Photographer’s Gateway

By Sophie Grant

For struggling photographer Jax Hawkins, capturing the perfect shot has always been an obsession. But when he points his vintage camera at the crumbling ruins of Blackmoor Castle, a place steeped in centuries of tragic legends, he never could have imagined the magic it would unleash.

 

With a blinding flash, Jax is ripped from his modern life and hurled centuries into the past—into the very castle whose haunting image he tried to capture. He finds himself in the middle of a brutal conflict between the powerful Blackmoor dynasty and a faction of rebellious freedom fighters.

 

As he grapples with his strange new reality, Jax is introduced to the radiant Princess Alayna, a kindred spirit who dreams of peace and yearns to forge her own destiny, despite the heavy shackles of royal obligation. The instant connection between Jax and Alayna sparks like a lightning bolt, an undeniable chemistry that transcends time itself.

 

Fighting to survive the escalating civil war, the two find themselves inextricably intertwined on a quest to rewrite the course of history. But as their effortless bond deepens into profound love, they soon confront an inescapable reality—Jax's passage through time cannot last forever.

 

With the sands of the hourglass trickling away, Jax and Alayna must live lifetimes' worth of love against the breathtaking backdrops of ancient Britain. Their courage and passion will be put to the ultimate test...to somehow craft an unwriting ending to their incredible love story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NP Lovestruck Publishing
• Release date: Apr 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224522996

Sophie Grant

Sophie Grant is an exciting new voice in contemporary romance. Her debut novel, "Discovering Love Abroad," draws readers in with a relatable heroine and an irresistible meet-cute with a charming backpacker abroad. Though "Discovering Love Abroad" marks Sophie's first published novel, she is no stranger to writing romantic tales that pull at the heartstrings. She has been writing fiction since she was a little girl, filling notebooks with stories about star-crossed love and adventuresome characters finding unexpected partnership. After studying English and Creative Writing at college in her home state of Oregon, Sophie continued penning her passion projects while working office jobs to pay the bills. Still, she nurtured a dream of becoming a full-time author. When she's not working on her next book, you'll find Sophie exploring the Pacific Northwest, learning new cultures through films and food, trying out new hiking trails, and adding stamps to her ever-growing passport. The allure of wanderlust and heartfelt human connection inspire the fictional worlds she builds. Sophie currently resides in Portland with her golden retriever, but she hopes the success of her first published book will enable her to travel more and keep discovering love in new and exciting places around the globe. Wherever Sophie goes next, readers can expect more steamy, will-they-won't-they page-turners with happily-ever-afters to warm the heart.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Through the Lens Eternal

Jax Hawkins fumbled with the dials on his vintage camera as he trudged through the overgrown grass surrounding Blackmoor Castle. The ancient ruins loomed ahead, dark and crumbling against the overcast sky. A light mist drifted through the trees, making the back of Jax's neck prickle.

He shouldn't be here, not with all the stories swirling about the castle being cursed. But as a struggling photographer barely making rent in his cramped Chicago apartment, Jax was desperate for a shot, any shot, that would prove his artistic eye to the world.

The mysterious tip had come two days ago, promising that the decaying grounds of Blackmoor held the photo opportunity of a lifetime for an ambitious photographer unafraid of a little superstition. Jax had brushed off the warnings from his more cautious friends. Ghost stories didn't pay the bills.

Now, standing before the vine-choked stones of the ruined keep, Jax felt a chill deeper than the gloomy weather. The entire site seemed to thrum with a strange energy, like a dissonant chord at the edge of hearing. Jax shook his head, chalking it up to a long night poring over eerie castle legends before his trip.

He unslung his pack and began unloading his faithful old medium format camera, a cumbersome model from the 1960s with dented chrome fittings. It was quirky and moody, just like him, or so his ex-girlfriend had often teased. But that boxy antique had captured some of his best work.

Hands moving on autopilot, Jax mounted the camera on a tripod and sighted through the viewfinder, adjusting focus and exposure by feel as he'd done thousands of times. The gloomy ruins made an atmospheric shot, he had to admit, all moss-draped stones and grasping shadow. Maybe that crackpot tipster was on to something.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow detached from the castle wall and slunk along the rampart. Jax zoomed in, brow furrowing. A trick of the mist?

The shadow moved again, more deliberately this time, and a whisper teased Jax's ear, sibilant and strange:

The blood-crossed heir approaches. The debt comes due.

A jolt raced through him. Jax whirled around, but there was no one in sight, just dank ruins and sighing trees.  Okay, maybe the ghost stories were getting to him more than he cared to admit.

