Snippet 2 – Revolution!
Revolution
The Rise of Magic, Book Four, Snippet 2
Hey, everyone,
Chris here, and I’m sitting in an AirBnB in Calgary, Alberta. Mrs. Raymond and I have been up here speaking at a conference related to our day jobs, and with three lectures and a shit-ton of conversations behind us, we’re ready for a little R&R.
We’ve never been to Calgary before, and it is a cool city.
I used to walk around cities just taking it all in. Since I’ve been writing fiction for a few years, I see new places differently. I wonder how a character might see it, how they might move in the street, what kind of trouble they could get in down that dark alley!
It’s been a fun trip, but I’m also REALLY looking forward to book 4 landing. I’d say this is like nothing we’ve done before. It has a different design and rhythm… what’s the same though? Revolution is a hell of a lot of fun!
So, here’s another snippet to hold you over until the release, which is coming REALLY soon.
Cheers,
CM
Revolution: Snippet 2
[Unedited]
Chapter 1
Heavy rain fell across the old glass windows, waking Hannah from her already restless slumber. Shooting up in her bed, her mind swam with images from her dream—or rather her nightmare. It had been the same every night for a week. The airship hovered over the Boulevard, bringing down hellfire on the place she had once called home. Standing helplessly on a hill overlooking the city, she watched her people die.
Body covered in cold sweat, she had to remind herself, like each day before, that the dream had really happened—although most of her people escaped. But that didn’t stop her from reliving it each night—a bitter memory that haunted her.
Throwing her legs over the side of her bed, she looked down at Sal still happily snoring on the floor beside her. The dragon was nearly as long as the bed and weighed twice as much. Despite his size, he had more room here in the tower—although he spent a good deal of time stretching his wings outside. There was no longer any reason for him to hide who he was.
She got up and paced across the room. It was the same that she had occupied when she and Ezekiel had lived there before not even a year ago. Those months felt like a different lifetime. Unlike before, the room was no longer her own. Two other beds lined the walls, but they were empty and made up with blankets pulled tight. Julianne and Amelia were already gone—as they were every morning. Their diligence in leading the tower filled with Arcadian rebels was inspiring, but Hannah needed her rest. Parts of her body still ached from her fight against Alexandra in the factory.
Pulling on her white, mended shirt and leather corset, she was pleased to feel a little bit more like the girl from the Boulevard. Too many days were spent masquerading as Deborah, the proper noblewoman, and she was glad to be Hannah once again. Of all the things that died that night, Hannah was glad that Deborah was one of them.
“Come on, you lug. Get up,” she called to Sal.
The dragon lay motionless, save his steady breathing. He opened one eye, saw Hannah standing over him, and then closed it quickly.
She couldn’t help but laugh and give him a little kick to the ribs. “I know you’re awake. Now, get your lazy ass up. Let’s go find some food.”
At the mention of breakfast, the dragon hopped up onto all fours and beat Hannah to the door. He sat, his enormous tail swiping back and forth while his eyes stayed on his master.
“You need to get control of that thing,” she said, pointing at his long meaty tail with its barbed end. “Gonna freaking kill someone with it if you’re not careful.”
Sal rubbed his head against her leg. Reaching down, Hannah gave him a scratch under the chin. “Good things today, Sal. It’s time to start planning the revolution.”
****
Hannah and Sal walked the long corridor toward the Great Hall, which had been arranged as an enormous gathering place. The tower was already buzzing with life, and people tripped over themselves to get out of the way of the girl and her dragon.
In all, nearly two hundred Arcadians had fled the city the night the Boulevard burned. Parker and Julianne lead them to their new home in the woods. While the majority of the community were people from the Boulevard, there were certainly middle-class folks—largely business owners from the market—and a few dozen nobles mixed in as well.
Over that first week, the new community spent their hours getting acquainted with each other, and healing from the shock of Adrien’s violence. Many had taken part in the melee on the streets of Queen’s Boulevard, and more than a few came to the tower with a significant injury. The refugees now filled the once abandoned tower almost to the breaking point.
Ezekiel had told her the building was once called a skyscraper, and though there were only eight floors remaining, she could imagine it reaching up into the heavens in the days before the Age of Madness—before the old world came to an end. Some of the rooms were being used for planning and training, but most—including the ones that Ezekiel had trained Hannah in—had been converted into bunkhouses. A small group of carpenters was working around the clock, hammering together makeshift beds, and working to accommodate the people.
Everyone had a gift, and all would be used before too long.
Sal curled up under a table that had become their normal spot during meal times as Hannah got in line to get food. She glanced back at the dragon and smiled. If Sal kept growing, he’d have to become a better hunter. The rations that Eleanor, Maddie, and the others had saved from the city were quickly dwindling, and soon, eyes would turn to the gentle dragon for meat. Hannah would die before Sal became steaks.
A gruff voice ahead in the line interrupted her meanderings about Sal’s culinary use. “Dammit, you can’t just cut into line like that. Get to the end like everybody else.”
The man raising his voice had a harsh face to match his tone. The object of his ire was a nobleman, a few inches shorter and half as wide.
Face turning red, the nobleman raised his hands in defense. “No, no. I was here. Just had to see to my wife for a second, she’s not well.”
“Here? You were here? I sure as shit didn’t see you here. How about you—” the man nodded to another new resident of the tower “—you see this tight ass nobleman in line right there?”
