In Undercover Truths, follow the exciting tale back to the initial Earth cycle, back when the gods were jostling about for their turf. Stacy meets the one who will become the god of war. Watch as the pair come together to stave off an attack that could destroy the fledgling planet. Later, in Undercover Lies, it is the pair themselves who could be destroyed.Undercover Truths / Undercover Lies—two stories in one novella:Undercover TruthsThe Governor is a private but powerful man, which makes his sudden advances toward the young technophile running his station even more surprising to everyone, including her. Was it just the initial attack on the station that brought them together, or something else? In Undercover Truths, the much-requested science fiction prequel to CATACLYSM: Return of the Gods, readers are introduced to Stacy, the woman who captures the heart of the God of War for the very first time. Will they succeed in stopping the attacks and preventing a meltdown in the North American colony? Will they ever learn who is behind the attacks? Undercover LiesMatt, the God of War, and Stacy, the mortal known as the Green Witch, are married, though “happily” doesn’t seem to be in the cards. Stacy, helped by the god who later takes the name Apollo, amuses herself by waging her own private war against a nation known as the Amiotrites. In this second installment to the prequel for the Return of the Gods series follow Stacy, the Green Witch, in her battles. Will she win the war? Will her struggles save her marriage to the God of War or tear it apart? Views: 214
The greatest super-teams ever assembled: the X-Men -- mutant protectors of a world that fears and hates them -- and the Avengers -- Earth's mightiest heroes. Now they have joined forces with the incredible Hulk against the deadly leader, having traced him to his base on the moon... Views: 214
In Adam Cesare's terrifying young adult debut, Quinn Maybrook finds herself caught in a battle between old and new, tradition and progress—that just may cost her life.Quinn Maybrook and her father have moved to tiny, boring Kettle Springs, to find a fresh start. But what they don't know is that ever since the Baypen Corn Syrup Factory shut down, Kettle Springs has cracked in half. On one side are the adults, who are desperate to make Kettle Springs great again, and on the other are the kids, who want to have fun, make prank videos, and get out of Kettle Springs as quick as they can.Kettle Springs is caught in a battle between old and new, tradition and progress. It's a fight that looks like it will destroy the town. Until Frendo, the Baypen mascot, a creepy clown in a pork-pie hat, goes homicidal and decides that the only way for Kettle Springs to grow back is to cull the rotten crop of kids who live there now. Views: 213
A moving, compulsive science fiction novel from one of the best writers in the field
When the human settlers arrived on Hobbs Land, the native intelligent species, the Owlbrit, were already almost extinct. Before the last one died, a few years later, the humans had learned a little of their language, their ideas and their religion. It seemed the natural thing for the settlers to maintain the last Owlbrit temple, with the strange statue that was its God. When that God died - disintegrating overnight - it seemed equally natural to start preparing its replacement.
Maire Manone came to Hobbs Land to escape the harsh patriarchal religion of Voorstod, but Voorstod hasn't forgotten her - or forgiven her. But the men who arrive on Hobbs Land to find and return Maire to her homeland haven't taken Hobbs Land's God into account ... Views: 213
About the AuthorChristoper Golden was voted the third most popular science fiction author of the year 2000 by the readers of SFX magazine. He is the author of several dark fantasy novels and comic books in addition to numerous Buffy the Vampire Slayer adult novels and reference books which have made him a major UK bestseller. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Chapter 1The swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen of Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub was a portal between two worlds. In the restaurant proper, fans whirled lazily above brass and wood, and the Celtic-rooted melodies of the Chieftains were pumped into the room along with the air-conditioning. Only the steady chatter of the clientele and the bustle of the waitstaff disturbed the tranquility of the scene. When Molly Hatcher, empty tray in hand, pushed through the door into the kitchen, it was like diving into chaos. The cooks in the back shouted pleasant obscenities at one another, dishes were clattered, and orders were shouted out. Somehow, the chaos managed to find a kind of focus whenever Tim Dunphy was on duty. Tim was twenty-three, a powerfully built guy from South Boston who had little patience for fooling around. Molly had a feeling it was more the respect for Tim's ability to