Book Tour and Giveaway: Secrets of the Cryptids, Book 1 of Cowboys and Cryptids

 

 

She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.

Secrets of the Cryptids

Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1

by Sharon Buchbinder

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romantasy

She never belonged to the pack—until fate led her to him.

Cybersecurity expert Hayil Rufus Rose has spent her life hiding one impossible truth: she’s a werewolf who has never shifted, a failure by her pack’s rules and a woman on the brink of exile. A solo hike in Glacier National Park is meant to clear her head—but instead, a chance meeting with Will Penn, a guarded federal agent with powerful instincts and secrets of his own, changes everything.

As Hayil becomes entangled in a missing persons case involving Will’s brother, she uncovers corruption, cartel money laundering, and violence threatening the Blackfeet Nation. She forms an unexpected bond with a Bigfoot family, who are not monsters, but an ancient people who recognize her latent power. Through trauma, loyalty, and near‑fatal danger, Hayil finally undergoes her full transformation, claiming her identity at last.

Secrets of the Cryptids launches a thrilling paranormal romance series about found family, fierce hearts, and the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be.

 

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Hayil had the advantage of excellent night vision—super vision compared to other humans. Plus, she possessed an almost uncanny ability to connect with most wild and domestic animals. Hayil mentally grimaced. She could also thank her grandmother for her long overdue ability to shift. What would it take to trigger her body into the lupine version of herself? Was it like a growth spurt that hadn’t hit her body yet? Or was Hayil destined to remain the one person in her pack who wasn’t able to wolf out?

Once again, her mother’s constant refrain came back to her: “You’re a late bloomer, like your grandmother. She was older than you when she shifted. All in good time. You’ll see.”

Sure, Mom.

Hayil knew her mother wanted the best for her, but found her cheerfulness a bit forced. Beneath her mother’s optimism, Hayil sensed an undercurrent of concern about her thirty-year-old daughter’s ability to integrate into the red wolf clan. This missing piece of Hayil’s identity called to her like a siren’s song, demanding she complete herself. Would she ever be a true part of the pack? Or would she forever be the unmated one? What then? She was an anomaly, something the pack didn’t tolerate well. Tradition dictated that if a pack member didn’t shift by the end of their third decade, they were banished.

A chilling thought struck Hayil mid-stride.

If I don’t shift this year, will they force me out of the pack?

They were the only family she’d ever known. Her mother would fight for her to stay and would probably win. But at what cost?

Hayil would be an outcast. She’d never be invited to pack meetings, deliberations or celebrations. Those were reserved for shifters. If she married a non-shifter, the pack would drive her out, of that she was sure. What if her offspring were able to shift? Would that make things better? Would the pack let her stay then? It wasn’t as if she could go to a genetic counselor and ask for a DNA test for werewolves.

The thought of losing her extended family through no fault of her own made her gulp back tears. Angry at herself for allowing her thoughts to go down that dark rabbit hole, Hayil reminded herself she was a scientist. Review the facts, not the fears.

Fact one: Grandma had been in labor with Hayil’s mother when she’d shifted for the first time.

Fact two: The majority of the pack members had shifted when they’d hit puberty.

Fact three: Hormones! It had to be related to hormones! The rush of hormones at puberty and the flood of pregnancy hormones had to be related somehow.

Hayil was long past puberty and the associated mood swings and acne, thank you very much. She was not ready to be pregnant. For starters, she would need a romantic partner in her life. She’d had zero luck on that score so far.

“I still have time. It’s not too late. I won’t give up hope.”

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Hayil double-checked her wild animal deterrents. All in place. Then she tugged her knit cap down over her ears and pulled her hands-free headlamp into place. She zipped her fleece jacket against the breeze and adjusted her twenty-five-pound backpack. With an altitude gain of almost nineteen hundred feet, she planned to take her time, pacing herself for the strenuous four-hour hike. She grasped her lightweight hiking poles and took a last look up at the stars. Time to see that spectacular view at the top.

As promised by the trail blog, the dirt path was well maintained. The morning air was cold and crisp, layered with the woodsy scent of damp earth and pine needles. An owl hooted, and Hayil spotted movement in the brush between the thick pines beside the trail. Her headlamp reflected in the eyes of small critters, all of whom skittered deeper into the woods.

For three hours, all she heard was the crunch of her hiking boots on dirt and gravel, the rasp of her own breaths, the glug of water when she drank and the jingle of her bear bells. She looked at yet another incline on the trail and decided she needed a hiking song for inspiration.

“Country roads, take me home,” she sang, belting out “Mountain Mama”—and something crashed through the bushes ahead on the trail. Something large.

She froze.

