I am Allie Whirlwind, Shaman. With my father a ghost, my sister a psychic, my great-grandmother a vengeful Apache witch and my mother on death row, I'm no stranger to the supernatural -- or the struggle between good and evil.

When I painted his image on canvas -- this dark-winged warrior -- I imagined an angel, but he's far more. Dark. Delicious. Sinfully sexy...and cursed. My painting released him from a spell, but the transformation was incomplete. Now he lingers in twilight, half man, half raven. If I don't find a certain talisman before the curse comes full circle, he'll suffer eternally. I cannot let that happen...


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"Native American artist and witch Allie Whirlwind paints a picture that mystically summons a man who was cursed by her evil great-grandmother to spend 100 years as a raven. Allie knows she must help the man break the curse in order to avoid eternal torment by her ghostly great-grandmother, but she has to rely on Daniel Deer Runner for help and is confused over her feelings for both men. Never Look Back (4), by Sheri Whitefeather, is a fascinating study in Native American mythology. The amount of research that went into planning and writing the book is admirable. The inclusion of mythology makes for an interesting and thoroughly enjoyable story."
~ Romantic Times, 4 stars, Alexandra Kay

"In NEVER LOOK BACK, Sheri Whitefeather has created a supernatural glimpse at a charming artist, whose current painting comes alive, and changes her life in ways she had never believed possible..."
~ Novel Talk, Lucele Coutts

"For an intriguing story filled with mysticism, be sure to check out NEVER LOOK BACK."
~ Romance Reviews Today, Jennifer Bishop

The Raven
A poem by Antoine Sands

She looked into his eyes, wishing he could speak to her again,
His voice lost forever within the caw of a bird,
Nostalgia her enemy, she remembers his embrace,
The protection he provided his strength and his grace.

A startling downpour diverted her attention,
To the window, through which he always returned,
Beads cried down the pane, leaving a trail from heaven,
Expressing that even a deity has rules which to abide.

Ceding to her emotions, she wept,
Uncontrollably, the tumultuous storm was both outside,
And within her very own mind,
The bird too gave a succinct cry, atypical of a bird.

She peered from behind the waterfalls, blurring her vision,
Expecting a transmogrification,
To no avail, her weeping intensified,
With the bird seemingly weeping, as much a bird could.