Tag Archives: Fantasy

A Wound Like Lapis Lazuli Blitz

A Wound Like Lapis Lazuli banner

 

A Wound Like Lapis Lazuli cover

Fantasy

Date Published: 4/15/2023

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

Ricardo Montero is a painter of great repute, favored by the king of
Salandra and chosen by him to paint the ceiling of a temple dedicated to a
sea goddess. When he mysteriously goes missing, his friend Beatriz enters a
competition to paint the temple in his stead. But when the sea goddess
herself gets involved in Beatriz’s painting, and in her life, Beatriz finds
herself in over her head. Hopefully the woman she’s falling in love with can
help keep her afloat.

Meanwhile, Ricardo has been kidnapped by one of the king’s enemies, a woman
who claims the kidnapping is purely to spite the king but who seems obsessed
with Ricardo himself. Under pressure and learning secrets he never wanted to
know, Ricardo fights to maintain his loyalty to the king and control over
his feelings and his life.

Excerpt

He’d blacked out in a stable the stranger had led him to, as near as
he could remember. The night was all a bit of a blur. The next thing he
knew, he was waking up to the jolting rhythm of wagon wheels, unkind to a
pounding headache. Where… what…

And something scratched at his wrists and ankles when he moved, trying to
stretch out. He groaned, trying to find a comfortable position. The only
bright side was a dark side—there was a blanket over his body,
including his head, and from what he could tell it was blocking out a lot of
sunlight which would not have been kind to his hangover.

“Juan?” he muttered.

No one responded.

Still dizzy and not entirely sober, he’d fallen back into a light
sleep, waking now and then at being jostled against other items in the cart.
There was a chest of some sort, that was the biggest thing, but also a
couple of smaller boxes, and a length of rope. Half-asleep, he felt the
oddest thing about his situation to be a lack of hay. When he was young, he
used to sneak into hay wagons and hide under the stacks. You could catch a
ride that way, at least until the farmer caught you. He felt that he was
hiding from someone now but couldn’t remember who or why. And there
wasn’t any hay, no hay at all.

It was only after a good long while—maybe half an hour or maybe a
couple hours even, hard to tell half asleep—after a thousand bumps in
the road and a few muffled overheard conversations and a whole lot of
confused pondering about the lack of hay—that Ricardo realized the
source of discomfort on his wrists and ankles was rope. He’d been
bound hand and foot, and he was in a strange cart with no memory of how he
got there. This realization demanded some action.

“Hello,” he called out. “Excuse me. Who’s out
there? What are you doing? What-what is this?” He kicked at the bottom
of the cart too, though he doubted that would be heard over the rattling of
the wagon. His voice was a bit raspy too, as his throat was almost as sore
as his head, and he wondered if that would be heard either. After a couple
minutes, however, the wagon slowed to a stop, and the blanket was lifted off
his head, exposing his eyes to sunlight. He winced, groaned, and then slowly
processed the face he was seeing, the face of the stranger who’d been
drinking with him at the bar last night. What had been the man’s
name… It had started with a D. Oh, right, Diego.

“Diego,” he said, “What the hell is this? Get me out of
these ropes and this damn wagon. Gods, what time is it?”

“Almost noon,” the man said. “And I’d prefer you
call me Captain Alban. Not that I didn’t enjoy drinking with you, but
I wouldn’t say we’re on first-name terms, Montero.”

“I really don’t care,” Ricardo said. “Fine,
Captain. Am I under arrest, then? This is a fine way to go about it. If the
king hears…”

“You’re not under arrest. I’m kidnapping you,”
Captain Alban said far too calmly. “As for the king, I don’t
really care what he’d have to say about it. I’m part of the
guard of the countess of Suelta. As you mentioned last night, we don’t
get along well with the king.”

 

About the Author

Melody Wiklund

Melody Wiklund is a writer of fantasy and occasionally romance, including
the YA novel Eleven Dancing Sisters, published in 2017. In her free time,
she loves knitting and watching Chinese dramas. Sometimes she draws, more
rarely paints. She is a big fan of baroque art, particularly that of Diego
Velasquez.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Instagram

Goodreads

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on A Wound Like Lapis Lazuli Blitz

Filed under BOOKS

Archmage Blitz

Archmage banner

 

Archmage cover

Farewell to the Old World

Fantasy

Date Published: April 1st, 2023

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

A Kiran Princess named Sol has the power to look into the future, and a
vision comes along one day that has the power to change her whole life and
that of all the people around her. From this moment on, a multitude of
unusual happenings will be heading her way.