An enormous black bear stood on its hind legs at the top of the hill.

Shit, shit, shit. If only I could shift, shift, shift!

The animal had its back to her, but if it got her scent, it could turn and charge at her in a flash.

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, she placed her hand on the bear spray.

A breeze sprang up, making her eyes water with its intensity. The good news was that it meant she was downwind of the bear. The bad news was that the air smelled like a wet dog had rolled in a dead animal. The worst news was that the bear turned and looked right at her.

 Omigod. It’s not a bear. What the heck is it?

Sharon Buchbinder is an award-winning author who has been writing stories since she could hold a pen. The paranormal romance genre is her writing home, a place where the impossible is simply the beginning, where women find their power in the most extraordinary circumstances, and where love is always worth the danger of seeking it.

A Maryland-based author with a background in healthcare and higher education that has informed her vivid, grounded storytelling, Sharon is drawn to heroines who have been underestimated — women who carry something extraordinary inside them and spend the whole book learning to trust it. Sharon believes passionately that readers deserve stories where the heroine doesn’t just survive — she transforms. When she’s not writing, Sharon can usually be found unplugging in her garden, obsessing over cryptid mythology, and convincing her pets they are not, in fact, supernatural.

 

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Book Tour and Giveaway: Kill Code by Clive Fleury

 

 

In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a difference, or will he die trying? 

Kill Code

by Clive Fleury

Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction

 

WHEN THE OCEANS RISE...THE TRUTH DROWNS

It's the year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate catastrophe, where the sun's heat is deadly and the ocean rises higher every day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man can’t survive for long.

Hogan Duran was a good man once. He was a cop, forced to resign in disgrace when he couldn't save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging trash dumps just to survive.

But after four years of living in poverty, Hogan finally gets a chance to get back on his feet. He's invited to join the National Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society. All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he'll be rewarded with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.

But this ex-cop's path to redemption won't be easy. The NSC are hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper and deeper into their world, he starts to uncover the terrible truth of how the powerful in this new world maintain their power...and just how far they will go to protect their secrets.

In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a difference, or will he die trying? 

 

Kill Code is the first novel in an exciting new dystopian science fiction series from the mind of award-winning author, screenwriter, and director Clive Fleury. Fans of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey, and Divergent by Veronica Roth will be captivated by Kill Code. You'll also love this book if you enjoy:

* Dystopian novels and stories

* Stories about futuristic societies

* Stories about disgraced cops

* Stories about unlikely heroes

* Stories about conspiracies

* Stories about injustice

  

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The Station: a seething mass of humanity. Some came with hope in their hearts, ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime. For others, it was the only place they had left to go. They had reached rock bottom. Day or night, the scene was always the same: Transporters arrived and departed constantly, full of people desperate to get away from here, from there, from everywhere. Others wandered around the Station aimlessly. These were the homeless, the addicts, the criminals, the thieves and deadbeats. They spent their time begging or looking for something to steal.

And there was always tension in the air. A fight could break out at any moment as these tired and hungry people reached their wits’ ends and lashed out at the world.

Max and I had been waiting there two hours, which was at least one hour and fifty-nine minutes too long but neither of us minded. I kept reaching into my pocket to pull out the letter and stare at it.

“You’ll wear it out, buddy,” said a smiling Max after I had brought the note out a tenth time. “Just accept it. Next stop: Easy Street.”

I pushed the letter back into my pocket. I still couldn’t believe it. I’d been accepted. That was the good news. The bad news was I knew that this letter only confirmed that I had been chosen for NSC training. It was incredibly difficult to get this far, but even so, only a very few would make it to through to the next stage—to become officers. Frankly, I had grave doubts I could make it that far.

Max tapped me on my shoulder and pointed to a transporter that had just pulled in to Dock 10. It had the word Seattle printed above its windshield. It was Max’s ride. “Okay, Hogan, looks like it’s my time to go.”

I moved behind Max’s wheelchair and pushed it through the seething crowd towards the vehicle. It was, like all public transporters nowadays, driverless. So since there was no one to help, it was up to me to put Max’s ticket into the scanner and to lower him into in his allotted seat. After that, I folded his wheelchair and carried the chair to the luggage rack at the front.

As I finished storing the chair, I spotted an attractive woman in her mid-thirties walk up to Max. I watched as she checked the seat number on her ticket. “That is twenty-two N isn’t it?” I heard the woman say to Max as she pointed to the vacant seat next to him.

Max smiled. “It sure is. And you have the luck to be sitting next to Max Creeling.” He held out his hand. “Great to meet you.”

The woman smiled and sat next to him as I returned.

“Okay, Max, time to go. See if you can get someone to help you with the chair at the other end.”

