Sunday, March 24, 2019

Why Does the Old World Fear Her & the New Paranorms Desire Her?

Chuckling, Thomas strode over to the massive fellow and stared up at him. “What was that about?” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder, indicating the scene where Gerald had pinned Sable.
“Orders,” Gerald replied, his gaze zipping from one shadowy area to another. He lowered his voice a couple levels. “The Old World wants her to give up looking for her daughter. It’s too dangerous. If she’s to remain off the New Order’s radar, Sable must stay away from Cheyenne.”
Thomas sighed. “I know, I know.” He ran both palms over his cornrows in exasperation. “When I was first assigned to protect Sable, I thought it was just a matter of babysitting yet another human whose magic would prove too insignificant for the New Order. I really believed this case would be over by now and the New Paranorms would move on to the next ‘gifted’ mortal, and then I’d be assigned to someone else. Hell, this has turned into a six-year assignment. Sable is too powerful, and the Old World is scared shitless that the New Order will either woo her or kill her.”
“Don’t you hate the ones that shock the hell out of you?” Gerald quipped. “Especially when the human is clueless they even have such a power.” He smiled, and his thick, bushy mustache parted. “Most of the time they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
Nodding, Thomas groaned. “She’s a handful, that’s for sure.”
“You admire her.”
“I don’t know what to think of the woman.”
Gerald gazed down at him, and Thomas bristled. The glint in the giant’s eyes implied something else entirely.
“Spread the word that I’m protecting her,” Thomas stated, his tone gruff.
“The New Order Paranorms hate you, Valimar. The fact that you possess natural magic doesn’t endear you to them any either. You really shouldn’t draw attention to the fact you’re Sable’s marshal.”
Thomas shrugged. “Being hated is part of the job, and I’m not telling you to announce where we are. Just let it be known that I’m her marshal. That’s all.”
The giant laughed and lumbered toward a mass of vegetation growing between a storage shed and the backside of a tanning salon. “Until next time,” he called and disappeared into the leaves and palms.
e-Book and Print can be found here https://www.amazon.com/kindle/dp/B07M73KKRZ plus you can click on the "look inside" cover graphic and read more if you're not sure.

The Werewolves of Rebellion Series

Frank hated the heat. The sun beat down on the Wraithkillers’ MC with vengeance, and the aroma of pig shit, cow manure and hay, cut and drying in the fields, bombarded his sense of smell. Sweat trickled through his hair, caught by the black-and-white bandanna rolled into a long strip and wrapped around his head. He watched Crow, president of the Wraithkillers, for any signs of deceit, wishing he could just kill the man, piss on him, and walk away. He blinked several times and willed those thoughts to pass. Their days of Claiming and Maiming—as the old timers of their clan called it—were over. He had to control his urge to spill blood. They all did, humans and werewolves alike.
“It’s a fair trade, Frank,” Crow stated, bringing Frank back to the problem at hand.
“You stole one of our women,” Frank growled, furious with Crow, “and you call it a fair trade?”
“Sure.” The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth that looked ten times brighter against his dusky skin. Some said Crow was part Native American and part African American. Others swore he was of Jamaican descent, and some even said Crow had Japanese in his bloodline. Whatever his nationality, he was shrewd, smart, strong, conniving, and women gravitated to his good looks and charm. Men admired him and desired what their president had, but they knew better than to challenge him.
To Frank, the man’s grin hinted at a panther preparing to attack. However, this one appeared to have had one too many hits of something today, so Frank would have to be doubly careful not to piss him off.
“You have our crate of guns and we have one of your women,”—Crow glanced over at a prospect—“who is Beastman’s old lady, I believe.” When the prospect nodded to confirm the woman’s identity, Crow continued. “Return what is ours, and we’ll give back what is yours.”
“Dammit, Crow!” Frank thundered.
Crow’s men all reached for knives or pistols.
Frank prayed he could curb his temper. “My men didn’t steal anything from you. They found the crate sitting half-busted in the road with 9 millimeters and AK-15s spilling out of it. You’re lucky we found the box at all. The Wraithkillers are known for dealing weapons. If the pigs had come across it, you know they’d be sniffing around your club to tie you to that crate. We did you a favor.”
Crow shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You still took what doesn’t belong to you.” He swept one hand toward the woman at the back end of a tractor where a couple of Crow’s prospects had bound and gagged her. “I like to keep things even.”
Frank looked over at Phil, his second-in-command, who shook his head and sighed.
“Might as well swap for what’s ours,” Phil said. “You know, if Beastman doesn’t get his old lady back he’ll break protocol, and come in here to Crow’s compound and take her. Probably start another war, too.”
“Listen to your second-in-command,” Crow urged, his tone smug.
~~~~~~~~
This excerpt came from the opening page of Nightshade's Flame. You can find the trilogy at these two links but the books are available at other online book retailers--B&N, etc.--too. Both ebook and print for each is available. 🤪