REBORN
BRAND NEW VERSION RELEASED 6/8/20!
In this new, robust version, for those wanting to get a feel for the struggle of Solomon Brandt as a split-soul--one half noble, and the other as evil as anyone can imagine--here is the sample that I am including at the end of a few of my existing books. As such, it is just a glimpse, and there is so much more to this story than can be included in just a short section. But, it's a start. :-)
***Purchase links for the Kindle and Paperback versions are listed after the sample. :-) Aiden
REBORN
The Serendipitous Curse, Book One
(Please read on for a sample)
Comfort embraced my healing body as I lay naked on top of the covers on my new bed. Above me, the ceiling fan whirled, invisibly pulling in cooler air and blowing it across my skin, making the balmy night tolerable.
Almost immediately, Desiree's image soared into my brain, replacing the fan, fueling a new blaze in the pit of my stomach. Her lush green eyes, framed in swooping black lashes, stared down at me. She blinked in slow motion, unveiling pink, shimmery lids, a smile stretching slowly across her face. She reached out a slender hand to me, and as the tips of my fingers grazed hers, a large, white hand curled around her throat. Fear crawled over my skin, dousing the flame. I grabbed for her, but the mysterious hand hauled her away from my grasp, and out of my sight.
My image replaced hers, or someone who looked a lot like me. Though there were differences. I stood in front of an ornately framed hall mirror, proud, my hard chest puffed out under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a feeling of immense power coursing through me. Strength swelled veins, running the length of muscles in my arms. A thick moustache curled down the corners of my sinister grin. Dark blue eyes, identical to mine, exuding diabolic hatred, stared back at me.
The scene changed. Like a spirit, I floated upward, into the high ceiling, hovering like a cloud over the likeness of me. From above, I watched with unease as the massive, more powerful me picked up a bullwhip from a mahogany hall table and burst past a screened door.
My spirit followed outside, hovering in the air, apparently invisible.
An assembly of dark-skinned people gathered in front of a house… a familiar grand plantation home. They wore scraps for clothing, and most walked with bare feet. Agony and despair lined their faces, clawing at my heart and soul. A small group of white-skinned people burst through the assemblage. The tallest member, dressed in middle-class wear, dragged a slave boy across the lawn until he reached the place where my likeness stood, throwing the boy at his feet. The tall man held his head high and spoke. "Sir, the boy hid in the shade while the others picked cotton."
I wanted no part of the scene I knew was about to unfold, but I was powerless to look away. So, I watched in horror as my likeness cracked the whip in the air. The boy shrieked in fear, and the circle of slaves staggered backward. The Master cracked the whip again, hitting his mark, and once more. I couldn’t escape the sound of flesh ripping and the scent of blood as it spattered over the crowd.
A small, older woman stepped out of the circle and said tentatively, "Please, Sir, the boy is sick with the fever. He came to the fields and helped all he could… Please spare the boy. Please… " She bowed, hiding her tear-streaked face.
I willed myself to move, to grab the boy and escape with him, to end this nightmare. But I had no body, and no eyes to close. In my spirit form, I watched in deepening remorse as Solomon, the plantation owner, the slave owning terrorizer, erupted into a fury of rage. He threw the whip to the ground and grabbed the trembling boy by the throat, lifting him to his eye level. A wail tore through the grouping of slaves. The evil Solomon squeezed the boy's neck until his bulging eyes turned lifeless, and his kicking ceased.
Veins bulged over muscle down the murderer’s neck as rage tore through his lips. He raised his other fist in the air. The slaves scattered and fled.
But for me, the nightmare had just begun.
The man, still holding the boy's lifeless body, twisted his neck and looked up toward where I hovered in a deepening rage of my own. But my anger gave way to fear that clutched at my very soul, as the evil master of this plantation held me prisoner with his familiar cobalt glare. A deep, wicked laugh erupted from his throat.
"Don't stress over the boy, Solomon." He tossed the body to the ground. "Instilling the fear of their master—of you—in the wretches, is the only way to ensure productivity."
I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. Bile welled in my throat. I went through the motions of swallowing, feeling my tongue moisten with the sour liquid.
"I-I'm not you." My voice was just a whisper, but my courage gained strength, and I mustered a roar. "Damn it, I'm not you!"
