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I did it! I’m free. Well sort of. Freedom isn’t as cut and dried as the word implies. In this case, I’m at the top of Death’s Worst Reaper Ever list. What it signifies remains to be seen. I broke free from Death because there wasn’t any other way out of Reaping Vampires. She refused to let me off the hook or consider other arrangements. I’d have been content leaving it at that, but word about my choice got out. Other Reapers clamored for independence too. Death’s fury expanded another notch with every defection until nowhere is far enough away for me to run to. If I was only fighting her, it might be manageable. Toss in Vampires who hate my guts, a phalanx of dark gods who want my hide, and a bunch of bigoted mortals who’ve decided magic is holding them back. Pah. Humans are their own worst enemy, but they’re the least of my problems. It’s been a rocky journey. Along the way I’ve uncovered allies and even a man who loves me. Will we be enough to slam the gates and send darkness packing? We have to be. No prisoners. No choices.
Come fly with me. Catchy, huh? It works for airlines. Maybe it will work for the dead once I launch my own Reaping business. Except my new tagline will be, come die with me. Back when my life was simpler, I thought all I had to do was hold gateways for the dead to pass through. Silly me, I actually enjoyed Reaping. Almost like a drug or fine, old whiskey, it made me high, filled me with delight, and left me glowing with the rightness of providing a last bit of compassion. Good little Reaper that I am, I never examined any of it too deeply, just crafted portals, exactly as Death trained me. Ha! She neglected to mention I command way more magic than she’d let on in Reaper school. Death smiled pretty to my face, and then lied to me. Used me. Me and all the other Reapers. I can’t not Reap. It’s hardwired into me. But I can tell Death I quit. Big words. I have no idea if I’ve got the guts to follow through, or what Death would do about open insubordination. I’ve always liked to live on the wild side, though, so I guess I’m about to find out.
If you like ’em dead. This is the urban fantasy series for you. Over 900 pages of edge-of-your-seat Reaper action. Vampires too. Shadow Reaper The dead are restless, and a whole lot less cooperative than they have been. That was true even before I drew the short straw and ended up with Vampire duty. Since then, Reaping has taken way more time. So much, I’m worried I’ll lose all the clients from the career that actually feeds me. I run a small private pilot school. It pays most of the bills and means I don’t have to keep regular hours. Death wants me to remain in one piece. She’s bailed me out often enough, she’s all but ordered me to find other employment. I just smile and nod after our little talks, and then I climb back into a cockpit. Our last toe-to-toe didn’t go so well. She went and assigned Vampires to me. That’s when Reaping turned into a million-hour-a-week job. I can almost hear the Reaper who was stuck with them before, laughing his head off. I shepherd souls to the other side. Vampires have zero interest in leaving, but I have a quota to fill. Means I have to trick them, but it didn’t work for long. They’re onto me. Damn Death, anyway. She painted a target on my back, and now the Vamps are out for blood. In more ways than one. Rebel Reaper Come fly with me. Catchy, huh? It works for airplanes. Maybe it will work for the dead once I launch my own Reaping business. Except my new tagline will be, come die with me. Back when my life was simpler, I thought all I had to do was hold gateways for the dead to pass through. Silly me, I actually enjoyed Reaping. Almost like a drug or fine old whiskey, it made me high, filled me with delight, and left me glowing with the rightness of providing a last bit of compassion. Good little Reaper that I am, I never examined any of it too deeply, just crafted portals, exactly as Death trained me. Ha! She neglected to mention I command way more magic than she’d let on in Reaper school. Death smiled pretty to my face and then lied to me. Used me. Me and all the other Reapers. I can’t not Reap. It’s hardwired into me. But I can tell Death I quit. Big words. I have no idea if I’ve got the guts to follow through, or what Death would do about open insubordination. I’ve always liked to live on the wild side, though, so I guess I’m about to find out. Untamed Reaper I did it! I’m free. Well sort of. Freedom isn’t as cut and dried as the word implies. In this case, I’m at the top of Death’s Worst Reaper Ever list. What it signifies remains to be seen. I broke free from Death because there wasn’t any other way out of Reaping Vampires. She refused to let me off the hook or consider other arrangements. I’d have been content leaving it at that, but word about my choice got out. Other Reapers clamored for independence too. Death’s fury expanded another notch with every defection until nowhere is far enough away for me to run to. If I was only fighting her, it might be manageable. Toss in Vampires who hate my guts, a phalanx of dark gods who want my hide, and a bunch of bigoted mortals who’ve decided magic is holding them back. Pah. Humans are their own worst enemy, but they’re the least of my problems. It’s been a rocky journey. Along the way I’ve uncovered allies and even a man who loves me. Will we be enough to slam the gates and send darkness packing? We have to be. No prisoners. No choices.