“I think I can organize that,” the woman said. “I’m Lisa.” She pushed out her hand and I shook it.

“Pleased to meet you, Lisa. Thank you for your kind offer. Now, Max, don’t forget when you get to Seattle to keep out of trouble.”

“Will do.”

I high-fived Max. “Bye. And behave yourself.”

“Always.”

I turned quickly and headed for the transporter’s exit door. Almost as soon as I had stepped down from the vehicle, the door slid shut, the last passenger just managing to squeeze on. As the transporter drove off, Max peered out of the window and winked at me before turning to speak animatedly with Lisa. It looked like he had struck it lucky.

I missed him already.

My transporter would be in next. Dock 20. I started to walk towards the number 20 sign, scanning the crowd for those who were waiting for the NSC Transit transporter like me.

A tall, handsome man in his early twenties stepped in front of me, momentarily blocking my way. I glanced across at him. I knew the type. Dangerous and arrogant but the sort of asshole that women love. In fact, two young beautiful girls were with him: long legs, flowing blonde hair, angelic faces. They were obviously twins.

A commotion came from behind, and a middle-aged, scruffy, worn-down man pushed through the crowd, a rusty shotgun in hand. “Hey, you!” he screamed at the guy with the girls. “Those are my daughters, you son of a bitch.”

The handsome man turned, taking in the man and his gun.

“Really,” he replied. “Then I guess I owe you for raising such lovely pleasure units.”

“They aren’t pleasure units, they’re my girls, and they’re only seventeen.”

“Oh, God…I didn’t know,” the handsome man said, looking shocked. “They swore they were fifteen.” He grabbed one of the teenagers and starting to kiss her passionately.

“You bastard,” the older man said, and raised the shotgun, ready to fire. The handsome man pushed away the girl he was kissing, spun around, and yanked the weapon from the father’s hands in one motion. In an instant, the father was looking down the barrel of his own gun.

“The only reason I don’t shoot you right now is ’cause I’m afraid this rusty piece of shit might blow up in my face.” The younger man cracked the gun open and dumped the shells onto the floor. Then he pulled a gleaming handgun from his trousers and leveled it directly at the father’s head. “This, on the other hand, is in perfect working order. Care to test it?”

The father lunged forward, but I grabbed him, pulling him back. “That’s enough.”

The handsome man stared at me. “Well, thank you,” he said, stuffing his pistol back into his pants. “You should thank him too, Dad,” he said to the girls’ father, “you could have got yourself hurt.” He turned away to look at the girls. “Ladies—it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure you won’t forget your time with Jake Teerman.”

“Bye, Jake,” one of them shouted as she consoled her teary-eyed sister.

The man, Jake, quickly headed towards the transporter that had just pulled up at Dock 20.

“I guess some girls like that kind of thing,” a voice behind me said.

I turned. The woman who’d just spoken was strikingly attractive, with long dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in form-fitting jeans and a blue blouse that hugged her shapely body. She carried an antique leather holdall.

She held out her hand. “Ruby Mason.”

“Hogan Duran. Pleased to meet you” I said, shaking her hand and pointing at the NSC Transporter. “You getting on board?”

Ruby smiled proudly. “Yep. And you?”

I nodded and glanced at Jake Teerman, who was climbing up the transporter’s stairs.

“He’s going as well. I thought the NSC was more selective.”

“I guess not,” Ruby said.

***

About a hundred of us were cramped on board. Most were in their late teens and early twenties, mainly young men but with a sprinkling of women. I knew I was an old man by their standards. It was a pretty big handicap, and since Max’s shooting, my confidence had never really returned. Was I up to this? The transporter had been pretty quiet from the start, with only a few talking to one another. That was the sensible thing to do. We didn’t know exactly what our training would involve, and to give too much away about yourself at this stage was not a smart strategy.

Ruby and I hadn’t spoken much, either. I’d told her about me being an ex-cop. She’d told me that she was a waitress who had just been fired from her job. The news of NSC acceptance had been the lifeline she’d needed. To keep the conversation going but avoiding any more personal talk, I pointed at the transporter driver. “Haven’t seen one of those for years.”

“Me neither,” Ruby said.

It was a surprise to both of us. Nowadays, cars and trucks were almost all driverless. When they were first introduced, people had willingly given up their vehicles and relied on driverless taxis to get around. Before long, all trucks had been made driverless, too, and as demand for ‘driven’ cars fell, the industry collapsed: factories closed and workers were made redundant, joining the thousands of professional drivers in the ranks of the unemployed.