But somehow, from the depths of my wrenching gut, I knew this vile creature was indeed me, or had at least once been me. And in that sickening moment, I knew a lot more than I had known before. Yet, I still knew so little. What kind of a monster am I?
Another wicked laugh erupted from the evil image of myself.
"You understand now, don’t you, Solomon?" he said. "You feel the power coursing through our veins, and you crave more of it. Soon, you will see that you must thrive on it."
"No!" I screamed. "I am not and never will be, YOU!"
The nightmarish scene faded, but the evil laugh lingered until it finally waned. A bang sounded inside my head, and I awoke with a start.
Except for the low whoosh of the ceiling fan, silence reigned. With a widened gaze and a rapid rise and fall to my chest, I stared at the dimmed light in the center of the fan, too afraid to move, trying to calm my accelerated heartbeat. With hands powerless against the evil me, I gripped the bed coverings. That monstrous beast of a man couldn’t have been me. But I had felt the power, and also the despair of the people.
Moisture pooled at the corners of my eyes for the murdered boy. My heart ached for him… for his people.
"It was a dream," I whispered to myself. "Just a dream."
I unclenched a trembling hand and ran my fingers through hair soaked with sweat, hair shorter than the evil Solomon's in the dream. But those eyes—they were undeniably mine. My thoughts wandered back to the plantation, to the yard. Six Corinthian columns supported the vast portico. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the mansion, and the emerald green lawn, split in front by the long oak-lined drive—these were all achingly familiar to me. Not like a dream, but real. I'd been there long ago—I was sure of it.
My head ached with the implanted image of the work-worn faces of the tortured innocent people from the dream. When my breathing calmed, I peeled my back off the soaked bedding and got up. Dawn was still hours away, but as tired as I was, I didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of another nightmare.
Cool tap water felt good on my face. I splashed it again, watching the liquid drip off into the sink. His face was more chiseled, rougher than mine… and he was taller, his body broader. But those eyes…
To purchase your copy of Reborn: The Serendipitous Curse, please click on the Kindle or Paperback links below:
Kindle US: https://amzn.to/2MWmBfQ
Kindle UK: https://amzn.to/3d1QZ2Q
Kindle Canada: https://amzn.to/3dYCkXK
Paperback: https://amzn.to/37A8Xso
In this new, robust version, for those wanting to get a feel for the struggle of Solomon Brandt as a split-soul--one half noble, and the other as evil as anyone can imagine--here is the sample that I am including at the end of a few of my existing books. As such, it is just a glimpse, and there is so much more to this story than can be included in just a short section. But, it's a start. :-)
***Purchase links for the Kindle and Paperback versions are listed after the sample. :-) Aiden
REBORN
The Serendipitous Curse, Book One
(Please read on for a sample)
Comfort embraced my healing body as I lay naked on top of the covers on my new bed. Above me, the ceiling fan whirled, invisibly pulling in cooler air and blowing it across my skin, making the balmy night tolerable.
Almost immediately, Desiree's image soared into my brain, replacing the fan, fueling a new blaze in the pit of my stomach. Her lush green eyes, framed in swooping black lashes, stared down at me. She blinked in slow motion, unveiling pink, shimmery lids, a smile stretching slowly across her face. She reached out a slender hand to me, and as the tips of my fingers grazed hers, a large, white hand curled around her throat. Fear crawled over my skin, dousing the flame. I grabbed for her, but the mysterious hand hauled her away from my grasp, and out of my sight.
My image replaced hers, or someone who looked a lot like me. Though there were differences. I stood in front of an ornately framed hall mirror, proud, my hard chest puffed out under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a feeling of immense power coursing through me. Strength swelled veins, running the length of muscles in my arms. A thick moustache curled down the corners of my sinister grin. Dark blue eyes, identical to mine, exuding diabolic hatred, stared back at me.
The scene changed. Like a spirit, I floated upward, into the high ceiling, hovering like a cloud over the likeness of me. From above, I watched with unease as the massive, more powerful me picked up a bullwhip from a mahogany hall table and burst past a screened door.
My spirit followed outside, hovering in the air, apparently invisible.
An assembly of dark-skinned people gathered in front of a house… a familiar grand plantation home. They wore scraps for clothing, and most walked with bare feet. Agony and despair lined their faces, clawing at my heart and soul. A small group of white-skinned people burst through the assemblage. The tallest member, dressed in middle-class wear, dragged a slave boy across the lawn until he reached the place where my likeness stood, throwing the boy at his feet. The tall man held his head high and spoke. "Sir, the boy hid in the shade while the others picked cotton."