Bundled together for the first time! Over 1200 pages of riveting vampiric urban fantasy. Harsh Line My very existence is under attack. I’ve kept a low profile, told myself the craziness sweeping the world would pass me by. Yeah, it was wishful thinking, actually an outright lie, but it’s kept me sane. I’ve been hiding out forever in one guise or another. Currently, I run a nightclub. Ascent is an “ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies” haven. For everybody. I’m a Vampire. Far be it from me to judge. My closest ally is a shapeshifting dire wolf. I adopted him when he was a scrawny puppy, but I’m getting ahead of my tale. The fragile détente between supernaturals and humans has crashed and burned. I can’t avoid the truth any longer. Lucky for me, mortals don’t know exactly what I am. When I moved to Seattle, some vampiric sixth sense urged me to play my cards close to my vest, but I’m done burying my secrets. And my power. Warped Line I chose stasis—a long sleep—for me and two of mine. Hard to time these things, but we woke in the eye of a cyclone. When I went to sleep—to avoid being drained of magic and blood by dark Sorcerers—Vampires weren’t exactly on the endangered species list, but not many of us are left. No one ever accepted us. Not mortals and not others with power, either. At least one of those dams has developed a few cracks. Supernaturals aren’t quite welcoming, but they’ll take help from any quarter. Mortals have declared war on magic, and they won’t rest until we’re all sitting in iron-clad prisons. What a bunch of cowards. If they weren’t hiding behind false humanitarian walls, they’d be honest about their intentions and do their damnedest to kill us outright. Cracked Line Vampires don’t fall in love. Except I did. Not the best decision of my long life. I definitely cracked an unspoken line, but Ariana trounced me as far as line-crossing went. Very few acts constitute crimes in Vampire circles. Hers was the worst. I fled to the Old Country to buy myself thinking time. I still loved her, but what she’d done was so vile I couldn’t set it aside. We face huge problems, but I’m tackling them one by one. I’ll return to Ariana’s side, but perhaps only as her comrade-in-arms. Time will tell if we can be more to each other. Time and circumstances. In a world without magic, Vampires will wither along with every other magic-wielder. I cannot let that happen. Broken Line In all my years as a Vampire, hundreds of them, I never imagined humans would be anything other than food. Rich, pure, delectable blood. Prey that fought back never posed a problem. Mortals couldn’t stand against those of us with supernatural ability. That world still exists, but it’s taken a backseat to humans who’ve joined forces with turncoat mages. Mortals were never meant to wield power. Over the long haul, they’re sure to be very sorry for the choices they’ve made. Maybe someday I’ll be a humble innkeeper again, but it’s so far in the future I can’t even think about it. Nope. For now, all I see is blood. Rivers of it, and not running down my gullet, either. On the plus side, I have good friends, powerful allies, and a Vampire who loves me. We have to come through this unscathed. Have to. I’m Ariana Hawke, and I take care of what’s mine.
Learn magic they said. Or at least shore up your paltry skills. Talk is cheap, and that edict has cost me dearly. I had a comfortable life, once upon a time. A quiet life. One where I’d carved a realistic niche for myself. No more. Power is seductive, and a bitch of a mistress. Once I pulled the cork out of that bottle, a million genies sallied forth. None of them were nice. No one offered me three wishes, or any wishes at all. I’ve been working my fanny off for the last two years. Most days, I slog along from dawn to dusk and beyond. Sleep has turned into a distant memory. When I do lie down—or fall on my face, which is what really happens—my mind whirls in circles as I relive the failures du jour. And the very occasional success. I am stronger. So much stronger it scares me. My talent sparkles, flowing bright and clean. Soon, I’ll leave the well-hidden spot that’s allowed me time to claim what’s mine. Whether my crash course in sorcery was wise remains to be seen.
Power is intoxicating. Anyone who says you can overdo it is either incompetent or a very good liar. I’ve chased down every scrap of additional magic that crossed my path, drained it, and started the hunt anew. My obsession hasn’t made me much of a companion. I wouldn’t have blamed my bondmate for leaving, but the snow leopard has stuck by my side. It pains me to admit he’s my sole connection to my better nature. He tempers my penchant for blowing holes in the world and asking questions later. Not that he has a soft side. He doesn’t, but we’ve taken care of each other for all the years in my memory. Information just fell into my lap. Critical material I should have picked up on if I’d been paying attention. My next stop is Grigori, the werewolf who heads up a gang of paranormal assassins. Once I was part his Circle, but I left to sharpen my seer skills. No matter how adept I became, scrying the future—or the past—didn’t augment my power, so I moved on. Flitting from this to that to the other has been the story of my obscenely long life. No more. It’s back to the Circle for the leopard and me. We’ll remain as long as we’re needed.
