she nonetheless delights in the changing seasons—spring cherry blossoms, summer storms, autumn leaves and crisp winter nights. Author of numerous romances, she’s happiest when developing or researching characters and plots.

As a child she feared the dark and knows firsthand what makes the heart palpitate and the imagination soar. Now the mother of two teenagers, she says night has become a friend that allows her quiet writing time. Drawing from her intimate knowledge of darkness and romance, she explores the darker side of love in By Love Possessed.

           VIVIAN KNIGHT JENKINS By Love Possessed

In keeping with promises, this book is dedicated to Dawn, Ellores, Jean B., Jean H., Karen, Lois, Rebecca and Vickie

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Odd, Liz Hayden mused. The early-evening thunderstorms that frequented the metropolitan New Orleans area during the waning summer months never frightened her. Ordinarily she’d hardly bat an eyelash at the gathering wind tugging at her striped muslin day dress. Or at the drumlike roll of thunder and the darkening sky. Or even the first fine mist of a sure-to-be-pelting downpour blowing in across the Mississippi River.

But today, for some inexplicable reason, the encroaching storm sent a shiver shimmying down her spine. The air felt abnormally static, hotter and heavier, like a human hand reaching out from the grave to caress her. It held the almost tangible promise of something more than simple, life-giving moisture. Of something powerful and disturbing—something formulated especially for her, and her alone.

Now she was really being fanciful! What had happened to the levelheaded composure so necessary to a librarian? If she could keep her cool with a horde of anxiety-ridden students with term papers due hugging her desk, she could weather a little ol’ thunderboomer without turning to jelly, Liz told herself, clutching her nylon umbrella in one hand and a padlock key so tightly in the other that it left a toothy impression in her palm

Liz frowned at the brooding sky. Apprehension getting the best of her, she added a healthy dose of zip to her already lengthening stride.

Today made the fifth time since she’d won the Elizabeth Rowland look-alike contest last month and volunteered as a tour guide at the historic homesite that she’d lost the coin toss and been forced to lock up the back gates. And never had the job spooked her.

Until now

Liz eyed the second major contributor to her present state of uneasiness. Built of red brick showing through a veneer of cracking whitewashed plaster, the Rowland family vault appeared forlorn, ravaged by time and the steady decline of the estate following the Civil War. The codicil to the parish grant that had placed the estate in the local restoration society’s competent hands required that the tomb, like the plantation house, be restored to its original beauty. Sadly enough, economics deemed it the last item on an endless list.

Like a strained whisper from the past, the wisteria-shadowed inscription arching across the tomb’s warped doorway seemed to call to Liz. She paused, squinting up at the words—“Never To Be Forgotten”—carved above a rampant garland of roses. The blossoms appeared to undulate, then solidify once again before her eyes.

Liz gasped, scurrying past the tomb to glance uneasily down the quarter-mile oak alley leading back toward the rear entrance of Rowland Plantation. Wait until she returned to the house and told the other tour guides she’d fallen prey to an overactive imagination. They’d laugh themselves silly, she thought, unable to dispel the creepy sensation causing her scalp to prickle and her hands to tremble as she swung the creaky wrought iron-gate shut.

Unable to stop herself, Liz recalled reading that during a similar thunderstorm the plantation’s

mistress had vanished without a trace, blackening the already tarnished reputation of the estate’s nineteenth-century owner—the legendary Garrett Rowland. Though Garrett had been acquited of his wife’s murder due to lack of evidence, the stigma of guilt had dogged him the remainder of his life.

Intrigued by the unsolved disappearance, Liz had devised all sorts of possible scenarios. Each and everyone revolved around the fascinating and mysterious Garrett Rowland. Had he been man or monster? Insane, or simply cruelly calculating? Had he, as history suggested, been…capable of cold-blooded murder?

Peering over her shoulder as if invisible eyes might be watching her every move, she hastily ran the chain through the rusty, jaillike bars. Unlocking the padlock, she secured the shackle through the links and snapped it into place, pocketing the key

“There. Done,” she said with infinite satisfaction. Brushing her hands together, she pivoted, gathering the ankle-length skirts of her period costume to make a mad, if somewhat unladylike, dash for the house.

As if to dispute her statement, lightning brightened the bleak sky with jagged flashes of high-voltage electricity. Liz started as a particularly brilliant bolt split the heavens. It illuminated the sky with an almost spectral incandescence before touching down outside the gate to scorch a circular patch of crisp green grass into a smoking black hole.

The next violent discharge hit far too close for comfort, striking the top of an ancient, Spanish-mossdraped oak on the estate side of the fence. With a shudder and a wooden groan, the crown of the tree cracked, toppling over to crush the gate into a distorted heap of moisture-laden branches and mangled iron. At the same moment, almost as if the elements were singling her out, the wind surged, tearing the umbrella from Liz’s grasp. Like a lost kite, it cartwheeled over the damaged gate, snagging on the power lines bordering the asphalt service road.

The rain started all at once, cascading from the sky in gray sheets, stinging her face and hands and deepening her honey-blond chignon to chestnut as it plastered the heavy knot to her head. Eyes widening, Liz frantically searched for someplace she could take shelter until the savagery of the storm abated. Her gaze fell on the only building between her and the antebellum plantation house—the tomb. Clear of the trees, still internally sound, it sported the added allure of a lightning rod. The gaping doorway beckoned like an open invitation.

