Author: Angie

T-R-O-U-B-L-E Texas Heat Series 1 by Sable Hunter Genre: Contemporary Western Romance

Trouble comes calling on Kyler Landon. He falls hard and fast for his beautiful, mysterious neighbor after she saves him from a rattlesnake attack. The sexual tension mounts between them with each sensual encounter, but he soon realizes that Cooper has been hurt and is leery of men. So he sets out to teach her that a real man can be gentle, loving, and sexy as hell. Trouble seems to follow Cooper, and Ky makes it his mission to protect her from her past. Kyler would move heaven and earth to keep her in his bed and in his life. Goodreads * Amazon

My Aliyah Texas Heat Series 2

Tough Tyler Landon is fit to be tied! He feels he is about to lose his man card. After witnessing a Mexican drug lord commit a murder, Ty finds himself on the cartel’s hit list. That’s bad enough, but when he finds that the agency has assigned a female Mossad agent to protect him – he decides to seduce her into submission. Tyler is a man’s man – a Sexual Dom – a Texas Ranger who lives by the motto – One Riot-One Ranger. But, when he meets Aliyah Sharon – he finds that he has met his match. Goodreads * Amazon

Spanish Eyes Texas Heat Series 3

When a gorgeous woman asks an unattached man for sex, he’d be a fool to tell her no. Dr. Drew Haley sees a fool in his mirror every morning. From the moment Drew gazes into the beautiful Spanish eyes of Angelina Alejandro, he is lost. Her intriguing blend of innocence and sensuality almost brings Drew to his knees. When she begs for something he can’t in good conscience give her, Drew hurts his beautiful angel. He wants nothing more than to help her heal from the torture she endured at the hands of a madman, but in order to do so, she must agree to give him a second chance. Angelina just wants to forget the humiliation her captors heaped upon her. Her work as a scientist put her in the crosshairs of a power-hungry Sheik who wanted to force her to use the knowledge she’d gathered to harm mankind. When she refused, his unique brand of torture stole Angelina’s self-control and her pride. Once she is rescued, Angelina only wants to hide away, to find healing on her own. But Dr. Drew has other ideas. He has a plan to tempt Angelina back into the land of the living and straight into his arms. Goodreads * Amazon

Just a Love Story Texas Heat Crossover Novel

This is a Hell Yeah/Texas Heat crossover novel. Revisit old friends and make new ones along the way… Once upon a time, in a very small town lived an average young woman with an uncomplicated life. Like everyone else, she has hopes and dreams, but the people around her never take the time to know the real Shae. When they look at her, they only see the woman they expect to see. Shae St. John spends her days helping others, but her nights are spent all alone. To fill the lonely hours, she weaves stories in her head about what it would be like to love and be loved. These are private fantasies, for her eyes only…until a family crisis forces her to put pen to paper and bring her erotic dreams into the light of day. Shae has no intention for anyone to ever know that she’s the romance author, Jessabelle – but when the truth is revealed, her world is ripped apart. In order for this to be a love story, there must be a guy…of course. Derek Alden doesn’t see himself as a hero. His life is in shambles. After losing his home, his business, and his only child in a messy divorce, Derek returns to his roots, seeking a place to heal and plan how he can reclaim what he’s lost. Derek’s new lawyer gives him one piece of advice – if you want to regain custody of your child – stay out of trouble. Unfortunately, trouble is all too hard to resist. Derek tries to keep his distance from Shae, but her mix of innocence and sensuality draws him like a moth to the flame. This is the story of two people who deserve a happy ending. As with most stories, things can be complicated – mistakes will be made and problems arise. Everything from small town drama to a madman’s schemes will come into play. But overall – this is a love story. Just a love story. Goodreads * Amazon