The third party turned away from the disagreement, trying his best to stay out of trouble.
“Shit,” the gruff man said. “Just get to the end of the line.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? I’m sure you’re used to barking like a dog in the streets, but I deserve some bloody respect, you bastard.”
Hannah scanned the room, looking for her friends. None of them were there. She left the line and approached the men. “Cool it.” Turning from the nobleman to the man from the Boulevard, she said, “Who cares who was here first? There’s enough food for us all.”
The gruff man spun to face Hannah. “The hell there is. Can’t be much of anything left, but I’ll be damned if I let some prick from the Quarter eat while I starve. And who the hell are you, thinking you can tell me anything about anything?”
A tiny smile spread across Hannah’s face. Naturally, she thought everyone in the tower knew exactly who she was: Hannah from the Boulevard—the Witch Bitch that saved them all from their misery under the thumb of Adrien the Dickweed. But it seemed like this man needed a lesson.
The man looked at Hannah and then back at the noble. “She belong to you?”
In silence, the noble looked at his feet.
“Scheisse, I’ll tell you who she is,” a deep, gravelly voice said. “That’s Hannah, the one that saved your pathetic, ungrateful ass from being fried like a pork chop. So, ye better start respectin’ her.”
Hannah and the man both spun to see Karl, the rearick, standing with his war hammer resting on his shoulder.
“But if ya have a problem with that, ya little twat, we could step outside and straighten it out, if ya like,” Karl snorted, looking up at the man.
The man’s eyes cut back to Hannah. “You’re… her?” he stammered.
“In the flesh and blood,” Hannah said with a grin.
His lip trembled, and he looked back at the rearick’s hammer. “Shit… I’m so…”
Hannah held up a hand. “Listen. The tower’s getting tight these days. Go get your food and cool off.”
The man nodded.
“But give any more shit to anyone, and I’ll introduce you to my dragon.” She nodded over to Sal and watched the man’s face freeze. “Understand?”
He nodded, but his eyes were cast downward.
“Good,” she smiled. “We’re all in this together. Things are getting tough; they’ll only get tougher. If we start tearing each other to shreds, that bastard back in our home has already won.”
The man turned back in the line and tried to pretend nothing had happened.
“Thanks,” Hannah whispered to Karl.
“Just another boar I saved ya from, lass. Now, let’s get our grub and have a seat!”
With their plates half as full as they should have been, Hannah and Karl made their way to a table in the corner of the great room where Sal had already taken up residence under the table. Hannah kicked her feet up on her beast and took in the room. The first few days after the victory, people were alive with the rush of winning the day, but that energy had faded. They had begun to fear their decision to follow the magician and her crew out to the tower.
Even some of the folk from the Boulevard grumbled, “Why have you led us out of Arcadia? Life was better there.”
She knew that was a lie. She knew that they had already forgotten the taste of Adrien’s oppression. And she knew that they would need to eat and train if they were going to take back the city.
Eleanor sat across from them, with her own sparse bit of food. She stared at it for a moment in a prayer of gratitude to the Matriarch and the Patriarch. She finally looked up at Karl and Hannah, smiled, and stabbed one of her few cubes of potatoes with her fork. As the one assigned to rations, Eleanor had taken it upon herself to eat less than anyone else. It was a job Hannah did not envy, but she knew Eleanor was up to the task.
“People are getting restless,” the rearick said as if he had been reading Hannah’s mind. “I’ve seen it before. If we don’t get them moving, and soon, they’ll start turning on each other. Hell, they’ll turn on us.”
Hannah nodded. “You’re right about that. Saw a little glimpse of the future with those jagoffs in line. What do you have in mind?”
Karl snorted. “Simple. They’re supposed to be a damned army, right? Time we start treating ‘em like one. Set ‘em to training. Set their eyes on kicking ass and getting home, and they’ll forget their empty bellies. Make discipline their food, and victory their only hope.”
Eleanor looked up from her plate, which was nearly empty. “I didn’t know you were a poet, Karl, and a bad one at that. You can’t build an army without food. Our people from the Boulevard know hunger, but it can only go so far. With winter still upon us, there’s precious little to forage in the woods. These people had little to begin with, and what they managed to carry with them has already been burned through. If everyone keeps eating like you,” she said, eyeing Hannah’s almost empty plate, “we won’t last the week.”
A loud thump grabbed their attention. Hannah turned to find Parker with a slanted grin on his face, standing over an enormous boar with its throat sliced open. “Ask, and you shall receive, Mother.”
Hannah’s eyes smiled at her best friend. “Not bad for a petty thief from the Boulevard. How’d you manage that?”
Grabbing a mysterious piece of meat from Hannah’s plate, Parker popped it in his mouth. “You see, Hannah, when a man has his back against the wall, and the people he loves are in need, the primitive hunter in him emerges, and he does whatever he has to do for the sake of those he loves. We need food; I brought back food.”
Hannah looked from the boar to Parker and back. She rolled her eyes. “So, in other words, you took some experienced hunters into the woods?”
Parker flushed. “If you want to put it that way… Yeah.”
Hannah and her friends laughed. “Well, you just do whatever you have to do to keep food on the table. And we will call you man all you like.”
Eleanor gave her son a kiss, then looked disgustingly at the boar. “I don’t care what you call yourself, sweetie, just get this filthy thing off the table. Maybe you could find some experienced butchers to help you clean your kill.”