kick the hell out of any one of them rather than his prowess as a chef that made the other cooks obey him. Either way, he ran a tight ship. Loud, yes, and wild, but somehow the orders in his kitchen were filled and rarely wrong. Molly stood with her back to the wall to let another waitress slide by her. A computer screen to the left showed that order number 0417 was up, and it was one of hers. She slipped her tray onto the counter and scanned the various dishes that were arrayed on the warming racks before her. Swiftly, she gathered the four dishes that comprised her order and turned to go. "What, you don't even say 'hi' anymore?" Tray balanced precariously on one hand and hip, Molly turned to grin at Tim on the other side of the counter. "Hi, Tim," she replied, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I didn't want to interrupt. You guys are so busy." "Never too busy for you, Miss Hatcher," he flirted. Molly rolled her eyes, but she knew he would not take it harshly. Though she did not really know how to handle his advances, that didn't mean she didn't like them. Not at all. Tim was a mess -- greasy face, bandanna tied over his head to keep his hair from falling into the food; never mind the odd bump on the bridge of his nose, where it had been broken at least once. A fighter, no doubt. Growing up in Southie, he'd probably not had a chance to be anything else. And with her wild red hair and green eyes, Molly knew she was Tim's type. He'd made no secret of that fact. Truth be told, despite his rough edges, she thought he was sort of sweet. But it was too soon. Way too soon. After what she'd been through...after Artie... "So, y'know," Tim began, "I was thinkin' maybe we could -- " "Leave the girl alone, Timothy Dunphy." Molly turned, startled -- though not enough to unbalance her tray -- and saw Tim's sister Kiera shaking a finger at him. Kiera was also a waitress at the pub, and she and Molly had struck up a friendship. "Mind your own damn business, Kiera," Tim snapped, eyes narrowing. "I make it my business. Why don't you just do your job?" Her brother bristled. "You oughta learn to keep your mouth shut." "I kicked your ass when you were twelve, boy, and I'd be happy to do it again." Tim shot her the finger, then grinned broadly at Molly and disappeared back into the kitchen. A second later one of the other cooks slipped several plates of food onto the warming racks. "Don't let him bother you," Kiera said, a smirk on her face. "He's not," Molly insisted. "But I'm happy to provide you guys with something else to fight about." "And we appreciate it," Kiera confirmed, eyes lighting up with mischief. "We truly do." Molly shook her head in amusement, then carried her tray out of the shouting and clattering that was the kitchen and into the much more serene environment of the restaurant. The other difference, of course, was temperature. The kitchen was insufferably hot, with so many stoves and ovens going at once. The restaurant and bar area whistled along at a cool seventy-three degrees, according to the thermostat. As she slipped around a recently hired waiter named Paul and waved at Wendy, the hostess up by the front door, Molly found her thoughts again drifting back to Artie. For most of high school, the two of them had been inseparable. Then, in April, her sweet, funny guy had been murdered. Surreal as it had seemed then, it was even more so now. For Artie had not been killed by a drive-by gangbanger or convenience-store robber. He had been butchered by a race of monsters that had been around before the first man walked the earth. Monsters. After all she had seen, she still had a hard time wrapping her mind around that word. But there was no other way to describe them. They weren't werewolves, though there were similarities. Unlike the werewolves of mythology, the Prowlers had no human core whose basic moral structure might restrict their actions, though some of them lived peacefully, even benevolently, among humanity. The rest were just savages, beasts who stalked the human race like lions on the veldt or hunted in packs along the fringes of civilization. Except sometimes they didn't stay on the fringes. A bold pack of Prowlers hunting in the city had killed Artie and Kate Nordling, one of Molly's best friends, as well as a bunch of other people. The authorities had finally caught up with them, and Molly and her friend Jack Dwyer had taken down their leader while the police dealt with the others. But there were more out there. No one knew how many, but it was clear that they existed, scattershot, all over the world, in ones and twos and packs of various sizes. Molly shuddered at the thought of what might happen someday if they were all brought together. Their knowledge of the Prowlers had put both her and Jack on edge, made them suspicious of everything and everyone. Jack. He was the other reason she did not know how to react to Tim Dunphy's flirting. All through the horrors