Black Legion tells the thrilling science fiction tale of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand Mercenaries. The Black Legion is an army like no other. Paid for by the blood money of a sinister alien race and filled with ten thousand of humanity's best warriors. They are an unstoppable force with their number taken from every known Terran planet in the Galaxy. They have little in common, other than their love of wealth and adventure, and a bitter hatred for each other. Ten thousand savage mercenaries, exiles, thieves and criminals, each looking to make their name in the greatest enterprise in living memory. This compendium edition contains the full text of books one to three and includes Gates of Cilicia, Assault on Khorram and Warlords of Cunaxa: Gates of Cilicia Into this world of space travel, war and intrigue comes Xenophon, the exile from the Alliance planet Attica, Glaucon the rich playboy, Roxana the experienced starship officer, and Tamara, the blue-haired castaway with a hidden past and a violent personality. Fate brings them together, to serve on board one of the mighty Titans, the great floating fortresses and the most powerful starships known to mankind. There are only twelve of these in existence, and just one is powerful enough to take on an entire fleet of enemy ships. With only a few weeks to train with their comrades, nothing will prepare them for the carnage that awaits them at the infamous Gates of Cilicia. This fortified sector serves as the entrance to the Median Empire, the largest and most powerful empire in the known Galaxy and ruled with an iron fist by the tyrant, Emperor Artaxerxes. Assault on Khorram The Black Legion has won its first battle and is ready for greatness and the rewards it brings. Burning with rage from the losses at Cilicia the Legion want payment, and Cyrus has a target that should satisfy even the most avaricious of his warriors. Hundreds of ships and thousands of mercenaries start their epic journey through the deadly Su'bartu Maelstrom that will take them to the heart of the Median Empire. Few ships have ever made the journey but this is no mere fleet of traders. The battle hardened mercenaries of the Legion are interested in just one thing, loot, and they intend on finding it no matter where they have to go or who they have to kill. Warlords of Cunaxa Xenophon and his comrades find themselves at the centre of the final phase of the grand expedition, deep into the heart of the Median Empire. After months of infighting, intrigue and combat, the Black Legion has reformed into the single most powerful force seen in a hundred years. The combined fleets of the Black Legion and their Median allies under Lord Cyrus are now poised to take the battle to its inevitable conclusion, an apocalyptical battle with the Emperor of the Median Empire himself to decide the fate of the entire Empire. The titanic forces of both sides meet at the rich world of Cunaxa Secundus, just a few worlds away from the Imperial capital of Babylon Prime. The most powerful warlords of a hundred worlds assemble for war with legions of soldiers, war machines and creatures from every corner of the Empire. Against them stands Cyrus, the usurper who seeks to free the Empire from his brother's reign, as well as his horde of unbeatable Terran mercenaries. Views: 33
A LHOU and Blackbow crossover.bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb Views: 33
England, 2051. Alex Harvey is a washed up SAS trooper, thrown out of the army and dumped on the streets of a country that is coming apart at the seams. Jobs are scarce, the economy is in the doldrums and a black market in performance enhancing drugs and illegal cage fighting is thriving. Alex may be out of work, but his quest for that adrenaline high keeps him thirsting for the next challenge, the next fight.
So when he’s approached by a strange gentleman and offered the mother of all enhancements, he’s more than tempted.
But in order to be accepted for the treatment, he’s got to agree to a peculiar assignment: to hunt down the toughest, fastest foe that he’s ever encountered. In half the continents of the world, Alex has pitted himself against a variety of combatants, but this will be the first time he’s gone up against something that’s not of this world at all. Pretty soon he’ll find that winning is the least of his problems. When the stakes are shooting off the scale, it’s going to take all his skill just to survive.
