Vices and Virtues: An anthology of the Seven Deadly Sins and Seven Dark Virtues & Giveaway

Vices and Virtues

An Anthology of the Seven Deadly Sins

and Seven Dark Virtues

Genres: Horror, Supernatural,

Paranormal, Sci-Fi, Suspense/Thriller

 Because sometimes, the virtuous are as frightening as the sinful…

Sins will weave you into their

webs. They become the Vice you’re unable to shake. 

There are the values, taught

from birth, which ride a razor’s edge. They turn into

 Dark Virtues, a twisted

mockery of their true meaning.

Pride, envy, lust, gluttony,

anger, greed and sloth all have their place in the 

tapestry of life. They are

the Vices who lost sight of the Virtues: 

charity, temperance, forgiveness,

humility, kindness, chastity and diligence.

Enter the worlds where the tales

of the most sinful of Vices and the darkest of 

Virtues will entice and intrigue you…

…for even among the most devout

there is a dark side.

Amazon

SINS OF THE FLESH (Gluttony)

BY STACEY BROADBENT

It was a balmy Spring evening when I first discovered

 a taste for human flesh. It was a happy accident

really. After having my heart broken one too many times, 

I'd abstained from any

type of physical relationship with a man for years, 

so when one fell in my lap,

it came as quite the surprise.

EXCERPT SINS OF THE FLESH:

Throwing

caution to the wind, I slipped my feet into a pair of runners and walked down

the road, telling myself it was to clear my mind. But really, I was on the prowl

for fresh meat. Someone vulnerable—easy prey. I had to be smart about it; it

was broad daylight after all.

Every

person who walked past became a possible target. In my mind’s eye, I pictured a

computer log for each one, listing their attributes. Having limited knowledge

on the ins and outs of cannibalism, I had no idea what the perfect body type

was for consumption. Would it matter if they were male or female? Was it better

if they were lean and muscular, or was a layer of padding more flavourful? How

was I to choose?

Turns

out, I didn’t need to think about it at all. On my walk back home, I was

knocked off my feet by a man out for a jog. He’d been too busy flicking through

the playlist on his phone to see me, and by the time we’d both looked up, it was

too late. We collided, my forehead into his chin and mouth. My hands

automatically went up, pressing against his chest and sending us both bouncing

off each other, landing on our behinds. Apologising profusely, he offered me

his hand and pulled me to my feet. The impact had left a red egg on my head and

skinned my palms raw. He, however, came across a little worse for wear,

sporting a newly chipped tooth, and fat, bleeding lip. As soon as I got a whiff

of the blood on his breath, I knew, he was the one.

I

pointed to my house across the street, inviting him in to clean up while he

called the emergency dentist. It was the least I could do.

Ushering

him into the bathroom, I had him perch on the edge of the bath while I rummaged

through the cabinet for the first aid kit. I needed to knock him out somehow.

There was no way I could do this without it… unless…

About Stacey Broadbent:

Stacey lives in Ashburton, New
Zealand, with her husband and three children. An avid reader and self-confessed
book-a-holic, she has always had a love of the written word, so it was only a
matter of time before she took pen to paper and began on her writing journey.
Stacey is a multi-genre author, with books from light-hearted comedies to
zombie thrillers. She is also part of the writing duo 'The Ink Slinging
Sisters' with friend S.K. Lessner. You can often find her lurking on social
media so don't be afraid to reach out and have a chat.

Website:  http://www.staceybroadbent.weebly.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StaceyBroadbentAuthor

Twitter: http://www.Twitter.com/BStayc

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorstaceybroadbent/

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/cULu_f

A MILLION CLAY WOLVES (Greed)

BY AMBER K. BRYANT

Living in a squalid encampment in
the shadows of a towering city, a young woman able to endow objects with magical powers struggles with her brother's growing determination to use her
gift for his own selfish means.

EXCERPT A MILLION CLAY WOLVES :

“Do

you remember Jamey? Has a tattoo of a whale on his right arm, wears a red and

white striped tank top—Sound familiar?”

Mora nodded. “He juggled knives and guns.”

“That’s

right. Jamey is my boyfriend and we’re very happy, only… He has this crazy idea

that he should give up the troop, join the army instead. He thinks it would

provide a better life for us, but he’s wrong. This is the only life I want and

I don’t want it to change. I need you to change his mind.”

“What?” She took a step away from Dare. “I… I can’t do that!”

“You

don’t realize it, but you can. I saw it in you. The ability to endow magic. You

just needed a jumpstart, and yesterday…” she pointed to the feather, “I gave it

to you.”

