Steve McHugh's Blog: Steve McHugh - Writer

Book Announcement

I’m happy to announce that I’ve signed a new book deal with Podium Entertainment for 3 more Assembly books. The 4th Assembly book is being written at the moment (and titled The Song of the Vampire).

I can also announce that I’ve signed another book deal with Podium for my first epic fantasy trilogy; Empire of Phantoms.

Big thank you to both my agent, Paul Lucas, for working so hard to get these done, and to Podium for being awesome and wanting to continue working with me.

The Pilgrims of the Damned. Chapter 1.

The Pilgrims of the Damned, Chapter 1. Available for release on 23rd September 2005.

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.Com

Audible

Chapter One

Stuart Murphy woke up in much the same way he had done every morning for the last year, full of misery and anger. Life had not gone the way he’d wanted it to, most of which seemed to be completely out of his control.

He hadn’t asked to grow up in a dysfunctional home. He hadn’t asked for his wife of ten years to run off with their two children. He hadn’t asked for her to file divorce proceedings from across the country as she hid with her parents, citing his increasingly aggressive and cruel tendencies. He hadn’t asked for the stage four cancer diagnosis a month later. He hadn’t asked for those damn vampire blood pills to stop working a year later. He hadn’t asked for the company he worked for to be involved in some kind of attack on Assembly personnel.

The last one he was still confused about. It had been six months since Templar International had lost its Assembly accreditation, meaning the security company was no longer used by the vampires. The business was, in all effect, persona non grata, and a big chunk of their worldwide clients vanished overnight.

Stuart had run the Boston branch and, along with a dozen of his most trusted employees, had started to move their clients over to a new company. One that would be ready to go once he was better. He’d grown tired of waiting, though, and had set a plan in motion to ensure that where modern medicine failed, he would not.

Within five minutes of waking up, he had heard his phone buzz with a notification. He picked it up from the kitchen counter in his almost empty four-bedroom house and read the message. It was from one of his friends, Liam White, someone he’d served with. They’d continued to work together when they left their CIA Special Forces unit, where, before all the bureaucracy had kicked in, they were given the freedom to do what needed to be done. The message read, Ready to go.

Stuart smiled. He’d been waiting for this day for two years. Ever since he first heard rumours about it, he knew it was for him. He knew. Stuart replied, It’s a go. Meet me at the church. Two hours.

With a happiness he hadn’t known in a long time, Stuart finished off his morning coffee, had a toasted bagel, showered, and dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, with tan leather shoes. He removed the black velvet pouch from his chest of drawers, tipping the contents onto his hand. It was a silver pendant in the shape of a teardrop with a blood-red jewel set in the middle. He’d been told it was a talisman. An item of great power, and that when the time came, he should wear it always. Now was the time.

The pendant was hung on a thin silver chain, and Stuart slipped it over his neck, placing the cold metal against the skin of his chest.

He looked at himself in the mirror, at the stubble covering his head, sunken eyes, at the loss of weight, the loss of muscle, the cane he had to use. He missed his beard, his long hair; he missed being able to go to the gym, to go to the gun range. Not long now.

Stuart had errands to run in his neighbourhood first. Something he’d needed to do for a long time, and now was the right time. He wasn’t coming back to this house. He had wanted to make a life here, it had been his perfect home, but now it was just a reminder of all he’d lost. All that had been taken from him.

He removed two of the vampire blood medicine tablets from the container in his pocket and popped them both in his mouth, swallowing them with a glass of water, immediately feeling the surge of warmth rushing through him. In the beginning, they’d stopped the cancer from growing, and in some lucky people, they actually reversed the effects. In others, the effect of the pills quickly lessened, only slowing the cancer’s growth and having even less of an effect over time. But they still made him feel good, sharp, alive. He knew it was short lived, maybe four or five hours at best, but that was all he needed.

The errand only took a few minutes, and he was soon in his black Mercedes GLA, driving into Boston. He parked the car outside of the Church of the Holy Trinity near Boston Common, and sat there looking up at the red brick building, adorned with a golden cross high upon its steeple. Stuart didn’t know much about the church, or much about religion in general, but he knew his wife had come here for many years.

Opening his car door, he swung his legs out, grabbing the dark wooden cane as he stepped out into the spring morning in Boston. It was busy out with people going about their day. He wondered idly how many of them knew how far down the food chain they were. Vampires were well-known, of course; they lived and worked alongside humans, and while some humans hated and distrusted them, Stuart was not one of them. He found vampires fascinating, dangerous but fascinating. Vampires had spent a great deal of time and money showing the world that they were no threat to humanity, but Stuart knew otherwise. He’d seen what vampires could really do. But to him, it was just another part of the mystique, something to admire, not be afraid of.

He crossed the street slowly, the metal band on the bottom of his cane clicking on the tarmac as he walked along the sidewalk, and up the ramp to the church door. A young woman who was just leaving held the door open for him, and smiled kindly when he thanked her.

“You have a good day, now,” Stuart said, wondering what she would think in a few hours when the news came through.

He stepped into the church and looked up at the sanctuary at the far end of the nave. There was an altar table atop it, upon which sat several candles, and a foot-tall golden cross. A large wooden Jesus on a crucifix was on the wall behind it. Next to it was the pulpit, where Father Noah O’Brien stood and preached sermons to his adoring congregation.

There were several people sitting in the church pews, some praying, heads bowed, and some just sitting there quietly, looking up at the stained glass windows that sat on either side of the nave.

Stuart walked down the nave, ignoring the people, and over to the door on the left-hand side of the room. He pushed the door open, revealing a small kitchen and lounge area. There were windows on one side that overlooked the green garden behind the church, and let in a large amount of light.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man inside said. He sat on a wooden chair at a glass-and-wood round table, between the kitchen area and the twin sofas in the lounge. He placed the cup of coffee that was close to his lips back onto the table, before smiling disarmingly. “This is a private area.”

“I know, Father O’Brien,” Stuart said, taking a seat on a chair opposite the priest, his cane resting against the table. “But I feel like this is something we need to discuss.”

“We?” Father O’Brien asked with confusion. “I’m pretty sure we’ve never met.”

“We have, actually,” Stuart said. “I got married here. To my wife, Alice. Do you remember Alice Murphy, Father O’Brien?”