Wrapped up in inter-tribal conflicts and risk, Sol’s world has
suddenly transformed itself into one of adventure, involving the exploration
of a magical island that may soon disappear forever.

Join Sol in her foray to save the people around her while captive in this
magical world.

About the Author

Christopher Leigh Dodson

Christopher Leigh Dodson was born in Birmingham, Alabama, United States of
America 02-09-1969. Christopher has been happily married for 32 years. His
wife’s name is Patricia. They met at a Bon Jovi concert on
Valentine’s Day in Birmingham, Alabama. They have four children and
one grandchild, and another grandchild on the way. Both of them love
watching Alabama Collage Football and watching reality T.V. Christopher has
been writing for many years and finally got the courage to put one of his
books out there. Magic In A Tub was thought up around 2007. He saw images on
the inside of his tub after pulling up the bathtub mat. Always look into the
clouds and see the beautiful things you can find.

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

TikTok @christopherleighdodson

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Archmage Blitz

Filed under BOOKS

Henry Teaser Tuesday

Henry banner

 

Henry cover

(Devoted Guardians MC)

 

Motorcycle Club, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Shifters, Mages

Date Published: February 24, 2023

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

Raya — Elias kidnapped me nearly a decade ago and used me for his awful
experiments. His goal: to create a superior race. How could that possibly go
wrong? Now I’m no longer fully human and I’ve lived a life in
hell. But I adore my two kids, no matter how they were conceived. I thought
we’d die before we ever found freedom, but it arrived in the most
unexpected way. The big biker shifter is scary as hell, but it’s
either go with him, or remain chained and starving.

Henry — The dark mage killed my mate and unborn child. There’s
nothing I want more than revenge. It never occurred to me he’d have a
woman and kids chained in his cellar. They reek of black magick, enough so,
I hated them on sight. I’d planned to leave them behind. Until I heard
their story. My club won’t be happy when I walk in with three people
covered in the stench of black magick. But something unexpected happens when
I catch Raya’s true scent. She’s my fated mate, and now I have
the difficult task of not only gaining her trust, but the children’s
as well.

 

WARNING: Contains subject matter some readers may find difficult to read.
Recommended for ages 18+ due to adult situations, bad language, and
violence. Guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cheating, and no
cliffhanger.

 

Henry tablet, phone

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde & Jessica Coulter Smith

 

Raya

Elias paced the small cabin. I didn’t know why we’d come here.
He’d spoken about this town before. Many times. I knew a shifter
nearly killed him thirty years ago. Fatally wounded, he’d escaped to a
community of mages, where they’d healed him. It had taken years for
him to regain his health and full power. He’d often bragged about
surviving.

Why return now? He’d dragged us all over the country. At first,
I’d thought he was running from something. Now I wondered if
he’d simply been heading toward Wolf Creek. Even though I’d been
with him for years, he never confided in me. Not about anything important.
There was no reason for it, since I was little more than a prisoner. His
slave.

I heard the chains clink in the cellar and fought not to wince. It
wouldn’t be long before I joined them. My babies. No matter how
they’d been conceived, I’d love them with all my heart until the
day I died. They were my reason for living. And the only way Elias
maintained control over me all this time. If it weren’t for my
precious children, I’d have run before now.

“It’s nearly time,” he muttered. “I’ll take
her just like the others. I’m sure she’ll be useful. Stupid
fucking dhampir doesn’t know why I invited him to Wolf Creek.
Everything is falling into place.”

Her? I didn’t know who he was talking about, and I would not ask. And
a dhampir? Did he mean the man I’d heard him speaking to a few times?
It didn’t matter. The less I knew, the better. I’d learned that
the hard way. Although, his words bothered me a great deal. Was he going to
enslave someone else? I reached up to lightly touch the collar around my
throat. I hadn’t been the first, nor the last. However, I’d been
the only woman to survive.