Mora stared at the feather, still crumpled in her hand.

“Tell

the feather that Jamey’s place is with me. In the troop. Tell the feather it

needs to change Jamey’s mind. Go on.”

Mora

lifted the feather halfway to her face, then paused. This would never work.

Clearly circus life had taken its toll on Dare’s mental health. Or perhaps

unstable people were attracted to the quirky life the troop seemed to lead. It

was silly to give in to Dare’s demands. Then again, if she didn’t do it,

perhaps Dare would become so angry, she’d bust out of her purple corset and

become a rage-fueled She-Hulk. Perhaps the simplest way out of this situation

was to tell the feather to become a mind-changer and then get the hell out of

there.

“Fine,

whatever.” She brought the feather to her lips and blew words into it. “Change

Jamey’s mind. Make him stay. Oh!” She jumped as a tingling sensation moved

through her body, from the soles of her feet up her legs and spine, then out to

the tips of her fingers and into the feather. “What… what just happened.”

Dare’s

face went back to its friendly older sister mode. “Exactly what I thought

would. Thank you, Mora.” She took the feather back from Mora and pinned it into

her dark, shimmering hair. “Wiser people than me would tell you to be careful

with this gift of yours. Magic can be used for good or for evil. It doesn’t

care which, most of the time.”

Confused,

Mora toyed with a stray thread from the hem of her t-shirt. “But you’re… not

telling me to be careful?”

Dare

grasped Mora’s chin and tilted it so their eyes met. “We don’t find out what

we’re capable of through advice.” She gave Mora’s face a tiny squeeze and then

let her go. “Trial and error, darlin’."

About Amber K Bryant:

Amber K. Bryant is an

award-winning author and a librarian living deep within Sasquatch territory in

Washington State. She has co-authored a short story with R. L. Stine, won a

Watty for her novella UNSEEN, and won three contests judged by Margaret Atwood.

When not glued to her keyboard, Amber can be found spending time with her

husband and son, hiking, gardening, and searching in vain for the illusive

Sasquatch.

Website:  https://www.wattpad.com/user/amberkbryant

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amberkbryantauthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/amberkbryant

CONFESSIONS OF AN HONEST MAN (Chastity)

BY CYRIL BUNT

When I was thirteen I took my
oath, I never broke it. But apparently, I broke many others.

About Cyril Blunt:

My name is Cyril and I'm 32. I've
loved writing since I was very young and so I try to create believe lies, one
day I hope to be good enough to make a living from writing.

Website:  https://www.wattpad.com/user/cyrilbunt

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cyril_bunt

DO NO HARM (Charity)

BY J.M. BUTLER

What if someone offered you
exactly what you needed?

Ethics and vampirism hardly go together,
and Aestan has concluded he is trapped between two bad situations. A chance
meeting with his neighbor Summer changes everything as she offers the solution
to his problems. He can have her blood. She's more than happy to give it if it
keeps him from robbing blood banks or killing people. Though at first he is
relieved, he soon realizes that even what is freely given may yet have
consequences he does not desire.

Book Tour & Giveaway For THE ONE APART By Justine Avery

The One Apart

Justine Avery

Genre: Paranormal

Publisher: Justine Avery

Date of Publication:  December 4, 2017

ASIN: B076B7RDWY

Number of pages: 568

Word Count:  109k

Cover Artist: Oishii Designs

Only one obstacle stands in his way of enjoying a normal life. He remembers—every life he's lived before.

Tres is about to be born... with the biggest burden any has ever had to bear. He is beginning again—as an ageless adult trapped in an infant body.

He and his teenage mother face life filled with extraordinary challenges as they strive to protect, nurture, and hide how truly different he is. But Tres alone must solve the greatest mystery of all: who is he? The answer is linked to the one question he's too afraid to ask: why am I?

In his quest, Tres discovers that all is considerably more interconnected and dynamic than he could ever imagine—and fraught with far more danger. He cannot hide from the unseen threat stalking him since his birth.

Life as he knows it—as all know it—is in peril. And Tres is the only one aware.

Amazon

The One Apart by Justine Avery – Excerpt 

“He needs a name,” Maria said,

pouring scrambled eggs onto the plate decorated with a face of bacon strips.

Sancha stared at her plate. “He has one,” she said.

The hot iron skillet slipped from

Maria’s hand; she sighed her relief as it landing safely on the stove burner.

“What... did you decide?”