Get the complete Alien Infiltrators series:
Alien Infiltrators 1: Amped
Alien Infiltrators 2: Assembled
Alien Infiltrators 3: The Tollon Codex
Alien Infiltrators 4: Bunker 51
Alien Infiltrators 5: Arctic Run
Also available as a box set for just $4.99
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Quench your Thirst with the finale to the #1 New York Times bestselling series from Christopher Pike.Sita has lived for centuries. She has seen more than most people could ever imagine.She has loved and she has lost; she has killed many, and she has given life.Now, at last, Sita’s story culminates in an epic—and satisfying—conclusion to the enormously popular Thirst series.About the AuthorChristopher Pike is the author of more than forty teen thrillers, including the Thirst, Remember Me, and Chain Letter series. Pike currently lives in Santa Barbara, where it is rumored he never leaves his house. But he can be found online at ChristopherPikeBooks.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.ONEI’m back in the motel room, staring down at Shanti’s headless body and a mound of shattered glass. The glass is from the window that broke when I threw her head into the parking lot in a fit of rage. Rage that was very close to pleasure. “Om, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti,” I say to myself. The repetitive sounds constitute a famous mantra in India. It means “Peace, peace, peace.” It is similar to the Christian prayer “Peace be with you.” How ironic, I think, that the demon I have fought since I first became aware of the Telar and the IIC should have chosen to possess the body of a young woman with such a sacred name. Yet I feel no pity for the original Shanti. The demon could not have penetrated her heart without her permission. Only at the end did Shanti reveal how much she enjoyed causing others pain, just like her master. Well, she is dead now, thank God. But is the enemy? Have I even scratched his armor? Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue. If only Umara were still alive. She was the world’s expert when it came to demons. But Matt’s mother sacrificed her life so I could destroy her people, the Telar, and the evil forces arrayed behind them. The cynical part of me wonders if her sacrifice was in vain. How does one destroy an evil that doesn’t have a physical body? I hear approaching footsteps and know their source. There’s only one other in the miserable motel who has my hearing. Matt must have heard the breaking glass and come to investigate. He knocks lightly and I call to him. He pokes his head inside my door. “Why is Shanti’s head sitting on the hood of our SUV?” he asks. Matt has on white shorts, no shirt or shoes. His well-muscled body is deeply tanned, his dark hair a mess from jumping up from sleep. But even though I just woke him up, his eyes are highly alert. How his eyes remind me of his father, Yaksha, the first and most powerful of all vampires. Matt is half vampire, half Telar, an immortal coin from his head to his toes. Looking at him, mostly naked in the room’s dim light, I feel heat stir down below. Despite the circumstances, the lust does not surprise me. My attraction to him has been there from the start. “She was the one. She was the spy,” I reply. Matt steps into the room. “You’re sure?” “She told a few lies, and when I confronted her . . .” I shrug. “She confessed who she was before I killed her.” “What does this mean?” Matt asks. His question appears simple but it is multilayered. Like me, he wants to know if we’ve finally destroyed the demon. He’s also asking if Shanti’s death means the computer program that was planted on the Internet by the Cradle—a group of psychic children—is going to stop hunting us. We have been on the run since we blew up the IIC’s headquarters and supposedly killed every member of the Cradle except for one, Ms. Cynthia Brutran’s five-year-old daughter, Jolie. The two are asleep three doors away. I can only assume they failed to hear the breaking glass. “I’m not sure,” I say. “But at least with Shanti out of the way what we talk about will no longer be heard by those who are trying to kill us.” Matt’s puzzled. “You were close to her. You miss nothing. How was she able to fool you for so long?” The question stings. “She played me. It’s no excuse, it’s just . . .” I pause, searching for the key to her deception. “She made me care for her.” Matt glances out the motel door, at the trickle of blood that runs over the SUV hood from the base of her severed skull. “You weren’t alone. You know Seymour loved her. This is going to kill him.” “Let’s not tell him until morning.” “Fine.” “I don’t want him to see her like this.” Matt nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the body and bury it in the desert. No one will find it.” “Thank you.” Matt reaches down and lifts Shanti’s headless torso with one hand. The blood of Yaksha and my daughter, Kalika, flows through my veins, which makes me almost invincible. Yet I know Matt is stronger than me, although I’m not sure of the extent of his power. He’s reluctant to show it, even to me, but I don’t take offense. In this way we are alike: He has a hard time trusting people. That’s why his question continues to sting. I was the first one in the group to meet Shanti, and trust her. “While I’m taking care of the body, go through her things,” Matt says. “You never know what you might find.” “Good idea.” I had already planned to do that. “Are you sure you don’t want help?” “It’s not necessary. I have a shovel in the trunk.” “What made you bring a shovel?” “Times like this.” Matt stuffs the torso and head into several large-size garbage bags and walks off into the desert. He doesn’t take the SUV; he doesn’t need it. I feel a wave of relief as he disappears into the dark. Seymour’s a night owl. There’s always a chance he’s up, watching TV or reading. He could even be writing a new book. He once told me he seldom went a whole day without writing a few pages. Shanti has a small suitcase in our motel room but a larger one in the back of the SUV. I find it interesting that she went out of her way to leave it in the vehicle. When I first open it, I’m disappointed. It’s stuffed with clothes, a few magazines, a pair of boots, running shoes, a watch, and a cell phone—devoid of any stored numbers. Yet when I have finished emptying the suitcase on her bed, I notice a faint bulge on the interior of the lid, beneath