Elias not only used black magick, but he also liked to experiment.
He’d abducted countless women across the globe, all in the name of
creating a better species. It wasn’t something recent, either. From
what I’d learned during my time with him, he’d been working on
this project for decades. Even before he’d fled Wolf Creek thirty
years ago. I didn’t know what made me so special. Why had I survived
when others hadn’t?

I lifted my hand and stared at my fingers. Even now, black tendrils of
smoke shifted around the digits. I’d been completely human until Elias
snatched me off the street. Through pain and suffering, he’d infused
me with some of his black magick. I couldn’t actually use it, but it
had become part of my cellular structure, which meant I passed those traits
to my children, which had been his intent all along.

“It’s time.” He rubbed his hands together, a wide smile
on his face. “Into the basement. You know the rules. Keep your mouth
shut. But first… I’m going to prep you for a special guest
arriving within the next two days.”

I knew exactly what that meant. He removed a syringe from his pocket and
injected me with the serum that would make me mindless with need. While he
preferred for me to get pregnant without it, and enjoyed hearing me scream
in pain, he’d used this on me several times before. I honestly thought
he got off on hearing me beg for someone to fuck me. At least, it
didn’t take effect immediately.

Elias tossed the syringe aside and gave me a shove, and I walked to the
hidden door. He opened it and I went down the steps into what I assumed had
once been a root cellar. My children perked up when they saw me. Elias
followed me into the hole, attaching a chain to my collar. I held open my
arms and my babies ran to me. Their chains barely reached, but we were close
enough I could hold them.

I smoothed the hair of my precious little girl, Marigold, and kissed the
forehead of my son, Logan. Mari had not only inherited some of the black
magick, but she’d also gained her father’s ability to shift. As
for Logan, he only had black magick. His father had been a dark mage like
Elias.

“I’m scared,” Mari said.

I hugged her tight and wished I could ease her fears. Instead, I did my
best to tamp down my own. I didn’t think we’d ever escape Elias.
One day, he’d sell my children. When I became useless, he’d kill
me. As it was, I’d lost the last two babies. I knew he was searching
for another male to impregnate me. He’d desperately wanted a baby that
was half vampire and half dark mage. It seemed my body rejected the
vampire’s offspring, as both babies came from the same male.

“When I’m older, I’m going to get us out of here,”
Logan said. “With my magick, I’ll take down Elias and free us
from this prison.”

I placed my fingers over his lips. “Hush, sweetheart. If he hears you
say such a thing…”

He nodded, understanding what I meant. I hated that my children had to grow
up so quickly. They’d never been able to play, make friends, or enjoy
their lives. If I thought it would be possible to run away with them,
I’d have done it long ago. But I knew Elias would hunt us down and
punish us.

The door upstairs slammed, and the tension in my body eased. At least he
would be gone for a while. I felt bad for whatever woman he’d lured to
this town. Would her fate be the same as mine? I hoped not. I didn’t
wish this existence on anyone.

Mari began humming The Itsy Bitsy Spider, and I rocked her. Logan slumped
against my side and stared at the opposite wall. Elias hadn’t even
left us with anything to occupy ourselves while he was gone. There’d
been times he’d left a rubber ball or a pack of crayons and a coloring
book. I knew it wasn’t out of the kindness of his black heart.
He’d claimed it made the children less whiny and more tolerable.

“One day, if we’re ever free of Elias, you’ll get to
enroll in school so you can learn new things. You’ll make friends.
Play outside. Go to the movie theater, the park, learn to swim. We’ll
have so much fun.” I smiled wistfully, thinking of all they’d
missed out on, and the things I’d taken for granted before Elias
kidnapped me.

“Do you really think we’ll ever get away from him?” Logan
asked.

My heart ached at the despair in his voice. My little angel already knew
the answer. No matter how much I’d tried to instill hope in my
children, Logan somehow knew we’d be the property of Elias until he
either sold us or killed us.

I couldn’t answer him, refusing to lie.

Mari dozed a bit, and even Logan closed his eyes for a little while. Every
second was even more agonizing, because time stretched endlessly in the
cellar. At least the lightbulb hadn’t gone out. The dim light helped
little, but it dispelled some of the darkness. Being locked down here in
absolute blackness would have been much worse.

