Coming later in 2021

My next works will be a trilogy entitled the Western Wilds Chronicles, a fantasy adventure set on an early industrial world. There are no laser beams and robots to do your fighting in this world, you must pick up sword or rifle and do your best to protect your loved ones.

Book 1: Towards a Dark Oblivion

Book 2: The Horror Inside the Reach

Book 3: The Mountain of the Moon

And don’t worry … this trilogy will live up to the best standards of my Deathly Adventures Collection. They will offer adventure, thrills and chills, a touch of irreverent humor, a little bit of loving, and will touch on the stuff of myths and legends to give it a supernatural bent.

An unedited excerpt from the first book

Towards a Dark Oblivion

The sun was at its zenith when Felicia stood and walked back to her prisoners. She had six months of practical experience in honing the interrogation skills she was taught in the Wye.

She knew the most powerful tool in the interrogator’s toolkit wasn’t a sharp knife. If you showed emotion, the theory went, your prisoner showed emotion. If you raged, they strengthened their resolve. But to treat someone as unimportant, a mere trifle to be toyed with, that was dehumanizing and shook prisoners to their core.

So, as sickening as torture was to her, Felicia was determined to keep her face blank and show no emotion. It was imperative these prisoners believe they weren’t important to her, mere impositions on her time.

But they were important.

If she was ever going to find Serena, she needed information. She had spent the last six months searching for her sister, leaving a trail of dead human traffickers and Nass soldiers. She wouldn’t stop until the girl was safe or avenged – and preferably both.

Felicia stopped in front of the leader and pulled the rag out of her mouth. When the woman went to speak, Felicia simply shook her head and held a finger to her lips.

“Not yet,” she said, moving to the next prisoner. She ungagged him, too, repeating the warning. She moved to the third prisoner, the one who had whined so much.

“I’m going to slit this man’s throat,” she said loudly for the benefit of the other two. While the man began to struggle anew against the constraints and whip his head from side to side, Felicia moved her knee forward and against his throat. His eyes widened as she exerted pressure.

The other two were frantic as they listened to the assault. They could hear Puck gasping and renewed their own efforts to get free. Meanwhile, Felicia continued to apply pressure until the man passed out. Now, she pulled out the bloody knife she used back on the trail and walked in front of the leader.

She slowly opened her cloak and wiped the blood onto a sash around her waist. The leader’s eyes widened when she saw the sash, already a deep crimson color before it wiped the blade free of blood.

“You know who I am,” Felicia asked, rhetorically, her eyes on the surrounding trees. She tried to act and sound as detached as possible.

Natka could only nod. She was speechless.

“Who is it?” Gooch wanted to know. Natka looked up at Felicia and read the emptiness in her eyes.

“It’s the … Crimson Queen,” Natka replied softly and in the same tone as she might announce the Grim Reaper’s arrival. Gooch began to sob, any hope of living quashed.

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