The priest nodded slowly, still unsure where this conversation was going. “Why are you here, Stuart?” Father O’Brien was a large man. He was the same six-two as Stuart, but he had a significant advantage of body mass. In his youth, Father O’Brien had been a boxer, and a good one, having won several competitions while in the military. He’d maintained those skills over the years in a local gym, although he didn’t do more than spar these days. At nearly sixty-five, Father O’Brien looked a good ten years younger, with a full head of short dark hair, and piercing blue eyes.

“Father, I want to tell you a tale,” Stuart said.

“You want to confess your sins?” Father O’Brien asked in all seriousness.

“Yes,” Stuart said, brightening up. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

“We should go to the confessional,” Father O’Brien said, standing.

Stuart removed the Beretta M9 from the holster against his back and placed it on the table.

Father O’Brien eyed it with no fear. He’d seen guns before; he’d used guns before. He looked from the weapon back to Stuart. “Are you threatening me, Stuart?”

Stuart shook his head. “I just want you to understand my state of mind. I want you to sit down and listen to me speak.”

Father O’Brien obviously saw no need to antagonise the man opposite him and sat back down. “So, what do you want to confess to me, my child?”

Stuart nodded and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” He paused as he did the maths in his head. “Thirty-three years since my last confession. Don’t worry, I’m not going to confess it all. We’d be here all week, and I have a schedule to keep.”

“Then please continue,” Father O’Brien said, still keeping an eye on the gun.

“Father, I can’t claim to have been a good man,” Stuart said. “I joined the Marines, joined the Special Forces, Force Reconnaissance, did some good work. Joined the CIA when I was thirty-five, did ten years, did some dirty work. Left to work for Templar International. And left a lot of bodies in my wake. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because two years ago my wife took my children from me. Flew them to California to her parents. You want to know what the kicker is? Her daddy works for the FBI, or worked, either way, I can’t very well just fly out there and force them home. I considered it at the time. Before I got sick. And then sicker, and sicker, and then better, and then the vampire tablets stopped working, and I got sicker again.”

There was a pause for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Father O’Brien said eventually. “You have had a terrible time.”

“You’re right, I have,” Stuart continued. “But that’s not why I’m here. Well, it is, but we’ll get to that. You see, after a year of hoping I was going to get better, of doing all of the right things, of trying to maintain a positive outlook, despite the fact a judge said I wasn’t allowed within two hundred feet of my wife and children. You know, I haven’t even spoken to them on the phone. They don’t want to talk to me. Apparently, I scared them by being aggressive.Fucking youth of today have no idea what life really is, Father. Life is aggression, for fuck’s sake. Sorry for swearing.”

“It’s fine,” Father O’Brien told him, fully aware that it didn’t sound like Stuart was sorry at all.

Stuart smiled, although there was no happiness in it. “Anyway, nearly two years ago, I got a call from a friend of mine. Liam. We grew up together, went to the military together, joined the CIA together. When I got sick, he was the first person to visit me. Told me he knew someone who might be able to help. I asked him if it was a vampire. I mean, turning me into a vampire would cure me, but no vampire worth anything is just going to turn someone they don’t know into a vampire. And I didn’t want to be saddled with some no-name, no-power pussy for my vampire master, or whatever they’re called. I told him I needed someone with actual power, I deserved that.

“Well, long story short, he said he’d look into it, but in the meantime, there was another way. A way that not even the vampires know about. Magic.”

Father O’Brien raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Magic?”

“That was my initial thought too, at first. I thought Liam was just trying to make me feel better, give me something to hope for while this fucking disease destroyed my body. But no, it’s not fake. Actually, there’s two types of magic.”

“And what are they?” Father O’Brien asked, despite himself.

“You don’t really need to know all of the details, Father,” Stuart said. “All you need to know is all magic has to have a cost. No matter what you do, there needs to be payment for it. Harmony magic, well, that’s all a bit wishy-washy, if you ask me. They use their own energy to do something. Harmony witches tend to be gardeners, or healers, or something like that.”

“So it kills them by using their own life force?”

“No,” Stuart almost snapped; he hadn’t intended this to turn into a conversation about the types of witches. “We’re getting off track here.”

“I understand,” Father O’Brien said. “And the second type of magic?”

“Chaos,” Stuart said, with a little more glee in his voice. “This is magic where you take from things around you to feed into your magic. So you might create a fireball in your hands, but to do so, you take the life force from others—humans, animals, plants, doesn’t really matter—and you feed that into your power.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Father O’Brien said, now more than a little worried about the sanity of the man before him.

“Oh, it is,” Stuart said. “You can kill people, or you can leave the ground a barren wasteland. You could make plants wither and die. Obviously, you don’t have to do that; you could take just a small amount of energy, killing a flower, or a bug, or whatever. The more power you take, the more powerful your magic.”

“And how do you perform these spells?” Father O’Brien asked, hoping to stall for time, hoping to figure out how to get Stuart as far away from his church as possible. To use the time to call the police. “Is there a book? A…”

“Grimoire,” Stuart said, removing a leatherbound book about the size of a paperback from his inside coat pocket and placing it on the table. “This tells us how to use that power. How to shape it, how to create it.”

“So you need the book forever?”

Stuart opened the book, showing the blank pages. “No, the witch bonds with the grimoire. The information, the essence of the magic transferring into the witch. It’s an unpleasant experience, and a slow one, but eventually…” Stuart flicked through the rest of the grimoire, showing that all of the pages were blank.

“You’ve learned it all?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, Father,” Stuart said, feeling the weight of the talisman that hung around his neck. He felt the power it contained, power that helped enhance his own gifts. He once wondered if he could have learned all he had without it, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was what he’d achieved, with or without help from the pendant. “Time, and a need to ensure that those who did me wrong aren’t allowed to get away with it.”

“And who did you wrong?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Stuart said. “And I’m not going to go after my wife. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to hurt my children, or their grandparents. They’ve moved on, and so have I. You see, I’ve been waiting for over a year to get the message I got this morning. My friend has been searching, so I’m going to Maine to find the person who can help me.”

“Maine?” Father O’Brien asked. “That’s a very dangerous place. It’s walled for a reason.”

Maine had been the scene of one of the worst outbreaks of the desolate in the modern age. The outbreak had spread out to New Brunswick, and thousands had died before the plague of monsters had been brought under control. Unfortunately, by the time the desolate had been stopped, Maine was little more than a pariah state. A walled reminder of what could happen should the monsters that dwelled in the darkness be let loose.