Mari whimpered in her sleep, waking Logan. I smoothed her hair and murmured
to her, hoping to ease whatever nightmare she might be having. Logan blinked
and rubbed his eyes before sitting up a little straighter. I knew he’d
fight to stay awake now. My little boy had grown up entirely too fast.

Mari woke twice and dozed off again each time. While she napped, I told
Logan a story. Mari liked the romantic fairy tales about princes. Logan,
however, wanted action and adventure. His favorites were tales of pirates or
explorers. So I talked about One-Eyed Willie, Captain Jack, and the others
I’d watched in movies when I’d still had my freedom. He ate up
every word, and it helped pass the time.

My stomach rumbled, and so did the children’s. Mari woke again,
yawning and leaning away from me a little. I knew she wouldn’t fall
asleep again anytime soon. Every time the monster who owned us made her go
hungry, she’d be awake for hours. Unlike Logan, who said sleep made
him feel less hungry.

Elias hadn’t left us with any food or water. A bucket in the corner
served as a toilet, but none of us had been desperate enough to use it
today. We’d each had a chance earlier to use the bathroom upstairs to
relieve ourselves and clean up a little.

“He’s been gone a while,” Logan said. “He
didn’t forget us, did he? I’m not sure starving to death is much
better than suffering whatever he’s planned for us.”

With no windows, I couldn’t tell what time of day it was by now.
However, my butt had gone numb from sitting on the hard ground. I had to
have been down here for more than an hour. I listened intently, wondering if
Elias had managed to quietly return. Minutes ticked by, and when I was going
to give up, I heard booted steps. They seemed to scout the entire
house.

Would they find the hidden door to the cellar? Did we want them to? I
caught Logan’s gaze, and he gave me a slight nod. Whatever he sensed
or smelled seemed to make him feel as if the person upstairs wouldn’t
harm us.

“Help! Please, we’re down here!” I yelled as loud as I
could. By the fifth time I’d called out, the door at the top of the
stairs opened and a large silhouette moved toward us. My breath caught when
the man approached. I couldn’t tell his age and depending on what he
was, he could have been hundreds of years old and still appeared
young.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. His gaze narrowed on me before
shifting to my children. I held them tighter, wondering if I’d made a
mistake by calling for help. “Who are you?”

Henry phone

Author Contact Links

Harley Wylde on Facebook , TikTok, Instagram: @harleywylde

Jessica Coulter Smith on Instagram: @jessica_coulter_smith

 

Follow the Publisher

Instagram/Facebook/Twitter: @changelingpress

 

Pre-Order Today

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Henry Teaser Tuesday

Filed under BOOKS

The Body Politic Teaser Tuesday

The Body Politic banner

The Body Politic cover

Book II of The Tribal Wars

Science Fiction

Date Published: 1/8/2022

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

BookLife Editor’s Pick

 

Brianna Miller returns to Dolvia where tribal women protest the oppressive
rule of Rabbenu Ely by self-torchings in the Cylay Square.  Brianna
re-establishes her tribal schools and takes on assistant Kelly Osborn who is
mixed blood and also a poet.

Kelly visits a neighboring planet Cicero where her aunt Carline Bryant
takes over her education. While returning to Dolvia, Kelly meets the
Australian adventurer Hershel Henry who has signed on for a tour of Dolvia
as a photo-journalist.  Henry takes an opportunity to interview the
khalif on the opposing side of the tribal wars.

The Bush Clinic cover

 

Book I of The Tribal Wars is AVAILABLE NOW!

Fantasy

Date Published: 10-08-2022

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

BookLife Editor’s Pick

On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at
the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced
labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She
sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for
saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause
for Home Rule.

Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among
the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from
soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she
will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld.