the leather lining. Human eyes would never have noticed it. The area is sewn shut; indeed, it looks as if it has never been exposed since the day the suitcase was constructed. If I were to hide something, I think, and it were important to me, I would put it in exactly the same place. I tear off the inner lining of the suitcase. There’s a manila envelope inside. I open it with a swipe of my fingernail. Inside are two items: a business card and a photograph. The card lists the name of a lawyer: Michael Larson of Pointe, Wolf, and Larson, 1250 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York. The card is made of high-quality paper, the printing is impeccable. It smells of money. Written on the back of the card, with a dull pencil, is another New York phone number. The photograph is of a middle-aged couple. The woman looks familiar, even though I’m certain I’ve never met her before. The couple sits smiling on a couch beside an open window that looks out on rolling grassland with a lake in the distance. They appear to be a typical couple. The man has his arm around his wife. I’m certain they’re married. There’s an ease between them that only comes from having lived many years together. I see their love for each other in their eyes. Looking out the window, behind them, I’m pretty sure I see a piece of land that belongs to North Carolina. The type of trees, the color of the lake, the way the green fields slope—I’ve visited the area before. On a small end table, to the right of the couch where they sit, is a black-and-white photograph. The picture is handsomely framed but it was taken with a primitive camera. The print is grainy, the focus questionable. I suspect the photograph was snapped in the forties or fifties. Once more, there’s a couple, although these two are younger and they’re standing on Ellis Island, near the foot of the Statue of Liberty. They’re not alone—a hundred people mill in the background. Most look weary and I can understand why. They have just crossed the Atlantic and arrived in the New World. But the couple at the forefront of the group don’t look exhausted. On the contrary, they’re bursting with excitement to be standing on the doorstep of New York City. Studying their faces I can see all the hopes and dreams they have for their future. But I also see their joy is tempered with sorrow. Even if I didn’t know them, I’d still see the pain in their eyes. But I do know them. Their names are Harrah and Ralph Levine. I met them during World War II, in Paris, and spent time with them in the most hellish place the modern age has ever known: Auschwitz, the concentration camp where over a million Jews were slaughtered. It was only because of Harrah and Ralph that I survived the camp. Now I know why the woman on the couch looks familiar. She’s the granddaughter of Harrah and Ralph. I’m still staring at the photograph when Matt returns. I hand it over, along with the card, and tell him who the people in the pictures are. Matt listens closely and studies them with a penetrating gaze. I don’t bother to point out the numeric codes imprinted on Harrah’s and Ralph’s forearms. Matt misses nothing. “How did you happen to become friends?” he asks when he hands back the picture. “We worked together in Paris, with the French Resistance.” “Did you stay in contact after the war?” “Not exactly.” I pause. “We were all sent to Auschwitz.” Matt is stunned. “You’re not telling me you were a prisoner?” “I wasn’t a guest.” “Sita, how could the Nazis contain you? I don’t understand.” Those days are difficult for me to talk about. “It’s a long story, an unbelievable story. Toward the end of the war, I decided to help the Allies defeat the Nazis. My reasons were complex—I’d just as soon not go into them now. But I never imagined for a moment that I&rsq... Views: 33
Hugo Award nominee Adam-Troy Castro's exciting new world full of shadows and mystery grows in book 2 of the Gustav Gloom series. In Gustav Gloom and the Nightmare Vault, Fernie and Gustav find themselves battling another shadowy foe—The Shadow Eater. He is after one thing, The Nightmare Vault, which his master, the evil Lord Obsidian will use to unleash the most terrifying and threatening shadows into the world. As Fernie and Gustav race to stop the Shadow Eater, Fernie learns about Gustav's mysterious past and just what happened to his missing parents.Featuring a unique paper-over-board cover and beautifully dark full page illustrations by Kristen Margiotta, Gustav Gloom is sure to be a hit with fans who, like Fernie, love a little darkness in their lives. Views: 33
Take a little Horror home with you! Ray Gordon loves to scare his younger brother, Brandon. It's not hard considering Brandon is terrified of everything—loud noises, roller coasters, and especially the wooden dummy, Slappy, that Ray got from Jonathan Chiller's HorrorLand gift shop. In order to throw his big New Year's Even party, Ray's parents make him promise to leave Brandon alone. But strange, mean-spirited things keep happening to his little brother, and Slappy always seems to be around for it. Could those words Ray read out loud actually have brought the dummy to life? Views: 33
The Monkey’s Paw and Other Tales of Mystery and the Macabre, Compiled by Gary Hoppenstand, brings together a unique collection of W. W. Jacobs’s horror stories never before collected. There are eighteen stories altogether in this collection of the macabre and supernatural. Jacobs’s own boyhood memories of South Devon Wharf lend an authenticity to the many stories with nautical backgrounds or that feature seamen as protagonists. Views: 33
"Reader beware—you choose the scare! GIVE YOURSELF GOOSEBUMPS! You and your friends decide to check out a new part of town. That's when you notice an old house with a sign that says ""BEWARE—DANGER"" on one side and ""PLEASE COME IN"" on the other. Of course, you decide to go and see what's up. The old man who lives there tells you hes looking for help cleaning out his garage. And you find a secret room. Inside there's a robot and mirrors and all kinds of great stuff. If you look in the mirrors you'll find yourself in a place where everything is backwards. If you turn on the robot you'll be walking in a metal wonderland. Can you get back before you become a pile of nuts and bolts? The choice is yours in this scary GOOSEBUMPS adventure that's packed with over 20 super-spooky endings!" Views: 33