Parker picked the boar back up and followed his mom out of the dining room. Hannah shook her head, then glanced over the room. Eleanor was right; this lot was no army. But they were the only army Hannah had.
“I think you’re right, Karl. I’ll try and figure out our food situation, but do you think you could teach this group to fight?”
Karl nodded grimly. “Aye, I’m done underestimating you Arcadians. You’re all thieves and drunks and gluttons, but I’ll turn your people into killers quick enough.”
Hannah smiled. Ready or not, she knew they’d all be doing a fair amount of killing before long. Either that or they’d be dying.
To follow CM Raymond and Lee Barbant and to find out about their other books: http://www.smokeandsteel.com
Sevanouir – Rebirth. Announcing a New Indie Author…
From the Author Notes of Nomad Avenged…
When I wrote Death Becomes Her which is the book that started the whole Kurtherian Gambit Universe that we all write in now, it was in part because it was a bucket list item.
You know, “Write a Book!” kind of bucket list item?
The slightly bigger part of the kick in my pants to make it happen, however, was a little more primitive. It was a father’s need to help one of his children. Parenting, if you are a parent, but no kids are out of the house yet, doesn’t stop at eighteen.
Dammit.
I have to admit that wasn’t what I believed as the first of three sons were growing up. I thought “Eighteen and they go off into the world” which (if my memory serves me mostly intact) was what I thought I had accomplished as a kid.
I believe my father might, just might, have a slightly different tale.
So, the second part of my starting to write was ‘I need to do this to be able to explain, with confidence, to my oldest son’ sort of thing (D’artagnan Anderle – Pen’ish name). His personality is a bit different than mine, and he is a whole lot younger than I am (25 years or so younger). I figured that I could write a few books, work out the kinks, and then let him know the parts he was missing and off he would go.
That really didn’t work. I was (perhaps) wanting his success for different reasons than he might want the success.
In fact, being brutally honest now, I know it.
When I first encouraged him to write a book, it was a no go.
It was “not something he wanted to do.”
That was a let down for me. I’ve shared this part of the story in previous author notes. I had to come to terms with the full circle of life not happening and that he just didn’t want to write, whether he had the talent or not.
Then, we spoke again a couple of months later on the subject.
During this conversation, we discussed it wasn’t that he didn’t want to write, but rather he didn’t know what to write about. A definitive story that was him. (For those who don’t know, neither D’artagnan nor Joey write like I write. Their personal voice isn’t the same and often my suggestions get either one of them to look at me like sons and daughters have looked at parents for millenia… “are you kidding me, Dad?”)
So, D’artagnan gave me two different story beginnings and I provided feedback. Fast forward four months as he worked, deleted, wrote, erased all to figure himself out as much as any early author has to in life. Meaning, who am I as a creator? What makes me tick, something I’m interested in writing about?
A couple of months ago, the Author’s Wife (AKA Mom) and I went down to see him in the Houston area. He and I hung out for an afternoon and discussed the story ideas which he had been working on.
We discussed how he had started down the path of writing those other stories, how he had crashed and burned, and what it took for him to really bring out of himself the plot, the characters and the malefics that kept his imagination working in overdrive. Further, we discussed the specifics of how writing a book works, what it takes to get it edited, covers, and a whole lot more.
By then, I had learned that I couldn’t push authors. If he was going to do this, it had to be on his own.
This knowledge had not come from working with D’artagnan, but from the many other authors I had counseled over the last year which I put into practice mentoring my oldest son.
As a father, I wanted so desperately to see him succeed. As a publisher, I needed him to understand how it all works. The good, and the bad.
The “stuff that is fun, and the stuff that is dressed in coveralls and looks a lot like work.”
He got off to an amazing start. Knocked out 15,000 words pretty quickly.
Then stalled.
I had to gently ask what is going on, not ping him (easy to do in Slack, where all of my work gets done with other authors, editors and artists.) Then, we might not chat for a few days as he did stuff. What stuff? I’ve no clue – I didn’t ask.
I had to be patient. Let him get through the hard stuff, work it all out in his own internal way.
Basically, it kinda sucked to be honest. As a parent, I just wanted the amazing to happen and off to the next awesome milestone in his life he would go.
However, I grew as well. I grew a little as I allowed him to work it out. I grew to know that each time he would come back, that he hadn’t dropped the project (probably one of my biggest fears, honestly) and that what he came back with… was stronger.
D’artagnan worked with Jen McDonnell and then Lynne Stiegler on the editing side. He worked with Jeff Brown on the covers.
He, like Joey before him, has his own damned opinions and apparently, they aren’t so afraid of best selling author Michael Anderle to tell him ‘No, they didn’t like what he was suggesting!’
In fact, you could say they didn’t really CARE about whatever accolades and accomplishments their dad had built up, I was still just dad. Oh, they respected my accomplishments, but they aren’t overwhelmed by what I’ve accomplished to do what I say without questioning it. They, annoyingly enough…
Have their own opinion on their work.
Whether it is with Joey and “killing off some characters” or D’artagnan and his “the covers look better this way” they both will take stands on their work, and it doesn’t matter what my accomplishements and opinions are, this is how their art is going to be.
And I’m DAMNED proud of them standing on their own two feet as they build their own career.