FREE FOR A LIMITED TIME – 12/27 – 1/16

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Scirbd

 

 

Excerpt from The Body Politic

We entered China through Xinjiang province and traversed the high Takli
Makan Desert overnight. In the morning, the train stood for several hours in
Dunhuang, changing personnel from Russian to Chinese and taking on supplies.
I watched from the window while porters in tunics and baggy pants loaded
goods from a cart. They stopped suddenly, and the noise subsided, so I
craned my neck to glimpse the source of the interruption. Some Blackshirts
were hustling a group of peasant families, tied together with ropes and
shuffling in obvious fear, across the tracks and down the causeway toward a
holding area. Laborers returned to their work with measured gestures,
careful not to attract unwanted attention, and the way closed behind the new
arrivals.

I told myself that this repression was not my problem; I was just passing
through.

Presently, a detachment of Russian soldiers wearing blue uniforms with red
tooling took up positions outside our VIP car at the end of the train. The
officer entered with authority and tucked his hat under one arm. Rufus stood
squarely in the aisle with his knees bent and a hand on his knife hilt. The
officer stopped.

After a moment, he looked past Rufus’s shoulder to me. “You are
Brianna Miller of Arim?” he asked in English. “We are
assigned.”

“I have security already, as you can see.”

“These, uh, warriors are included in our detail. The train now enters
a province with some, uh, social unrest. Daniel Chin is concerned that your
group experiences no, uh, in-con-ven-nience.” His hesitant words and
rounded accent made me think his English was newly learned, perhaps his
third language.

“Nu delaya,” I said, and Rufus relaxed his posture. Kyros
placed a big hand on the officer’s shoulder from behind and led him to
a seat several paces from me.

“What do you propose?” I asked.

“We will take the adjacent car and establish a presence around your
group.”

“The adjacent car is for the students.”

“They may have to move forward.”

“How many in your squad?”

“Twelve.”

“I cannot provide for twelve. Six only.”

“We brought provisions, and you will be glad for twelve before we
reach Beijing. I am Captain Chandliss, and you may direct any questions to
me.”

“Captain Chandliss, I assume you are Lithuanian by birth, and your
real name has two ‘z’s and three ‘k’s.”

He only smirked.

“Are the soldiers from your same province?” I asked.

“Most of them.”

“Why not provide a Han Chinese detachment to manage our
security?”

“My orders were brief,” he said as he twisted to see where
Kyros had stationed himself. “I gathered that your Dolviet escort
would resent Blackshirts as security.”

I grinned. At least he had the sense to acknowledge what anyone could see.
“And what else did Daniel Chin say in conversation?”

The captain didn’t react to the mention of Daniel Chin’s name.
“Orders from Paris didn’t mention a bevy of students. You do
have accommodations for them on the shuttle and the Company
yacht?”

“My arrangements are made,” I said tolerantly. “Thank you
for your interest. The students will remain where they are, and you will
take the next car. Since you have twelve men and provisions, I expect that
the students will remain as safe as I am safe.”

Captain Chandliss watched me for a moment. “Well. The train leaves in
twenty minutes, so I’ll excuse myself to put all in good order.”
He stood and nodded, unable to break military training. “Ah, how may I
address these warriors?”

“Rufus, the son of Cyrus the ketiwhelp killer,” I said with a
hand gesture. “And behind you is Kyros rabbe Sudl of Southeast
Arrivi.”

He nodded to each warrior. “Ma’am,” he said and
left.

Kyros looked at Rufus and mouthed “ma’am” with humor.
Rufus covered his mouth with one hand to hide his response.

 

# # #

 

Later, I was called into the student car, I assumed due to the presence of
soldiers. But the issue was trivial; something about a stolen item and whom
to punish. The boys waited in a silent row, cynical and without gestures.
The oldest girl Bernice was in tears, as were two eight-year-olds. I sighed,
regretting my decision to include them in my travel plans.

Leah approached with submissive gestures. “These ones need daily
lessons to keep their minds off homesickness. They need a common
goal.”

I immediately thought of an old method Hakulupe Le had used in the Somule
schools to bind students as a group, a method she had learned in prison, in
fact. I spoke to the group. “Not all of you will board the shuttle to
engage in space travel. I have accommodations for only seven, including the
boys, so I must choose who is most worthy. To make this choice, we will
devise a test. You will each share your history with the others, and at
track’s end in three days’ time, you will each write the
biographies of all the others, including the boys. After reading those
papers, I will decide who remains with the clutch and who will return to
their province. That is all.”