“I know all about what happened there,” Stuart said dismissively. “We’ve got someone who knows the way. I may be gone for some time, so I’ve been cleaning house, so to speak. Did I tell you about my neighbours?”

Father O’Brien was almost afraid to ask.

“No matter,” Stuart said as he started to tap his fingers on the table. “You see, they moved in a few years ago. They’re awful people. A couple, both in their mid-thirties maybe. The man, let’s call him Lloyd, constantly smells of weed. I used to come home from the hospital and sit in my garden hoping for some peace, and all I’d hear was Lloyd loudly talking about the amount of cocaine he had to sell. Or arguing with the lady, let’s call her Jill.

“And that doesn’t even begin to include the number of times they had music blaring at all hours of the day and night. People had asked him to quiet down, and he’d told them all to fuck off. Told me to fuck off. When I was healthy, I would have fucked that little nobody up, buried him in the woods so no one ever found him. They were both little more than degenerate criminals. A waste of oxygen.”

“Unruly neighbours are always a problem,” Father O’Brien said, looking down at the gun again.

“Oh, I didn’t shoot them,” Stuart said with a dry chuckle. “That’s insane. Do you know how many people in my neighbourhood would have heard that? I’d never have made it to the car before the police showed up.”

Father O’Brien allowed himself a smile. “So what did you do?”

“I took Jill’s life force and used it to burn Lloyd from the inside out,” Stuart said matter-of-factly. “First time I’d ever done that, and I’ve got to tell you, it was a rush.”

“You killed two people?” Father O’Brien asked, shocked at what Stuart had said.

Stuart waved away the accusation as if it were nothing. “Of course. There was just a little screaming from Lloyd, because Jill was out cold already; she was high as a kite. Oh, well. You want to know something funny? If my wife hadn’t come here every week, and if she hadn’t started talking to someone who works for you, Father, about our lives—if they hadn’t told her that maybe she should consider leaving me, which I thought went against the Catholic ethos—then I never would have been alone when Liam brought me the grimoire and talisman that now sits around my neck. I never would have practiced every day until I could barely read the words anymore. I never would have just murdered two people in their own home and smiled as they died. Your church gave me the opportunity to do better.”

“You can’t possibly think that,” Father O’Brien said with horror. “You were an abusive husband and father; your wife fled because of that abuse. We didn’t put you on a path to murder people. You did that.”

“Huh,” Stuart said, thinking to himself. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s go see what your congregation says about it.”

Stuart popped two more pills, sighed, grabbed the gun, and was up and out of the door, grabbing the key from the hook beside it, moving quicker than a man in his condition would have usually.

Father O’Brien ran after the younger man, taking the cane with him in case he had to incapacitate the clearly mentally unwell Stuart. A man whose wife and children had been afraid of him, a man who had refused to seek help for his own problems, and had used alcohol and drugs as a way to deal with them.

Stuart stood at the front of the nave, looking out over the four people who were staring back at him with confusion. He’d put the gun back in its holster against his back, his hands held out to the sides, showing the tattoos on the palms. He lowered them and turned to Father O’Brien. “Come join us,” he said, waving the Father over. “Now, people of the congregation. I want you all to know that I truly believe that we are in dangerous times.”

“Stuart,” O’Brien said sternly. “Stop it.”

Stuart walked between the pews until he reached the door. He locked the door with the key he’d stolen from the break room. He walked back down the pews until he was halfway and stared at the priest. “Thanks for the talk.” The skin on Stuart’s hands cracked and started to glow as several of the congregation who were closest to him tried to climb over the pews in an effort to get to the door. Stuart waved a hand at them, balling the hand into a fist, and they screamed out in pain, falling back onto the pews.

Several of the congregation started to cough and wheeze, their bodies pulled apart, the energy flowing through to Stuart.

“Stop it!” Father O’Brien shouted. He ran at Stuart, the cane raised high, but Stuart caught it with one hand, slamming his other into the priest’s chest, sending him reeling, and leaving a burned handprint on the cassock.

“You should have minded your own business,” Stuart said as he went back to funnelling the life energy he’d stolen directly into the priest, setting him on fire from the inside out.

The priest fell to his knees, and a look of comprehension filled his face for a moment before his entire body shimmered with the heat and light inside of him. After what had only been a few seconds, his body burst into flames. Stuart spun around as fire leapt from his hands, setting everything aflame.

When done, the nave and all that surrounded it was an inferno. “Say hi to your boss,” Stuart said, picking up his walking stick and slowly moving to the exit. He unlocked the door, tossing the key back into the flames, and walked down the steps, across the road, and to a waiting parked black BMW M3. Stuart opened the door and got into the passenger seat, feeling his energy draining out of him. Magic took a lot of stamina to perform, and he hadn’t all that much to begin with.

“You ready?” Liam asked in his South Carolina accent, with a beaming smile. “The team is all at the border.”

Stuart looked over at the church as the windows began to shatter from the heat. There was no saving the building. “Let’s get this done, then.”

Hellequin Collection 1. Blurb and Cover

Coming Soon.

A collection of novellas and short stories set in the Hellequin universe, including previously released and brand-new work.

Previously Released:

Infamous Reign: During the backdrop at the end of the War of the Roses, Nate investigates the disappearance of the two princes from the Tower of London.

Frozen Rage: What should be an easy few days at the wedding of a werewolf and werelion, brokering peace between the species, becomes more complicated when one of the guests is found murdered. Nate and his friends must figure out who the killer is before more victims are claimed, and a war erupts.

Hunted: Remy Roax, the fox-man who never met a swear word he didn’t like, needs some time away from the wars he and his friends have been fighting. Instead, he’s hunted by a murderous witch, hellbent on discovering how Remy was turned from human into the form he now processes. Remy isn’t one to run from a fight, and he certainly isn’t about to let innocent people get hurt. He might be small, but Remy is about to show those hunting him, that he is most definitely mighty.

In Print for the First Time:

Small Time Vengeance: Discover what happened to Nate just before the opening of Crimes Against Magic, when a group of bandits decide to cross him.

New Stories:

The Beginnings of Fear: When a young Nate and Mordred are tasked with intervening in a dangerous situation between Lancelot and his son Galahad, what seems like a simple matter of Lancelot being a deeply unpleasant man, soon turns into something much darker. Nate must decide just how far he’ll go to stop Lancelot from hurting people he cares about.