back in April, Jack had been at Molly's side. He had been Artie's best friend since the two of them were very young, and he was the one who had first discovered the truth about the Prowlers. For her safety, Jack and his older sister Courtney, who owned the pub with him, had invited Molly to live with them and work there. For safety, she had agreed. Once she was there, even after the crisis was over, Molly was not about to go home to her drunken, abusive mother and their filthy apartment in Dorchester. She only had six weeks left to go now before she started classes at Yale in the fall. Not a lot of time, and she wanted to spend it with Jack and Courtney. She had to wonder if she didn't really just want to spend that time with Jack. Even wondering filled her with horrible guilt. Just a few months earlier her boyfriend had been murdered, and now she felt...something, at least, for his best friend. But she could not help it. Jack was her best friend, now. No one had ever known her so well. Not even Artie. Which didn't help alleviate her guilt at all. "Miss?" Molly blinked, stopped too quickly and only just managed to keep from letting the dinner tray topple from its perch atop her fingers. She frowned as she glanced at the woman in the booth who had called out to her. Then realization dawned, and Molly offered an apologetic, self-deprecating grin. The order she was carrying belonged to the three women at that table. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly as she slipped the plates one by one onto the table. "Just a little preoccupied, I guess." "No harm done," a diminutive blond piped up from across the booth. "As long as we all get what we ordered. I'm starved." The other women chuckled, and Molly joined in. As she slid the last of the dishes onto the table, she happened to glance over at the bar area. A small cluster of locals sat at one end, eyes glued to whatever sporting event was on the TV bolted to the wall behind the bar. A few empty stools down from them, however, there sat a man, alone. Staring at her. With a quick intake of breath that whistled through her teeth, Molly turned her attention back to her customers. She forced a smile, all the while feeling the stranger's eyes boring into her from behind. "Can I get you ladies anything else?" she asked. One of them asked for an iced tea, but the others practically ignored Molly as they dug into their dinners. When she turned around, her gaze ticked involuntarily back to the bar again. The man wore blue jeans and black boots, and a stylishly tight powder-blue T-shirt stretched over a broad, muscular chest. One of his biceps bore a tattoo she could not make out at this distance. His hair was too long and his chin bore several days stubble. He would have been strikingly handsome if he didn't look so mean, if his eyes didn't burn as he stared at her with a hunger that was almost...predatory. Oh my God, Molly thought, heart skipping a beat. A horrible thought occurred to her. Panicked, she glanced anxiously around the pub until she spotted Jack talking to the hostess up front. She dangled the large, round tray at her side as she made a beeline across the restaurant for him. When Courtney was not around, Jack was in charge. But even if his older sister had been there, Molly would have gone to Jack instead. When he saw her striding toward him, Jack's conversation faltered. "Molly, what is it?" he asked. Her gaze flicked toward Wendy, who instantly got the message and returned to the tall desk the hostess used to take reservations and assign seating. Molly purposely positioned herself in the line of sight between Jack and the man -- the predator -- at the bar. "Don't look right away," she warned him. "There's a man sitting by himself up at the bar who looks a little like a TV star or something. He's staring at me." A small smile twitched at the corners of Jack's mouth. "Can you blame him?" She grimaced. "Not in a good way, Jack. I get a vibe off him. I can't help wondering if he's...hunting." Her friend's face blanched and his eyes narrowed. He was five foot ten and, though muscular, not physically intimidating. But Jack was stronger than he looked, and when his body tensed, she could feel the coiled power of a much larger man. Jack was not someone to underestimate. Not at all. As Molly watched, Jack glanced past her shoulder. She saw no reaction in his features before he gazed at her again. "Wish Bill was back from his break," Jack said, voice low and grave. "He'd be able to tell." Molly hesitated a moment, then gave a tiny shrug. "What do we do?" Jack nodded slowly. Then, without a word, he set off across the restaurant on a direct course for the bar. The world around him shuddered and seemed to disappear as Jack strode the wood floor of Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub. The voices were gone and the other patrons ceased to exist, until all that remained were the guy at the bar and the music that