“I didn’t.” Sancha prodded at her

eggs, recovering her bacon art one eye at a time.

“I thought you—”

“He has one already. I just don’t know what it is.”

Maria’s subconscious almost

recognized the truth in the statement before it was buried by her conscious

again. “Don’t be silly. Did you choose a name? If not, I will have—”

“No, you will not,” Sancha ended the conversation.

* * *

In the fenced back yard Maria

referred to as “the garden,” sat a rusting swing set for two: Sancha’s favorite

spot in the whole world. Swinging there—in and out of the shade of the

broad-reaching maple tree—seemed to slow time and shoo away all teenage

troubles.

“I have to name you,” she called

out to her bright-eyed baby resting in a basket nestled in the grass below her.

She swung her pale legs to propel herself higher into the morning sunlight, her

glittering hair swirling around her. “But you won’t tell me what yours is,” she

pouted.

Her polka-dotted summer dress

fluttered in the breeze as her legs scooped up another pocket of air. “I guess

you can’t,” she concluded on a downswing. “Yet,” she shouted into the air.

  

Justine Avery is an award-winning author of stories large and small for all. Born in the American Midwest and raised all over the world, she is inherently an explorer, duly fascinated by everything around her and excitedly noting the stories that abound all around. As an avid reader of all genres, she weaves her own stories among them all. She has a predilection for writing speculative fiction and story twists and surprises she can’t even predict herself.

Avery has either lived in or explored all 50 states of the union, over 36 countries, and all but one continent; she lost count after moving 30-some times before the age of 20. She’s intentionally jumped out of airplanes and off the highest bungee jump in New Zealand, scuba dived unintentionally with sharks, designed websites, intranets, and technical manuals, bartered with indigenous Panamanians, welded automobile frames, observed at the Bujinkan Hombu Dojo in Noba, Japan, and masterminded prosperous internet businesses—to name a few adventures. She earned a Bachelor of Arts degree that life has never required, and at age 28, she sold everything she owned and quit corporate life—and her final “job”—to freelance and travel the world as she always dreamed of. And she’s never looked back.

Aside from her native English, Avery speaks a bit of Japanese and a bit more Spanish, her accent is an ever-evolving mixture of Midwestern American with notes of the Deep South and indiscriminate British vocabulary and rhythm, and she says “eh”—like the Kiwis, not the Canadians. She currently lives near Los Angeles with her husband, British film director Devon Avery, and their three adopted children: Becks, Sam, and Lia. She writes from wherever her curiosity takes her.

Avery loves to connect with fellow readers and creatives, explorers and imaginers, and cordially invites you to say “hello”—or konnichiwa.

www.JustineAvery.com

Twitter: @Justine_Avery

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/JustineAvery



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour For HARD BREAKER By Christine Warren

From New York Times bestselling author Christine Warren comes Hard Breaker, the sixth book in her Gargoyles series where even the most beastly gargoyle is able to win the heart of a beautiful human female.

Ivy Beckett 's gift feels more like a curse. She can hear things happening in distant locations, which is how she knows the very instant her family is killed by servants of the Darkness. Furious, she joins the fight to save the world – but the losses are mounting up. She thinks only a miracle can save them—but she doesn't expect the miracle to come in the form of a handsome gargoyle.

Baen is a fearsome Guardian, but when he awakes, even his surprised by war that is going on. But what’s even more distracting is beautiful Ivy. Driven by passion, she’s ready to charge head-first into battle. But Baen’s primal instincts to protect what’s his rise within him, and Ivy is dangerously attracted to him. Can she and her gargoyle warrior save the world…and fall in love?

Chapter Two

Ivy felt a surge of satisfaction. Well, adrenaline, really, but whatever.

“Perfect.” She got to her feet and pitched her voice back to where it could just be overheard— significantly louder, but still natural. Also, a bit wheedling. “Let’s get out of here, Marty. You promised me dinner in a proper restaurant, not a pub, and I’m abso famished.”

Martin rose awkwardly, sending their glasses to wobbling again. “Lead on, then, darling. Wherever you like.”

She forced a giggle. She hated to giggle. “Oh, you’re such a pudding. But now I’ve got to decide. Hm, Judy told me about this café . . .”

Her mouth continued to babble, spewing nonsense she pulled off the top of her head as she led the way through the crowd— steering well clear of Teddy and his mates— and out the front door. Turning onto the pavement, she kept up the patter until they had stepped well away from the pub en route to the tube station. Even then, though she let the inane drivel dry up, she continued to clasp Martin’s hand in hers and lean into him. They  hadn’t been the only ones to leave the pub and the streets continued to bustle with both vehicular and pedestrian traffic. It was important to keep up appearances all the way through this journey.