Descent into Hell: When Mordred is captured by the Norse Dwarves and accused of the murder of their king, he goes along peacefully, hoping to stop any diplomatic incidents before they start. As the dwarven kingdom burns and the surviving dwarves flee, only the blood elves remain, beginning Mordred’s decades long torment in the custody of his enemies, as they attempt to mold him into their weapon, and turn him loose to kill his friends.

Author Catch-up

My first video in a long time. 

A Whole Lotta Sales.

April is apparently the month when my books are going on sale, so here’s a list of what and where. 

Amazon UK:

3 of the Hellequin books are 99p each (Promise of Wrath, Lies Ripped Open, and Scorched Shadows). 

The King of Avalon is only 99p

Atoned is only 99p

Audible UK:

The Last Raven is in the UK Plus catalogue, so if you’re a member, it’s free to download and listen to. 

Audible USA

Those Who Dwell in Darkness is in a sale on the site. 

I think that’s it, but if I find any more I’ll make sure to update. 

A Deliberate Act of Violence Release

The Assembly book 2 is out. More vampires, more Church, a lot more monsters.

An undead investigator hunts a recently turned vampire with a lust for violence in this dark urban fantasy from the author of the Riftborn series.

The peace between humans and vampires balances on a knife’s edge, ready to descend into murderous chaos at any moment. It’s up to the Assembly to discreetly clean up conflicts and track down criminals before bloodshed becomes a cause for concern. That’s where Miles Watson comes in. As an Arbiter, he has free reign to find, adjudicate against, and punish perpetrators. And he operates just far enough outside the law to make sure those who break it get what’s coming to them.

But even with unlimited scope and centuries of experience, Miles’s latest case has his back against the wall. A series of murders are sweeping through the streets of London, and all evidence points toward a new, young vampire as the perpetrator. The only problem: the vampire in question is also the son of a very powerful businessman backed by the Assembly.

Now Miles must navigate not only the Assembly’s usual red tape but also a twisted web of politics, underground crime, and dangerous alliances to stop the villain before the body count gets too high—or the powers that be catch wind of what he’s up to.

Bestselling author Steve McHugh blends the best of horror with classic detective noir in this unforgettable continuation of the blood-curdling adventure that began with Those Who Dwell in Darkness.

The Assembly Book 2: A Deliberate Act of Violence. Chapter One.

Out on the 25th March (and available to pre-order now), here’s the opening chapter of the 2nd Miles and Church book.

 Chapter One 

Sara Bakos would be the first to admit that she didn’t have the most difficult of lives. She was wealthy, she had an important role in a billion-dollar company, and she enjoyed the power and prestige that came with her role. Including a fifth-floor penthouse flat in Marylebone, situated in the City of Westminster, London. She’d considered living in one of the vampire-controlled boroughs, but she hated the idea of the Assembly having any control over the place she called home. Unfortunately, there was one part of her job that she despised, and recently that one part was becoming a full-time occupation.

She’d been about to feed—a lovely twenty-seven-year-old vintage she’d been looking forward to sampling—when the call had come through. Dom needs help. Dom always needed help. He was basically incapable of doing anything except fucking up and making more work for her.

Sara had told her new plaything to take the night off and had taken the private lift to the underground parking area. Her driver, Philip, was waiting outside of her black and silver Rolls-Royce Ghost wearing a dark grey three-piece suit, with black shoes polished to an almost mirror shine. The suit jacket was designed to cover the holstered gun against his side, and it did a pretty good job. Considering how much she’d paid for the suit, it should have done an excellent job, and she mentally reminded herself to speak to the tailor when she had the time.

“Madam,” Philip said, with a slight smile. He had pale skin and was clean shaven, with short dark hair. A scar ran from above his ear to just shy of his temple, the result of his time in the British armed forces. Sara liked Philip and trusted him not to blab her secrets to anyone who asked. She knew he had a family, a son, a little boy called Peter. She occasionally wondered if Philip knew how much danger they were in just by virtue of who he worked for.

“The King’s Head, Edgware,” Sara said, climbing into the rear of the Rolls-Royce and taking a moment to enjoy the white and orange leather trim interior.

Sara let herself relax a little as they drove, looking out of tinted windows at the still busy streets of the capital of the United Kingdom. Two AM or PM didn’t much matter in London; there were still places you could go, still people out and about. Sara wondered how many were vampires looking for a good time in one of the many vampire-friendly establishments, or out to hunt. Probably fewer of the latter. After she’d become a vampire, she discovered that there was very little need for vampires to actually hunt their meals anymore. She’d been quite disappointed about it at the time but had quickly adjusted, and now she was able to make a phone call and have her drink of choice come to her within a few hours.

“How is Peter, Philip?” Sara asked. “Being a good child?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Philip said, almost bursting with pride.

“Good, I hope that will continue,” Sara said, meaning it. “Do you know Dominik Greger at all?”

“I’ve driven for his father from time to time,” Philip said, his tone utterly neutral.

“Henryk is a hard man,” Sara said. “And, in my experience, hard men either produce hard children, or they try to overcorrect their own upbringing. And then they produce humans like Dominik.”

“You do not like him?” Philip asked, choosing his words carefully.

“I do not,” Sara said with a slight smile. “He is an imbecile. A fact that his father and I agree on. He’s little more than a thug and bully. The kind of man who would start a fight and then hide behind his bigger friends. I detest the little shit. But I owe his father, Henryk, more than I can ever repay, so I do what needs to be done. Even if it means holding my nose and getting on with it.”

“Will you need my assistance?” Philip asked.

“I hope not. Just stay in the car, keep the engine running, and be prepared to leave quickly.”

Philip nodded, his eyes trained on the road ahead.

Sara went back to looking out of the window for the next few minutes until they pulled down a road with a small park opposite an old warehouse. At the end of the road was a pub, the King’s Head. The entrance was illuminated by a streetlight that probably wished for a better standard of clientele. It said Traditional Pub on the side in golden letters, which, considering the state of those letters, Sara took to mean shithole. It looked like the kind of place the police would hear about on the radio and sigh, or pretend they hadn’t heard anything.

“Turn the car around,” Sara said. “Park up opposite the pub. Engine on.”

Philip stopped the car, and Sara stepped out into what was a cool February night. The scent of fresh rain lingered in the air, although it was quickly overwhelmed by something that spoke to a more animalistic part of Sara’s psyche. Blood.