Sable Hunter is a New York Times, USA Today bestselling author of nearly 60 books in 9 series. She writes sexy contemporary stories full of emotion and suspense. Her focus is mainly cowboy and novels set in Louisiana with a hint of the supernatural. Her aim is to write a story that will make you laugh, cry and swoon. If she can wring those emotions from a reader, she has done her job. Welcome to her world of magic, alpha heroes, sexy cowboys and hot, steamy to-die-for sex. Step into the shoes of her heroines and escape to places where right prevails, love conquers all and holding out for a hero is not an impossible dream. Website * Newsletter * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Book #3 Spanish Eyes Excerpt
Drew’s black SUV passed underneath the familiar wrought iron gate. He glanced over to the lovely, timid woman
beside him. “Welcome to Palo Gaucho Ranch.” Angelina hadn’t yet made peace with this agreement between Dr.
Drew and her brother. She despised being an imposition and no matter what anyone said, that’s what she was
being. Sitting in the car seat, she hugged herself tightly, trying to forget this Greek god of a man had seen her
completely naked in a non-medical setting. “Thank you, I am very grateful.” “I’m not looking for your gratitude,
Angelina.” His tone was admonishing, but she chose not to spar with him over the matter. Furtively, she cut her
eyes toward him. Yea, he was still gorgeous, ripped, and imposing as hell. Why couldn’t he suddenly grow a wart
on the end of that classic Roman nose? Oh, he’d been nothing but gracious. It was hard not to like him. In fact, she
couldn’t help herself. She did like Drew. No, correction. She craved Drew like a person dying of thirst longed for a
life-saving drink of water. But this was not a thirst she would slake. Heck, she couldn’t even separate her true
feelings from the chemically enhanced ones. No, she was here only to appease Rafe so he could feel good about
leaving her to finish the job in Yemen. “How beautiful,” she murmured as more of Drew’s ranch came into view. The
property stretched out, green pastures spotted by large oak trees, pecans, and the occasional tall long-leaf pine. A
big white horse trotted along the fence line, pacing itself with the SUV for a few seconds before veering off across a
wide-open field. “What’s his name?” The sight of the beautiful equine relaxed Angelina a bit, she was able to
breathe easier. A modicum of tension released from her shoulders for the first time in a long while. Drew looked
across to his house guest. The appearance of the horse had brought a smile to her face and Drew was glad for it.
This wasn’t going to be easy on either of them and seeing her smile warmed his heart. “His name is Snow. He’s
one of my rescues.” “You’re a good man, Dr. Haley.” “Don’t hold me up as some paragon of virtue, Spanish Eyes.
I’m just a man.” A man who wanted something he shouldn’t have. She trembled at the low timber of his voice. Her
whole body seemed to be fine-tuned to every variance in his tone, she was ultra-aware of every move he made, of
every breath he took. “This is absolutely lovely,” Angelina remarked as they drove, seeking to fill the space between
them with anything that might deflect the overwhelming pull she felt for him. “I spend so much time in a lab or my
apartment that I never get to see places like this.” When she turned away from the window, Angelina saw that Drew
was staring at her. “What?” She soothed a lock of hair away from her face. “Do I look bad?” Drew couldn’t wipe the
smile off his face. “Not in the least.” She needed to glance away, yet her eyes seemed locked on his features -– the
chiseled jaw, those smoky, light blue eyes, it was all too much and she felt an ache begin to rise from deep within.
“This is quite the place, your Palo Gaucho.” “I get by.” “You get by?” Angelina’s eyes widened as they neared the
grand old house. “I’d say you do a bit more than that.” Drew’s three story Victorian mansion was a sight to behold.
The double-wide front doors were graced by columns on either side. A wide veranda stretched across the front of
the house that held graceful rockers and wrought iron café tables. Angelina could imagine her host sitting out there
in the morning drinking his coffee while he watched a horse race across the open area in front of him. The house
was all white, with dark green shutters at the windows. The gracious, historical structure was the most beautiful
home Angelina had ever seen. Drew pulled the big vehicle right up in front of the mansion and climbed out, first
coming to help her with the passenger side door before heading to the back of the SUV to fetch their bags. “Do I
bow or curtsy when the queen comes out to meet me?” “The only queen here is Hattie,” Drew informed her with a
chuckle. “And she isn’t that big on formality.” As if on cue, an older lady with a head full of white curls came around
the corner of the house with a rattan laundry basket tucked against one hip. “Don’t you be talking about me when
I’m not around to defend myself, Drew Haley. Oh my, what a lovely couple you two make.” Angelina felt a blush rise
from her chest to blossom on her cheeks. Her and Drew? A lovely couple? She wished. Drew would be the looks in
that pairing, for sure. Angelina didn’t allow herself more than a moment to consider it, she was fearful her body
would turn on her again. “I take it you are Queen Hattie. Pleasure to meet you.” Angelina extended her hand. The
older woman gave her boss a look. Drew just shrugged. He knew better than to get in Hattie’s way. Her remark
about them being a couple surprised him, however. She teased him about dating when they were alone, but in front
of others she always came off like a mama bear protecting her cub.