Each one is different, each one is uniquely themselves.
Each one, I believe, has something to offer readers. Some of my readers will like their stuff, others won’t and that’s ok.
With D’artagnan, he enjoys a story where everything isn’t so black and white. Where, as the intro blurb to his book talks about, the Chosen might not want to save the world because it is the right thing to do.
He might want to do it because he wants revenge.
Not everything in life is black and white and the path to getting to the end might be a challenge.
That is D’Artagnan’s voice more than mine. The ability to weave a story where you might get to the same ending, but the path is …
Frankly, not the way I would write it.
So, if you would like to read a brand new author, an author that needed to know more about the Indie Publishing area before he was willing to stick his own toes into the water, I’d like to be the first to introduce you to…
Author D’artagnan Anderle and his first book:
Sevanouir: Rebirth
(The Strange Tales of the Malefic – Book 01)
(Link to Amazon)
What if the chosen want revenge over destiny?
Sylas Chevalier is the latest son of a lineage of Maleficus, users of powerful and mystical items known as Malefics, to inherit his family’s blade, Sevanouir.
However, it came at a terrible cost.
Now a part of a reality that he once thought was a joke, Sylas gets a crash course in the world of his forebearers and must learn what it means to be the wielder of this blade, as mysterious forces approach with their own desires and intent, and they need Sylas and his blade for themselves.
Willingly or not.
Check out more on Amazon using the amazing ‘go to the right country’ link:
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Stories
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Story Wednesday!
Did you know that Craig Martelle is now posting a Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Short Story every Wednesday? Check out his blog for the first and second installation.
Installation 1: The Rise and Fall of General Tsao
http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44552563-the-rise-fall-of-general-tsao
Installation 2: The Battle of Paris
http://www.craigmartelle.com/apps/blog/show/44565130-the-battle-of-paris
Revolution – Snippet 1
Snippet 1 – Revolution!
We have the first snippet from Revolution by C. M. Raymond, Lee Barbant, and Michael Anderle. But first a word from Lee…
QUICK!!!
I (Lee) only have a minute, so I’m going to type this fast. I’ve been rocking a crying baby for the last hour, and now that Baby Barbant has finally fallen asleep, I figure I can get in some brief snippet time.
I’m not even changing out of my pee soaked clothes first….so you know I’m dedicated to YOU, the fans.
This parenting thing is no joke. Someone should have warned me.
Anyways, we’re wrapping up book 4, and I am so excited for you all to read it. Basically everything that you (and I) wanted to happen for the last three books finally happens. I got the chance to introduce my new favorite character. A fan favorite (who shall remain nameless but you all know who I’m talking about) finally gets to kick some ass. And some long overdue justice gets served–and despite how long it took to get here, it’s piping hot.
Thanks for your patience, and your reading, and your kind words. You all are the best. Hopefully we get the full book out this week, but in the meantime, enjoy this snippet of Revolution: The Rise of Magic Book 4.
And how about that cover, huh?
Best,
Lee
****
Prologue
[Unedited]
Cold rain fell like a barrage of arrows, threatening to drown what little survived amongst the Boulevard’s charred remains. The Queen that the slums were named for was long gone, but even she couldn’t bring back what had been taken from this place. Though it had been over a week, the rubble still smoldered, a testament to the power at Adrien’s disposal, and the damage his airship could exact.
Adrien’s eyes were fixed on the spot before they meticulously scanned the whole but empty city streets surrounding the Boulevard. The commoners—any who had lived through the Chancellor’s onslaught—had deserted Arcadia with the wizard and his Witch Bitch. And although the success of his airship should have made him feel triumphant, Adrien felt nothing but rage.
They had stolen from him, but victory would soon be his.
Doyle, Adrien’s assistant, cleared his throat from the open door of the Academy tower. “Sir, it’s time.”
Adrien stood for another moment as if he hadn’t heard the man and then finally turned, his long, blood-red robe flowing around him. The medallion of the Chancellor—reserved for ceremonial occasions—hung around his neck.
“They’re all assembled?” he asked, finally turning toward Doyle.
Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Yes, sir. All that remain. Fewer than I expected.”
The rebellion had claimed lives. His soldiers were killed in the streets—along with the Prophet and his faithful. But the Academy had seen its share of casualty, too, mostly by way of recruitment. It appeared that a small number of his own flock had thought Adrien’s actions were too extreme. They fled with the rabble. Their punishment would be even more severe.
Without another word, the two men proceeded out of the tower and toward the great hall.
As they entered the auditorium, Doyle spoke. “Your forces, sir, those who remain faithful, they are more committed than ever. If anything, that pitiful rebellion only culled the weak and spineless. All true Arcadians continue to stand at your service.”
They had better, Adrien thought. Or I’ll flay them alive.
“Thank you, Doyle,” was all that he said. He handed Doyle his notes and turned toward the stage. He had considered his words for days and could recite the speech by heart. Pushing through a set of double doors, he stepped out onto the broad platform lit from overhead with magitech spotlights. The crowd rose to their feet and applauded their leader.
Doyle was right about the size—he could see the empty rows in the back of the auditorium. They had taken some losses, but the look of commitment that washed over the faces of all in the room inspired more confidence than could be expected. Power surged through Adrien’s body; electricity tingled around the surface of his skin. The remaining faculty stood on the stage prepared to follow him wherever he might lead.