I chose stasis—a long sleep—for me and two of mine. Hard to time these things, but we woke in the eye of a cyclone. When I went to sleep—to avoid being drained of magic and blood by dark Sorcerers—Vampires weren’t exactly on the endangered species list, but not many of us are left. No one ever accepted us. Not mortals and not others with power, either. At least one of those dams has developed a few cracks. Supernaturals aren’t quite welcoming, but they’ll take help from any quarter. Mortals have declared war on magic, and they won’t rest until we’re all sitting in iron-clad prisons. What a bunch of cowards. If they weren’t hiding behind false humanitarian walls, they’d be honest about their intentions and kill us outright if they could. The world turned into an alien place while I slept. Not much point returning to my clan house in Italy. It’s probably long since disbanded. Besides, fate tossed me squarely in Ariana’s path. She’s like me, a Vampire, but I hunger for her in a very un-Vampirelike way. She’s done her damnedest to chase me away, but I’m tough to dissuade. She doesn’t know it, but I won’t back off until she’s mine. No matter what it takes.
Alive, Surviving Modern Oncology by Ann Gimpel Pdf
Cancer is a bitch of a disease. Every single person who’s experienced being diagnosed and treated is a hero. There are a lot of cancer books out there. What’s different about this one? Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. I’m a psychologist by trade. About fifteen years back, I started writing novels. Unfortunately, there’s not a scrap of fiction in Alive. There are also no dragons, unicorns, or magical worlds. This book was tough to write. In places, it will be equally tough to read. In addition to my personal saga, it includes stories from other brave souls who volunteered to be part of this project. There are also chapters about the etiology of cancer, cancer as big business in America (and elsewhere), avoiding scams, and integrative oncology. Like most, I started my cancer journey believing the MDs had my best interests at heart. A few did, but to so many others I was nothing but a number, a statistic, many steps removed from a human being. My hope for Alive is it will empower others to stand up for themselves, to ask questions, to do their own research. Ultimately, everyone’s life is precious and worth the effort of self-advocacy.
Magic runs strong in me, but power isn’t enough. Actually, these days nothing is enough. I’ve done a fine job alienating everyone who ever cared about me, from the witches in my Coven to the man I love to my wolfie familiar. Mother’s familiar left, winging a path to Faery. My wolf made it abundantly clear he’d have gone with her except the familiar bond doesn’t allow that level of latitude. He howled up a storm about being stuck with me, and then quit talking. Meanwhile, the babe growing within me is equally silent. He misses Damien’s soothing voice, mandolin, and Fae love. I’m under a geas to return my son to Faery the second he’s born. Ha! They’ll have to find me first. No power words in the universe will make me relinquish my boy. Hecate still rattles around in my mind. I’m done with her. If I hadn’t allowed her in, I’d still be in Faery with Damien’s arms around me. Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. Talk is cheap. Pregnant. Nowhere to call home. No money. Nothing but my magic. Somehow, it will have to carry us through.
I’m one of the old ones. I’ve lived many lives, done many things. I’ve been called sorceress, witch, and far worse. Mortals have hung me, burned me, staked me out, and left me to die. What a pack of fools. I’m immortal, and their petty attempts were laughable. So were they when I stopped their puny, pathetic hearts. The thrill of ending someone never gets old, no matter how unbalanced the contest. When I want a break from everything, Dorcha—my bondmate—and I bide with the Circle of Assassins. I never mean to stay long, but the years have a way of slipping by. While I find peace within the Circle, Dorcha becomes restive. She never used to mind being the only unicorn, but she’s grown silent, withdrawn. The place within me where I feel her energy is often empty. We need a nice juicy assignment to get things back on track, a mission worthy of our skill. Excited by the prospect of free-flowing blood and the crusty stench of battle, I searched for her, but she was gone. Worse than gone, my link with her was buried beneath layers of unicorn enchantment. Could I find her? Sure, but she didn’t wish to be found.