lingered in the air. Adrenaline rushed through him, and Jack nearly quivered with it. His alarms were going off, and he did his best to tone them down. Molly was right. The guy looked out of place in here, like a model or an actor. Too perfect. And cruel, too. That was what disturbed Jack most of all. A powerful-looking guy, out of place, all by himself, and staring at Molly as though he were the hunter and she the prey. Prowler, Jack thought, and the idea only solidified as he moved closer to the man, defiantly challenging him with his steady gaze. The man did not look away. Jack took the two steps up to the bar area and stood directly in front of the man, staring down at him. "You're pissing her off," Jack told him. The man's eyebrows shot up, a glint of amusement in his eyes. It was an arrogant look, and Jack wanted very much to slap it off his face. "I'm sorry? I don't know what you're talkin' about." Arms crossed, Jack glared at him. "The redheaded waitress, the one you keep staring at. You're pissing her off." The guy laughed. "I'm watchin' her. She's pretty tasty-lookin'. No law against watchin'. And I'm wonderin' if maybe it ain't her I'm pissin' off. Otherwise maybe she'd be over here tellin' me herself. Doesn't look like the kind of girl who'd let a guy do her dirty work. Unless maybe she's scared a' me." Tasty-looking. The phrase stuck in Jack's mind. It might just be the guy being obnoxious, or it might mean something else entirely. "Maybe she is," Jack admitted. "So maybe you should go." The guy shook his head in disbelief and stood up. He was a good four inches taller than Jack, a lot broader, and -- Jack had to hand it to him -- he was better dressed. He knew how the man must see him: punk nineteen-year-old in a cotton shirt with the name of the pub sewn on the breast, telling him what to do? "I'm not done with my beer," the guy drawled in his slight southern accent. With a frown, Jack tilted his head and regarded the man. "You've never heard of Tanzer, have you?" From the flicker of confusion in the guy's eyes, he knew the answer. This man was not a Prowler. Just an arrogant, sexist moron with a chip on his shoulder. Jack sighed. Prowlers were one thing. Jerks like this he had to handle just about every day, which got monotonous. "You're gonna leave now," Jack told him. "Who the hell are you?" the guy scoffed. "The owner," Jack said coolly, gazing up at the man. He sniffed with a boredom that was only partially feigned. "Look, I know you think you're a badass. But you're gonna have to trust me when I say I've dealt with meaner. If you want trouble here, you shouldn't come alone." For a few seconds the guy laughed at that. But even as he did, he watched Jack's eyes. Whatever he saw there, something in them convinced him that Jack was speaking true. He reached behind the bar and grabbed his mug, sucked back several gulps of beer, then slammed it down hard and stalked off, not looking back. When the guy was gone, Danny -- who was subbing for the bartender Bill Cantwell -- leaned over the bar. "Damn, Jack, I thought for sure we were gonna have to take the big bastard down." Jack smiled softly. Danny was all of five eight and maybe one hundred and forty pounds, but he was a scrapper. Like a lot of the pub's staff, he was a Southie boy. "He didn't pay," Danny added. "Forget it," Jack told him. Molly met him at the steps that separated the bar from the restaurant, a look of consternation on her face. "No?" she asked, glancing toward the front door. "No," Jack reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Molly cursed under her breath. "After two and a half months I'm still totally paranoid." Jack reached out and tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. "Stay paranoid," he warned. "We have reason to be." Though it was well past eight o'clock, it had only just begun to get dark as Tucker Marshall strode angrily into the street from Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub. He was glad he didn't know anyone in Boston yet. The kid in the pub had embarrassed him. He knew he could have snapped the boy in half if he'd wanted to, but Tucker had come to town to audition for the touring company of the new Lloyd Webber musical and had a callback in the morning. The last thing he needed was to spend a few days in jail, or worse yet, damage his face. The buffalo wings he'd had at the bar sat heavily in his belly, sloshing around with a couple of mugs of beer. What unsettled him, though, was the anger that still roiled in him. Tucker wasn't the kind of guy to walk away from a fight. That sweet little redhead at the restaurant had been something, that was for sure. He'd made eye contact, thinking maybe he would start up a conversation. Not a crime, as far as he knew. Women liked guys who were intense, at least in his experience. Grumbling, Tucker strode across the street, barely looking where he was going. A car ground to an abrupt halt to avoid hitting him