The NSC was one of the few employers who kept their drivers on, not trusting the security of driverless vehicles. Onboard computers could be hacked, they reasoned. It was difficult to accomplish, of course, but it was a risk the organization wasn’t prepared to take.

The view from the vehicle was a revelation to me, too, even though as a cop, I had traveled all over the city. In the four years since resigning from the force, the landscape had changed dramatically. I could see the wealthy zones with their well-lit stores, malls, and schools. These were surrounded by rows of affluent suburban homes, some of which had glistening swimming pools in their back yards. Cars shunted along the wide, clean boulevards, and children played happily in the lush green parks. The zones were protected by high steel-mesh fences hung with huge searchlights. Gun-toting guards, walking with vicious-looking dogs on leashes, manned checkpoints along the border.

In contrast, most of the city’s other zones looked like they’d been bombed out. There were no green spaces: the schools were huge, gray, factory-like buildings; the few stores were tiny, temporary structures; and hardly any cars traveled the crumbling roads that often looked impassable anyway. Homes were, for the most part, a mixture of temporary-looking Nissan huts or constructions built out of old wood and corrugated metal sheets.

As the transporter sped on and darkness fell, the signs of decay and dereliction increased. Tents replaced houses and roads became fewer and fewer. When the vehicle finally left what remained of the town and descended from the freeway down onto the open road, the lights inside were dimmed. People slumped back in their chairs, trying to get as comfortable as possible to sleep.

“Night,” said Ruby, shutting her eyes.

“Night,” I said, and did the same.

***

I awoke hours later, my legs aching, my back in pain. I really was getting old.

I stared out and saw that the sun had just started to peek over the horizon. Soon it would be high in the sky, streaming through the transporter’s tinted windows. If I was to die and somehow found myself in purgatory, it would probably look like this: dirty brown wasteland stretching out as far as the eye could see. On the horizon was a mountain range. But these boasted no romantic, snow-covered summits glistening in the sun: just steep, hostile, rocky escarpments layered with brown dust.

Ruby opened her eyes. “Hi,” she said, stretching and pulling herself up.

“Morning.”

Ruby turned to look out the window. She shivered. “Is this Hell?” she asked.

“Sure looks like it.”

“Three more hours,” Ruby said, yawning.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, peering at the small clock positioned high over the driver’s head. I reached into my pocket for my old flip phone, and then remembered we’d had to leave all electronic gear with the driver. The NSC expressly forbade anyone to carry anything that could be used to reveal where we were going. I doubted if the clock really showed the correct time. It would be too easy to work out where you were from the time traveled.

Ruby gave a start. “Oh my God.” She was staring out the window. I followed her gaze. In the distance, a band of bikers were riding through the wasteland, heading towards the transporter. I recognized them. “Krails,” I said. “I’ve never seen them up close.”

Others on the transporter had seen the Krails, too. They watched fascinated as the gang approached. As they came closer, I could make out the lined, tough faces of the riders. Although all were dressed in the same tight black leathers, some wore black bandanas or had long scarves covering their necks and faces. Many had grown their hair out, letting it fall down to their waist, while others had it shaved off completely. It was hard to tell the women from the men. All looked equally tough, with lined faces browned in the sun.

More than anything else, Krails were proud of their bikes. Despite the dust, each machine had been meticulously cleaned so their chrome and steel handle bars shone. Some riders had bows slung over their shoulders, quivers of arrows hanging from their belts. Others carried long hunting knives stuck into ornate belts, and handguns stuffed into leather holsters. The man on the lead bike looked huge and terrifying. He was bald, and his face was crisscrossed with long scars.

Ruby made a face. “Disgusting. How can anyone live like that?”

“Maybe they ask the same thing about us,” I said as the transporter accelerated away.

Staring back, I saw the big bald man, the Krail leader, raise his hand and indicate the rocky outcrops on the horizon. Pulling his bike around, he started to ride in the direction he’d indicated. The others followed in V-formation.

 

Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of books and screenplays and has worked all over the world as a Film/TV director, writer and producer. He has written six books, most recently 'All Or None', the second novel in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series.

 'All Or None' sees Detective Ryan back in the thick of things. His latest investigation into a mysterious death couldn’t come at a worse time. He discovers his mother is hiding a troubling secret and is further sidetracked by a new romance. Fans of who dunnit's, crime thrillers, and cop and detective stories will love this novel. 

 Clive's other books include 'Off Season' - book one in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series; 'Kill Code' - a dystopian science fiction novel set in a world facing climate change;  ‘Scary Lizzy’  - a novel about an eight year old girl, who befriends an African child ghost –  and the teen action adventure book; ‘The Boy Next Door ‘ -  a story of what happens when a teenage girl has a crush on her next door neighbor, who isn’t all he seems.  He also co-wrote ‘Art Pengriffin and The Curse of The Four’ - a young adult fantasy adventure about a teenage boy who discovers his father was Merlin the Magician.