Jax turned back to the camera, determined to get the shot and get out. But something drew his gaze upward, to the solitary tower rising above the broken walls. Its arched windows gaped like hollow sockets. An inexplicable compulsion seized him to climb, to frame the perfect image from that lofty vantage point.

Moving as if in a dream, Jax grabbed his camera and picked his way through the rubble to the tower's base. Ancient steps wound upward, choked with debris. He climbed, heedless of the crumbling stone, his breath coming faster with each upward step.

At last, he reached the top, a round chamber open to the leaden sky. Jax moved to the window and raised his camera. The world shrank away until all that remained was the grid of his viewfinder. He focused on the castle's crumbling central keep, its stones dark with centuries of grime. His finger hovered over the shutter release.

A frisson raced up his spine and the hair on his arms stood up, as if the air itself were suddenly charged with electricity. Jax's finger trembled against the shutter button. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed down.

The world exploded in light. A blinding flash seared through Jax's eyelids and an otherworldly force slammed into him, blasting the air from his lungs. He felt himself falling, tumbling through empty space with the camera clutched against his chest. Searing cold and scorching heat enveloped him and an alien buzzing filled his skull.

Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. Jax thudded to the ground, the impact driving the remaining air from his lungs. Distantly, he heard the clatter of his camera striking stone. He opened his eyes.

The broken, vine-shrouded tower was gone. In its place rose sturdy walls of smooth, age-darkened stone. Jax gaped, uncomprehending. The castle was whole, solid, its edges knife-sharp against a strange lavender sky. Pennants snapped in the breeze atop crenellated ramparts and the hum of distant voices drifted from below.

Jax staggered to his feet, gaping at his impossible surroundings. The ruins were gone, replaced by a living, breathing fortress. And peering out a newly whole window, Jax saw throngs of people moving about the castle courtyard in strange, antiquated garb. Blackmoor Castle was no longer an abandoned ruin...and somehow, impossibly, neither was he.

Jax groped for his camera and raised it once more, fingers moving of their own accord to focus on the astonishing scene below. He was a photographer to his core, and capturing the shot was the only thing his reeling mind could grasp.

He squeezed the shutter, and at that instant, a scream tore the air from the courtyard below - raw and terrified. Shouts erupted and he glimpsed a flash of red - blood red - spreading across the flagstones.

In the midst of the growing tumult, a young woman in a violet gown appeared, sunlight flashing gold from her unbound hair. She raised her face to Jax's tower window, and across that impossible gulf of distance and centuries, their eyes locked.

In that eternal instant, Jax knew two things with unshakable certainty. He wasn't in his own world or time anymore. And his life had somehow just become inextricably entwined with the mysterious woman below.

The moment shattered as armed men boiled into the courtyard, weapons bared. They ringed the woman, who stood over a spreading pool of blood, her shaking hands-stained scarlet. At some barked order Jax couldn't make out, they seized her arms and began hauling her backward. Her despairing eyes never left Jax's.

And then rough hands clamped down on Jax's shoulders and everything went black.

AWARENESS RETURNED in throbbing stages. Jax groaned and rolled onto his back, stone gritty against his cheek. He pried open salt-crusted eyes and took in a featureless stone ceiling crossed by age-blackened timbers.

Memory crashed over him like a frigid wave. The ruins. The camera flashes. The impossible, intact fortress. The courtyard and the blood and the woman—

He wakes, a gruff male voice grunted from nearby. Inform Lord Cedric.

Footsteps scuffed stone, followed by the grating screech of a heavy door. Jax levered himself upright on an unsteady elbow, his head pounding like a kettledrum. He was in a small, dank room that could only be described as a cell. A barred window set high in one mossy wall admitted a single shaft of wan daylight.

Easy, friend, the gruff voice said. You've had quite a spell.

Jax squinted toward the voice. Its owner was a hard-faced man garbed in a coarse tunic and breeches, with a wicked-looking blade sheathed at his hip. He leaned against the wall by the barred wooden door, studying Jax with something between suspicion and amazement.

Where...what... Jax croaked, tongue feeling swollen and alien in his dusty mouth.

In the dungeons of Blackmoor Castle, the man said. As to what, well, we were rather hoping you could enlighten us on that score.

Jax struggled to order the chaotic jumble of his thoughts. I was at the ruins, he said slowly, taking photographs. There was a flash, and then... He trailed off, unable to put words to the sheer impossibility of it.

The guard's brow furrowed. Ruins? Photographs? You're babbling, man.

Jax pushed himself fully upright, head spinning. Look, there's been some kind of mistake. If I could just speak to someone in charge, get access to a phone—

The guard barked a laugh. A phone? You are far gone, aren't you? Best save your wit for Lord Cedric. You'll need it.