Urban fantasy and slow burn romance wrapped into a serial that will keep you up reading long into the night. Over a thousand pages of pure delight. Strange bedfellows rock worlds. Court of Rogues Reluctant recruit to the nines, I became Faery’s regent by default. Sure, I was next in line for the throne, but I never believed Oberon and Titania were gone for good until first a decade rolled by, and then two, and then ten. They’ll never be back, and the land is mourning. Or pissed. It’s hard to tell which, and I’m not sure what difference it makes. I split my time between Faery and Earth searching for a way to mend the rift that’s killing my realm. I haven’t made much progress. Time is running through the glass, mocking my paltry efforts. A sultry Witch is barely a blip on the radar. So what if she counts cards in the casino I run on Earth and makes my pit boss a little nuts? Out of the blue, she spits out the unbelievable, and I discover she’s not a Witch after all. A glamour hid her Fae-Sidhe blood so well, she’d fooled me. Her mixed blood is an affront. By rights, I should haul her before the Court to face justice. She understood the chance she took revealing herself to me, and her offer to join forces is tempting, but it could cost me my throne. Some risks are worth the price. If I cross the line, there’ll be no going back. Midnight Court My days as Faery’s reluctant regent have crashed and burned. Either I left the land to rot in a squalid soup of broken promises, or I destroyed her enemies one by one. No choice there. Not really. I’d known some of those “enemies” since childhood, which was centuries ago. They say familiarity breeds contempt. In my case it bred sorrow as I consigned Fae who’d been friends to eternal destruction and fed them to the land. Dariyah, the Witch-who-wasn’t-one, crossed my path for reasons I’m still figuring out. Her long-lost mother presided over one of Faery’s many dirty secrets, the Midnight Court. Some like to believe Fae blood is pure. It’s not. We and the Sidhe are joined at the hip, and the Midnight Court was once a living symbol of our bond. Court of the Fallen Faery has changed so much I barely recognize her. The worst part is I didn’t see this coming. A few minor skirmishes, sure, but the Unseelie fielded tens of thousands against us. The King of Winter is finally exacting revenge against the consort who spurned him. The rest of us are collateral damage. He played his hand well, attracted powerful allies, and punted us into a definite one-down position. For the moment. Pegasus is the king’s primary ally. I possess knowledge that will blow their partnership sky high. And proof in case neither of them believes me. Timing is everything, though. We must wrest Faery from the enemy. I finally hold the land link, but success is far from a foregone conclusion. More blood will flow before we’re done. Buckets of the stuff, but I can’t let that stop me. Court of Destiny Faery’s castle lies in ruins, a reflection of the rest of a land I love. My land, my realm, has altered almost beyond recognition. The part that hasn’t changed is the incredible people and creatures who live in Faery. Unicorns. Fauns. Satyrs. Fae. Sidhe. Their spirits have been indomitable, and it makes me proud to call them brothers. But then, the Unseelie used to be brethren too. Now they stand against us along with a collection of monsters intent on sucking every last breath of life from Faery. The worst part about all of this has been not knowing whom I can call friend. As we lurch into the endgame, my life, soul, and fortunes are linked with the woman I love. We rise—or fall—together. If it comes down to a gut-wrenching choice, will I pick Faery or Dariyah?
Fitting in has never been in the cards. Not part of the hand Fate dealt me. My superpower is animals, magical and otherwise. They adore me. Birds and insects too. Back when the Celts still roamed the Highlands, I begged them to shed light on how I came to be since my power is unique. You can guess how well that went. They’re a taciturn, entitled lot. I didn’t shed a single tear when they packed up and left Earth. Other mages don’t care for me. They don’t trust my one-of-a-kind magic. On my more generous days I don’t blame them. For now, I run a tiny private investigator shop in the Scottish Highlands. Mortals are quick to hire me because I always solve their problems. Using magic is cheating, but they’ll never find out. Most days, it’s a delicate dance. If I get lucky, no other mage has it in for me. But I’m still stuck hanging onto enough of a glamour to fool mortals. Occasionally, I want to pack it all in and vanish to…well, to somewhere else. No one to blame but myself when my life skids off the rails.