Leah quickly spoke. “May we have writing paper?”

“I will ask Captain Chandliss.”

“May we take our meals in the dining car?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Please.”

“Captain Chandliss manages your safety now. I’ll ask
him.”

“Thank you, Rularim. Thanks again.” Leah knew when to
flatter.

“I am not Rularim. I’m Brianna Miller.”

“We all thank you.”

“Yes, well. No more complaining and no crying.” I left before
she could make another request.

Less than an hour later, Captain Chandliss came into my car. Kyros stopped
him at the door but let him pass after a tense moment. “The students
want their meals in the dining car. I have no authority for
this.”

“Negotiate with the porters,” I instructed, “so the group
can take a meal after the other diners have left, twice a day. Ask for a set
menu with bland dishes because they have to board the shuttle soon. No
sweets from the dessert tray but maybe rice pudding for each.”

His posture emphasized his disbelief. “Do you understand the
expense?”

“Rufus will pay from the treasure of Kyle Rula.”

The disbelieving look on the captain’s face wandered to the warrior
who was seated at a laptop with his back to us. Rufus turned slowly to fix
me with a level stare. He opened the pouch at his belt and extracted a
single uncut emerald as big as my thumb knuckle and placed it next to me.
The gem was opaque with a sandpaper texture. Without glancing at the
captain, Rufus turned back to the computer screen.

I saw the eyes of Captain Chandliss grow large at the sight of the gem.
“Have it assayed at the next stop,” I said. “Then pay the
porters for their trouble and distribute the remainder among your
soldiers.”

The captain stood tall and looked at each of us, perhaps taking a moment to
assess the opportunity. “My detachment will bear the current expense.
I will have the gem appraised in Beijing where its value is far greater. I
will subtract a commission for our service with the students and return the
remainder to Rufus before your party boards the shuttle. We will take eight
percent.”

“Four percent,” I said.

“Six percent.”

“Four point five percent, and no gratuity.”

“Done.” The captain scooped up the gem and turned on his heel.
He left hurriedly, passing through the door that Kyros was holding open,
just as though he needed to escape before I changed my mind.

Kyros said, “Much is learned about a man when he resists
temptation.”

 

About the Author

Stella Atrium

Stella Atrium is an award-winning writer who presents otherworld stories
about female protagonists of diverse ethnicity who encounter obstacles
relatable to our lives today. How do women in a war zone gain voice in the
marketplace using the few tools available to women?

Stella Atrium teaches at university in addition to online writing courses.
She lives in Chicago, Illinois.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter: @SAtriumWrites

Blog

Goodreads

Pinterest

Purchase Links

FREE FOR A LIMITED TIME – 12/27 – 1/16

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Scribd

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on The Body Politic Teaser Tuesday

Filed under BOOKS

Blood of the Hunted Blitz

Blood of the Hunted banner

 

Blood of the Hunted cover

Fantasy

Date Published: December 15th 2022

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

Weylyn, Olwen, and other members of the marginalized and subjugated group
known as the Tóráin are trying every day to gain equality and
freedom. Their enemies, which consist of vile human monarchs, their
soldiers, and a masked witch assassin known only as The Dove, continue to
tighten their grip around the necks of the Tóráin.

Leading The Resistance, Weylyn and Olwen endure many trials that test them
physically and mentally, relying on their loved ones to keep them from
losing hope. They both wish to see a time of equality and peace, but to
achieve that requires more than what they have. Desperation leads The
Resistance to find new allies all across the continent of Kosavros with the
goal of finally defeating their oppressive overseers.

Their fight for freedom and respect leads Weylyn and Olwen down paths that
open their eyes to new dangers, both involving themselves and the rest of
the world. However, they do not waiver. For the Tóráin are
known for their resilience, and they have already endured much. What comes
next will be hard, but they’re ready to fight for their lives.
Together.

