Friday, September 27, 2013

End Of Dreams Blog Tour

Title: End of Dreams (The Immortal Destiny, Book One)
Author: Kim Faulks 
Genre: Dark Paranormal/Horror
Tour Host: Lady Amber's Tours


A vicious killer hunts a young pregnant woman. He wants more than her blood--he wants her baby too.

Young Eve dreams of being a good mother to her unborn son, that dream is shattered when child killer, Edric Hasting finds her in the middle of the night.

Haunted by the images of black wings on her baby’s ultrasound and the killers last words Eve knows her only hope of survival is to run.

She soon finds hard-bitten detective Adley Scott who dreams of justice for a string of murdered children which hit too close to home.  

A group of Immortals are drawn into Eve’s battle for survival as events are played out across the globe by two opposing factions of immortal beings.

The fragile, divine balance of all things is at stake, and the world is the ultimate prize.

Against a background of universe-changing events and an ensemble of vivid, unforgettable characters, Eve and Adley will have to fight to survive as they begin to learn the truth of The Immortal Destiny.

My Review: What an amazing book! I was pulled into a world so unlike anything I could ever imagined. It was as if I were walking through this story with Eve every page was a different twist and possible horror awaited. I kept thinking I must be dreaming and at some point I would awake and find that none of what I had read had ever happened. Eve's world is so twisted and filled with unspeakable horrors. Then she meets Edric and everything becomes more complicated and sets things in motion. As End of Dreams just gets darker and darker. I absolutely could not put it down. I loved every aspect of the story every twisted turn and dark corner. I wanted to Adley to run in and save Eve and make it everything better for her to bring the light that she so desperately needed. As they struggled to learn the truth I couldn't help but urge them on. I am so into this book and am so hoping that Ms. Faulks will continue to take me down this dark twisted dream world. I will be anxiously awaiting the next in The Immortal Destiny!
Eve tucked her hair behind her ears and straightened her blouse before stepping inside Hurrow’s Federal Hotel. Narrowed eyes and glassy stares followed her all the way to the bar. She sat down on a ruptured leather stool, listening to the juke box belt out some hit from back in the eighties. The song sounded vaguely familiar. Like something Mother had once listened to—before she became a Christian, before she found God.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender’s voice boomed beside her. Eve jumped and her heart sped. He gripped the counter, leaning forward. He was waiting for her to say something, anything. Eve opened her mouth. But no words came, so she closed it again.
This was her first drink. In her first bar. On the first night of her new life. She was finally away from her mother’s controlling rule once and for all—she was free. She stared back at the bartender as a feeling of hope fluttered low inside her belly like a weighed-down moth. Even his scowls wouldn't dampen her mood tonight. Eve couldn’t help but grin.
The bartender no longer glared at her, but exhaled, closed his eyes and swore. Beer? No. Sex on the Beach? I’m not saying that. Eve’s gaze danced along the row of bottles, trying to find something nice which didn’t look like liquid fire. “Umm. May I have a glass of champagne?”
His brows shot upwards, hovered there for a moment before his forehead creased. “Champagne? Does it fucking look like we serve champagne?”
Like a ghost, Eve’s confidence dissolved, as though it had never been there at all. Someone behind her laughed. A woman who called out behind her, “Champagne? Who does this bitch think she is?”
Eve’s face burned.
“Don’t give the girl a hard time, Trev. Can’t you see she’s nervous? Just give her something sparkling and make it expensive.”
Keeping her head still, Eve glanced sideways at the man sliding onto the seat beside her. He was older, by a lot. His pitted face and long, greasy hair matched a black ensemble of leather jacket and dirty jeans which covered his stick-like physique. He caught her staring and winked. Tiny black stumps she guessed had been teeth were revealed with a smile. She looked away and slid from her seat, her eyes drifting to the door. “No. I’m fine, thank you. I… I’ve changed my mind.”
The stranger caught her arm with a soft hold. His touch made her wince. “Nonsense, come on. You’ve come all this way. Just have one little drink.”
It wasn’t his conviction that made her hesitate—it was his words.
She had come a long way. A lot farther than the four-hour bus ride with one suitcase to her name. Her longest journey was the road she’d traveled within herself. Her fight for freedom, even though she was afraid to be alone, but more afraid she’d give in and go back, so the loneliness was bearable. You won’t survive, you’re too weak. Her mother’s parting snarl still haunted her.
Eve’s vision blurred and her throat thickened, cutting off the air to her lungs. She inhaled sharply, wheezing, coughing. The stench of sweat and nicotine filled her nose as tears blurred her gaze. She thought she’d be able to leave behind all the hurt and the hateful words. There was no new life, here or anywhere. Only the baggage of her old one she dragged behind wherever she went.