As if on cue, the cell door screeched open again and two more guards entered, flanking a tall, hawkish man in rich robes. Authority and menace rolled off him in tangible waves. His eyes, as grey and merciless as a midwinter sea, fixed on Jax.

I am Cedric, Lord of Blackmoor and vassal to the king. Identify yourself at once, interloper, and pray your purpose here is benign. My patience is not generous.

Jax swallowed hard, mind racing. Purpose? He was a photographer from Chicago who'd somehow taken a header through time. How could he even begin to explain?

He cleared his throat. My name is Jax Hawkins, he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. I'm a photographer. I was taking pictures of the Blackmoor ruins for a project, and there was...an accident. It sounded lame even to his own ears.

Cedric's eyes narrowed. Ruins? Blackmoor Castle has stood inviolate for six centuries. What nonsense are you peddling? His gaze flicked to the guards. Search his belongings. Perhaps that will cast light on our addled friend's motives.

One of the guards reached for Jax's camera bag. Jax lunged forward, a denial on his lips, but the other guard shoved him back hard. Stars exploded behind his eyes as his head cracked against the wall.

Through a blur of pain, he saw the guard withdraw a tangle of lenses, filters and portable hard drives from the bag, holding them up for Cedric's inspection like alien relics. Jax hardly dared breath, cursing himself for not concocting a more plausible story. He'd be lucky if these medieval brutes didn't just kill him out of sheer confused spite.

Cedric plucked a memory card from the guard's hand, lip curling. If these are maps or codices, they are in no language I have ever seen. He flung the card aside contemptuously and leaned in until he was nose to nose with Jax, his breath foul.

I will have the truth from you now, spy, or I will have your entrails for my hounds. What is your purpose here?

Jax's mind went utterly blank, a panicked animal scrabbling in a trap. What could he possibly say? That he'd been magically transported here from another time by a cursed camera? That he had no idea why? That all he wanted was to go home to his shabby apartment and his failing photography career and forget any of this had ever happened?

I...I don't know, he said finally, hating the tremor in his voice. There was a flash when I took a picture of the castle, and I woke up here. That's all I know, I swear by any god you name.

Cedric's eyes bored into his, searching for deceit. A likely tale, he spat. He straightened and flicked an imperious hand. Flog him, then confine him here until he feels more forthcoming. And summon the Seer. Perhaps her unnatural gifts can pry loose his forked tongue.

As the guards dragged him upright and tore at his shirt, Jax could only marvel at the sheer insanity of it all. Two days ago, his biggest problems had been making rent and finding new photography gigs. Now he was about to be tortured in a medieval dungeon for crimes he couldn't even understand, let alone commit.

His last coherent thought as the first lash fell was a desperate prayer that this was all some vivid hallucination and he would wake up safe in his own bed, with a newfound gratitude for the mundane problems of his normal life.

Then the pain swallowed him whole and the world went mercifully gray.

Chapter 2: The Rebellion's Savior

Jax's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry and unfocused. Pain radiated through his body, a dull ache that seemed to throb with every beat of his heart. As his senses slowly returned, he found himself in a dimly lit chamber, the air heavy with the scent of earth and dampness. Confusion gripped his mind as he tried to piece together the events that led him to this strange place.

He attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side forced him back down onto the rough-hewn cot beneath him. Gingerly, he pulled aside the tattered blanket covering his body and discovered that his wounds had been bandaged with strips of clean linen. Someone had taken the time to tend to his injuries, but who? And where was he?

The sound of footsteps approaching caught Jax's attention, and he tensed, unsure of what to expect. Two figures entered the chamber, their faces obscured by the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight. As they drew closer, Jax could make out their features - a man and a woman, both clad in worn leather armor and carrying an air of determination about them.

The man, tall and broad-shouldered with a mane of unruly dark hair, spoke first. Who are you, and why were you imprisoned by Lord Cedric? His voice was gruff, tinged with suspicion.

Jax hesitated, unsure of how to explain his incredible circumstances. My name is Jax Hawkins, he began, his voice hoarse from disuse. I'm a photographer from Chicago, but I know that must sound be crazy to you. I was taking pictures of Blackmoor Castle, and somehow, I ended up here, in this time.

The woman, her fiery red hair braided tightly against her scalp, exchanged a glance with her companion. A photographer? Chicago? We've never heard of such things. How do we know you're not a spy for the Blackmoors?

Jax shook his head, frustration and desperation warring within him. I know it sounds insane, but I'm telling you the truth. I don't belong here, and I have no idea how I ended up in Cedric's dungeon. All I know is that I need to find a way back to my own time.

The man's eyes narrowed. You claim to be from another time, yet you speak our language and bear the marks of Cedric's cruelty. Why should we trust you?