Series Backstory Sometime between the interminable wars in the Middle East and 9/11, the United States bred a race of super soldiers. Clandestine labs formed, armed with eager scientists who’d always yearned to manipulate human DNA. At first the clones looked promising, growing to fighting size in as little as a dozen years, but V1 had design flaws. Seven years ago, a rogue group turned on their creators, blew up the lab, and hit all the other breeding farms, freeing whomever they could find. In the intervening time, they retreated to hidden compounds and created a society run by men. Women are kept on a tight leash because the men fear if they discover their innate power, they’ll launch their own rebellion. Winning Glory Being a genetically altered human without a name grew old, so Glory named herself. Surrounded by a maze of unpleasant alternatives, she makes a bold choice and ends up a fugitive in the midst of a Minnesota winter. CIA agent, Roy Kincaid, devoted his career to hunting super humans who staged a rebellion seven years before. He’s not making much headway, so he goes deep undercover. One blustery night, a striking woman staggers into the café where he’s catching a late meal. Part waif, part runway model, the half-frozen woman arrows straight into his heart. Glory’s flat out of alternatives, but death in the storm might be preferable to telling the tall stranger looming over her anything. Sensing Roy is dangerous, she pushes into his head seeking clues and discovers he hunts those like her. Maybe she can fool him, just for tonight. Get a hot meal and dry motel room out of the deal. If she’s lucky, he’ll never find out she’s on the run from the same group he’s targeted for death. The thing she didn’t count on was falling in love. Honor Bound Honor takes a huge chance and flees her compound one wintry night. A genetically altered woman, she has no memories from before a rebellion seven years before. Because of her enhanced physiology, she finds a home working for the CIA alongside four other women just like her. There are still plenty of rules, but they’re different, and she’s figuring out how to blend in. Milton Reins burns through women and marriages. After the third one implodes, he swears off hunting for a replacement. Running the CIA is a more than fulltime job. There’s no time for anything else in his life, which is fine until Honor comes along. Training in the gym throws their bodies together, and makes him remember the feel of a woman in his arms. Milton aches for her, but she’s a freak, the CIA term for test tube humans designed by scientists. Honor wants Milton with every bone in her body, but it’s a terrible idea, especially after she delves into his head and discovers his ambivalence toward her kind. Need drives them together, but their differences create roadblocks every step of the way. Fueled by anger and fear, she shuts him out. So what if the sex was great, she’s done. Or is she? Claiming Charity Charity’s luck never ran strong because her original configuration was unstable. Her handlers designed patches to fix the problem, but they only made it worse. Sick to death of living under their thumb, she jumps at a chance to escape. She’s barely settled in as a CIA special operative—a role where she can put her augmented mind and body to use—when her wobbly genetics decompensate. Tony’s a freak—a genetically altered superhuman waging war against the government. He snaps up an offer of amnesty, walking away from his role as a genetic researcher to work for the CIA. When Charity collapses, he labors to save her life, but nothing’s working. In a last ditch effort, he joins his mind to hers and discovers he wants her more than he’s ever wanted anything. Only problem is she hates every single male like him because of how they treated women in the compounds. Charity recovers from her medical crisis, but all she can think about is Tony. Furious, determined to never let anyone like him near her, she blocks him from her mind, but he seeps back in anyway. Loving someone like Tony is a huge risk, a gamble that could throw her already volatile genes into a tailspin. Knowing all that, why the hell is she considering it?
Urban fantasy and slow burn romance wrapped into a serial that will keep you up reading long into the night. Strange bedfellows rock worlds. My days as Faery’s reluctant regent have crashed and burned. Either I left the land to rot in a squalid soup of broken promises, or I destroyed her enemies one by one. No choice there. Not really. I’d known some of those “enemies” since childhood, which was centuries ago. They say familiarity breeds contempt. In my case it bred sorrow as I consigned Fae who’d been friends to eternal destruction and fed them to the land. Dariyah, the Witch-who-wasn’t-one, crossed my path for reasons I’m still figuring out. Her long-lost mother presided over one of Faery’s many dirty secrets, the Midnight Court. Some like to believe Fae blood is pure. It’s not. We and the Sidhe are joined at the hip, and the Midnight Court was once a living symbol of our bond. I’ll fight to maintain a magical world that’s open to all. If I’m quick, ruthless, I might beat Oberon at his own game. Sly bastard that he is, he still holds the link to Faery. If I can’t wrest it from him, the land—my land—will wither and fade.
Urban fantasy and slow burn romance wrapped into a serial that will keep you up reading long into the night. Strange bedfellows rock worlds. Faery’s castle lies in ruins, a reflection of the rest of a land I love. My land, my realm, has altered almost beyond recognition. The part that hasn’t changed is the incredible people and creatures who live in Faery. Unicorns. Fauns. Satyrs. Fae. Sidhe. To name but a few. Their spirits have been indomitable, and it makes me proud to call them brothers. But then, the Unseelie used to be brethren too. Now they stand against us along with a collection of monsters intent on sucking every last breath of life from Faery. The worst part about all of this has been not knowing whom I can call friend. Faery, the incarnation of the land that bears her name, recovered her body, but I don’t trust her. Our lead seer confessed her visions have been tainted. We are in the thick of things. As we lurch into the endgame, my life, soul, and fortunes are linked with the woman I love. We rise—or fall—together. If it comes down to a gut-wrenching choice, will I pick Faery or Dariyah?