Her hair fell into her eyes and she shoved it away with the back of her hand, along with a tear. She’d never escape her father’s suicide, or the depression and Valium which followed. Eve took in the bar, now that her rose-colored glasses were gone. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere. But she had nowhere else to go.
The bartender slid the frosted glass toward her. The drink wasn’t champagne, but at this moment, she didn’t really care. Tiny bubbles surged from the bottom to break free on the surface. She’d tried to break free and yet somehow she still failed. The bartender waited patiently while Eve dug for a crumpled ten-dollar note. Her fingers skirted the tiny yellow pill lodged in the crease of her pocket, her weakness and her disease. She grabbed both the note and the tablet while the stranger beside her opened his wallet. His thick pile of bills was hard to miss. He pushed a twenty along the bar.
“No… please, it's okay.” She might be a lot of things, but she’d never be bought. Not for a drink in a bar, not for anything. “I can pay myself.”
She palmed the pill and slid the note across the bar. The bartender nodded snatched up her crumbled bill. “Looks like she be buyin’ her own drink tonight, Matty. You just run along now and leave the young lady alone.”
The stranger pushed off the stool to tower over her. A flash of rage filled his eyes and Eve was paralyzed. His lips slithered back over his gums. Her scalp quivered and her hands shook. He loomed over her, breathing heavily and pinning her with a piercing glare for what seemed like forever before he stormed away.
Her cheeks buzzed with heat and her hands trembled. She shoved the pill into her mouth and washed it down with the fake champagne. She wanted for one moment not to feel hurt and humiliation. She wanted for one moment not to feel anything.
For Eve, time wasn’t measured in weeks or days, or even hours. She counted time by the minutes and seconds it took for the magic pill to dissolve the grip clenching her insides, so she could breathe.
Valium and alcohol made for a dangerous combination. By the time she swallowed the last of the bubbles, she felt off-balance. The room spun out of control and took her stomach with it. Her heart beat frantically and the walls closed in around her. The barroom chatter became screams of laughter. The raucous roar was too much for her and Eve slipped from her seat, leaving the stares and snide comments behind, and stumbled for the doorway.
The November air was thick and warm. Eve fanned the bottom of her shirt to catch a breeze and headed for the alley which would lead her home. The haunting bay of a dog caught her attention. Her heavy thoughts were captured by that woeful sound while she turned and stumbled in the dark until hands dug into her back. She was shoved hard against the side of a building. The brick walls were unforgiving. Her head cracked against a wall and the pain slashed like lightening through her head. She stumbled sideways and lifted her hand toward the back of her head, her thoughts frozen. 
“Fucking stuck-up bitch! You think you’re too good for someone like me?”
Eve’s world seemed slow and thick, like syrup. The snarl in her ear became distorted. She didn’t understand his words, but revulsion shot like cold fire through her veins, fighting the effects of the pill. He pushed his hand inside her shirt to fumble at the cup of her bra. Her thoughts sharpened. She screamed.
The stranger from the bar invaded her field of vision. He gripped her jaw and squeezed. Eve ignored the pain and whipped her head from side-to-side in an effort to break free. But he held on, snaking his leg around hers to pull her tight against him. Please God, no. Not like this… not like this. “Get away from me! Let me go!
“I’ll show you. I’ll show you good, you stuck up little bitch!”
“No, plea—”
Her words were silenced by his mouth. Eve felt violated, filled with revulsion… sickened by his touch and the fear of what might happen next. His hands were everywhere. Not one part of her body was left sacred. His tongue slithered in and out of her mouth. His fetid breath, forced into her lungs, became hers as she struggled to breathe.
Valium fought against the adrenaline, pushed along by the rapid fire of her heart, Eve hit, scratched, and kicked with everything she had. Her arms felt like lead, her movements seemed as though she moved underwater. She tried to escape his touch, rolling her shoulders forward and tucking her chin down. He held her still, and his hands burrowed deeper, finding the soft flesh of her nipple. Eve's stomach rolled and the taste of acid filled her mouth. Her attacker stopped moving, his frantic fingers left her bra. Has he given up? Please God….
“I said, take your hands off her.”
A new voice bounced around the alley, low and threatening. Her attacker stilled, but he didn’t let her go. The sound of his voice reverberated against her body as he spoke. “You best be on your way. This doesn’t concern you.”
Eve thrashed, using her weight to break free. He held on, his grip on her mouth became harder, distorting her frantic words. “Pease, pease. Hep me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” her attacker growled into her ear.
The deep voice bounced around Eve once more. “I’ll not say it again. Let the woman go.”
“Or what? You best fuck off or—”