 

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Book Tour and Giveaway: The Edge of Oblivion The Lesitha Veil Tales Book 1 by CM Dawson

 

 

Every choice echoes across worlds.

Freedom or Chaos; Stability or Control?

The Edge of Oblivion

The Lesitha Veil Tales Book 1

by CM Dawson

Genre: Epic SciFi Fantasy Adventure

"We were younger than we realised and equally naïve."

Dive into The Edge of Oblivion — a coming‑of‑age fantasy of secret map‑books, a dying storyteller’s last wish, and a crystal key that reveals tears in reality. Discover a richly imagined world, fast‑paced adventure, and a hero who must choose between duty and destiny — buy now and step over the Veil.

The veil is weakening and shreds between the worlds are becoming more frequent. Darkness is spreading. A new Rysyn is sought to replace the Torsoma before it’s too late and the veil fails, releasing chaos across the facet worlds.

Bex Gartan has no desire to follow her father into the Grinders Guild – or die of stone lung like he did. A rebellious 17-year-old, just weeks before her Liberation Day, a brutal encounter shatters her world. In a shadowy alley, she faces a tragedy and finds her destiny.

Bex's determination to find the truth pulls her into a conflict that spans multiple worlds. She becomes the target of assassins, the pawn of questionable advisors, and now the unlikely successor to the leader of the Facet worlds. Bex must learn to temper her impulsive nature and trust her instincts if she’s to save her friends, and the Facet worlds.

Will she be the saviour they seek or the herald of chaos?

 

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Chapter 16 Excerpt:

Then there was the Great Xan Janal, who claimed to have gone over the Edge and slayed a mighty beast to save a village. He boasted that there were many worlds, all separated by the Veil. There were people of different races who spoke weird languages. Some were tall and fair with long, flowing, silver hair. Others were short, squat, covered in fur and grunted a lot. Those stories always made me laugh. My eyes blurred as tears welled up, thinking of him. Whether they were real or figments of his imagination, Xan had given his life to sharing his stories of adventure. And I wasn’t about to let him down.

As I crawled on, I wondered which world I would find on the other side of the Veil. Would it be a world of thick jungles, filled with loud, screaming creatures jumping from one towering tree to the next? Or would it be a crystalline world overflowing with unimaginable colours? I was hoping for the water world, for Muut’s sake, except for the whole swimming thing. That scared me.

I looked back again and then beyond Muut. I scanned the horizon and watched as the heat rippled off the scorched ground. The only things that stood as high as a man here were the boulders that dotted the landscape. There was no lush green foliage, and the rivers were more often dry more than filled with water. I dreamed of seeing the leaves of a plant that was as big as me. I fantasised about dipping my fingers into a cool running stream and carrying the refreshing water to my lips; skipping stones across its surface and seeing splashes instead of puffs of dust.

I didn’t know if Xan’s stories were real or made-up fantasies to impress the ladies. But what I knew was that I didn’t want to die without at least attempting to find out. I owed him that much. So I turned back and faced the Edge. I checked the straps that held my knives tucked against my wrists. I placed my right hand out in front of me and then my right knee, then my left hand, left knee. I slowly crawled to the Edge.

The fingers on my left hand reached it first. I stopped and looked at my hand. The tips of my fingers curved over an edge. My breath caught in my throat. I moved my right hand up to match my left and swallowed deeply as the tips of both hands were now bent joyously over the Edge of our world. I slowly lowered myself down to the rough ground and felt the sharp rocks poking me in my chest and belly.

Carefully, I pulled my body up to the Edge and peered over. The air coalesced into a swirling mist of obscurity, roiling and bulging, causing my vision to slide and refocus as I tried to peer through it.

I pulled myself up to the Edge, raising onto my elbows and stretching my neck as far as I could. The grey mist swirled around my head forming dewdrops on my cheeks. I blew into it, watching as it whirled madly away from me, quickly folding back in on itself. I extended my arm and felt a cool dampness cover me like a second skin. The further I extended it, the less I could see of it.

I pulled myself up and swivelled around to sit on the Edge with my legs now dangling freely. My feet disappeared into the swirling mist that roiled below me. Then I leaned out as far as I could and swished my arms back and forth, trying to clear a view through the grey wall.

I either leaned too far or whipped my arms too wildly, because I tumbled off the ledge into the mist. My heart leapt as I felt myself sliding down the edge of the world. Suddenly, I jerked to a stop when the rope tied to my ankle caught me tight. My breath gushed from my lungs and my heart pounded my ribs.