 

Prologue

 

Weylyn

Cloque, Fleuris  |  November 1789

I tried to ignore the hateful screams coming from the crowd. The insults
were shouted in both the common language and Fleuran, with someone even
yelling a curse in the old language priests used. Things had already been
thrown onto the stage by people who hoped to strike the lycan that was tied
up for all to see. I kept my hood high so that I could remain as hidden as
possible. I tried to slouch to hide my height while being sure to avoid eye
contact with those around me. I had always been proud to be a lycan, and the
lack of horns or colored skin was doing wonders for me right now. My satyr
friends — as well as the sprites I knew — would have a much
harder time blending in with the crowd today than I would. That was if
anyone had taken the risk to come. Uncle Benen had refused to allow Brina
and me to leave the house, but I snuck out the window late last night and
hid in an alley until afternoon came. I could have gone to Ossian’s
house, but the satyr would have just tried to keep me inside like Uncle
Benen had. I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t hide. I needed to be
here for him. Even if the smartest and safest thing for the
Tóráin in the city was to stay inside, I had to be where I
was. Deep down, I knew all of the Tóráin felt the same way. We
couldn’t abandon him now, not when he needed us the most.

Tears started to fill my eyes as I watched the soldiers bark out
instructions to the witches, the women casting spells to torment the brave
lycan they had restrained. I was mad at myself for doing so, but I looked
away. I looked up, blinking away the water from my eyes as I stared at the
looming image of the Sainte Mère Cathedral. I inspected the spires
and the stained-glass window high above us as I tried to gather myself. The
gothic church’s shadow stretched over nearly the entirety of Dame
Square, swallowing the crowd in darkness despite the sun shining brightly in
the afternoon sky. After taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look back
down at the stage. The image I saw would give every single
Tórán who had braved the crowds today a great pain in their
heart. The lycan before me meant a lot to our community. He was always
empowering those who were deemed devils simply because they were different.
We all knew we were hated, but that lycan made us feel like we were worth
something. He made me who I am today, and now I had to watch someone take
him from me. Today, they were executing the most important person in my
life: my father.

The pain I felt was not
only the anticipation of loss, but also the knowledge that I could do
nothing to stop it. All I could do was stand there, at the front of the
crowd, and stare up at my father. He was tied up to two poles and spread
uncomfortably. The witches had forced him into his feral shape, no doubt to
make him appear to be the monster they would portray him to be. Humans
continued to throw food at him, some even threw stones. No one stopped them.
The officers and witches weren’t focused on the wrong doings of humans
today. Their eyes were fixed on our kind. ‘Diables’, they called
us. Beings from another world that many would see eradicated if it were up
to them. Today was about sending a certain message to our kind, while
sending a completely different one to their own. We were to be humbled and
defeated, while humans would be propped up and celebrated. A story would be
told on that stage, and none of my kind were supposed to enjoy it. I stared
at my father’s face, hoping he would look up and lock eyes with me.
For a moment it seemed like it would happen, but I was shoved from behind
and forced to turn around.

“I knew I smelled a
stray chien. You salauds aren’t allowed to mingle with us up here.
Back of the crowd, Diable.”

I looked back over my
shoulder at my father to catch him looking right at me. I refused to show
weakness. “I’m staying right where I am.”

One of the young men who
had confronted me raised a fire poker in the air, but he never got around to
actually hitting me with it. A slender hand attached to a lean arm grasped
his wrist and he grew red in the face.

“Rosey!” he whined. “What are you doing? He started
it!”

Rosalie — my very
best friend and one of the few people I knew I could trust outside of my
father — was a human. Not even a witch. She was just a regular,
wonderful, human. Her parents had helped mine for years since I was a pup.
We grew up together, and despite my clear edge in strength, she was always
rescuing me from ignorant assholes. The teen harassing me dropped his weapon
and used his other hand to reach for Rosalie’s shoulder.

 “Don’t call
me Rosey, “ she said as she grabbed his outstretched hand and twisted
his fingers roughly. “And I highly doubt Weylyn started anything.
Leave us alone or your father will find out just how much of a petit con
you’ve been.”

The boy’s face
scrunched up before he left through the crowd, massaging his injured hand.
His friends followed him, prompting Rosalie to let out a deep sigh before
fixing her dress. She grabbed a hold of my arm, laced her fingers through
mine, and looked up at my father. The two of us stood there, trying to send
him our strength for what felt like hours until trumpets sounded. Up the
steps came King Louis, soaking in all the praise the majority of the crowd
was giving him. He eventually waved at them to quiet down so he could speak,
and I knew that what came next would make my blood boil.