Eyeing the empty seats, he finally smiled at Nikola and August and gave them an assuring nod. They would be compensated well for their loyalty—or at least for their intelligence in choosing the winning side.
Raising his hands, Adrien smiled broadly. “Thank you. Thank you, so much. Now, please sit.”
For the first time, his devoted denied his command. They remained standing, and the applause only grew louder.
Seldom given over to these emotions, Adrien’s throat constricted. He was overwhelmed by their commitment. They recognized his power for what it was. Nodding, he said again, “Thank you. Now, sit. There is no time for fanfare.”
The crowd simmered to silence and sat, the faculty followed suit.
“You all know of the cowardly attack against us. The fake Founder and his student from the Boulevard infiltrated these very halls.” Heads nodded in response. “It was an attack none of us could have expected. I had always hoped that Arcadia would stand in the light of peace for all of her days. But peace is not easy to maintain when there are others lurking in the shadows who covet all that you have, who want to destroy you.”
The audience shifted in their seats. His words inspired them, as much as they filled them with fear.
“Your loyalty to Arcadia—and to me—is truly touching. You are my faithful, and I will never forget the faces that are here tonight. But let us also not forget the faces of the others. Of the ones committed to our vision for a beautiful city whose bodies are still cooling in their graves. Magicians, Guards, and Disciples alike bled for the sake of our vision, which was big enough to give their breath to. And now, it is time to hunt down the bastards that destroyed our city. It is time to make them pay.”
The crowd leaped to their feet, and a steady roar hung in the room.
Adrien smiled and nodded. He let them cheer and shouted over the clamor. “Each and every one of you will be key in our victory. Faculty, it’s time to leave behind your books and your offices. Students, consider this your official graduation.”
He paused, and let the frenzy grow.
“School is out, boys and girls. It is time to go to war!”
To learn more about C. M. Raymond and Lee Barbant and their other books: http://www.smokeandsteel.com
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 6
Final snippet for Nomad Avenged!
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 06
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 7
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Terry breathed slowly and rhythmically, feeling the strength returning to his body. He squinted and concentrated, finally able to make out the crack under the door where one or two lumens crept past. Despite his best efforts he could see nothing else in the room.
He kicked at the dead body, now shriveled to a mere husk of its former self. Terry kicked it away from him so he wouldn’t have to touch it.
In the silence, he heard footsteps, hard soles on a hard floor, clickety clack.
It wasn’t Kirkus unless he’d swapped his soft-sole slippers for cowboy boots.
The door was thrown open and the light turned on. Terry blinked and squinted against the brightness. Kirkus stood next to an incredibly beautiful Chinese woman, tall and shapely, skin like alabaster. Her over-sized almond-shaped eyes were dark as she visually explored the body of Terry Henry Walton.
“How nice of you to bring your pet kitty,” Terry said in a low voice, tensing with the expectation of what she was there to do.
Kirkus stepped aside without a word. The young-looking woman started to undress, slowly, seductively. A lesser man may have been lulled into enjoying the show, but with each article of clothing removed, she was one step closer to turning into a Weretiger.
TH couldn’t defend himself. He’d seen Aaron in Were form too many times to count and knew the damage that would be wrought by a Weretiger’s claws.
Kirkus chuckled softly to himself, but didn’t tell the woman to hurry. He was enjoying the anticipation of pain that filled Terry’s mind.
Once fully naked, she turned one way, then another to show her curves and her pride in her body. Terry only saw the muscles of a fighter. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to block her out while all the muscles in his body tensed.
When he felt hot breath on his face, he opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with the orange furred Weretiger. He didn’t try to head butt her; she was just out of range. He remained still while she sniffed him.
He saw her eye twitch as a paw blurred in how quickly it raked its claws across his stomach. He didn’t feel it at first, then it was like fire burning through his skin and into his very soul.
The Weretiger stalked back and forth, sizing up her prey while TH worked through the pain. He chanced a look, saw the shredded skin and torn muscle beneath.
Terry consoled himself by believing that Kirkus needed him alive for some reason. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be playing games.
“Damn, kitten. Look what you did to my beach body?” Terry taunted, flexing himself in anticipation of another slash. She jumped up, and he flinched.
She landed with the pads of her paws on his shoulders. She was heavy and his shoulders screamed with the strain. The shackles dug deeply into his wrists.
The Weretiger leaned close. Her feline eyes studied him. She licked his face from chin to forehead with her wide and raspy tongue.
“Come on, kitten. You’ve been eating too much ass lately. Maybe try a breath mint every now and again,” Terry grumbled.
She sniffed and nuzzled his face, then nibbled his ear. He froze. She clamped down, driving a fang through the cartilage.
Find Craig Martelle at http://www.craigmartelle.com
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 5
Nomad Avenged Snippet 5
The latest from back of beyond, Alaska. Every day is above freezing, so that must mean it’s summer! Enjoy your weekend, a frosty beverage, and a snippet!
Nomad Avenged
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 7
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Unedited
“My! What brings you to my doorstep?” Jonas said warmly to the purple-eyed Werewolf standing before him. She was still in Were form. She dropped her clothes bundle and changed into human form.
Jonas leered at her. “You decided that you needed a real man, that the human couldn’t satisfy you?”
She stopped reaching for her clothes, frozen for an instant, before rotating and driving the heel of her hand into his chest. He flew backwards, crashing into a wall.