I heard Muut calling to me, his cries distant, muffled.

I hung for a moment, dangling upside down against the edge of the world. I released my fear as I pushed myself up away from the rough rock face. Curling my knees beneath me, I crouched for a moment, waiting to see if I would fall. Nothing happened. The cool mist swirled around me; my head swooned with the mesmerising movement. 

I filled my lungs with the moist air and stood. Fully expecting to topple over, I stretched my arms wide to catch myself when I did. I stood there as rigid as a boulder with my arms spread, knees locked, breath held, eyes tightly closed.

Nothing.

I slowly opened my left eye, peeking, face scrunched tight, awaiting the imagined impact. Both eyes sprang open, and the air exploded out of my lungs. A breathtaking view assaulted my eyes.

Dark Side of the Veil

The Lesitha Veil Tales Book 2

When Bexlin Gartan is kidnapped into a world of metal and gears, the impulsive daughter of a storyteller must reclaim a stolen Lesitha Crystal and learn why her blood marks her as the next Rysyn—before a tyrant uses her power to shred the Veil and destroy everything.

Bex crossed the veil for adventure - now she may never return home, may never see her ma again or laugh with her friends. Stranded in a dark Facet, ruled by a tyrant set on seeking revenge and using her to fulfil his vengeance, she must decide whether she will become his pawn or fight to save all she loves.

Separated from her friends, she convinces the strange mechanically augmented half-lifes to help her find them and to return home, but not before she tries to stop the demented ruler, Urbo'Krk. Uncertain who to trust or what the rising energy building within her means, she must learn to control her impetuous ways and calm her mind. Only then can she face the truth of her destiny - saviour or destroyer.

Will she bring stability or usher in chaos?

 

**On Sale for Only .99cents on Amazon & Kobo!**

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Chapter 13 Excerpt:

“Come,” the ‘naut commanded.

I turned my attention back to the wall where a trickle of moisture ran down a groove, around a rivet, and disappeared behind the bench.

The white-hot tearing of my scalp ripped a scream from my chest as the ‘naut yanked me to my feet by my braid. He held me, dangling in the air for a moment before releasing me. My hands went to my head and returned covered in blood.

“Come or be dragged.”

The warmth of the blood running down my back held me for a moment. Then Tar was at my side, gripping my elbow to guide me.

“Walk,” he commanded.

My legs felt like they were full of sand, but I made them move as he guided me out of the cell and we followed the ‘naut through the maze of passages. “Where are you taking me now?” I whispered.

Tar ignored my question, but I felt a tightening on my elbow.

“Why are you helping someone like him?”

Again, no response, but this time there was a tug on my elbow. “Okay, at least tell me where you’re taking me?”

The massive head of the ‘naut glanced back at us. “No speak. Walk.”

We rode up out of the cells in an open lift. The fresh air felt good against my sweaty face. I studied the bleak world of Vrellum as we rose and wondered if my friends were somewhere lost in the labyrinthine maze of metal gantries and yellow haze.

The platform stopped and the ‘naut led us out into brighter, well-lit passages. We were back in the fortress of Urbo’Krk. We weren’t led to the main assembly chamber. This time the ‘naut led me past the big wooden doors with the familiar motifs etched on them. Instead, I was taken to a smaller chamber. As we entered, a light came on above a large metal chair that sat in the centre of the room. There were straps on the arms and the footrest. I stopped short, making Tar bump into me.

The ‘naut pointed. “Sit.”

I threw my head back, catching Tar off guard and smashing his face, just missing his already flattened nose. My elbow connected with his ribs, and I heard a satisfying grunt. Turning to run, I wasn’t quick enough. The one-eyed Omaj blocked my exit, and the ‘naut grabbed my shoulder, pinching me, and I screamed at the crushing of my bones. He threw me into the chair, slamming my head against the upper backrest. I left a bloody imprint from his earlier threat of dragging me. I tried to get up but felt pressure on my chest. It forced me back into the chair.

“Enough.” Urbo’Krk stepped out of the shadows with Cog at his side. He’d removed his cape and the silver breastplate. He now wore a black vest that allowed him to display his mechanical arms. Beneath the close-fitting fabric, I could see that his neck and chest were flesh. There was a seam where the augmented arms attached to his shoulders. The join was smooth and had a natural appearance as if the black mesh were just another type of skin.

He leaned over me. His presence felt heavy. The pressure built on my chest, and I tried to take a deeper breath, but could only sip the air. I turned away and refused to acknowledge him.

“Ah yes, you feel my strength.” He stood and pointed at Tar. His energy pushed against me, pressing me into the metal seat. Tar remained standing against the wall and motioned for Omaj to strap my wrists and ankles to the chair.

