Imagine waking up on the edge of the woods with no memory of who you are or how you got there.
When Aine finds herself in this situation, she must rely on the kindness of others to get back on her feet. With the help of a handsome Irish stranger she starts a new life, but her memories soon claw their way out and she can’t outrun her duty.
A story of intrigue, discovery and the corruption of ambition. Aine must figure out her past, before the life she can’t remember is destroyed.
As she walked back to her seat, the large glass doors at the front opened, and a tall, muscular man walked in. Aine froze as a quiet growl escaped her throat and her muscles tensed. He moved with a lethal, controlled grace. She dropped into a crouch as she watched his muscular frame push the door closed.
He had rough facial hair along a prominent jaw, his ice-blue eyes were cold with inexplicable anger as he looked at her. His hair was dark chocolate brown, slightly grey around his ears.
Dizziness overtook Aine as he walked forward—not the best moment to be left vulnerable. Her instincts screamed at her to escape. The little energy the food had given her drained away as she faced him, ready to fight.
The man frowned, as he looked her in the eyes, and when her gaze met his, a jolt of recognition shot through her. Confused, she growled a warning. The kitchen door slammed behind her, and Aine quickly turned to keep both entrance and exit in view.
Title: Feisty Author: Emm Darcy Genre: Contemporary New Adult Fiction
I was supposed to stay invisible.
My school might be a den of vipers, but if I endure senior year, I have a shot at my dream: a place at Tisch.
I’m used to keeping my eyes down and my mouth shut to survive the cruel, depraved, privileged assholes who delight in breaking the weak. Then I see something I can’t ignore. Four boys, as beautiful as they are twisted, threatening my friend. They might run the school, but that doesn’t give them the right to corner a poor, terrified girl.
Only, I didn’t have all the facts when I intervened. I stood up to the four idols of this school, and Jason, the worst of them, won’t let the world forget it. Now I’m no longer a ghost: I’m the target, humiliated at every turn.
If I want them off my back, I don’t have any choice but to make a deal with the devil who started this nightmare in the first place.
Jason’s more than happy to oblige…as long as I’m willing to play his twisted games.
Among the immortals that inhabit our world, Arnaud Demeure is known as the man who can fulfill your one true wish or who can also conjure your worst nightmares.
Eight invitations are sent to eight immortals, and when Arnaud Demeure hosts a party, no one refuses his request. Why have they been summoned? Is it for a celebration or does a sinister fate await them? After all, in the ways of Magick, a party can also be a ritual to end the world.
As the mystery deepens, the attendees must overcome their personal grudges to unravel the threads of Demeure’s grand plan that has been centuries in the making. But, with one of the guests secretly working with their host to sabotage the group’s every move, it seems impossible to look behind the curtain to learn Demeure’s true intentions.
With each guest hiding dark secrets and darker intentions, will they be able to uncover Demeure’s mysterious motives or will the party prove to be the deadly nightmare that they each fear?
The young sister ran through the silent city while the prophet waited for her to arrive. The old man knew she would come; he had seen her already. Hidden by the shadow of an old staircase, eyes fixed on the door, he tried not to get distracted by the creatures in his vision.
Thousands of them, maybe millions, all crammed within glass walls.
The youngest sat at the center of the glass prison. It was taller than the tallest mountain. It was quiet amid the frenzy of its brothers. Its head so high it saw beyond the ceiling of its prison, straight into the realm of the Eldest Lords. Light leaked from underneath its shaking, half-closed eyelids. It peeked into the future.
As the prophet watched them, the creatures stared at him from far away. He could see them, yet his mind could not make full sense of their shapes, only of a few features. A crowd of wings, fangs, stingers, and every piece of every animal he could think of, and some he had never seen, crawling on each other while human parts pushed their way through. The tall one, its eyes closed, hummed over and over.
“We are so close. It won’t be long.”
The others followed its chanting and moved back and forth in front of the glass holding them prisoners, just like animals expecting a bite of their prey.
The prophet almost missed the nun’s arrival. She ran up the stairs, hesitating as she put one foot on the first step.
Unseen, the prophet followed.
From the roof, he tasted the entire city. A forest of concrete and metal spreading in every direction, so much so that nothing existed if not within it. The sun blinded him, shining in white and gold. Dawn was a miracle. He stood still, in awe of the most magnificent city, and he almost forgot he had followed someone.
But there she was, the young sister, standing close to the balustrade, her arms raised to the sky, her shape dark against the sunlight.
The tall metallic tower pierced the sky and stabbed the sun, just like an arrow. The star bled, scattering its light all over the town.
White particles fell from the sky. Snow perhaps, or dust, he could not say. He dared to look up. The sky had turned dark despite the sun shining in it, light still leaking over the city.
In the cold air, no sound but the wind.
Nothing else made a noise. No sound of cars or their horns. No talking or music playing, no chirping of birds.
The prophet stood transfixed.
Cars were still on the asphalt, their lights on. Some stuck in place, some coasting along the streets. Many had slid, hitting nearby objects. Tombstones in an old graveyard, they lay against each other, against lampposts, or sat on the sidewalks.
Men and women, asleep, still clung to their steering wheels.
Their heads blasted out of the windshields or hung from the windows. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies covered the sidewalks and the streets. More must have been resting within the buildings, unmoving, untouched.
Here and there, white, black, and red stains, each tens of meters long, covered the streets—flocks of birds caught in whatever happened.
Nobody moved, nobody talked, everyone rested in this cemetery, testimony of a dark miracle.
The world had moved on. The city, now empty, stayed behind. Paris was dead, and the Great Ones were free.
Born and raised in Sicily, M.L. spent most of his early life inventing stories and believing he could live in them.
In high school, he spent way too much time watching B movies, playing video games, and reading everything he could get his hands on, provided it wasn’t recommended by any authority figure.
M.L. spent most of his college years and adult life writing in languages only machines can understand until he decided to put some of his stories on the page.
After a few years spent in Scotland, now M.L. lives in Seattle with his wife, his cat, and a large assortment of books. When not writing, he still enjoys playing video games and explaining board game rules to his friends.