He pulled her forward and slammed her back against the wall. Her shoulders took the brunt of the impact and her head snapped back against the brick. Agony roared inside her skull, the pain took her breath away and dominated her thoughts. White lights sparked in her vision. She stumbled and her knees connected sharply with the sidewalk. Screams from her attacker filled the air. Eve lurched forward as hot wine and acid flowed from her mouth, spilling onto the pavement. Helpless, she rode the waves of panic and revulsion until only dry heaves were left.
She wiped her mouth and glanced sideways. Her attacker flailed on the ground. His body jerked and thrashed in the air and then was slammed to the ground by a blur of a hand. She caught a glimpse of a face, a beautiful face hidden behind savagery. Eve covered her ears, but his screams drilled through the gaps of her fingers. A loud snap fractured his wails. Eve looked up to the night sky. Please… please make this stop.
And the night became silent like the moon above her.
Scared to move, she stayed still and sneaked a glimpse at the fight. The streetlight cut a triangle across the alley entrance, dividing light from the dark. Shiny black shoes and the bottoms of perfectly-creased pants seem to glide toward her. 
“It is okay. I will not hurt you.”
Eve wrenched her hands from her ears to grip the edges of her torn blouse.
“You have nothing to fear from me.”
Her rescuer knelt before her, his hand outstretched. The street light illuminated his broad cheek bones, revealing arctic blue eyes and glossy black hair.
Eve searched those eyes for kindness and compassion. She found none. It's enough he just saved my life, isn't it? Her gaze shifted to the unmoving feet of her attacker.
“He is not dead, merely asleep.”
Eve turned back to her rescuer. He waited for her to take his hand, like he had all the time in the world. She reached out. Her own hand hovered in the air and trembled before she grasped his and he helped her to stand. The minute she felt steady on her feet, she snatched her hand away and gripped the edges of her shirt tightly. Forcing the words through the pain in her jaw, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Please tell me you are okay. When I saw him hurting you I thought he had already—”
She cut him off, needing to stay the words for her own reassurance. She wrenched her hand from his grasp. “No. Thank God.”
He stared at her, his eyes reflecting the street light. He smiled. “Yes, thank God. Although you really should be thanking me.”
“I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Thank you, thank you so much, Mr…?”
He shook his head and smiled.
He doesn’t want to give me his name. He’s afraid I’ll drag him into this mess… Into my mess. Can I blame him? “I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m Eve.”
“Eve. That... is... a beautiful name. The name of the woman who begat the fall of man, if I remember correctly. How... fitting….”
He moved closer to her, drawing her into his gaze. In this moment, Eve no longer stood in the darkened alley with the remnants of cheap wine drying on her lips. Instead, she floated, caught in his ice-blue gaze.
Her mind slowed and then stilled. Her panic eased until everything apart from this stranger seemed to fade away. His words were hypnotic. “May I walk you home?”
“Yes.” She answered before she’d had a chance to think it over. Her response had been so automatic. Should I really allow a stranger to walk me home at night? Shouldn’t I be concerned? Those questions seemed to slip through the numbed fingers of her mind. Instead of fleeing in fear, she found herself nodding and taking his hand when he held it out once more.
He walked beside her, not too close so they touched, nor too distant, giving her space to slip away. 
“Are you afraid of me?”
His question was carried to her on the soft night breeze. Even though she wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard him, shame forced her to answer. This man had risked his life to save her. But she couldn't lie, not even to herself. Honesty forced her to accept the fact Valium was a way for her to cope, hiding the truth from her and everyone else—the truth that everything scared her.
“Look at me.”
She stopped, glimpsing the door to her apartment building in the corner of her eye. Keep walking, don't stop, said a tiny voice inside her.
“Eve. Look at me.”
There was something about his voice, something so spell-binding and compelling. It was hard not to look, impossible to not obey his commands. Eve turned toward him, yet somehow a part of her was urging her to run. But she couldn’t run, she was frozen. Eve stared into his bottomless eyes, unable to tear away from his gaze, or his touch.
“You are exactly what I am looking for, someone pure and so... tender.”
His accent was so strange, old-fashioned and rigid. It wasn’t Australian that she was sure of. It wasn’t anything she knew. He trailed his fingers down her jawbone. His finger hovered on the end of her chin and then lifted her face to his. His words were jumbled, whispered phrases she couldn't quite catch. All she could see were his perfect, soft lips. “Shall you succeed where others have failed?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he stepped closer, towering over her. “Well, we shall see, won't we?”
He stared into her eyes, as though he seemed to savor this moment, before lowering his head. “Ahh, humans,” he whispered, and then he kissed her.