and the driver laid on the horn. Tucker shot him the finger without even looking up. He turned toward Quincy Market, figuring he could work off some of his anger just walking around, maybe get an ice cream or something. There were a lot of beautiful women, both tourists and locals, down around that part of Boston that second week of July. If he could strike up a conversation, get a chance to run his line, talk about being an actor...well, Tucker usually had good luck reeling in the ladies. The sky was dimming quickly now, the sun disappearing behind the cityscape to the west. Tucker gazed a moment in appreciation as the last rays of light shot scythes of gold between the buildings. As he was starting to turn his attention back to the sidewalk in front of him, he slammed right into a bald man who was speaking with a friend. The man bumped into his friend and both of them almost fell before regaining their footing. "Sorry," Tucker mumbled. He started to go around them. The guy he'd run into grabbed him by the hair, spun him around and shoved him up against the side of a building hard enough that his head bounced off the bricks with a painful thump. Tucker grunted as all the fury that had been building up in him in the previous few minutes combined with a new wave of rage. He forgot all about his audition. Fists balled, he cocked his right arm back and threw the first punch. "You sorry son-of-a -- " The powerful hand that gripped his throat choked off his words. The bald guy batted Tucker's fist away with his free hand and leaned in close. His breath was rank with the odor of rotting meat, and his teeth were too sharp. That wasn't the only thing Tucker noticed about the bald man in that instant. His teeth, yeah. But his eyes were wrong, too. Not like a person's, but rimmed with red like a wild animal's. And his face...his face seemed to change, to pulse. He sneered, and for an eyeblink it was almost as though he had the face of an animal, a snout like that of a dog. Or a wolf. Hair shot through the man's scalp and his face, but only a quarter inch, just a bristle. Impossible."Do you want to die?" the guy, who wasn't bald anymore, snarled. Tucker shook his head vigorously. "Apologize." He was not about to argue that he had already done so. "I'm...I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry." Tucker stared at his shoes a second; his body felt electrified with fear and astonishment. People did not grow hair in front of you. And the teeth...and the eyes. "Hey." The voice was soft and dangerous. Tucker glanced up nervously to see the bald man smiling at him. Normal teeth. Smooth scalp. "Watch your goddamn step," the guy warned him. "You just never know who you're going to run into." Then he spun Tucker away from the wall and shoved him on his way. Tucker stumbled a few steps and then hurried on without so much as a single glance back. As quickly as he could, Tucker made his way toward the North End, where a friend was letting him crash on a futon in the living room. He had forgotten all about cruising Quincy Market, trying to meet women. He had also decided that he did not like Boston. Not at all. "What the hell are you doing?" Braun frowned, glared at Dubrowski, and ran a hand over his hairless scalp. "Guy ran into me, Doobie. Pissed me off. What do you expect, I should let him knock me on my ass and not say sumthin'?" Anxious, Dubrowski glanced along the street toward Quincy Market, watching to make sure the pretty boy had gone on his way. Then he shot a glance in the other direction, toward Bridget's. Nobody had come outside or seemed to have noticed anything. Finally, he turned his withering gaze upon Braun. "Go after him. Kill him. Either make it appear to be a simple murder, or, if you must eat, do not leave a body, even if you have to gnaw the bones and toss them in the harbor. After what happened with Tanzer, we cannot afford to have anyone suspect there are those of us who have not fled this city." "Fine," Braun said, sniffing petulantly. "Gotta tell ya, though, Doobie, I got no idea why we're still screwing around here. We oughta take off, find someplace safe to hunt." "And so we shall," Dubrowski promised. His gaze moved back toward Bridget's across the street. "Just as soon as we have tasted blood, in vengeance for the slaughter of Tanzer and the others of the pack." With lightning speed, Dubrowski's right hand lashed out, and he scratched deep furrows in Braun's left cheek. Braun hissed with pain and snarled loudly, but resisted making the change that such a break of concentration sometimes brought. "What have I told you about calling me 'Doobie'?" Copyright © 2001 by Christopher Golden Views: 213
In the tradition of Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot, Cirque Du Freak is the frightening saga of a young boy whose visit to a mysterious freak show leads him on a journey into a dark world of vampires. Filled with grotesque creatures, murderous vampires, and a petrifying ending, Cirque Du Freak will chill, thrill, and leave readers begging for more. Views: 212
MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,— In the Preface to my last book I told you that when I closed my eyes I seemed to see hundreds of dear Children's faces turned towards me asking for a story; and now, as so many copies of that book have been sold, I am bound to believe that not hundreds, but thousands, of little friends, to whom I was this time last year a stranger, are expecting another story from my pen. Some of you may perhaps have seen the very kind things which so many of the papers said about "The Wallypug of Why." Now I am going to tell you a secret, even at the risk of seeming ungrateful to them. It is this. Much as I value their kind opinion, and proud and happy as I am that my book has met with their approval, I value your criticism even more highly than theirs, and I am going to ask you to do me a great favour. I have had so many letters from little friends about "The Wallypug of Why" that it has made me greedy, and, like Oliver, I want more. So will you please write me a letter too, your very own self, telling me just what you think of these two books, and also what kind of story you want after my next one, which is to be a School story, called "Schooldays at St. Vedast's," and which will be published almost as soon as this one is? I did think of writing a story about pet animals, for I am very fond of them; so if you can tell me anything interesting about your dogs or cats, rabbits, or other favourites, I may perhaps find room for the account in my book. You can always address letters to me in this way, and then they will be sure to reach me wherever I am:— "Mr. G. E. Farrow, Views: 212
On the eve of World War I, the Martians from the original H.G. Wells classic have returned to finish what they started, but this time humanity is ready. Armed with steam-powered battle machines created from reverse-engineered alien technology, the global defense force A.R.E.S. prepares for the coming conflict as tensions rise in Europe. Captain Eric Wells, an orphan of the first War of the Worlds, commands Earth's newest, most formidable weapon... the colossal battle tripod GOLIATH. Includes new and deleted scenes not included in the film. Based on the award-winning animated film from director Joe Pearson and Tripod Entertainment, starring Adrian Paul, Peter Wingfield, Elizabeth Gracen, Jim Byrnes, Beau Billingslea, Mark Sheppard, and Adam Baldwin. Adapted from the screenplay by David Abramowitz. 2015 Scribe Award Finalist (Best Adapted Novel Category) Views: 212
This is my second book and is a selection of 72 poems that trace my journey from making connections with myself and with God. It looks at aspects of Christian life and experiences.These poems come from a time when I felt I should write 5 poems a week for a year. Be inspired!The SparkLet me be the spark,That lights desire,And feeds the flame,That starts a forest fire.This is my second book and is a selection of 72 poems that trace my journey from making connections with myself and with God. It looks at aspects of Christian life and experiences.These poems come from a time when I felt I should write 5 poems a week for a year and the first one in my diary sets down my intent:The SparkLet me be the spark,That lights desire,And feeds the flame,That starts a forest fire.Afterwards After the fury and the awe,The wind, the whirlwind,The waves pounding in, Again and again,The burning, and the fire,The place of peace,Where my only desire,Is to stay here with you.Read and be inspired! Views: 212
TWO MULTIPLE NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING AUTHORS TEAM UP TO EXPAND LARRY CORREIA'S MONSTER HUNTER UNIVERSE!
When Marine Private Oliver Chadwick Gardenier is killed in the Marine barrack bombing in Beirut, somebody who might be Saint Peter gives him a choice: Go to Heaven, which while nice might be a little boring, or return to Earth. The Boss has a mission for him and he's to look for a sign. He's a Marine: He'll choose the mission.
Unfortunately, the sign he's to look for is "57." Which, given the food services contract in Bethesda Hospital, creates some difficulty. Eventually, it appears that God's will is for Chad to join a group called "Monster Hunters International" and protect people from things that go bump in the night. From there, things trend downhill.
Monster Hunter Memoirs is the (mostly) true story of the life and times of one of MHI's most effective—and flamboyant—hunters. Pro-tips for up and coming hunters range from how to dress appropriately for jogging (low-profile body armor and multiple weapons) to how to develop contacts among the Japanese yakuza, to why it's not a good idea to make billy goat jokes to trolls.
Grunge harkens back to the Golden Days of Monster Hunting when Reagan was in office, Ray and Susan Shackleford were top hunters and Seattle sushi was authentic.