“Okay, stage two,” she said softly as they strode toward the Underground station. “I have a bag at Left Luggage in King’s Cross that  we’ll need to pick up. It has more information you’ll need to look over for your time with Paul, some snacks, and cash and new identification for you hidden in the lining. I’ll show you where.  We’re on the last train to night, but we should have plenty of time to make it, so don’t worry about that.”

He nodded, but his gaze was glued to the pavement in front of them. Poor guy really didn’t have the right temperament for all this cloak- and- dagger stuff. But then again, she  hadn’t thought she did,  either, and look at her now— practically an expert, and armed on top of it.

Under her anorak and tight jeans, a custom- made dagger rode in a sheath at the small of her back. And oddly enough, she knew how to use it. Over the last several months, she  hadn’t had much choice but to learn,  until  these days, it felt so comfortable, she almost forgot it was  there.

Until moments like this, that is, when the hair on the back of her neck began to stand up and her senses put her on high alert.

“Bollocks,” she muttered. Faking another giggle, she turned playfully into Martin’s side and pretended to bury her face in his shoulder. In reality, she used the opportunity to take a look at the area behind them. She had felt confident that  there had been no nocturnis in the pub with them who might try to follow, but she should have paid a bit more attention to Teddy and his band of happy hooligans. Three of them had exited the bar  after Ivy and Martin and now trailed sixty or seventy feet  behind them.

Normally, Ivy would have considered such an event no more than a slight bother, but something about their posture niggled at the back of her mind. The aggression she would have expected, but for some reason their stance struck her as more menacing than it ought to be.

Damn it, they  didn’t have time for this shit. Or even if they did, Ivy just  didn’t have the patience. Even worse, she knew they  were coming up on the narrow cross street they would have to traverse to get to the tube. She’d researched the route. The cross street was largely home to a few small businesses that would have closed down by six  o’clock, a  couple of daytime shops, at least one vacant building, and a church that had been abandoned a few years ago due to lack of funds available to repair a roof with more holes than tiles remaining. It was a quiet block, and quiet meant fewer  people, which meant more opportunity for Teddy to try something stupid.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asked nervously as she turned back and casually picked up the pace of their walk. “What’s the matter? Is it nocturnis? Have they found me?”

The last question emerged on a squeak, and Ivy winced. She laughed loudly to cover up his blunder. “Oh, you!” she cried, then lowered her voice. “No, Martin. And you need to stay calm. How about you tell me more about yourself? What’s your main talent? I  don’t think you told me that.”

By talent, she was referring to the magical ability that made up the most basic requirement of becoming a Warden. All members of the Guild needed to possess a talent— demonstrate the ability to wield magic—in order to be considered for admission. With luck, Martin’s would have some utility in a fight.

“What? Talent? Oh, er, I’m a dowser. W ater dowser.

Why?”

Oh, yeah,  because a nice, deep aquifer was just what they needed right now.

“No reason,” she gritted out, fingers itching for the hilt of her knife. “No reason at all.”

Which was when she glanced over her shoulder and saw a dark shadow coalesce around Teddy and his friends. A shadow that swirled and twisted and then seemed to dis appear. Inside the three men.

Shit.

“What is it? What’s wrong.”

There went the panic again, creeping back into Martin’s voice at the least opportune of moments. Impatient, Ivy shook her head and urged him to walk a  little faster. Not that it was likely to do them much good. “Nothing. Let’s just concentrate on getting to the station,  shall we?”

She could hear her accent beginning to fray at the edges, her natural American pronunciation creeping in  here and  there, but right now that counted as the least of their worries. Much higher on the list was the fact that they  were being followed down a now deserted street by three large, loutish men who  hadn’t liked her to begin with and who now appeared to have fallen  under demonic influence if not outright possession.

You know, one of  these days one of her plans was  going to have to go utterly smoothly, right? Just the law of large numbers made it inevitable,  didn’t it? Well,  today would have been a  really good day for that to happen.

Instinct had her increasing her pace yet again  until she found herself half a step from jogging down the pavement, tugging Martin along by her side.

“Hang on, then,” he protested, pulling against her grip and trying to actually slow her pace. The idiot. “If nothing’s wrong, why are you suddenly r unning?”

“I think that’s down to us, mate,” a voice snarled, closer  behind them than it should have been. Their pursuers had moved fast, faster than normal.