Author Bio:

The author of The Fire and Ice Series, No Angel Series and now the Immortal Destiny Series I was raised on a staple diet of Stephen King and Dean Koontz, there I fell in love with the darker styles of writing. I started writing at a young age but quickly realized that I lacked an important ingredient, life experience. Now I have this in spades.

I am firstly a Mum and a wife and second an Author of Dark Fantasy/Horror, although sometimes I'm sure my family feels it's the other way around. I live in Queensland Australia and work full-time. Writing is my passion and a dream and I'd love to share it with you.

Author Link:

Buy link (Amazon only):

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Lily Of the Valley Release Day Blitz

Book Info:
Title: Lily of the Valley (Flowering, #1.5)

Author: Sarah Daltry


18+ New Adult romance

You met them in Forget Me Not. Now, hear Jack’s story.
Plagued by a dark past, Jack sees college as a way out. Desperate to escape the area where he grew up, the people who know his secrets, and his own family, he deals with his problems through alcohol and sex.
When he first sees Lily, she’s the epitome of everything he hates. Yet something about her makes Jack rethink everything he knows and assumes about other people. Now, with the help of his best friend and lover, Jack has to decide if he wants to pursue something that he knows will only end badly.
Can Lily be one of the few people who can see Jack for who he really is – or will his darkness be too much for her to handle?

Buy Links:

Amazon UK:
All Romance:

 About The Author:

Sarah Daltry writes erotica and romance that ranges from sweet to steamy. She moves around a lot and has trouble committing to things. Lily of the Valley is her third full length novel, although she also has several story collections and two novellas available. Her other novels are Forget Me Not, the story that tells Lily’s version of events, and Bitter Fruits, which was available shortly, but is now in the contract phase with a major publisher. When Sarah isn't writing, she tends to waste a lot of time checking Facebook for pictures of cats, shooting virtual zombies, and simply staring out the window.

Author Social Media Links:


At work, though, the people are real. Both the customers and the staff. During the busy times, we get more douchebags, mostly my classmates who probably should be in the library and not eating a hangover away. Mal is also on this morning. He’s a recovering alcoholic, a total asshole to nearly everyone, and an incredibly shitty employee in a lot of ways. But the dude can cook and when I walk in a couple minutes late with no explanation, Mal just shrugs and hands me an order.
“Big parties last night?”
“Huge party. I spent the night reading Dostoevsky.”
“He a scientist?” Mal flips over the largest slab of ham I have ever seen. For all the sort of dive element of this place, the food is still fucking great.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Eh. Never cared for all that mumbo jumbo. Don’t know any of it and I’m doing just fine.”
That’s something else I admire about Mal. By no one’s standards is he doing just fine. He has a tendency to fall off the wagon as soon as he approaches his ten month anniversary – which he has been doing for likely longer than I have been alive. He’s been married and divorced five times. He has three kids who don’t speak to him. Finally, he only eats the food from the café and he lives in a motel out by the prison. Oh – and he works as a short order cook in a shitty café. But in his mind, life is just fine. Sometimes, I think I need to get a hold of whatever it is that keeps him from losing his shit.
We settle into our routine, since there is little Mal and I can talk about. I can’t discuss Raskolnikov’s character traits and Mal simply has nothing to say. So we cook in silence, but it’s comfortable. After everything I have been through, I feel a strange affinity for this place. Even thinking about leaving when I eventually get the hell out of town makes me a little sad. I hate that it makes me sad. I want to leave with no connections, with no strings.
I go to stick an order on the counter for Liz when I see her. Strawberries. She’s with some dude, who is basically what I pictured when she mentioned her boyfriend. Broad, tan, blond, and eating like a fucking pig. I don’t know what they’re talking about and I can’t see her face, but he loves her. It’s immediately recognizable and I hate him for it. I don’t even know why I hate him for it, since at least maybe he’s not as much of a dick as I would have expected. If we had been placing bets, I would have gone with the safe assumption he had something else on the side to make up for having such a sweet and pure girlfriend. I wonder if maybe she isn't as innocent as she looks. The thought makes me horny again. I don’t get what is so damn attractive about this typical girl, but something makes me want to taste every inch of her skin.

Top Ten:
Author’s Favorite Video Games:
1.    Borderlands 1 and 2
2.    Fallout 3
3.    Persona series
4.    Silent Hill series
5.    Final Fantasy series
6.    Skyrim
7.    Dragon Age series
8.    Mass Effect series
9.    Fable series
1. Bioshock series
1. Magic: The Gathering
1. Perfect Dark
1. Heavy Rain
1. LA Noire
1. Catherine
1. Zuma

Author’s Favorite Bad Boys:
1.    Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights
2.    Jake Barnes from The Sun Also Rises
3.    Will from Infernal Devices
4.    Lord Byron
5.    The Scarecrow in Batman Begins
6.    Lucifer from Supernatural
7.    Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice
8.    James Dean
9.    Damon from Vampire Diaries
1. V from V for Vendetta

Interview with Sarah:

  • What inspired you to write your book?