About Black Tide Rising series entry Under a Graveyard Sky by John Ringo:
“. . .the thinking reader’s zombie novel. . . Ringo fleshes out his theme with convincing details … the proceedings become oddly plausible.”—Publishers Weekly
“If you think the zombie apocalypse will never happen, if you’ve never been afraid of zombies, you may change your mind after reading Under a Graveyard Sky. . .Events build slowly in the book at the outset, but you can’t stop reading because it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion: inexorable and horrible. And the zombie apocalypse in these pages is so fascinating that you can’t stop flipping pages to see what happens next.”—Bookhound
About John Ringo:
“[Ringo’s work is] peopled with three-dimensional characters and spiced with personal drama as well as tactical finesse.”—Library Journal
“. . . Explosive. . . . fans. . .will appreciate Ringo’s lively narrative and flavorful characters.”—Publishers Weekly
“. . . practically impossible not to read in one sitting . . . exceedingly impressive . . . executed with skill, verve, and wit.”—Booklist
“Crackerjack storytelling.”—Starlog
About Larry Correia and the Monster Hunter International series:
“[E]verything I like in fantasy: intense action scenes, evil in horrifying array, good struggling against the darkness, and most of all people—gorgeously flawed human beings faced with horrible moral choices that force them to question and change and grow.”—Jim Butcher
“[A] no-holds-barred all-out page turner that is part science fiction, part horror, and an absolute blast to read.”—Bookreporter.com
“If you love monsters and action, you’ll love this book. If you love guns, you’ll love this book. If you love fantasy, and especially horror fantasy, you’ll love this book.”—Knotclan.com
“A gun person who likes science fiction—or, heck, anyone who likes science fiction—will enjoy [these books]. . . The plotting is excellent, and Correia makes you care about the characters…I read both books without putting them down except for work . . . so whaddaya waitin’ for? Go and buy some . . . for yourself and for stocking stuffers.”—Massad Ayoob
“This lighthearted, testosterone-soaked sequel to 2009's Monster Hunter International will delight fans of action horror with elaborate weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, disgusting monsters, and an endless stream of blood and body parts.”—Publishers Weekly on Monster Hunter Vendetta
**About the Author
Larry Correia is an award-winning competitive shooter, a movie-prop-gun master and was an accountant for many years. He is the creator of the Wall Street Journal and New York Times bestselling Monster Hunter series as well as urban fantasy hardboiled adventure saga, the Grimnoir Chronicles, and epic fantasy series The Saga of the Forgotten Warrior. Correia lives in Utah with his wife and family. He's also appeared as a guest on the TV show Gun Stories, on the Outdoor Channel.
John Ringo brings fighting to life. He is the creator of the Posleen Wars series, which has become a New York Times best-selling series with over one million copies in print. His science-based zombie apocalypse Black Tide Rising series includes Under a Graveyard Sky, To Sail a Darkling Sea, Islands of Rage and Hope, and *Strands of Sorrow. * A veteran of the 82nd Airborne, Ringo brings first-hand knowledge of military operations to his fiction. Views: 212
Kali Parks is a shadow in the war between two factions that are fighting to gain control of Chicago. Born and raised on the streets, she stands as a silent sentinel at her brother’s side as he battles to gain control. She will do whatever it takes to bring peace to those she has pledged her life to protect, including fighting against the creatures that came to their world almost six years before.
Razor, a councilman for the Alliance, has been sent to oversee the remaining Trivator troops on Earth and make sure the transition for the induction of Earth into the Alliance goes smoothly. He is the one the Alliance calls when they have a situation that needs to be resolved once and for all. His reputation for dealing with difficult rebels is renowned. He asks no questions and takes no prisoners. His job is to eliminate all threats to the Alliance.
He finds himself torn between duty and something he is unfamiliar with, his heart. When a shadow warrior saves his life and disappears, he discovers his world is no longer as cut and dry as he thought. The more he learns, the more he discovers he is not immune to the warrior’s passionate desire to fight to protect her people.
Forced by duty to settle the conflict, he must decide between the Alliance and his own desire to claim the unwilling warrior. When the conflict escalates, he does the only thing he can; he makes a pact with one of the factions in exchange for a prize that will surely cause a battle of a different kind – the one for his traitorous heart.
Will he be able to claim her before she escapes from him again? Or worse, will she sacrifice her life to protect those she loves before he can? Views: 212
Witches are real—and each of us may be one—in this all-new paranormal suspense novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Christopher Pike.
Heading off for a weekend in Las Vegas with her friends, Jessie Ralle has only one worry—how to make it through the road trip in the same car with her Ex, Jimmy Kelter. The guy who broke her heart five months ago when he dumped her for no reason. The guy who’s finally ready to tell her why he did it, because he wants her back.
But what Jessie doesn’t realize is that Jimmy is the least of her problems.
In Las Vegas she meets Russ, a mesmerizing stranger who shows her how to gamble, and who never seems to lose. Curious, Jessie wants to know his secret, and in response, alone in his hotel room, he teaches her a game that opens a door to another reality.
To Witch World.
Suddenly Jessie discovers that she’s stumbled into a world where some people can do the impossible, and others may not even be human. For a time she fears she’s lost her mind. Are there really witches? Is she one of them?
1 Bestselling author Christopher Pike offers up another classic edge-of-your-seat thrill ride that keeps you guessing right until the last page. Views: 212