Faster than was natural.

An instant  later, something hit Ivy from the side, hard. The impact sent her staggering into the alley that opened up between two buildings at the side of the street. She stumbled into heavy darkness, away from the abandoned Gothic church across the way, away from the sight of anyone e lse who might wander onto the nearby pavement. To her credit, though, she managed to maintain her grip on Martin in spite of that, so she pulled him into the shadows beside her.

Perfect. Now they could be in deep shit together.

The hit had come as a surprise, but the three shapes rapidly closing in  behind her, driving her and Martin deeper into the alley, did not. Ivy’s hand had moved at the first moment of contact with her attacker, fingers closing around the hilt of her dagger and tugging it out of concealment in a smooth, practiced motion. Now, she held it in front of her as she used her grip on her companion to swing him out of the way behind her, placing him between her and the brick building wall.

“Ooh,  you’ve brought along a toy, have you?” Teddy asked, grinning as he stalked forward, herding them away from the street and the potential of being seen by passersby. “Want to play, then, do you, luvie? I like a good game now and then.”

Ivy flicked her gaze among the three looming figures. She recognized all of them from the group gathered around the bar earlier, the ones who had witnessed Teddy hitting on her and her subsequent rejection of him. They had laughed at the time and gone right back to drinking, already half- pissed when the whole thing began. Was it  too much for her to hope that she had been mistaken? That this was just a garden- variety assault and maybe potential rape fueled by alcohol and wounded machismo?  Because frankly, that would be a relief compared to the alternative.

“Yeh, we like to play,” the second lad hissed as he stepped forward  until Ivy could see his face in the dim light of the alleyway. “We especially like to play with his sort.” He bared his teeth, and his eyes lit up with malice.

And Ivy didn’t mean that metaphorically. His eyes actually lit up. As in, started glowing. With a sick, rusty- red light that reminded her of old blood and dried scabs.

Very attractive.

And very much indicative of demonic influence.

Yay. S he’d been right. It wasn’t really her  these  three  were after. They wanted Martin. They wanted the  Warden.

Well, they  weren’t  going to get him. Not until they got past her.

“I’m ready to go, boys.” She took a step forward and flashed a toothy smile of her own. “And you know the rules. White makes the first move.”

Ivy struck with a feint  toward Teddy, who stood closest to her, directly ahead. When instinct had him leaping back out of the way of her blade, she spun backward

to her left and landed a heel- first kick directly to the sternum of hissy boy. He grunted and stumbled back in surprise, but bachelor number three was already on the move. He closed in on Ivy from the left and grabbed her around her upper body, effectively pinning her biceps to her sides.  She’d been expecting the move and countered by thrusting the dagger in a short, upward dig that buried it deep in number three’s thigh.

“Go, Martin!” she shouted above Three’s scream. “Get to the station! Lost Luggage under your name! Now!”

All of her attackers howled in protest. Three’s cry was still tinged with pain. It gave her a warm surge of satisfaction, even though it rendered her nearly deaf in her left ear, the one closest to his mouth. Jerking the knife back, she freed it from the man’s leg and went limp in his grip, relaxing her muscles until she slid straight out of his arms to the floor of the alley.

Even as she hit the cobbles, she was already moving. She braced one hand, shifted her weight, and swung one leg around, aiming a heavy kick at the knee of the grabby Three’s wounded leg. He crumpled with a heavy grunt.

Teddy and number two rushed in to take his place, converging on Ivy before she could manage a glimpse to see if Martin had followed her directions. If he hadn’t, he was  either dumber than he looked, or part possum and his nervous system had shut down from fear. Neither option would keep him alive, though, and as skilled as she had become in hand- to- hand combat after her years of self- defense classes back in New York and her training since taking on her rescue work in  England, one  human  woman against three demonically influenced men  didn’t offer her very good odds.

Chances  were she  wouldn’t leave this alley  under her own power. Hell,  she’d be lucky if she  didn’t leave it in a coroner’s van. Which meant Martin had better be halfway down the steps to the tube already.

She ducked away from a swipe of Teddy’s outstretched hand, trying not to get distracted by the way the skin of his fingertips had split to allow the emergence of glistening black claws that dripped some sort of dark, stinking fluid. The smell of decayed flesh and filthy swamp  water suddenly filled the alley, and Ivy had to fight back the urge to gag.

Oh, yeah. She’d say this officially went beyond the realm of demonic influence. Hell, this went beyond possession. Somehow, demons had not just taken over  these men’s’ bodies, they had used the energy of the  human bodies to allow them to fully manifest into the  human world.