I had written a short story about Derek and Lily and their first time called “Her Brother’s Best Friend.” It was just supposed to be a short erotic story. But it sold well, so I thought about writing more about the two of them. However, as I started writing Forget Me Not, the story would not work for me. Until I found Jack. And then the novel was over and there was just so much more to his story, so Lily of the Valley was born.

  • How did you come up with the title?

Forget Me Not and Lily of the Valley are both flowers, and the series is called Flowering. The reason is that it is about love, sexuality, and growing up – sort of blossoming into the person you will be. Forget Me Not also addresses the idea of leaving your life behind and moving on. And Lily is the main female character, so hence Lily of the Valley.

  • Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

People are complicated, as are relationships. The things we think we want sometimes turn out not to be what we want. In addition, the people we think we understand may surprise us. We can’t assume anything about love or each other. They are too complex.

  • What books have most influenced your life most?

The Catcher in the Rye, because it was the first time I understood that other people felt like me and it also said it was okay to be different. And The Sun Also Rises, because there can be beauty in suffering.

  • If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

Hemingway. I know he’s dead, but he knew how to write true.

  • What are your current projects?

I am writing Scandal, a contemporary romance about a teacher and an actor who find each other after they are both ruined by rumors, and I am waiting to release Bitter Fruits, a New Adult paranormal/urban fantasy romance in December through the publisher. I am also working on Immortal Star, the second book in that series.

  • What was the hardest part of writing your book?

Jack’s experiences and emotions are really closely tied to my own and it was hard to write some of his scenes.

  • If Hollywood made a movie about your life, whom would you like to see play the lead role as you?

Aubrey Plaza. She has the same type of biting sarcasm that I do.

  • If you had six months with no obligations or financial constraints, what would you do with the time?

Travel the world and write.

  • What kind of people do you dislike?

Anyone who is cruel to other people or creatures. People who assume their own reality is the only reality. And people who don’t read.




Burn Out Blog Tour

Book Info-
Title- Burn Out
By- Ruthi Kight
Genre- New Adult

Publication Date- August 10th, 2013 

Pyromaniac. Murderer. Burn out.

Ten years ago Delia’s life went up in smoke. Literally.

After a decade of hiding, she is forced back into the world.

With only her wits to guide her, she must now figure out how to live in a town that knows her only as a murderer.

Her family is gone. The people all fear her. She has nothing holding her in Sunny Shores...until she meets Liam.

He’s heard the stories. He knows he should stay away from her, but he’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Life seems to be looking up for them...until her past comes back like a bitch slap to the face.

My Review: Talk about spinning your world like a top and then throwing in a flaming ball of fire and that's what you get from Burn Out. This story is so hot I can still hear the sizzle. As I read this story it felt like I had walked through a wall of flames and came out a an awesome glowing of red. Getting to know the characters in Burn Out was quite an experience all on it's own. Delia is one flaming hot chili pepper who's world has been burned in more ways then one. She walks through her days being known as a pyromaniac murderer wondering way she stays in Sunny Shores as there is nothing for her there anymore it had all went up in flames so long ago. Ready to leave thinking it's time to move on until... Liam. Liam knows all the stories about Delia and yet there is something about her that makes his blood boil and his skin sizzle from the very thought of her. They embark on a path together entering a journey that could change both their lives until Delia's past stands up and throws a wall of fire at her like she has never known before. Delia's not the only one with secrets and a past that haunts her Liam has a few of his own that could destroy everything they have. This story was so much more than I expected it to be the mystery and the HOT sexy scenes were enough to make blush a time or two. Burn out is one spicy story that had more than just your typical romance I enjoyed every element that this story held. Ruthi Kight can write my bed time stories for the rest of my life and I would love her for it. I am so looking forward to reading more for Ruthi Kight!


About the Author:
Ruthi Kight currently lives in her hometown of Columbia, SC, with her fiancé and five year old daughter. She has an unhealthy addiction to books, music, and chocolate, but not necessarily in that order. When her dream of being a rock star didn't work out, she focused on her other passion: writing. She is the author of Knotted Roots, a YA Coming of Age story, and is currently working on two other novels that are due out this year.