“Gens de
Cloque!” King Louis shouted with a pompous grin on his face. “I
have been a just king, have I not? I have been a gracious, and bountiful
king, have I not? Under my rule, all have prospered! Yet we still
have…ordures…that want to see that lovely life tarnished. This monstre
murdered ten officers. Dix protecteurs! For that heinous crime, the only
plausible sentence is death! But first, we will make an example out of
him!”

The crowd roared. The
group of witches and officers stood ready now, surrounding the stage as
torturers began whipping my father. He kept his fur covered head held high,
defiant despite his pain. The people whipping him moved on to more forms of
torture, dragging on the inevitable much to the enjoyment of the crowd. They
cut at his ears, pulled his teeth, removed his fingertips, and even branded
him with the royal sigil of Fleuris. Not once did my father cry out in pain.
Not once did he give them the satisfaction they wanted. What they were doing
to him had brought tears to my eyes yet again, but I also felt a sense of
pride in seeing the strength my father was showing. The torturers looked at
the king with lost expressions on their faces, prompting King Louis to rise
from his chair and draw the saber at his waist. He began carving his
prisoner. He sliced at his arms, and then his legs, then his back, and then
his chest. All that and yet, still, there were no cries out for mercy or
even a grunt from the pain. Now visibly angry, King Louis grabbed my father
by the snout and shouted at him.

“Why must you defy
me? You’re dead, Diable, there’s nothing to fight for anymore!
Scream like I know you want to! Show everyone the lâche we know you to
be!”

His face was bloodied and
swollen, but at that moment I knew that he was looking at me. Our eyes
finally locked, and I squeezed Rosalie’s hand. I took a small step
forward, but Rosalie held me back. I looked down to see her crying as she
shook her head. Bringing my attention back to my father, I found my eyes to
be drowning in tears so much that it was hard to see. It all felt so
hopeless…until he howled. Right in the face of the bastard that had
committed so many wrongs to him and his kind, my father howled to the sky.
Howls broke out from the crowd, followed by screeches and whistles from the
harpies and other creatures who had come. King Louis was beside himself from
this display. He drew his pistol from its holder, placed the barrel between
my father’s eyes, and fired.

The world around me evaporated into nothing until all I could see was my
father’s body limp on the stage, held up only by the ropes around his
wrists and ankles. My eyes were locked on the horrid sight until Rosalie
began pulling me through the crowd as more whistles, and screeches, and
howls flooded the city. I barely paid attention to the chaos that was
erupting as Rosalie and I pushed our way through the crowd. We eventually
escaped the large mass and slipped into an alley.

“We need to get clear of here. My house is close enough, and
we’ll be safe there.” Rosalie tried to pull me, but I stood my
ground.

“My father is…he’s…” Rosalie came forward
and put her hands on my face. The contact had me snapping to attention.
“Uncle Benen. Ossian. Darby. They…I have to tell them what
happened.”

“Yes. But not right now. Right now, we need to get you off the
streets.” The general noise of a boisterous crowd turned into loud
screams and gunshots. “Weylyn!”

I nodded furiously. “Yes. Right. Okay. Your house first
then.”

The two of us ran off into the city, but the sounds of the riot that had
broken out in Dame Square followed us for some time. I barely saw what was
in front of me, Rosalie holding my hand and guiding me most of the way. I
couldn’t shake the image of my father, torn apart, with a bullet wound
leaking from his head. I still couldn’t believe it. My father was
dead.

 

About the Author

Marc R. Micciola

Marc R. Micciola lives in Ontario Canada with his two dogs Ace and Rielly.
He tries to get to the gym when he can in the week, and when he isn’t there,
he’s working on his next project. Writing is a big part of Marc R.
Micciola’s life, but things such as hockey, video games, and spending time
with friends and family are also passions of his. Despite being a fantasy
author, Marc R. Micciola prides himself on his ability to create a great mix
of realism and fantasy, blending the two together in just the right amounts
to provide worlds you can escape to while also having real characters that
are relatable.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Instagram

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Comments Off on Blood of the Hunted Blitz

Filed under BOOKS