Following a basic instinct for survival, Liz made a beeline for the Rowland family vault.

Loath to actually step inside the musty tomb, Liz huddled beneath the arch. Rain clinging like crystalline teardrops to her eyelashes, she slid her hands up and down her arms, breathing deeply to control her rising panic—panic made more acute by the eerie scent of roses wafting from the tomb’s pitch-black interior.

The relentless storm stalked her. With an angry pop, a lightning bolt zigzagged directly above the tomb, hitting the metallic lightning rod as if targeting a bull’s-eye. The walls of the vault trembled threateningly

Horrified, Liz flung her arms over her head, only to be rocked by a powerful jolt of current shooting up through her canvas tennis shoes. The fiery sensation reminded her of stepping barefoot on broken glass. Surging along her slender legs, the current traveled up her trunk to bombard her brain with splinters of white-hot light.

For a split second, Liz heard a woman sobbing as if her heart would break. Then the mournful keening subsided, swallowed by a moment of dead silence—a moment enhanced by the acrid aroma of singed hair blending with the subtle fragrance of roses.

I feel so bad for that woman!.. 

Kagome and Sesshoumaru would be hard to deal with by themselves... My lord ... Having to deal with them both at the same time?.... The woman has guts, I'll give her that.

Wonderful chapter! 

“DO YOU HAVE THIS EFFECT ON ALL WOMEN?”

Liz questioned, thinking what beautiful eyes he had—for a lunatic. Garrett met her penetrating gaze. “Only the ones I’ve made love with.” Liz’s breath caught in her throat. She might as well be honest with herself, she decided. To her dismay, an undeniable chemistry existed between them, regardless of the fact that history branded Garrett a murderer. Garrett’s words interrupted her thoughts. “I admit the consummation of our marriage wasn’t the most fulfilling encounter either of us has ever experienced, but we agreed it was necessary so that the marriage couldn’t be annulled on a technicality.” The present situation was inconceivable to Liz. Not only did he think she was married to him and carrying his brother’s child, Garrett Rowland actually believed they’d been intimate! This whole thing was too bizarre, even if she believed in the possibility of time travel…

Odd, Liz Hayden mused. The early-evening thunderstorms that frequented the metropolitan New Orleans area during the waning summer months never frightened her. Ordinarily she’d hardly bat an eyelash at the gathering wind tugging at her striped muslin day dress. Or at the drumlike roll of thunder and the darkening sky. Or even the first fine mist of a sure-to-be-pelting downpour blowing in across the Mississippi River.

But today, for some inexplicable reason, the encroaching storm sent a shiver shimmying down her spine. The air felt abnormally static, hotter and heavier, like a human hand reaching out from the grave to caress her. It held the almost tangible promise of something more than simple, life-giving moisture. Of something powerful and disturbing—something formulated especially for her, and her alone.

Now she was really being fanciful! What had happened to the levelheaded composure so necessary to a librarian? If she could keep her cool with a horde of anxiety-ridden students with term papers due hugging her desk, she could weather a little ol’ thunderboomer without turning to jelly, Liz told herself, clutching her nylon umbrella in one hand and a padlock key so tightly in the other that it left a toothy impression in her palm. 

Liz frowned at the brooding sky. Apprehension getting the best of her, she added a healthy dose of zip to her already lengthening stride.

Today made the fifth time since she’d won the Elizabeth Rowland look-alike contest last month and volunteered as a tour guide at the historic homesite that she’d lost the coin toss and been forced to lock up the back gates. And never had the job spooked her.

Until now.

Liz eyed the second major contributor to her present state of uneasiness. Built of red brick showing through a veneer of cracking whitewashed plaster, the Rowland family vault appeared forlorn, ravaged by time and the steady decline of the estate following the Civil War. The codicil to the parish grant that had placed the estate in the local restoration society’s competent hands required that the tomb, like the plantation house, be restored to its original beauty. Sadly enough, economics deemed it the last item on an endless list.

Like a strained whisper from the past, the wisteria-shadowed inscription arching across the tomb’s warped doorway seemed to call to Liz. She paused, squinting up at the words—“Never To Be Forgotten”—carved above a rampant garland of roses. The blossoms appeared to undulate, then solidify once again before her eyes

Liz gasped, scurrying past the tomb to glance uneasily down the quarter-mile oak alley leading back toward the rear entrance of Rowland Plantation. Wait until she returned to the house and told the other tour guides she’d fallen prey to an overactive imagination. They’d laugh themselves silly, she thought, unable to dispel the creepy sensation causing her scalp to prickle and her hands to tremble as she swung the creaky wrought iron-gate shut.

Unable to stop herself, Liz recalled reading that during a similar thunderstorm the plantation’s

Why did you stop the chapter right there???? We were about to get to the juicy part...

Super excited for the next chapter. Just wondering, why are the paragraphs small, was that intentional?

Hahaha like it

I hope to read more soon.  The chapters are short but interesting.

Well done! I can't wait to see what the kids did to get their parents called in. Poor Kagome can't really get a break can she?... And people picking on poor little Rin! I can see Shippo being all manly and protecting her from getting bullied..... You go love!

I love this story! Please update this soon!

Interessante  come storia non vedo l'ora di leggere i prossimi capitoli.