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The Prophecy Blog Tour

Title: The Prophecy (The Children of Lilith Volume 3)
Author: C. David Belt
Genre: LDS, Horror, Vampire

Tour Host: Lady Amber's Tours

Volume 3, The Prophecy: 
For 6,000 years, Lilith and her Children have walked the earth, hunting, preying, seducing, corrupting, ruling from the shadows...until now. 
An ancient prophecy, spoken by Adam, Lilith's grandfather, foretells her doom. She will do anything, corrupt any innocent, murder countless mortals to save herself.  To survive, she knows she must destroy Carl and Moira Morgan.  The war has begun.  And Carl and Moira know, win or lose, it all ends here.

My Review: Let's imagine that everything you have ever been taught to believe in any religion has just been altered and a new theory has been brought to attention making you question the realm of it's possibility then you add in a few thousand vampires and boom there it is sitting right in front of  you making perfect sense right? Wrong! This is the mind blowing experience I had while reading The Prophecy. The genre horror,vampire is everything this story has and more! I found myself more than a couple of times wanting to cover my eyes as the scenes in the book played out before me in my mind. In The Prophecy Lilith will stop at nothing until she has what it is she wants and she doesn't care what she has to do to or who she has to kill to get it. This is a war between everything you thought was good and the mind blowing 6,000 year old evil and it's impending doom. New theories are introduced as to who Lilith really is and how she could still roam the earth after 6,000 years that may make you want to make you question your sanity and your mind wonders onto the probability of it's truth. Life for the characters in this book become one gigantic living nightmare that you as the reader get drawn into wishing at any moment you will wake up and realize it was just that a nightmare that never really happened...or did it?  The war is upon us and who will become the victor or will all be wiped out by the horrific legion of vampires set out to destroy everything and anyone in their path. Can Carl and Moira stop Lilith before it's to late? I can't tell you however, I will tell you it definitely does end here. You will not be let down by The Prophecy if horror is what you seek. this is one story I wished I hadn't taken to bed with me to read. 

Excerpt -The Prophecy:

“‘Sons of God! Brood of Light-Bearer who fell!’ That is how I would render the first half.
The message is in plain text. The email address looks like a random mix of letters and numbers, and the email provider is one that supports anonymous accounts.
I've been collaborating with colleagues across the country and in the U.K., Israel, and Egypt for more than a week. We've been trying to decipher the twenty-four syllables of Adamic (at least I assume it’s Adamic) that Lilith uttered at the battle at the farm. My colleagues are experts in Hebrew, Arabic, Egyptian, Greek, and Latin. We've been exchanging emails ever since I asked for their help.
Of course, I've told them I’m not at liberty to reveal the source just yet, but I’m certain it’s a language that predated all others, a protolanguage. In the beginning, some refused to collaborate on the project because I wouldn't reveal my source, because I was being cryptic. But eventually, most couldn't resist the lure of the puzzle. That’s something we all share in common, my colleagues and I: we can’t resist the potential, the lure of hidden knowledge.
And of course, I can’t tell my academic friends that the source is a native speaker. I also can’t tell them that the text is an outburst from a six-thousand-year-old vampire after she’d been impaled by the very spear that once pierced Christ’s side, a spear being wielded by a former Nazi assassin who is now a repentant vampire.
In other words, I can’t betray my friends.

Volume 2, The Penitent:
In 6,000 years, no vampire has ever defied Lilith, Queen of the vampires...until now. 
Moira and Carl Morgan have saved the city from the horror of Michael and his evil wives, but victory has come at terrible cost.  And there are consequences to every choice, every victory.  Word has spread that someone has broken Lilith's power, that someone has defied the ancient Queen of the vampires.   And she's not happy about it.

Excerpt - The Penitent:

There’s something seriously wrong with me.
I cannae Sleep.
Or, to be more precise, I dinnae want to Sleep. And since I can catch a full day’s rest only once each week, abstaining could have . . . consequences. It makes me irritable. It affects my judgment. It in-creases the ever-present likelihood that I might . . . slip up.
And if I slip up, people die.
Ach! I’m so hungry!
’Tis another thing that’s worrying me. I should nae be hungry! Nae even a wee bit! I Fed just after sunrise! We both did. Carl, my husband, and I consumed two quarts each just before we went to bed. ’Twas a bit of a luxury, those two quarts. One should’ve been sufficient, enough for a week in a pinch. But here I am, lying in bed beside my Sleeping husband, and all I can think of is how hungry I am, how tired I am, and how much I dread going to Sleep!
’Tis nae use.
I rise from bed. Carl does nae notice. To all appearances he could be dead. I slip into my dressing gown and make my way to the living room. I take several turns about the room as I try desperately to think of something else, anything other than my hunger, my weariness, and my fear.
A scratching sound! Aye, lassie, focus on that. Someone’s at my flow-er bed again, digging it up. And I’m nigh certain I know who ’tis. That’s twice this year. I should peek out and catch . . . but, nae, ’tis the side facing the Sun.
My stomach growls.
Perhaps just a wee pint more.
I walk into the kitchen. Though nobody’s watching me, I try to keep my pace casual, walking, strolling as if I’m nae in a hurry, as if I’m nae desperate to get there. Why do I bother? There’s nary a soul to see me. Who am I trying to deceive? Myself?
I open the refrigerator, and the cold air transports the sweet fra-grance to my nostrils. To be sure, ’tis tainted by the odor of the preservative, but that cannae mask the nectar of . . .
There! Outside! Something far sweeter than the contents of my icebox!
Though I cannae smell it just yet, I can feel the general direction.
Quickly I close the refrigerator and head to the window. A cau-tious glance, while I carefully stay in the shadows, reveals nothing about the source of the evil, but it does show an overcast sky.
I shudder with relief, and my mouth begins to water. In a trice, I rush to the door and throw open the chest beside it. This is my emergency kit. I retrieve all the things I need: the bottle of heavy-duty spray-on sunscreen, the sweatpants, sweatshirt, gloves, boots, sun-glasses, cloak, and hood. In just a few seconds, I've applied every bit of protection. Only at this point, when I’m prepared, do I pause for a wee tick to be sure there’s still a reason to venture outside.
Aye, the evil’s still there. Sweet corruption.
I open the front door quietly so as not to alert anyone to my pre-sence. Aye, but I want to throw it open!
And the scent of pure evil washes over me. The honeyed fragrance engulfs my senses. Drool spills from my eager lips.
So close!
The familiar rage builds like a smithy furnace stoked by a bellows within me. Here! In my very neighborhood, practically on my front lawn!
Through the red haze of my wrath, I barely notice that my flower beds are indeed torn up, the destroyer having fled. I dinnae care for that. The one I Hunt now has done far worse than petty vandalism. Nae, the evil I smell can be caused only by murder and violence.
The scent turns my head to the southwest. I cannae see the source, but the direction is certain. I follow the airborne spoor across the street and to the right toward . . . Aye! That open garage! ’Tis the Mur-phys’ home. I can see two cars, neither one of them running. Now I can hear voices—hushed but emphatic voices.
“. . . my money, cabrón?”
I dinnae recognize the voice.
Tomorrow! I’ll have it tomorrow!”
That voice I recognize. ’Tis Aaron Murphy. I dinnae know the the family well since they are nae in my ward, but Aaron’s the oldest boy in the family. He’s plays football or baseball or some other sport at the high school. I do hope he’s nae the source of the evil.
I approach the garage with all stealth, fighting hard to contain the mounting rage and the ravenous hunger.
“You said that yesterday, man. And the day before that. You been hiding from me!”
“I swear, Manny! Tomorrow!”
“You don’t get it, muchacho. I give you product. You sell it to your little friends at school. You give me my money. I give you more product. You sell it. You give me money. You get to go on making everyone think you just a good little Mormon boy. That’s how it works.”
“Please, Manny!”
“Not this time, cabrón! I gotta teach you a lesson. Today, I’m just gonna break your fingers.”
I round a corner of the garage and take in the whole scene. In the confined space between a compact car on the left and the Murphy fam-ily’s minivan on the right, Aaron, the all-American boy, is pinned a-gainst the larger vehicle, held there by a big Hispanic man complete with bandana, gold chains, tattoos, multiple piercings, and a nasty-looking switchblade. Manny, the thug, has one hand at Aaron’s throat. The other hand holds the knife an inch away from the lad’s eye.
“Next time I cut off one of your fingers, muchacho. Just try catching a football like . . .”
A snarl rips from my throat.
Manny releases the boy and spins to face me. He looks startled, but nae frightened. Aaron’s head snaps in my direction, but he remains rooted to the spot. He looks horrified.
The thug’s face twists in an evil leer. “Beat it, chica. This is none of your business.”
I laugh low and menacingly. “Ach, nae, rat. Ye are my business.”
I step into the shade of the garage, safely out of the muted sun-light. I throw back my hood and pull off my sunglasses, setting them on the trunk of the sedan. I fix Aaron’s eyes with my own and say with Persuasion, “Lad, go stand over there and wait for me while I deal with this.” Aaron’s expression goes slack, and he turns obediently and walks to the far wall of the garage.
I return my gaze to the gangster, who’s staring at Aaron in amaze-ment. “Now, rat,” I say, “face me. Look into my eyes and see the hellfire that awaits ye.”
Manny looks at me, his face a mask of fury. “Listen, puta . . .”
I open my mouth wide, revealing my dripping fangs.
His brown eyes go wide, and the color drains from his face. “Madre de . . . !
I advance toward him, savoring his terror as I will the honeyed sweetness of his evil blood. I want to tear this vermin to shreds . . . after I consume his life.
Still brandishing the knife in one hand, he fumbles at his breast with the other and lifts a rather large and ornate gold cross on its chain. He holds it toward me as a talisman.
I cower back, shielding my face from the crucifix.
Through my fingers, I can see Manny’s face split in a leer of tri-umph. “That’s right, zorra. Now you know who’s . . .”
I straighten up, no longer feigning fear. I shake my head slowly from side to side, laughing softly. “Ooh, did I give ye a wee moment of hope, ratty? That bonnie bit of jewelry cannae protect ye from me.”