“I wish to examine you.” He spoke calmly as he turned and walked to a table that ran the length of one wall. “It isn’t every day a Rysyn passes through my world.”

My teeth felt like they might pop out as I spoke through my clenched jaw. “I’ve never heard of a Rysyn and don’t know why you think I’m one. I was only looking for the truth.”

I glared at Tar as I spoke my defiant words. His stoic face drew tight as he stared at me and shook his head. Cog had stepped further into the room and now sat at my side. His quizzically tilted head indicating his attention.

Urbo’Krk’s broad back hunched over the table now straightened as he slowly turned back to look at me. “I will learn what makes you a Rysyn,” his eyes flicked to Cog, “or I’ll make the cog suffer for your defiance.”

Cog tilted his head as he gazed from me to his master. I couldn’t be certain if he understood the threat that Urbo’Krk had made, but I also wouldn’t be the reason that he suffered any further abuse under this monster.

My jaw remained clenched as I slumped defeated into the chair. Tears welled in my eyes as Urbo’Krk came toward me carrying a mesh of wires.

“That’s better. Now sit still; this will hardly hurt.”

CM Dawson is an indie fantasy author and the founder of Crystal Path Publishing, writing multi-world adventure fiction from the rolling green hills of Wiltshire, England. Her debut series, The Lesitha Tales, follows Bex Gartan — a headstrong, impulsive 17-year-old who finds herself thrust into a power struggle that spans multiple worlds. Compared to Samantha Shannon, Brandon Sanderson, and Suzanne Collins, the series blends fast-paced action, vivid world-building, and a fierce coming-of-age heart. She crafts immersive multiverse fantasy filled with emotional stakes, dark magic, and lore rich worldbuilding. The first two books — The Edge of Oblivion and Dark Side of the Veil — are available now. A space opera trilogy, a short story collection, and a dystopian novel are all in development. When she is not writing, she can be found gardening, editing the local parish magazine, playing skittles, or being bossed around by her two English Bulldogs, Sage and Bubba.

 

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Book Tour and Giveaway: Night Times Book One Night Times Trilogy 1 by Eileen Sheehan

 

 

The darkest hour is only the beginning in the world of shadows.

Night Times Book One

Night Times Trilogy 1

by Eileen Sheehan

Genre: Paranormal Vampire Romance Thriller

For two hundred years, Ethan has haunted the shadows, carrying the heartbreak of losing Judith, the wife he loved before he was unwillingly turned into a vampire.

When he meets Arabella at a costume party, he's stunned by the similarities she shares with Judith. As their connection deepens, Ethan becomes convinced that Arabella is Judith reborn. But with her returning memories come dangerous secrets—knowledge from a centuries-old vampire-hunting society that could threaten the existence of every vampire alive.

Now, hunted by both a ruthless Vampire League and relentless vampire hunters, Ethan and Arabella find themselves caught in a deadly struggle between love, loyalty, and survival. As enemies close in and the past refuses to stay buried, Ethan must choose between losing Arabella forever or offering her the immortality that was forced upon him.

Night Times (Book One) begins a captivating vampire romance thriller trilogy that is filled with, forbidden love, deadly secrets, and a passion that defies time itself.

 

What readers are saying:

 

“For fans of supernatural thrillers involving vampires, Night Times has got everything they crave... Sheehan has created yet another immersive fantastical world full of vampires, witches, and monster hunters. The book is fast-paced, and since I was enjoying it so much, the pages just flew by….You're going to love this!”

 “… Sheehan doesn’t just focus on romance. She digs into what love and trust really mean when everything’s on the line. There’s also a raw look at what it means for a vampire to lose their humanity—how turning immortal tears you away from who you used to be, and from people you once knew. Immortality in this story isn’t just sparkling and forever-young; it comes with a price: isolation, loss, and sometimes the fading of your own sense of self. Still, there’s a flip side—it can mean never-ending love and the fierce desire to protect…… If you’re in the mood for a supernatural drama that goes beyond the usual tropes—one that really leans into the pain, the memories, and the kind of love that won’t quit—this book is definitely worth your time.”

  

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Prologue

The rain came down in silver threads and turned the road to black glass on the night that Ethan’s reality was changed forever.

He remembered that more clearly than he remembered his own face from that time. Faces changed in memory. They were smoothed by years and grief until they became something like paintings. But weather remained exact. The smell of wet earth. The sting of cold through wool. The way the world looked when it was nearly dark and every lamp in the distance seemed to float like a warning.

He had been running then from the thing that had already happened to him.