Sara walked to the pub doors, occasionally sniffing the air, until she was close enough that the blood mixed with the contents of the large metal bins that sat along the side of the building. She looked down into the dark alleyway, took a deep breath, and followed the scent, expecting to find whichever unfortunate Dominik had decided looked at him funny.

She hadn’t expected to find Dominik.

He lay up against the cold brick wall, a large rat edging nearer to his blood-drenched fingers. The rat sensed Sara a second too late, and she kicked it hard enough that when it hit the far wall, it made a noise signalling that it wasn’t getting back up. Sara crouched down beside Dominik, who opened his eyes. Even in the darkness, Sara’s vision was able to spot how pale the young man was. His shirt was covered in blood, and one hand rested against his side, which was similarly drenched.

“What happened?” Sara asked, moving Dominik’s hand and peeling back the shirt to show several stab wounds. At least one had been deep enough to cause serious damage. Dominik wasn’t getting back up from this one.

“Will I be okay?” he asked.

“No,” Sara said, seeing little reason to lie to him. “You have been stabbed at least once in the liver. From the smell, they’ve perforated something else you need, too.” She moved his shirt again. More stab wounds. “Someone really did a number on you.”

“Three of them,” he said almost dreamily. “I don’t think they liked me. I don’t want to die here.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten stabbed then, Sara thought, but instead she removed her mobile and called Philip. “Get the tarp and put it over the back seats.”

“I won’t make it,” Dominik said, sounding weaker by the moment. “You know that.”

“Then your body will be taken to your father,” Sara snapped.

“Turn me,” Dominik said.

“Fuck no,” Sara said, staring at the quickly dying Dominik. She stood and punched the wall, removing a chunk of brick from the force of the blow, and cutting open her knuckle in the process.

Vampire blood had revolutionised human medicine. It helped to alleviate pain, it aided in recovery after operations, and it helped make healing quicker. But vampire blood alone couldn’t cure what was done to Dominik, and she reallydidn’t want to do what it would take.

“Fuck,” Sara shouted at no one in particular. She removed the phone from her pocket and called Henryk, who answered on the first ring.

“What happened to my son?” he asked, his Italian accent coming through, coupled with more than a little irritation.

“Dominik is going to die,” Sara said. “He’s asked me to turn him.”

“Do it,” Henryk said without hesitation and hung up.

Sara put the phone away and looked down at Dominik. What would Henryk do if he died? He’d be angry, unbearably so. He’d definitely take it out on those who killed his son. Their deaths would be long and arduous. Would he take it out on the vampire who couldn’t save him? Probably not. He needed her. But that didn’t matter. Sara would know that she had lied to one of the few people she trusted. It had been a trust hard earned over the years working together.

She gingerly picked Dominik up, carrying him in her arms as though he were a child to the waiting car, the rear door open wide so that he could be placed on the tarp-covered back seats.

“Home,” she told Philip, who, true to his professionalism, didn’t ask any questions. She moved into the back of the car and crouched down before the seats. “Fast.”

Sara waited for the sound of the large engine to mask her words, then she whispered to Dominik, “This is going to take a long time, and it will not be fun. You are seriously injured, and to save you from death, you must drink my blood. I must take yours first, but I can’t risk using my vampire side to cause the euphoria you’d normally feel from the bite. Can’t risk you falling asleep, or your heart stopping.”

Dominik blinked twice. “Do it.”

Sara cursed everyone who had gotten her into this position, leaned into Dominik, and let her vampire side out. Her face became sunken, her eyes burning red, her fangs already out as if her body was waiting for what was about to happen. She sighed and sank her fangs into his neck. Dominik let out a little squeal of pain, which turned into a roar of agony, as she drank deeply for several seconds, before moving away, her vampire side now replaced with the more human appearance.

She raised her arm, and with one razor sharp talon, she slit her wrist, nicking the vein, and held it to Dominik’s lips. Blood poured into Dominik’s open mouth, and to his credit, he drank it down without trying to hold on when she pulled away.

“You will live,” Sara said, her hand placed over the wound on her wrist as the bleeding stopped and it began to heal. “But your days as a human are done.”

Philip pulled into the parking lot under Sara’s home, turned off the engine, and sat still in the driver’s seat.

“Do not help me,” Sara said from behind Philip’s ear. “You will wait for me to leave with Dominik, and then you will go home. You will mention nothing about what you saw here today. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Philip said, his eyes straight ahead.

Sara moved closer, her lips touching Philip’s earlobe. “Do not fuck this up, Philip. I like you. I like that you have a family, a wife. Peter … am I clear?”

Philip gulped and nodded once.

Sara opened the Rolls’s door and dragged the tarp and Dominik to the edge of the back seats so she could pick him up once again, this time with the bloody tarp wrapped around him. She carried him to the private lift a few steps away and up to her penthouse, where she placed the weakened man in the second bedroom, making sure the curtains were closed.

“Thank you,” Dominik said.

“I will see you in one day,” Sara said. “For the next ten days, you will slowly become a vampire. If you do what I say, when I say it, everything will be okay. If you do not, it won’t. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Dominik said, now half asleep.

Sara stared at the young man in the bed and for the first time in a long while wondered what was going to happen next. He’d stopped bleeding, which was something, but his wounds would take several days to fully heal.

She closed the door, locked it, walked into the bathroom, and showered as the memories of who had stabbed Dominik flooded her brain. Ten days of having his memories in her head, and of hers in his, made her feel ill. When out of the shower, she poured herself a triple-sized scotch, the make of which she didn’t care enough to check, knocked it back, and poured another. After the second one went down, she called Henryk.

“He alive?” he asked.

“For now,” Sara said. “I’ve done all I can. It will take ten days. If he heals, and does as he’s told, your son will be a vampire. If not … he might still die. It’s possible he does everything right and still dies. Or, worst case scenario, becomes a desolate. And if that happens, he will have to be … dealt with.”

There was a pause for several seconds. “Thank you. I know it will be hard for you. Does anyone else know?”

“My driver,” Sara said. “He’s not a problem. I trust him.”

“If he blabs, it’s on your head,” Henryk said in a tone that left no doubt about the threat that was intended.

“He won’t,” Sara said firmly. “You should know, I saw the three men who attacked your son. His memories are all jumbled up at the moment, so it may take a few more days to get clearer pictures of their faces.”

“We’ll check for CCTV in the area,” Henryk said. “We’ll find them.”

“Don’t do anything until your son is healed,” Sara said. “Vampires need to learn how to hunt.”