In case anyone wondered, that was a really,  really bad  thing. Something Ivy  wouldn’t have thought possi ble six months ago.

But then again, six months ago, the world  hadn’t quite started coming to an end yet.  Today, anything was  possible.

With that cheery thought filling her mind, she swung her dagger in a wide arc that managed to catch opponent number two in the side, opening up a wound that audibly sizzled and began to ooze something much darker and slimier than blood. It  didn’t smell like blood,  either. The ichor reeked of the same foulness that hung around the venom dripping from Teddy’s claws.

Seriously, it was becoming a real challenge not to puke. What she wouldn’t give for a nice, stiff breeze right about then to dissipate some of the stink.

Two— Thing Two, Ivy decided to call him— hissed, his corrupt red gaze flicking between her and her blade with manic hatred. It made her smile in spite of the nausea.

“What’s the  matter, pumpkin?” she taunted him. “ Aren’t you a fan of blessed and consecrated silver? Me, I just adore the stuff.”

She demonstrated  those feelings with another quick slash of her arm, a motion that sliced through the jacket and shirt Teddy wore and into the flesh of his shoulder. She wasn’t particularly aiming for the brachial plexus nerve or a major artery, but she  wasn’t going to cry if he started to bleed out or lost the use of his arm.

He screamed, but Ivy just continued her stroke and caught  Thing Two across the cheek, just millimeters away from his left eye. Hm, close call, that. What a shame.

“Bitch!” the demon howled.

Ivy blew him a kiss. “Aw, love you, too, snookums.”

Her  mother had always told her that her smart mouth would get her into trouble one day. Somehow Ivy  didn’t think this particular trouble was what s he’d had in mind. You know, the  whole “ripped apart by demons in a deserted alley” thing. Dorothy probably h adn’t seen that one coming.

One would hope.

By now, Thing Three was back on his feet, and Ivy knew she was seriously fucked. Three against one. Three demons against one, with no backup on the way. Working alone was one of the keys to protecting the Wardens  people like her assisted. Now, it looked like she was  going to die alone.

“Sorry,  Uncle George,” she muttered, putting her back to the alley wall and keeping her gaze on the man- shaped creatures in front of her. They had realized her predicament just as clearly as she had, and now they  were toying with her, watching her with evil, hungry gazes. Not the kind of hunger that would scare most  women alone in an alley, but the kind of hunger that scared American turkeys in the  middle of November.

“Sorry, Jamie,” Ivy added. “But on the bright side, looks like I’ll be seeing you both again soon.”

Thing Two snapped its jaws at her, jaws that it then unhinged to make room for the second row of pointed teeth that appeared to be growing  behind the first,  human set.

“Very, very soon.”

Holding her dagger in front of her and carefully balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, Ivy prepared to die fighting.

Oddly enough, that’s not what happened.

One minute, she stared down the face of the Grim Reaper and the next, reality went sideways. Instead of the front of three demons clearly prepared to feast on her living flesh, she felt a rush of cool air, heard a pavement- shaking roar, and found herself staring into a wide barrier the color of dark, aged granite.

She blinked, then shook her head and blinked again. The view didn’t change. Gradually her brain caught up with her corneas, and she realized that what had looked like a barrier of solid stone was actually a pair of wings. Huge wings, each easily twelve or thirteen feet from base to tip, leathery and membranous like a bat’s.

And they  were attached to the broadest, most muscular back she had ever seen. A back that could only conceivably belong to one of two t hings:

A dragon.

Or a Guardian.

“Soars with fun, witty characters and nonstop action.” --Publishers Weekly on Stone Cold Lover

Don't miss the other books in the Gargoyle series:

Book #1: Heart of Stone

Book #2: Stone Cold Lover

Book #3: Hard as a Rock

Book #4: Rocked by Love

Book #5: Hard to Handle

Buy Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Books-a-Million

Indie Bound

Powells

CHRISTINE WARREN is the author of Stone Cold Lover and Heart of Stone, as well as the Novels of the Others, including New York Times Bestsellers Big Bad Wolf, Walk on the Wild Side, and One Bite with a Stranger. Born and raised in coastal New England, Christine Warren now lives as a transplant in the Pacific Northwest. When not writing (as if that ever happens), she enjoys horseback riding, playing with her pets, identifying dogs from photos of their underbellies, and most of all reading things someone else had to agonize over.

Social Links:

Twitter- @ChristineWarren

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