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The Poet of the Heart by LaNona Walker Genre: Poetry

People can fade away, rose petals can be crushed and things can be lost, but at least you’ll remember how it was. The Poet of The Heart is a poetry collection that touches everything the heart can feel, hope for, cherish, and even regret. In a collection of poems ranging from romantic to heart-wrenching, LaNona Walker dives into her passions and writes from the heart. Fragmented pieces of dreams and losses combine to bring you a touching series of stories that have deeper meanings in their rhymes and lyrics. **On Sale for only .99 cents June 27th – July 4th!!!** Goodreads * Amazon

LaNona Walker is a book-aholic and major coffee drinker. When she’s not jotting stories down or getting lost in books, she can be found baking delicious treats while jamming to music or re-watching movies (mostly Marvel) with her Pug. Or getting dragged away from a bookstore by family members and friends. Blog * Instagram * Goodreads

The description: People can fade away, rose petals can be crushed and things can be lost,
but at least you’ll remember how it was. The Poet of The Heart is a poetry collection that
touches everything the heart can feel, hope for, cherish, and even regret. In a collection of
poems ranging from romantic to heart-wrenching, LaNona Walker dives into her passions and
writes from the heart. Fragmented pieces of dreams and losses combine to bring you a touching
series of stories that have deeper meanings in their rhymes and lyrics.
First excerpt: Two Halves
There were two of them,
And they were everything between sailors and astronauts.
Always together, never separate.
Which one was real, no one knew.
One or the other?
Harder to pick, than you would think.
The better part of the other:
He the body, and she the heart.
The brother, the oldest of the two,
Was the strong and willful one.
The one that stood up,
That lead and protected, that spoke for the two of them.
The sister, the frailer of the two,
Was the quiet and kind one.
The one that was patient,
That followed and cared, that cared for both of them.
Twins with different minds,
But both one half of the other.
One like the sun,
And one like the moon.
One lighter where the other was darker.
Which was which?
No one could tell.

But regardless, soon one would leave the other behind-
To be whole by themselves.

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The Witchkin Murders Magicfall Book 1 by Diana Pharaoh Francis Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