Char didn’t bother with her clothes. She launched herself at him, pounding his face with punch after punch. She pulled him to his feet so she could step back and send a sidekick into his belly button that slammed him against the wall a second time. With a spinning roundhouse that caught him on the side of his head, he went down.
She dressed while she waited impatiently for him to wake up. His eyes fluttered, and she pulled him roughly to his feet and slammed him against the wall.
“You always were a limp dick piece of shit, Jonas. I should probably just kill you, but first, I need to know why you did it. Tell me!” she demanded.
“What do you think I did?” he stammered.
“Sold us out, you whiny bitch. I want to know why. And while you’re telling, I want to know where they took him.” Char emphasized her question by slamming the Werewolf into the wall.
“Who did I sell out?” he asked, clearly confused.
Char started to believe it wasn’t him, but she was certain he’d done something to deserve a beating. He always deserved to have his ass kicked.
She let him go. “A dozen Forsaken flew in here and took Terry Henry prisoner. They escaped before we could get to them. I know you’re in bed with the evil of this world. You had something to do with it, because that’s the fucked up shit that you do.”
She jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to make him wince. She felt gratified seeing him in pain. She did it again, smiling at his anguish.
“Although I’ll be the first to congratulate the sonofabitch that kills your husband, I had nothing to do with this. If you find them, let me know. Tell them the first round is on me,” Jonas sneered.
Char had had enough. She turned into him with her arm raised, fist in hand as she rocketed her elbow into his face, crushing the bones beneath. She punched him twice for good measure. He didn’t go down until she kneed him in the groin hard enough to lift him off his feet. He landed in a crumpled pile, barely breathing but alive.
He’d live. Char shrugged, removed her clothes, and changed into Were form for the long run to downtown Chicago in search of the Forsaken, Joseph. Learn more about Craig Martelle and check out his other books at http://www.craigmartelle.com
Under My Heel Audiobook is here!
Listen up!
The audiobook for Under My Heel, Book 6 in the Kurtherian Gambit series is now available.
Europe is erupting is tension and violence.
David is only adding to the conflagration by setting a trap, one that our team will travel to save those people still alive.
There is one thing every enemy of Bethany Anne finds out. They will be ground down under her heels.
THE DARKEST NIGHT – Snippet 10 of …
Michael saw his two charges out in the storm, arguing by a boat he knew hadn’t been there when he had left the ship. He had obviously failed to detect the intruders on the way to the pirates’ ship. He wanted to roll his eyes in frustration.
Didn’t the two of them realize they were in a Gott Verdammt storm?
They needed to get over their damned issues and become friends or partners or something. This dancing around was for the young.
Which they were, unfortunately.
God, he missed Bethany Anne.
The ship was in trouble and he had to make a fast decision. Considering their height, he could catch it before they hit the seas below.
He took the two humans onto the ship and rematerialized in the middle of the bridge.
—
“What do ya mean we lost the left bank of batteries?” the Captain yelled as he helped his first mate get back to his feet. The engineer’s voice replied over the speaker, “I mean we blew out our capacitors and they sunk the power safely to the grounds. Unless you got a handy recharging unit, Captain, we just lost half our power!”
Miles ground his teeth. Losing half their power meant they were effectively screwed. He would need to decide whether continuing on would be better, or just letting the ship go down. The storm had been heading west, so trying to retreat would just putting them back in the path of the storm. Maybe the girl had been right, and waking the vampire is what he should have done. Now he had damned everybody.
That’s when three people materialized on his bridge.
—
The shared pain from his charges pissed Michael off, so his sudden appearance—eyes glowing as bright as those on the bridge had ever seen—wasn’t the gentle arrival he had hoped to accomplish.
“These two,” Michael spoke, “are good people. Find out what they can do and use them. I’m done with this fucking storm.” With that declaration, he pivoted and exited the bridge.
The Captain looked at the people Michael had dropped, their confusion matching his own.
“Ok,” The Captain barked, “what did you do on your ship?”
—
Michael left the bridge through the hatch to the deck. He turned the lock and slammed it shut.
His two charges, he noticed, looked weak, but seemed to be dealing with their sudden electrocution.
He darted over to them and pressed his hands together, rubbing them and willing the power to generate. There was no waiting or coercing. This time it would obey him.
Or he would go into the Etheric and rip that dimension a new asshole.
He pressed a hand against both Mark and Jacqueline, pushing energy to them to allow their nanocytes to heal them. Mark recovered first, his eyes darting to Jacqueline. He noticed Michael’s hand on her and moved his gaze up the arm to Michael himself. Mark swallowed.
The Master was apparently in no mood to talk.
Jacqueline gasped a breath, then moaned. “Oh God that fucking huurrrrtttt.” Her eyes popped open. She glanced over to see who was touching her, then back at Mark.
She slapped his arm. “What the hell, Mark? What did you do to get us electrocuted?”
“You two,” Michael ground out, his voice richer and deeper than normal. Both of them peered at him, but he was looking up at the clouds, his face a mask of extreme displeasure. “Just kiss and get it over with.”
He stood up, noticing neither Jacqueline’s surprise nor Mark’s narrowed-eyed look of determination.
—
The Captain sent the new people down to the engine room. Apparently they had helped in that area on the old ship, being useless anywhere else. They wouldn’t fight, but ability to work with technology trumped bloodthirsty every time.