Volume 1, The Unwilling: 
In all the 6,000 years that the Children of Lilith have walked among us, there has never been an unwilling vampire...until now.
The Unwilling is the story of the world’s first and only unwilling vampire.  Set in present-day Utah, it’s the story of Carl Morgan, a decent LDS man who loses his wife and children in an automobile accident.  Then he witnesses the murder of his wayward sister at the hands of the beautiful and mysterious Rebecca.  When the police can’t find the killer, he goes searching for her.  He finds Rebecca, but she takes away everything.  She transforms him into the world’s FIRST and ONLY unwilling vampire.  Vampirism is a choice, and you’re choosing to become a serial killer, because you can only survive on HUMAN blood, not animal blood.  Carl is unwilling to murder to survive and he really doesn't understand what has happened to him.  He’s found and mentored by Moira MacDonald, a two-hundred and seventy year-old Penitent (repentant vampire).  She teaches him how to survive without killing, how to stay true to his temple covenants (in spite of his condition), and how to get justice for his murdered sister.  But to Moira?  Carl’s very existence as an unwilling vampire turns her world upside-down, because Carl is an impossibility.  In the 6,000 years that the Children of Lilith have walked the earth, there has never been an unwilling vampire, because eternal damnation cannot be forced on someone: they must choose it, just as Moira did.  And yet, there’s Carl.  If he can exist somehow, there must be something about Moira’s condition that she doesn't know.  Is it possible that, after two and a half centuries of searching for redemption and repentance with no hope, perhaps there might somehow be a way back?  Meanwhile, Rebecca’s vampire Master, Michael, plans to unleash a wave of new vampires on the city.  Carl and Moira must stop him before countless innocents are slaughtered.

Excerpt - The Unwilling:

“Where am I?” I ask.
She hesitates a moment and then replies, “Ye are in my home. Do ye know how ye got here?”
Now I’m getting worried. “My memory’s a bit fuzzy. Sorry.”
“Ye carried a young woman into the emergency room at the LDS Hospital. She was unconscious and covered in blood. Ye were stag-gerin’ about and yellin’ incoherently. Ye frightened everyone. We took the young woman and attended to her, but ye collapsed. I thought it best nae to let the staff examine ye. So, I brought ye here and tended to ye myself.”
The girl. Yes, I remember the girl. “Is she OK?” I ask.
Moira nods slowly. “Aye, she’s fine. Some blood loss, but she’ll live. Ye did nae kill her.”
Kill her? What?
“W . . . why would I kill her?” I stammer. “What’re you talking about?”
She stares at me again. She seems to be holding some kind of internal debate. Her eyes narrow as she comes to a decision.
“Blood,” she says simply.
“Blood. Human blood.”
I look at her without understanding, blinking stupidly.
“The drink,” she says. “’Twas human blood.”
In an instant, it all comes back to me.
Michael. Rebecca. Chikah. Benjamin. The Cult. The Ritual. Every-thing.
I think I’m going to throw up.
I lurch to my feet and look around frantically for a bathroom, a sink.
Moira is at my side in an instant. She pulls me toward the kitchen. “Dinnae ruin my carpet, laddie!”
Wow! Her grip is strong!
By the time I reach the sink, the nausea has passed. I lean against the sink all the same. The room is still spinning.
Moira gave me blood to drink. I drank human blood.
And I liked it.

Author Bio
C. David Belt was born in Evanston, WY. As a child, he lived and traveled extensively around the Far East. He served as an LDS missionary in South Korea and southern California (Korean-speaking). He graduated from Brigham Young University with a Bachelor of Science in Computer Science and a minor in Aerospace Studies. He served as a B-52 pilot in the US Air Force and as an Air Weapons Controller in the Washington Air National Guard. When he is not writing, he sings in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and works as a software engineer. He collects swords (mostly Scottish), axes, spears, and other medieval weapons and armor. He and his wife have six children and live in Utah with an eclectus parrot named Mork (who likes to jump on the keyboard when David is writing).

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