Four years ago, my world—the world—exploded with wild magic. The cherry on top of that crap cake? The supernatural world declared war on humans, and my life went straight to hell. I used to be a detective, and a damned good one. Then Magicfall happened, and I changed along with the world. I’m witchkin now—something more than human or not quite human, depending on your perspective. To survive, I’ve become a scavenger, searching abandoned houses and stores for the everyday luxuries in short supply—tampons and peanut butter. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, but anything’s better than risking my secret. Except, old habits die hard. When I discover a murder scene screaming with signs of black magic ritual, I know my days of hiding are over. Any chance I had of escaping my past with my secret intact is gone. Solving the witchkin murders is going to be the hardest case of my life, and not just because every second will torture me with reminders of how much I miss my old life and my partner, who hates my guts for abandoning the department. But it’s time to suck it up, because if I screw this up, Portland will be wiped out, and I’m not going to let that happen. Hold on to your butts, Portland. Justice is coming, and I don’t take prisoners. Add to Goodreads Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Diana Pharaoh Francis is the acclaimed author of a dozen novels of fantasy and urban fantasy. Her books have been nominated for the Mary Roberts Rinehart Award and RT’s Best Urban Fantasy. The Witchkin Murders is the first book in her exciting new urban fantasy series—Magicfall. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Pinterest * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Chapter 1
Kayla
THE SCAVENGE HAD proved more successful than Kayla had expected, and she’d expected a lot.

She’d come away with a treasure trove of difficult-to-find foods and spices, prescription and over-
the-counter medicines, tampons and pads which brought a premium price, and most important of

all, two cartons of cigarettes, three jars of peanut butter, and a stockpile of Mountain Dew, the latter
of which she’d have to get later. She was already practically bent double with the weight of the
backpack without the soda. It was too bad about the Skittles, but this was a good haul.
Going up into The Deadwood offered the chance to mine houses that hadn’t already been picked
over by a hundred other scavengers. Mostly because the rest of them liked breathing and so stayed
away. Kayla wasn’t so burdened with common sense. That, and she carried a gun, several knives,
and a couple of magical taser charms. Not to mention she was pretty decent at hand-to-hand.
Leftover habits and skills from her life as a cop. She could more than take care of herself against
people hiding in dark alleys.
Of course, The Deadwood was filled with a lot more dangerous beings than the ordinary street scum
that preyed on pedestrians back before Magicfall. Before the Witchwar. Before the whole world had
turned inside out and all the monsters in the closets and under the beds came crawling out of hiding.
Back when Kayla was just an ordinary human.
The Witchwar exploded within days of Magicfall—a worldwide eruption of magic that birthed The
Deadwood, changed Kayla, and set off an untold number of other bizarre transformations straight
out of fairytales and hallucinogenic nightmares. The entire world had been engulfed.
Right smack in the middle of all the chaos, witches leading armies of supernatural warriors and
creatures out of myth, legend, and nightmare marched against the human cities that had survived.
Humans were like termites eating up the world. They needed to be eradicated like roaches.
The war had gone on for a year or so when the attacks on the cities stopped. It still wasn’t clear
why. Maybe they figured enough humans had died, or maybe they figured out humans aren’t so
easy to kill. Over the last couple of years, an uneasy truce had developed between humans and
witchkin. Turns out, we needed each other.

Kayla hitched the backpack higher, bending forward to help balance it. Her lips twisted in self-
ridicule. How the mighty had fallen. From cop to scavenger. Before the shit had hit the fan, she’d

been a detective, a damned good one. Then she’d been infected with magic and game over. Bye bye
career, friends, and, worst of all, Ray.
A familiar ache bloomed in her chest. She missed him every day, even after everything he’d said,
everything he’d called her, when she quit.
Back then she’d had zero control over herself. Not that she’d improved much since. But quitting the
department had been a no-brainer. With the Witchwar and hatred of the supernaturals, she’d have
either been lynched when it got out, or else locked up in a zoo somewhere.
Leaving had been the right decision. The only decision. Regretting it didn’t change that. And Kayla
regretted it with all the fabric of her being.
She pulled her mind from the quagmire of memories and what-ifs that circled her like sharks,
chomping down whenever she didn’t keep her mind on task. Focus, she told herself. Forget about
who you were before. Staying alive today is all that counts.
The Deadwood lay west of downtown Portland inside the neighborhood that used to be Goose Hollow
and extending into the Southwest Hills and Washington Park. When the magic had struck, a sinister
black forest had grown up in the blink of an eye. The twisted, gnarled trees grew taller than the
houses, and were spaced far enough apart to allow a lot of the buildings to survive. Possessive
nettles and vines swayed and wriggled from the trees, growing over most of the houses. The
blowtorch hooked to Kayla’s belt had convinced them to withdraw and allow her access.
Within the shadowed gloom of The Deadwood, hundreds of denizens lived and hunted. All too often,
folks who wandered too close disappeared, never to be heard from again. So people—human and
not—avoided the place, which suited Kayla just fine. The untouched houses made the forest a
scavenger paradise. If you could stay alive long enough to get out with your haul.
Since Magicfall and then the Witchwar, so many of the comforts of everyday American life had