He had not yet learned that becoming a vampire did not feel like entering a new life. It felt like being torn from the old one with enough violence to leave a permanent shape in the soul. At first there had been only pain, then thirst, then a terrifying clarity that came with the hunger. He had not completely grasped what he was but that realization was soon to come.

And because he had understood that, he had run.

He stood now beneath the branches of the elm at the edge of the lane with the rain slipping through the leaves onto his face while he watched the light in his own house glow through the windows.

Home. The word struck him with unbearable force.

Inside, his wife and love of his life, Judith, would be setting down her sewing and folding the blanket over the arm of the chair. She would be waiting for him, although she might pretend not to be. She always pretended not to wait, as if waiting was too revealing a sort of love. But Ethan had always known. He had known by the way that she paused when she heard his footstep and by the way that she turned before he spoke while already smiling.

He’d spent three hours pacing the woods beyond the property line while fighting his own body as if it was a wild animal. His mouth still burned. His throat ached with a need so vast that it felt like a second heart beating where his was supposed to be. He had torn at his own cuff, bitten the inside of his mouth until it bled, and shoved his hands into the mud to keep from running back to the house.

The problem was that he could still smell her….

 

…“Stay where you are,” he gruffly ordered.

Her mouth slightly parted with fear. “You’re frightening me.”

He could not bear that. Not from her.

The room wavered at the edge of his vision. Hunger rose up in him with a vicious, animal certainty. And for one impossible instant he saw her as prey - not Judith, not wife, not the woman who had braided ribbons into her hair and fallen asleep reading beside the fire, but a pulse of life that he could take with one movement.

He stumbled backward.

Judith’s expression changed to alarm as she exclaimed, “Ethan!”

“No!” he bellowed. The word came out raw.

The flame shivered as she set the candle down too quickly and took a step toward him. “Tell me what happened.”

He violently shook his head. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth again, although he knew there was no wound there now. “You must not come near me.”…

 

…When Judith finally spoke, her voice was broken but steady. “Ethan.”

He closed his eyes. “Yes?”

Her voice trembled as she said, “Do not disappear from my life forever.”

That was the moment when he nearly broke. He put one hand on the doorframe to steady himself. When he spoke, his voice was almost gone. “I will try not to.”

Then he stepped out into the rain and left the house before the dawn could find him.

He never forgot the sound of the door closing behind him. He never forgot the way that Judith had stood in the light, frightened and loving and still reaching for him. And for the centuries that followed, through blood, hunger, survival, and loneliness so deep that it became a second skin, he carried one unbearable truth with him - the night he abandoned Judith, he had not yet understood that immortality was not the curse.

The curse was living long enough to remember the exact shape of the love that you were forced to leave behind.

Night Times Book Two

Night Times Trilogy 2

Arabella was supposed to be dead.

After faking her death to escape the vampires who want her gone, Arabella and Ethan disappear into Las Vegas, hoping to build a life free from fear, secrets, and bloodshed.

For six months, they succeed.

Then Olive discovers the truth.

Obsessed with Ethan and unwilling to accept his love for another woman, Olive sets out to destroy everything they've built. As jealousy turns to vengeance, Ethan and Arabella are thrust into a nightmare that will change them forever.

Filled with danger, betrayal, suspense, and immortal love, Night Times: Book Two is a gripping paranormal romance about how far people will go for love—and how deadly obsession can become.

 

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Night Times Book Three

Night Times Trilogy 3

Arabella survived death, but immortality comes with a price.

As she learns to embrace life as a vampire under Ethan's guidance, the memories of her torture and murder refuse to fade. While vampire society struggles to accept her return, Arabella secretly plots revenge against the vampires responsible for her suffering—including the woman who wanted her dead.

One by one, her enemies begin to disappear.

As fear spreads through the vampire community and suspicion grows, Arabella must balance her thirst for vengeance with the future she's building alongside Ethan. But some wounds can only heal in darkness, and some debts can only be paid in blood.

Night Times: Book Three is a dark paranormal romance filled with vengeance, passion, secrets, and a love strong enough to survive death.

 

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Eileen Sheehan is an Internationally published, Best Selling and Award-Winning author of paranormal romance thrillers & horror for the mature adult. A professional and full-time spiritual advisor and holistic practitioner for over 30 years, the majority of her 76+ novels feature the paranormal, but some are novels about people in love, and a very few are self-help. Eileen incorporates experiences through the years along with her imagination to provide the best believable and entertaining read possible. As the years progressed, so has her writing style. Although she still includes romance and strives for a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and a touch of horror in them.

A former busy working mother (who is now a laid-back grandmother), Eileen understands the value of time. She makes it a point to write novels that are able to be enjoyed in one or two evenings.

 

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