Henryk laughed. “If my son survives, your debt is fulfilled.”

It was Sara’s turn to laugh, because they both knew that was never going to happen. Henryk needed her, and she in turn needed to work for someone she admired and trusted, if not always liked.

“Go sleep,” Sara said. “I’ll update you tomorrow.”

Henryk ended the call, and Sara knocked back another drink before walking over to the far side of the room, next to the sliding glass doors that led to a large balcony where she’d started to plant flowers. To cultivate a place for herself. She crouched down and placed a hand on the floorboard between the windows, and pushed slightly on one side. There was a click, and the floorboard popped up, revealing a grey metal safe. She placed the pad of her thumb against the safe and it too clicked open.

Inside was a passport in a name that wasn’t hers, fifty thousand pounds, the same again in dollars, and a phone. She removed the phone and switched it on, waiting for the old Nokia to power up. When done, she scrolled down the only menu on the black and green screen and selected Messages. She typed, We have a potential problem, hit Send to the only number stored in the phone, and waited.

The reply came quickly: Explain.

She did as she was asked and waited for a reply.

This needs to be monitored. Contact me after we know the outcome.

Sara knew that was the end of the conversation. She stared at the last message for several seconds, wondering just how bad things might get. She switched off the phone, replaced it back in the safe, and poured herself another drink.

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The King of Avalon – Chapter One

Out on the 23rd September is the latest Hellequin Universe Novella. It follows on from Horsemen’s War, and is the second part of the epilogue of that tale (the first being Undying).

Here’s the first chapter.

Chapter One

Eight years ago the Realms went to war. Arthur, with the might of Avalon on one side, and the resistance, led by Mordred and his closest allies and friends, on the other. Mordred. The monster who had terrorised the realms for centuries. Who had been betrayed and broken by his own father, and who had tried to murder his closest friends in all the worlds. A man who would be king. The true heir to the throne of Avalon. 

Fortunately, for the people of the realms and Earth, Mordred and his friends were victorious, removing Arthur and his evil from spreading further. Unfortunately, for Mordred, he won. The man who would be king would have honestly rather let someone else have the job. It had taken him a long time to come around to the idea that he was King of Avalon. 

From the start, he’d tried abdicating, threatening his council with the notion of elections. It was pointed out that the people would vote for him anyway. He was beloved by his subjects, beloved by his friends. Mordred wondered if this was some kind of karmic retribution for spending all those centuries with his brain befuddled by his own father—Merlin—who was very much dead now, and for which the world was a better place. 

After eight years, Mordred had gotten a handle on being king. Of waving, of being seen, of trying not to run out to the pub for a swift pint without half of his bodyguard following. He was one of the most powerful sorcerers who had ever lived, and he still had bodyguards. 

“I wonder,” Nate said as he sat next to Mordred on the huge forest-green sofa, and looked over at the two heavily armoured bodyguards stood at the door to Mordred’s private lounge. “Do they not feel sort of superfluous?” 

The lounge consisted of the sofa, a tv large enough to have its own postal code, a pool table, a dart board and, at the far end next to the windows overlooking the realm of Avalon, a bar. The first time Mordred had stepped foot in the room, it had been empty and cold, with marble statues of Arthur everywhere. They hadn’t taken long to break, but it had been a therapeutic exercise. 

Mordred craned his head to look in the direction of the guards. “I have explained that I don’t need constant looking after. Fucking hell, I crashed.”

Nate looked up at the television as Mordred’s digital blue and red car was on fire, tumbling down the road, hitting everything in its path, causing more explosions from the dozens of vehicles it hit. 

“Do you think it’s a little bit like how the lifeguards feel at the Olympic swimming events?” Nate asked, noticing a smile creep across the lips of one of the guards. 

Mordred tossed his video game controller onto the sofa cushion beside him and sighed. 

“Not looking forward to tonight?” Nate asked as his black car appeared on screen. 

Nate was Mordred’s oldest friend. Quite literally.  They’d grown up together over sixteen hundred years ago. When he was barely out of his teenage years, Mordred had been sent to the Norse dwarves by his father, walking right into a manufactured war between them and the blood elves. The latter of whom had won, taken Mordred prisoner, and tortured him for a century, breaking his mind, and making him believe that everyone he loved was his enemy. 

Once he’d escaped, Mordred had spent the better part of a millennium trying to kill Nate at every opportunity. Eventually, Nate had killed Mordred. Or so everyone had thought, but the man was blessed—or cursed, depending on your point of view—with surviving and he’d returned with a clear head and a need to make amends. 

Those amends had taken a long time. Nate had, frankly, good reason not to trust Mordred but eventually their friendship had begun anew. After over a decade of recovered camaraderie, they were closer than ever. 

“You could come,” Mordred said.

Nate laughed, narrowly dodging oncoming digital traffic in the process. “I know it’s an important event, Mordred,” he said without looking over. “That said, I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.” 

Mordred’s laughter was rich and booming. “Yeah, that’s what Selene said when I asked if she’d like to come.”

Nate laughed again. “You tried to go to my wife first? Damn, that’s low.”

“I really don’t want to have to spend my evening on Earth with a bunch of politicians, most of whom are either terrified of me or trying to figure out how to use me for their own ends.”

“Or kill you,” Nate said. “You can’t forget that bit.”

“Yes, thanks, Nate. Much appreciated.”

“Bollocks,” Nate said as his car clipped a tanker then flew through the air, slamming into everything in its path. “Isn’t Remy going with you?” 

“He is,” Mordred said. “His first question was how much alcohol will be there, and his second was will it be free.”

“And?” Nate asked. 

“Lots and yes.”

“Hel will be there too,” Nate said enthusiastically. “You like her.”

“Well, she’s my wife, so yes, I guess I do,” Mordred said. “But seeing how this is her idea, I’m not so sure she likes me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nate said. “You’ve been king a long time now. You’ve done these before.”

“And I am always anxious,” Mordred said. “And not in a cute and silly way, but in a weird am I about to tell people the best way to asphyxiate someone kind of way?” 

Nate put the PlayStation controller on the sofa beside him and turned to his friend. “What?” 

“I met the American President a few years back,” Mordred said. “I spent twenty minutes telling him the best way to asphyxiate someone. He looked… quite ill. So, I moved on to discuss decomposition of the human body. At length.”

Nate laughed so much that he couldn’t breathe. 

Mordred sat in silence as Nate tried to regather his wits. 