stopped getting made. Sure, the metal infrastructure of the cities had protected them from complete
transformation and given birth to the technomages who worked with all sorts of technology, which
meant industry could still function. But shipping proved supremely expensive and dangerous, so
anything the locals needed either had to be made in Portland, or it had to be scavenged.
Tampons were popular. And chocolate. A lot of foods, really. Jeans, too. And silk. Some enterprising
entrepreneur had started a toilet paper factory on the east side, so that wasn’t much in demand
anymore, but pots and pans were. Medications, cosmetics, spices, CDs and DVDs, olive oil, guns,
ammunition, bows, arrows, toys . . . anything that couldn’t be obtained without a lot of money or
magic.
Most people didn’t like going to Spider Island—over where the Willamette had expanded into a giant
lake covering West Linn and Oregon City—to buy magic. That’s where witches and other
supernaturals had set up a bazaar to sell their skills and wares. Humans called it Nuketown, since
they’d have liked to nuke the place.
Humans had a love/hate relationship with magic. They liked the benefits, but feared the dangers,
not to mention all the mythological creatures besides witches that had crawled out of the woodwork
after Magicfall.
They counted the technomages as good guys since they’d fought on the human side in the war and
because mages made most electronics work again. People still couldn’t live without their cell phones
and video games, and it was damned nice to still have working modern hospitals and refrigerators.
Unlike witches, technomages had hard limits to their powers. They worked with industrial magic and
couldn’t heal or make charms or anything separate from wire, steel, electricity, and computers—or
what computers had turned in to, which was an amorphous semi-sentient cloud of information the
technomages called The Oracle. Every big city had birthed one. The mages were working on getting
them to talk to each other like the old internet.
That made Nuketown necessary and despised all at once. Most humans only went there when
desperate, usually preferring to buy from middlemen, a service that Nessa—Kayla’s usual buyer for
salvage—often performed. A few went for the thrill.
Kayla hitched the pack higher again and dodged around a glass bush. It chimed in the light breeze.
It marked the edge of The Deadwood and the return to civilization. She climbed up a bank to the
road, using the thick, wiry grass to help pull herself up.
The asphalt had buckled and cracked apart, leaving knee-deep potholes and long trenches.
Portland’s ubiquitous blackberry vines crawled across the road and sprouted out of the crevices and
holes. The city hadn’t gotten around to repairing this road yet. Maybe they wouldn’t, not with it so
close to The Deadwood.
It took her a little over an hour to work her way back to downtown. After that, it got trickier. Fog
had rolled in off the river again, smothering sound and sight. The breeze did nothing to dissipate it.
Kayla could only see a few feet ahead of herself before the walls of gray nothingness closed in
around her. She sighed and turned west.
The tule fogs rolled in once or twice a week. They didn’t usually last more than a day. They’d started
after Magicfall and didn’t seem to coincide with any weather phenomena. It tended to settle maybe a
mile wide on either side of the river. As annoying as it could be, Kayla couldn’t hate it. It had given
her cover more than a few times when the transformation had taken her and she’d no way to hide.
Tonight she had no need. Her shifter form wasn’t threatening. She decided to head uphill until she
was above the fog and go home for the night. She’d take her scavengings to Nessa in the morning.
A noise from the right sent the hair on the back of her neck prickling. A ring of metal, like a sword
being unsheathed, and muffled movement. A loud sound and the tang of something in the air—hot,
wet, stony, acrid. She recoiled as it coated the insides of her nose and mouth, feeling caustic.
Kayla’s cop genes ignited. She jerked forward a step then made herself stop and retreat. Not her
circus, not anymore. She’d walked away from all that. She should leave it alone, whatever was
happening.
She took a couple more steps toward home and stopped. Goddammit. Curiosity killed the cat, she
told herself, then slid the pack from her shoulders, setting it down against a fire hydrant. She
glanced around, seeing only cottony fog. Odds were nobody would see her pack and take it. Even if
they did . . . there were always more backpacks and more stuff to scavenge.