You said you rescued me from the dungeons, Jax countered, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. Why would you do that if you didn't sense something different about me?

The woman sighed, her posture relaxing slightly. We staged a raid on the dungeons, hoping to free some of our captured comrades. When we found you, beaten and unconscious, we knew you were not the typical prisoner. There's a strange aura about you, an otherness that we can't explain.

The man nodded, his expression softening. I am Gareth, and this is Maeven. We are part of a rebel faction fighting against the tyranny of the Blackmoor dynasty. For generations, they have oppressed our people, crushing any hint of resistance. But we refuse to submit any longer.

Jax listened intently, his heart stirring with a newfound sense of purpose. I may not fully understand the intricacies of your struggle, he said, but I know what it's like to fight against impossible odds. If you'll have me, I want to help in whatever way I can.

Maeven raised an eyebrow. You're injured and unfamiliar with our world. What could you possibly offer us?

I have knowledge and skills from my time that could be valuable, Jax insisted. And more than that, I have a strong sense of justice. I can't stand by and watch innocent people suffer under a cruel regime.

Gareth and Maeven exchanged another look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Gareth nodded. Very well, Jax Hawkins. We'll take you to our encampment but know that our trust must be earned. We've been betrayed before, and we won't hesitate to cut you down if we suspect you're leading us astray.

Jax swallowed hard, the gravity of his situation sinking in. I understand. I won't let you down.

With effort, Jax pushed himself up from the cot, gritting his teeth against the pain that lanced through his body. Maeven offered him a supportive arm, helping him to his feet. Together, the trio made their way out of the underground chamber, navigating a series of narrow, winding tunnels.

As they emerged into the forest beyond, Jax blinked against the sudden brightness of the sun filtering through the dense canopy overhead. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and earth. For a moment, he almost forgot the dire circumstances that had brought him to this place, lost in the untamed beauty of his surroundings.

The respite was short-lived, however, as the sound of snapping twigs and heavy footfalls reached their ears. Gareth and Maeven immediately dropped into defensive stances, their hands reaching for the weapons at their sides.

Blackmoor soldiers, Gareth hissed, his eyes scanning the treeline. They must have tracked us from the castle.

Jax's heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins. He may not have been a trained warrior, but he refused to be a liability. Reaching down, he grasped a sturdy branch from the forest floor, testing its weight in his hands.

As the soldiers burst through the underbrush, swords glinting in the dappled sunlight, Jax charged forward, swinging his makeshift weapon with all the strength he could muster. The branch connected with a soldier's helmet, sending him staggering backward.

Gareth and Maeven sprang into action, their blades flashing as they engaged the other soldiers. The clash of steel on steel filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion and cries of pain.

Jax ducked and weaved, relying on instinct and adrenaline to guide his movements. He may not have had the skills of a seasoned fighter, but he had the element of surprise on his side. The soldiers, expecting a straightforward battle, were caught off guard by his unorthodox techniques.

As the last soldier fell, clutching a bleeding wound on his thigh, Gareth turned to Jax, a mixture of surprise and respect on his face. You fought well, outlander. Perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye.

Jax, breathing heavily, nodded in acknowledgment. I told you, I want to help. I may not be a warrior, but I'll do whatever it takes to stand up against injustice.

Maeven wiped her blade clean on the grass, her eyes appraising Jax with a newfound appreciation. We should keep moving. The encampment isn't far, but there may be more patrols in the area.

The trio set off once more, their pace quickened by the urgency of their situation. As they walked, Gareth and Maeven shared more about the rebel faction, painting a picture of a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds.

The Blackmoor dynasty has ruled these lands for as long as anyone can remember, Gareth explained, his voice low and intense. They claim to have a divine right to the throne, but all they've brought is misery and suffering. They tax the people into poverty, crush any hint of dissent, and treat us like chattel.

Maeven nodded, her eyes hardening. My family was executed for daring to speak out against their cruelty. I was just a child, but I swore that day that I would dedicate my life to bringing down the Blackmoors, no matter the cost.

Jax listened intently, his heart aching for the pain and loss that these people had endured. I'm sorry, he said softly. No one should have to go through that. I can't begin to imagine what it's been like for you.

Gareth shrugged, his expression grim. It's the reality we've always known. But we refuse to accept it any longer. Oren, our leader, has been building this resistance for years, gathering those who are willing to fight for a better future. It's not been easy, but we've managed to strike some significant blows against the Blackmoors.

As they continued through the forest, Jax's mind raced with questions and possibilities. He still had no idea how he had ended up in this strange, brutal world, but he knew that he couldn't ignore the plight of these people. If there was a way for him to make