“Fucking hell, Mordred,” Nate said through bouts of coughing. 

“I am not good in large gatherings with powerful people,” Mordred said. “I say weird stuff. I spoke to the German Chancellor about Doom and Final Fantasy games for an hour. Doom, Nate. I spoke to one of the most powerful people on Earth about how much I love Doom. How you can tear the heads off the enemies now when they glow. She was… really interested to be honest. I lent her my copy of one of them.”

Nate started laughing again, eventually petering to a stop when his sides hurt.

“You feel better?” Mordred asked as he switched off the PlayStation and TV. 

Nate nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“You want to change your mind and come to this thing with me?” 

“Absolutely not,” Nate reiterated. “I am going home to see my wife and daughter, and spend quality time with them. You are going to do just fine, my old friend.”

Mordred sighed. “Have you met the new President, or Prime Minister for that matter?” 

Nate shook his head. “Not the newest ones, I don’t think. I assume they’re not the same ones, anyway.”

“Well, the President got eaten and Layla killed the imposter who took their place.”

“How is Layla?” Nate asked. 

Mordred considered the question. After the war, she’d gone to university to study politics then had taken a job as an advisor to several legal firms, dealing with disputes involving realms and magical creatures. “Good,” he said. “Still has that big cat of hers with her. She lives in Vancouver, I think. Anyway, since the war, there have been two Presidents, the first one, right after the war was okay.”

“I met her,” Nate said. “Nice lady.”

“She was,” Mordred agreed. “The last one was a dickhead, but he’s gone now. Replaced with some young bloke. Young by political standards, anyway. The Prime Minister of the UK is a lady from Sheffield who I’ve spoken to several times over the last year or so since she took office. I like her.”

“So, there you go, allies already,” Nate said. “I assume you need to get ready.”

There was a knock on the door, which was opened by one of the guards. A three-foot high fox-man entered the room wearing a specially tailored light-grey suit. He carried a gun against each hip. 

“Remy, you can’t wear that,” Mordred said.

“Are you wearing a suit?” Nate asked, more than a little shock in his voice. 

“I can dress nice,” Remy said. 

“Not the suit, the guns,” Mordred said.

“I have to carry a weapon, I’m your bodyguard.”

Mordred sighed. “Seriously, no.”

“Royal guard?” Remy suggested.

“No, Remy,” Mordred said. 

“Badass motherfucker?” Remy asked with a wide grin. 

“Please let him introduce himself like that,” Nate pleaded. 

Remy pointed at Nate. “This man knows what’s up. Thank you.”

“And film it,” Nate said. “I beg you to film it.”

Remy flipped Nate off. 

“No guns, Remy,” Mordred stated again. “Also, you not wearing shoes?” 

“First of all, Your Majesty,” Remy said, followed by the most patronising bow ever performed. “What kind of disrespectful arse wears shoes inside the house. It’s gross. And secondly, I have paws, not feet. I’m not putting shoes on these magnificent bastards.”

Mordred and Nate stared at Remy for a moment, before Mordred said, “Every day I learn a little more about you.”

“And you’re in awe?” Remy asked. 

“Sure,” Mordred said with a nod. “Let’s go with awe.”

Remy smiled again and leapt onto the sofa next to Nate. “So, who else is coming to this little shindig?” 

“Zamek will be there,” Mordred said. “The dwarves are in the process of agreeing to shipping rights to several precious metals.”

“Precious you say?” Remy asked, looking between Nate and Mordred as he winked knowingly.

Nate turned to hide his smile. 

“At least do the voice,” Mordred said. 

“It sounds weird coming out of my mouth,” Remy said, poking Nate. “He found it funny.”

“Nate’s a simpleton,” Mordred said, which broke Nate completely forcing him to put his face in a pillow to stifle the laughter. “Mac and Ellie will be there.”

Nate sat up. “Seriously, I haven’t seen them in years. How are they?” 

“Good, last I heard,” Mordred said. “Since Hera died and the rebellion was no longer needed, the pair started working for a nonprofit organisation that helps those displaced by the war. Last I heard, they were in one of the realms.”

Manannán mac Lir, or Mac, as he liked to be known, was a water elemental. His father had calmed the seas between the British mainland and Avalon Island, halfway between Britain and Ireland, before his murder by Avalon. Ellie was a werewolf who had once been a part of one of the most powerful packs in the United Kingdom. Mac and Ellie had been a couple for a long time before the war started, and had found themselves helping the rebellion in London when Hera had decided to start killing off her enemies. 

“You’ll have to give them my best,” Nate said. “So, at least there are people there you know and like. Isn’t this being held in some new museum?” 

“Next to The Aeneid,” Mordred said. “Apparently, it’s had some renovations since you partially wrecked it.”

Nate sat up straight. “They repurposed that place?” 

Mordred nodded. “You haven’t heard?”

“Haven’t kept up with the latest news from London. Last time I was there, I watched Hope and Pestilence die, and it was only with a lot of help we stopped Hera from using Pestilence’s venom as a weapon. It wasn’t a fun trip.”

“Well, the British Government use it as a hub for human/non-human relations,” Mordred said. “A lot of people work there to help humans who want to explore the realms. They’ve done good work to repair the parts of London that were destroyed, like the Millennium Bridge. You remember that? When we crashed a dragon into it?” 

“Good times,” Remy said.

Nate looked at his friend. “We have wildly different versions of what a good time is.” 

“Anyway,” Mordred continued, “they’ve built a museum that sits alongside The Aeneid. A walkway stretches between the two. That’s where tonight’s event will be held. I think it’s called a gala. Did you donate anything?”

Nate nodded. “I got asked to donate some things to it. Gave them a few bits I thought might be interesting. Felt like the right thing to do.”

“A museum commemorating those lost in the war,” Mordred said wistfully. “There’s a wall there with the names of so many people, Nate. I know it was nearly a decade ago now, but it still feels raw for so many. Me included.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Me three,” Remy said, his tone now serious.

“So, what did you hand over to them?” Mordred asked, not wanting the conversation to remain in the past. 

“My rune-scribed armour,” Nate said. “Don’t really have much use for it these days. Not fighting against evil empires at the moment. You give them anything, Remy?”

Remy nodded. “Found a Valkyrie spear during the final battle in Washington DC. Thought it looked pretty cool, but people should know about who helped.”

“Galahad’s sword,” Mordred said. 

Nate and Remy looked over at their friend. 