She drew her .357 semi-auto from her hip holster. All carry laws had been suspended after
Magicfall. Mostly because everybody ignored them. The blowtorch bottle bounced against her thigh
as she followed the noises.
She moved cautiously, placing each foot carefully to keep from tripping or worse. She nudged up
against a curb at the side of the road and stepped up onto the sidewalk. It shuddered and rippled
under her feet, and she began to sink. Kayla jumped back onto the solid asphalt. Her boots stuck to
the ground. She smelled the acrid stench of her rubber soles melting. Dammit. She liked these
boots.
Weird spots like this one popped up all the time. They all manifested different properties and none
particularly pleasant. The worst part was they could appear anywhere at any time, with no warning.
Once reported, technomages would get rid of them, but finding them was usually a matter of
stepping into one. Sometimes that was fatal.
She jerked her boots free from where they’d cooled and stuck to the ground, and followed the curb,
listening closely. More noise came from the left. Kayla tested the sidewalk and found it solid. For
now, anyway.
Taking several quick steps, she scuttled across, finding herself at the top of a flight of steps at the
edge of a small park. The muted sounds of running water made her stomach drop. She’d stumbled
into Keller Fountain Park.
Taking up the entire block, the ziggurat-shaped fountain for which the park was named had been
constructed into the side of a steep hill. On the high side, an angular maze of wading canals
channeled water over a mashed-together collection of square-topped pyramids of various heights
and sizes. The blocky juts and peaks had always reminded her of an Aztec temple. The different
sizes created deep chimney insets in between, some fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep, others a
scant five. Water cascaded down each of the flat planes. No little fountains of neatly contained water
here.
She shuddered. Her worst nightmare. Now she really should leave.
She didn’t move.
Kayla drew in a slow breath. Something was wrong here. She could feel it. Her instincts had never
let her down before. She wouldn’t forgive herself if something awful happened because she was too
worried about herself to check it out.
She started down the steps, listening for telltale sounds, trying to hear through the splashing of the
fountains.
Then—
Guttural words—not English—spoken in a gravel-filled voice that rumbled through the air like
thunder. A cadence to the language, sort of chanting, but nothing musical about it. Weighted
silence, heavy and breathless. Movement. A rippling and clutching in the fog. A red glow washing
outward, turning the fog bloody.
Magic.
The wave of power hit Kayla like a club and sent her sprawling onto the shallow steps. The hard
concrete cut into her back and legs.
She lay still a long moment, her head reeling from where she’d hit it on the cement. Perfect.
Carefully she examined the sudden lump on the back of her skull with the fingers of her left hand. At
least her ponytail had kept the blow from knocking her out. She still clutched her gun in her other
hand. Old habits died hard.
She firmed her grip and sat up, glancing down at herself. A shiny white powder covered her clothing
and the ground all around. Kayla stood, dusting herself off with one hand. The powder clung to her
skin and clothing.
She licked her lips. Fine grit coated her tongue. It tasted like vinegar and something putrid. Worse
than the air before the spell. She grimaced and spit. If her fall hadn’t already alerted whoever had
set that spell, a little spitting wouldn’t give her away.
The sour grains clung to her mouth and then seemed to absorb into her skin. That couldn’t be good.
She resisted the urge to try dusting herself off again. She didn’t need to give the stuff more
opportunity to infect her, whatever it was. On the positive side, she hadn’t broken out in boils and