Miles watched Michael help his two youth, then stand up and stride to the middle of the deck. Michael looked around as if he were seeing something no one else could.
All at once his eyes flashed red, bright enough to cause shadows as he threw his arms into the air. Blue energy left his hands to attack the weather, but lightning fought back and struck the figure on the deck. Mother Nature was not pleased with him, and didn’t take to his machinations to manipulate her will lying down.
—
Michael ignored the disintegration of his body as the Etheric healed him at the atomic level. He had spent over a hundred years inside the Etheric being put back together molecule by molecule.
He and the Etheric were old associates. Perhaps not friends, but certainly intimate nonetheless.
Michael kept his hands raised, pulling in the power of the storm and shunting it into the Etheric. At the same time, he pushed power back out into the air to change the temperature.
He was in the middle screaming at the storm. Although close, neither Jacqueline nor Mark could hear as they clutched each other. The power being unleashed mere steps from them was more than their minds could take in.
“You think you are worse than an Atomic Bomb?” Michael screamed, “YOU NEED TO BRING MORE THAN THIS!”
So Mother Nature hit him with three lightning bolts at once as he pulled in power.
“THAT TICKLES, BITCH!” he shouted back. If he had thought about it, he would have had to admit he was lying.
The pain was enormous.
His eyes narrowed, his will reinforced, his voice a whisper, “I promised her I would be back. I am the Dark Messiah, I am the ArchAngel, but more than that, my name is Michael Nacht and I stayed together for her. You are in no way more powerful than my fucking love.” Michael grinned maniacally as he remembered his friends from the past and what they might say in such a situation as this.
“SUCK IT!” he yelled, and started laughing as he pushed more etheric energy into the atmosphere. The lightning struck less, and the winds started decreasing.
Bethany Anne certainly wouldn’t get the same Michael back, but all things considered?
That was a good thing.
FROM MICHAEL >>> GOD BLESS THE JIT TEAM.
In the last three (3) weeks, they have made at least 3 books much better.
Including: Ell Leigh Clarkes AWAKENED, Craig Martelle’s Nomad Avenged and my The Darkest Night. Not only that, but they jumped on The Darkest Night so damned fast…
WE ARE RELEASING EARLY!
The Darkest Night will release tomorrow, NOT Friday like we thought.
(Thank you JIT TEAM!)
Michael
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 4!
Here’s your daily hit of Terry Henry Walton!
Nomad Avenged – Snippet 4
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 7
By Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Unedited
Akio saw them clearly in his mind. Five Forsaken and six humans, two of which were kept for their blood, although by Forsaken logic, any human life was forfeit if the Forsaken were hungry enough.
Not today, Akio thought as he descended the stairs, silent as a ghost.
The most dangerous Forsaken was on the top floor. Akio decided to forego the stealth approach and walked into the hallway and toward the room where his enemy would be found. The Forsaken was pacing.
Akio opened the door casually and walked in. He was surprised to see a westerner.
“My name is unimportant,” the Forsaken started with a dismissive wave. “I expect you are the famous Akio, slayer of my kind. A shame. We didn’t choose to be what we are. That decision was made for us, and we have to live with it, the best we can.”
Akio didn’t reply. He kept his distance as he took stock of the room, noting the furniture, tripping hazards, possible traps.
Despite his words, the unnamed one carried a long curved blade with an ivory hand grip. A filigree was engraved down the blade. Akio had only seen one other like it. A Mameluke, the sword carried by United States Marine officers in the before time.
The kaleidoscopic color of the steel suggested it was a Damascus blade, one of the very best.
Akio’s appreciation of his enemy’s steel was limited to what he needed to do to kill the creature and then move through the building to eliminate the rest. Akio still didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. He gripped his katana in both hands as he approached, sidestepping without crossing his feet.
He shifted from right to left, looking for the side that the Forsaken favored. The unnamed didn’t give it away. He smoothly matched Akio’s moves.
The first blow came as each swung toward the head of the other. Akio turned his blade slightly to catch the cutting edge of the Mameluke on the flat of his blade, letting it slide the length and past his head. Akio ducked low and swung low, diving to the side as he saw the glint of a redirected slash.
The unnamed barely missed Akio, but the master Japanese swordsman’s aim was true. The tip of his katana tore through the Forsaken’s thigh slicing a notch into the femur as it passed. Blood spurted from the sliced artery.
Akio returned upright and bounced away, ready for a counterstrike.
But the Forsaken held his leg with one hand, while he backed up slowly. He twirled his sword in front of him, carving a figure eight in the air. Akio saw a door, and he ran at the unnamed.
The Forsaken turned to bolt, but his leg deceived him, and he stumbled. Akio’s first slash removed the Forsaken’s sword arm. In less than a blink of the eye, the unnamed’s head was rolling on the floor. The body remained upright for a moment, then toppled.
Akio looked at the blade on the floor. He picked it up and studied it briefly. A fitting sword for a man he would call a friend. Akio cleaned it on the couch, then drove it home into its silver and gold scabbard. He slipped it next to the katana’s saya and hurried into the corridor and toward the steps.
Follow Craig Martelle and check out his books on his website http://www.craigmartelle.com
The Darkest Night – Snippet 09 of …
“The two of you,” the male voice told him, “are all that is left of the Folly.”