“Ah, is that why I’m here?” Nate asked. “So you can tell me without having to actually just tell me?”

Mordred shook his head. “No, I wanted to spend some time with you. We don’t get to do this much anymore. But I also wanted to tell you I gave them his sword. I want people to know what he did, Nate. I need people to know he was a hero. That he died a hero.”

“We all know that,” Remy said. “I promise you.”

“I know,” Mordred said with a slight smile. “But now everyone will know.”

Nate nodded his understanding. “You did a good thing, Mordred.”

“I also gave them some armour, and a few other things,” Mordred said. “I think a lot of people gave them stuff.”

“Any chance someone gave them something they really shouldn’t have?” Remy asked. “We came across a lot of exceptionally bad things during the war.”

Mordred shrugged after a moment’s thought. “I bloody well hope not. I’ll check tonight, but they don’t have anything of Arthur’s nor of my father’s. Too dangerous, even with them both dead. No one wants to give people a place to go worship a bunch of psychopaths. Besides, we don’t have everyone who helped Arthur. There are still those out there who think they’re just biding their time, waiting for his return. Or something.”

“Any chance of trouble?” Remy asked with a little more glint in his eye than Mordred was probably comfortable with.

“I doubt it,’ Mordred said. “There will be guards and the like, but we’re not expecting any trouble. No Sun Elves since that business last year, and you haven’t found anything in my father’s old, locked doors?”

The final question was to Nate, who had started his attempts to break into the locked rooms Merlin had kept under the place. A hundred and nineteen locked doors in total, and when Mordred had offered Nate the job of discovering what Merlin had kept secret, there had been three doors unlocked. A year later, there were five, and all were empty.

“Your father was not someone who liked to make life easy for others,” Nate said. “I started door six last week. There are sixteen locks on it, fourteen of them are magic-based, and two of them have enough magical energy to blow up anyone stupid enough to try to unlock it. It’s not going to be a fast job.”

“I know,” Mordred said with a sigh. “But at least no one has tried to kill me for a while.”

“Why would you say that?” Remy asked. “Now someone is going to try to kill you.”

“Why?” Mordred asked. 

“No, he’s right,” Nate said. “You’ve just totally cursed yourself there.”

“Seriously, Mordred,” Remy said with a mocking shake of his head. “You’ve lived a long life, and you’re just inviting trouble.”

Mordred waved away Remy’s mocking. “You know I’m a king,” he said. “I could have you arrested for mocking me.”

Remy laughed. 

“You want to see how that works out?” Nate asked. “Pretty sure that with enough effort, this castle is flammable.”

“A valid point,” Mordred said. “I don’t want to have to rebuild.”

“Besides, you need us,” Remy said. “We keep you level-headed, make sure being a king doesn’t, you know, get to you. Make you think you’re more important than us.”

“I’m a king,” Mordred said.

Remy shrugged. “So?” 

Mordred opened his mouth to say something, but Nate interrupted, “No, no, he’s got a point.”

Mordred’s eyes’ narrowed before a grin spread across his lips. “It’s a good thing I like you both.”

“You know, I think we should all get a go at being king,” Remy said.

“Absolutely not,” Nate replied instantly. 

“Why not?” Remy asked as his friends stared at him in silence. “Yeah, valid point.”

Nate got to his feet and stretched. “So, I’m going home. If you need me, you know how to get hold of me. Otherwise, have a good evening, and Remy? Don’t stab anyone.”

“Why me?” Remy asked, with feigned indignation. 

“And you,” Nate said to Mordred as he hugged his friend. “Have fun.”

“Enjoy your family time,” Mordred said. “I will see you soon.”

When Nate left the room, Mordred looked over at Remy. “You think you can keep yourself occupied while I get ready?” 

Remy picked up a PlayStation controller and turned the console on. “Somehow, I will manage,” Remy said with a smile. 

Mordred left the lounge, his two bodyguards following him through the palace to his private quarters, although they thankfully stayed outside as he entered. 

The rooms beyond were about as close to a hideaway as it was possible to get in the castle. There was a living area with a couch large enough to fit ten people, and multiple pieces of furniture carved from the dark woods that sat at the rear of the estate. Like most of the castle, the floor was grey stone adorned with several colourful rugs, which meant that in the cold months, Mordred had to jump from rug to rug. He hummed the Mario Bros. theme every time. 

Hel walked out of a side room that held ‘his’ and ‘hers’ walk-in closets. Multiple silver and golden earrings hung from each ear, and Hel’s rainbow-coloured hair cascaded over bare, elegant shoulders. She looked to be about thirty, although was closer to two thousand years old, certainly older than Mordred. Her forest-green dress hugged her figure, and shimmied a little when she walked. 

“Do you plan on staring all night?” Hel asked Mordred with a sly smile. 

“Yes,” Mordred said, crossing the room to his wife, and kissing her softly. “You know, we could just stay here forever.”

Hel slid her arms around Mordred’s neck and kissed him for a second time. “You think that’s a good way to spend the evening?” 

“I think that’s an excellent way to spend every evening.” 

Hel lent closer and whispered, “Well, once we’re done tonight, maybe you and I could come back here, and I can show you what I have on under this dress?”

Mordred smiled. “And what would that be?” 

Hel whispered into Mordred’s ear. “Not a lot.”

Mordred exhaled softly but before he could say anything, Hel slapped him on the butt. “Get dressed. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Mordred kissed his wife again and sighed. The things he did for love. 

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Book List

Full list of all my books (Updated Aug 2024).

Hellequin Universe:

No Gods, Only Monsters*

Crimes Against Magic

Born of Hatred

Infamous Reign

With Silent Screams

Prison of Hope

Lies Ripped Open

Promise of Wrath

Frozen Rage

A Glimmer of Hope

Scorched Shadows

Hunted

A Flicker of Steel

A Thunder of War

Sorcery Reborn

Death Unleashed

Horsemen’s War

Undying

The King of Avalon

*set hundreds of years before Nate is even born.

Riftborn:

The Last Raven

Blessed Odds

A Talon’s Wrath

A Promise of Vipers

A Murder of Crows

The Assembly (Vampires):

Those Who Dwell in Darkness

A Deliberate Act of Violence.

BOOK 3

Union Empire Universe:

Blackcoat

Atoned

New Book Release

As of today, Riftborn Book 4, Promise of Vipers is available for purchase on Kindle, Paper, and audio editions. Enjoy.

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