weeping sores. That was good.
She resumed her descent to the bottom of the fountains. Gray cement platforms layered over each
other like giant slices of bread stacked ten or so feet back from the angular, red fountain walls.
Between, a patchwork of rectangular pools collected water.
The splashing of the fountain covered any sounds there might have been. Holding her gun ready,
Kayla walked closer, heading for the central platform, knowing instinctively that it was the best place
in the park to cast a spell. Her feet found the first of the stacked cement sheets. Three others were
layered on the sides and in front of the base platform. She stopped again to listen, breathing
silently. Still nothing.
Adrenaline thrummed through her veins. She stepped up on the left platform and then to the highest
central platform. She expected to find a spell circle like the kind used by witches, but as she stepped
up, she found only cement coated in a sheet of silvery-white powder.
She circled the platform, angling inward until she came to the middle. Nothing. What was she
missing?
Her brows furrowed. Maybe someone had used an amulet or charm? A hex? Kayla didn’t know
enough about magic to make a decent guess.
A thought struck her, and she gritted her teeth. Son of a bitch. Of course. Things couldn’t just be
simple, could they?
She crossed to the edge of the platform where it jutted several feet above the catch pools and
squatted down. She could only see a foot or two out into the fog. A scum of white powder floated
across the top of the otherwise clear water, disguising the mortared river rock bottom.
Kayla rubbed her hand over her mouth. Was she really considering jumping in? This wasn’t her
problem, and anyway, who knew what this even was? Nobody would thank her for getting involved.
And if she went into the water—
She could only hold off a transformation for so long once she got wet. If she dried quickly, she could
keep it from happening, but wading into water? Risky. Too fucking risky and stupid.
Kayla straightened and turned away from the water and then stopped. Instinct fought against
instinct. The need to protect herself wrestled with the need to serve and protect the people of the
city. Being a cop was in her DNA, and leaving the force hadn’t changed that. God, could she be any
more fucked up?
Don’t tempt fate, she admonished herself. The universe never refuses that kind of challenge.
She pivoted back around. The water wasn’t deep. Mid-calf, maybe to her knees. That wasn’t so
much. She could handle it, no problem.
In your dreams, came the mocking voice of reality in her head.
“No one will see with the fog,” she said out loud, her voice paper thin, but steady with purpose. Her
heart, her soul, had already decided. Time for her brain to get with the program.
She gave a little hop and splashed down into the pool.

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The Shadowed Path The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures Vol 1 by Gail Z. Martin Genre: Epic Fantasy

NOTHING AHEAD BUT VENGEANCE – NOTHING BEHIND BUT BLOOD Soldier. Fight slave. Smuggler. Warrior. Brigand Lord. You may have encountered Jonmarc Vahanian in the Chronicles of the Necromancer but you don’t really know him until you walk in his footsteps. This is the start of his epic journey. A blacksmith’s son in a small fishing village before raiders killed his amily, Jonmarc was wounded and left for dead in the attack. He tried to rebuild his life, but when a dangerous bargain with a shadowy stranger went wrong, he found himself on the run. Gail Z. Martin returns to the world of her internationally best-selling books with these thrilling ales of adventure and high fantasy, collected together here for the very first time. OVER HALF A MILLION CHRONICLES OF THE NECROMANCER BOOKS SOLD “Attractive characters and an imaginative setting combine in an excellent, fast-moving quest novel.” – David Drake on THE SUMMONER. Goodreads * Amazon