Amanda tried to keep ahold of her courage and asked the disembodied voice, “Are you Death?”
The chuckle that came back to them didn’t reassure Amanda at all, but his words did. “No, although some have called me different versions of Death over the centuries. My name is Michael.”
Amanda interrupted, “You are the ArchAngel!”
There was a pause in the communication. “No, not the ArchAngel Michael you are thinking of. I am not Christianity’s High Angel for God.”
“But, you saved the two of us when you could have easily killed us for being on the ship,” Amanda argued. Arnold fell in love again with her voice, the purity of her heart evident in her simple questions. Not that she was simple, but she never failed to ask the hard questions. “Why?”
Michael kept one part of his mind focused on the power sources to facilitate the return to the ArchAngel as he pondered her question. Why had he saved them? The old Michael would have killed everyone and not thought twice about it. They were on a pirate ship, obviously then trusted by the pirates.
His voice softened. “Because Love is more powerful than deceit and selfishness. One cannot love as you two do, not only each other but also family and friends, and be truly evil.” They continued to speed towards the ship barely discernible in the clouds. “And because I myself have been changed by Love, and I’ll stay on the path as best I can.”
The two of them allowed their host’s answer to wash over them as they pondered what the hell they were doing when it seemed the Heavens opened and God’s own lightning surrounded them.
The ship they were approaching was hit multiple times, and as their speed increased, Arnold noticed an explosion in the aft section.
Right where the anti-grav technology should be located.
—
“Find me that ship,” Akio ground out. While their technology was substantial, even with a hundred and fifty-plus years of improvements since Bethany Anne had left they had trouble locating a ship in a storm over the ocean. Separating the power sources from the large natural disturbances was not something Eve had developed any algorithms for yet.
“I am trying, Akio-san,” Eve answered. This time, Akio detected a bit of fluctuation in her answer.
He was stressing the AI too much. Akio pondered his obligations to everyone in a blistering second. His honor to his Queen. His responsibility to Eve, and his friendship, he realized, with both of them.
The grim line of his lips said he was surprised at himself, if you knew this man well enough to tell.
Akio had an AI as a friend. Over fifteen decades, and only now was he willing to accept even he could learn a new trick or two.
“Do not stress, Eve.” He replied. “We will be successful; the Queen is assured.”
Eve, her voice back on track, responded, “We lost the ability to speak to the Queen a long time ago, Akio. How can you be certain?”
“Because, little one, it is time I teach you,” he told her, his reflexes pulling the ship he was piloting hard to the side as he dodged a group of clouds that seemed to be roiling more than usual, “about a human concept called faith.”
—
“The fact that you took out two other people should have alerted you to the fact the second asshole pirate was mine!” yelled Jacqueline.
They were still arguing out on the deck. Each had a hand on the pirates’ second craft. Captain O’Banion had tried to call the two of them in after their successful eviction of the four pirates. When he opened the door to talk to them, they both turned to look at him.
One set of red eyes, one pair of yellow.
Family arguments weren’t his problem. He shouted, “Thank you!” and shut the door. He told those who had been ready, if not exactly willing, to help them that they could go back to their tasks. Those two were arguing with each other and it was best to let them get the arguing of their system.
Five minutes later, all hell broke loose.
“What the fuck?” Jacqueline screeched as the ship lurched to the side. Both she and Mark slammed their other hands onto the slip of a ship and grabbed hold.
Jacqueline failed to grab anything useful. A second and third bolt of lightning cracked, the sound blasting through their heightened senses, and the electricity ran along all of the metal around the deck. The ship’s capacity for capturing errant lightning bolts had been temporarily overwhelmed.
Mark grabbed Jacqueline’s loose hand, locking on as if he would be her safety belt. He easily moved her whole body to place her second hand on a bar on the craft.
“Goddammit!” he yelled at her. “Don’t you fucking think about falling off or I’ll jump after you and cuss you out the whole way down!”
Jacqueline’s expression was one of maniacal glee as the adrenaline hit her senses. The two of them enjoyed the wild ride as the humans inside fought to keep their ship afloat in the sky.
“Not if you fall first, Vamp Boy!”
Then one last lightning bolt hit the ship and the two of them screamed in incredible pain.
—
Michael saw his two charges out in the storm, arguing by a boat he knew hadn’t been there when he had left the ship. He had obviously failed to detect the intruders on the way to the pirates’ ship. He wanted to roll his eyes in frustration.
Didn’t the two of them realize they were in a Gott Verdammt storm?
They needed to get over their damned issues and become friends or partners or something. This dancing around was for the young.
Which they were, unfortunately.
God, he missed Bethany Anne.
The ship was in trouble and he had to make a fast decision. Considering their height, he could catch it before they hit the seas below.
He took the two humans onto the ship and rematerialized in the middle of the bridge.
FROM MICHAEL >>> Ok, we were ‘Words Complete’ on Sunday night (I believe) and we have been working on the edited, beta reading and more editing since then. We have the files ready for JIT for tomorrow morning and release is within 72 hours baby!
YEAH!
Plus, I’m 1,200 words into Forever Defend…Which, actually, is a first.
Like, ever. I’ve never started the next book before hitting ‘publish’ in the book I’m on and their are multiple reasons. I’ll get more into those later.
Hope you liked the snippet… I’m off to go load the next one!