Born into FlamesRoyland crouched as he walked along a crudely-made roof of mostly two-by-fours and plywood. It seemed to be a lookout station. Too bad that hadn’t worked out so well for the previous occupant, but now it made for a perfect viewpoint for Cammie and him.

They had been observing the pirate outpost for several hours now, mostly to ensure it was actually pirates, but also to see if there were any vampires or Weres among them. So far, it seemed the answer was no.

This wasn’t the first group of pirates they had come across, which kind of surprised him. When they set off from Old Manhattan, they had expected to come across one main pirate base where everything was being conducted. Turns out, at least along the coast, a lot of pirates had gathered. They weren’t all Canadians, either, but groups from overseas—Spanish, Algerian, Laotian, and, most of all it seemed, Norse. Apparently, someone had been hard at work organizing the pirates around a cause.

Unfortunately for that someone, said cause conflicted with Old Manhattan’s path toward becoming a conflict-free hub of the new world, or at least a new America. They couldn’t allow interruptions in trade, and the idea of allowing a massing of criminals just north, on the same continent no less, was certainly unacceptable. (more…)


UNEDITEDThis is a post-apoc / dystopian, available now for preorder –  launching June 24!


Early the next morning, Marisol’s head still hurt from where the guy had sucker-punched her the night before, and it was made worse by the bumping of the biofuel-belching tactical vehicle as it made its way down the pot-hole covered street.

The Apes often hunted at dusk, or in the blue light of pre-dawn, though this time she had hoped for a bit of rest before being woken up and told to grab her gear. But like the good Ape she was, she had pulled herself together and here she was just like the rest of them, clad in molded Nomex gear, strike helmets, poly-fiber boots, and lugging their well-lubricated assault rifles.

She was at work and the operations always began the same way.

An alarm would sound overhead, a teeth-chattering howl from a metal box bolted to a spit of thick wood, and the Apes would be roused from their bunks and on the move, gathering up their equipment, rations and weapons, before heading out of what passed for barracks, to their rides.

Marisol was always on point, the team’s tracker. She was the one who’d been blessed with the power to smell, and to discern and to notice the small things that others missed. Nothing super-human, but a heightened awareness like many had found themselves with after the world had collapsed around them. Some found it affected their sight, others strength, but for Marisol, it was a keen sense of smell.

Sometimes, especially when stuck in a vehicle with the other Apes, she thought it was more a curse than a blessing. But when it helped her in the hunt, she wouldn’t trade her sense of smell for all the muscles or speed in the world.  (more…)


UNEDITEDThis is a post-apoc / dystopian, available now for preorder –  launching June 24!


Marisol, or “Sling,” as some of the Olders called her, held her rifle at shoulder level to peer through the scope, searching, hunting. The dark blue skies of pre-dawn cast a blue hue across New Chicago, and then she saw him, saw the man in the window, always staring out from that skyrise, one of the few that remained, gazing in her direction.

Well, not her specifically, but to the barracks inhabited by the hunters, the area where she and the other so-called “Apes” lived.

Their predecessors, cops and national guardsmen and the like, had worked to restore law and order after First Light (the local euphemism for the Unraveling, the purported solar storm that ended the old ways) and the populace, upon seeing them arrive for the first time in their militarized, then-shimmering black gear and body armor, had nicknamed them Apes.

The name stuck and the youngest of the Apes, Marisol, took some small measure of satisfaction from seeing images in the basin of the long-dead creatures with their muscle-quilted bodies and silver backs and faces seemingly screwed up in perpetual disgust. They were strong and powerful, and so was she.

Even though she had no idea who the man watching her was, she wanted to pull the trigger and watch him fall. Anyone who peered in the direction of the Apes often had to have sins enough worth dying for. An infatuation with their trade meant a love of death.  (more…)

New Release: Angel of Reckoning

Angel of ReckoningIt’s the big day! My 4th book in the Reclaiming Honor series (A Kurtherian Gambit series) has launched and is rising up in the charts – be sure to check out ANGEL OF RECKONING!

There are new characters, conclusions to old threads, and some opening of new ones. Yay!  (more…)


UNEDITED (This is book 4 in the Reclaiming Honor series [A Kurtherian Gambit series]. Check out books 1-3 on Amazon, all in Kindle Unlimited)

Angel of ReckoningOld Manhattan, Sandra’s Caf

“I must die,” Valerie said.

Neither Sandra nor Jackson seemed to hear her, as Sandra was too busy arranging a cheese and wine sampler that some of her customers had ordered, while Jackson stood at the entryway to the backroom where they were all huddled. He kept pulling the curtain aside and nervously glancing out.

Valerie looked over her shoulder at Diego, going through one of the crates of supplies that had recently been delivered via blimp from Europe.

“Thank God this shipment made it through,” he said, closing the lid and turning to them with a smile. “All accounted for.”

“Good.” Sandra sliced chunks of cheese from a block, but this one she held as if she was going to take a bite. But right when it was close to her mouth she pulled it back to say, “One more damn shipment intercepted by those pirates, and I swear to god I’ll figure out how to become a vampire and go after them myself.”

Valerie just shook her head, flabbergasted.

“What?” Sandra asked. She looked at the others, who looked equally confused. “Did we miss something?” (more…)


UNEDITED – More of this post-apoc vampire story


Valerie paced before her window, shoulders tight with worry, as she watched Diego and Cammie walk off. Sandra stood rigid, arms crossed protectively in front of her, looking like someone had kicked her puppy. Ella had reported in with her brother Peterson, and his cop partner, Wallace.

“I want the city walls up at all times,” Valerie commanded. “Day and night, got that?”

Ella nodded, but held up a hand of caution. “Just… what exactly should we tell the people of the city?”

Valerie looked at the former Enforcer, now wearing a cop uniform like her brother, and smiled. One who asks questions and thinks about repercussions, she liked that.

“Excuse my lack of knowledge about how the city works.” Valerie paced and then stopped. She looked out to the west, where she could see the edges of the city. Or, at least where the working city met what she’d begun to term the dead city. That’s where the walls went up, only at nights, until now. “What is it we currently tell the citizens of Old Manhattan?”

Ella shared a look with Wallace that said she wasn’t sure, so Wallace stepped up.

“Mostly we blame it on the wackos and nomads.” He had a way of glancing at Ella every once in awhile and did that now with a nervous smile. “Mostly we just enforce it, don’t really bother with what they know, because honestly… we didn’t know.”

“I had a hint of an idea,” Ella said. “I mean, I knew about the Weres and the hunting, so put two and two together.

“And she didn’t tell you any of this?” Valerie asked Wallace. “In spite of your… situation?”

He blushed, giving it away—she’d guessed right. Those looks were the type lovers shared. (more…)