The Dark Road The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures Vol 2

“May you lose all you love to the flame and the sword—and the Dark Lady take your soul!” Jonmarc Vahanian fled from the raiders and monsters that killed his family, but when danger dogs his steps once again, he leaves the traveling caravan that gave him shelter to become a mercenary in nearby Principality. His fighting skills help him rise through the ranks, and draw the attention of a Nargi general—and the general’s undead mage. An old, unsettled score turns deadly, trapping Jonmarc in dangerous intrigue. He can save himself—and betray everything he holds dear—or die a hero as the raider’s curse holds true. This collection is the second set of short stories and novellas that reveal another phase of Jonmarc’s growth from a blacksmith’s son to becoming one of the greatest warriors in the history of the Winter Kingdoms. Soldier. Fight slave. Smuggler. Warrior. Brigand Lord. You may have encountered Jonmarc Vahanian in the Chronicles of the Necromancer but you don’t really know him until you walk in his footsteps. Gail Z. Martin returns to the world of her internationally best-selling books with these thrilling tales of adventure and high fantasy, collected together here for the very first time. OVER HALF A MILLION CHRONICLES OF THE NECROMANCER BOOKS SOLD Goodreads * Amazon

Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wrote at age five was about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age 14, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites. The Martins have three children, a Maltese, and a Golden Retriever. Website * Newsletter* Facebook * Pinterest * Twitter * Goodreads * Amazon

CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED SLOWLY, and Jonmarc struggled for breath. He opened his eyes and
saw only darkness. Something heavy was on his chest, while whatever was beneath him was cold
and oddly shaped. Pain flooded back with awareness, as if hot coals had been pressed to his side.
Whatever lay atop him stank of sweat and shit and cheap liquor.
Gradually, memory sparked. Sweet Chenne, I’m lying in a heap of dead men! Panic tingled
through him, warring with the pain. He gathered his remaining strength to try to hurl the body of
the raider off of him when he heard voices nearby. It took all his will to force himself to lie still,
breathing shallowly, listening.
“Is that everything?” The voice was whiskey-roughened and deep.
“Nearly. Loadin’ it all onto the ship now, Cap’n.” This voice was reedy and nasal. “Couple
of the men wondered if we could bring a few of the wenches with us, shame to waste fresh
meat,” he said with a lecherous chuckle that turned Jonmarc’s stomach.
“Poke ’em and choke ’em,” Whiskey Voice replied in a bored tone. “Bad luck to have
women on a ship, ’specially women who’ve seen you kill their men.” His voice dropped
conspiratorially. “They’re like as not to slice off your nuts and branch when you’re not lookin’.”
“Aye.” The reedy-voiced speaker sounded disappointed. “This shithole of a town waren’t
good for much, if you ask me. Provisions are slim, women are ugly, not a man in the place worth
the bother to slave, and hardly no gold nor silver.”
“Patience,” Whiskey Voice replied. “Think of it as practice. We’ll take Ebbetshire next,
when we need more provisions and a night on the town,” he said with a chuckle. “Then
Eiderford when I’m sure the new crew know their places.” He paused. “Best we be gone before
anyone comes to see about those flames.”
Jonmarc felt a jolt as they threw another body on the pile. He heard boot steps recede, and let
out a shuddering breath. It hurt to move; it ached to breathe. One leg had gone to sleep under the
weight of the dead raider. His side was sticky and warm, seeping blood. He passed in and out of
consciousness, then awoke once more to silence.
I don’t care if there’s anyone left to see. I’ve got to heave this big oaf off me before I
suffocate, Jonmarc thought, taking strength from his foul mood. He shoved with all his might,
rolling the body of the burly raider to the side and scraping the man’s entrails off of himself.

Jonmarc took a steadying breath, and struggled to his knees, looking around. He found his sword
and picked it up, watching the shadows warily.
The main street was dark and silent. The shops had burned down to charred posts, and the flames
that flickered inside the ruined buildings cast a dim glow across the carnage. Bodies lay
everywhere. Some were dead raiders, but most were villagers.

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