I wanted no part of the scene I knew was about to unfold, but I was powerless to look away. So, I watched in horror as my likeness cracked the whip in the air. The boy shrieked in fear, and the circle of slaves staggered backward. The Master cracked the whip again, hitting his mark, and once more. I couldn’t escape the sound of flesh ripping and the scent of blood as it spattered over the crowd.
A small, older woman stepped out of the circle and said tentatively, "Please, Sir, the boy is sick with the fever. He came to the fields and helped all he could… Please spare the boy. Please… " She bowed, hiding her tear-streaked face.
I willed myself to move, to grab the boy and escape with him, to end this nightmare. But I had no body, and no eyes to close. In my spirit form, I watched in deepening remorse as Solomon, the plantation owner, the slave owning terrorizer, erupted into a fury of rage. He threw the whip to the ground and grabbed the trembling boy by the throat, lifting him to his eye level. A wail tore through the grouping of slaves. The evil Solomon squeezed the boy's neck until his bulging eyes turned lifeless, and his kicking ceased.
Veins bulged over muscle down the murderer’s neck as rage tore through his lips. He raised his other fist in the air. The slaves scattered and fled.
But for me, the nightmare had just begun.
The man, still holding the boy's lifeless body, twisted his neck and looked up toward where I hovered in a deepening rage of my own. But my anger gave way to fear that clutched at my very soul, as the evil master of this plantation held me prisoner with his familiar cobalt glare. A deep, wicked laugh erupted from his throat.
"Don't stress over the boy, Solomon." He tossed the body to the ground. "Instilling the fear of their master—of you—in the wretches, is the only way to ensure productivity."
I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. Bile welled in my throat. I went through the motions of swallowing, feeling my tongue moisten with the sour liquid.
"I-I'm not you." My voice was just a whisper, but my courage gained strength, and I mustered a roar. "Damn it, I'm not you!"
But somehow, from the depths of my wrenching gut, I knew this vile creature was indeed me, or had at least once been me. And in that sickening moment, I knew a lot more than I had known before. Yet, I still knew so little. What kind of a monster am I?
Another wicked laugh erupted from the evil image of myself.
"You understand now, don’t you, Solomon?" he said. "You feel the power coursing through our veins, and you crave more of it. Soon, you will see that you must thrive on it."
"No!" I screamed. "I am not and never will be, YOU!"
The nightmarish scene faded, but the evil laugh lingered until it finally waned. A bang sounded inside my head, and I awoke with a start.
Except for the low whoosh of the ceiling fan, silence reigned. With a widened gaze and a rapid rise and fall to my chest, I stared at the dimmed light in the center of the fan, too afraid to move, trying to calm my accelerated heartbeat. With hands powerless against the evil me, I gripped the bed coverings. That monstrous beast of a man couldn’t have been me. But I had felt the power, and also the despair of the people.
Moisture pooled at the corners of my eyes for the murdered boy. My heart ached for him… for his people.
"It was a dream," I whispered to myself. "Just a dream."
I unclenched a trembling hand and ran my fingers through hair soaked with sweat, hair shorter than the evil Solomon's in the dream. But those eyes—they were undeniably mine. My thoughts wandered back to the plantation, to the yard. Six Corinthian columns supported the vast portico. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the mansion, and the emerald green lawn, split in front by the long oak-lined drive—these were all achingly familiar to me. Not like a dream, but real. I'd been there long ago—I was sure of it.
My head ached with the implanted image of the work-worn faces of the tortured innocent people from the dream. When my breathing calmed, I peeled my back off the soaked bedding and got up. Dawn was still hours away, but as tired as I was, I didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of another nightmare.
Cool tap water felt good on my face. I splashed it again, watching the liquid drip off into the sink. His face was more chiseled, rougher than mine… and he was taller, his body broader. But those eyes…
To purchase your copy of Reborn: The Serendipitous Curse, please click on the Kindle or Paperback links below:
Kindle US: https://amzn.to/2MWmBfQ
Kindle UK: https://amzn.to/3d1QZ2Q
Kindle Canada: https://amzn.to/3dYCkXK
Paperback: https://amzn.to/37A8Xso
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