Surrounded by flames and turmoil, David can’t remember how he ended up in the unfamiliar town of Ingress. While his heart is eager to find a way back home, he can’t help but intercede when he sees a young orphaned child in need of help.
Welcomed by a broken community, David becomes Ender—the unlikely leader who teaches his new people how to survive in the wilderness after losing everything. Together, they work to rebuild Ingress while Ender builds a life better than the one he left behind.
But it all could be for nothing if anyone discovers Ender’s secret.
Discover the truth behind Ingress in this mesmerizing prequel to The Divided.
Light illuminates the darkened sky above as clouds of smoke waft over me. Lying on my back, a burning tickle in my throat forces me to cough. It’s not enough to clear my airway. A series of hacking sends me to my knees as I double over in a fit. A thick layer of ash falls off my body into a soft pile on the grass under me.
My eyes, irritated by the dense smog, struggle to adjust. Pushing away the tears that have blurred my vision, all I can see is a raging inferno. The back of my sooted hand wipes away a few falling tears as my eyes frustratingly produce more.
What is going on? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having a nightmare, reliving my war days. My mind races, trying to piece together how I got here. Surely I was asleep in my apartment only a few moments before. No, that’s not right. I was camping in the Rocky Mountains. But nothing here resembles anything close to that.
My hands press onto warm earth as I rise to my feet, feeling grass and soil instead of my silky red sleeping bag. I glance behind me in search of my things, but they aren’t there.
I drop to my knees and frantically rub my hands all over the grass for my backpack, sleeping bag, or anything—but come up empty-handed. Where are they? Hands on hips, I scratch the back of my head and recount what I remember last.
I had just broken up with Brittany, who I had been dating for seven months. She thought I was “emotionally unavailable” and called things off. Truth is, I’m not. I just wasn’t emotionally available to her. So I packed up my gear and went for a hike in the Rocky Mountains. Even though it was amicable, I was hurt and felt the urge to get some fresh air. After dinner, I holed up in an empty cave, crawled in my sleeping bag, and passed out.
Once asleep, I dreamt of falling. It was like the ground suddenly gave way and swallowed me whole, only to spit me out here.
Perspiration drips from my brow. The blistering heat is uncomfortable and causes my sweat-soaked shirt to cling to my torso. Another cough escapes and I stagger toward the road just ahead as I brush off more ash from my body. I must have been out here for a while to be covered so thoroughly.
As I wander debris-covered streets void of people, I peel my shirt away from my chest and tuck the bottom half of my face under the collar. It’s hardly helping with keeping the smoke from entering my lungs. To my left lies a series of menacing flames scattered everywhere. Every house I can see, every building, the whole town is ablaze. My mouth drops open and my heart races even faster. This is definitely not home. I’ve woken up in a completely different time or place. I rub my eyes, forcing myself to wake up from this nightmare. But I’m wide awake.
To my right, I see a large hole in a wall—like some sort of town perimeter. Next to it are four dead bodies. I stop and scan my environment for any danger. Burning buildings and dead bodies are two very different things.
A scream rings out in the distance. I cock my head and listen for any other sounds beyond the crackling and popping fire. As I move slowly toward the opening, which looks like my exit out of here, I hear it again. I’ve heard many screams from many men, but this one is different. This scream is coming from a child.
Bria Starr grew up in a small town in Minnesota and continues to live there with her family. She’s a quiet person with an infinite imagination, loves junk food, and is always cold. Her favorite things include reading, writing, listening to music, and watching too many movies.
My new job landed me in another country, but it might as well have been an entirely different world. An underground world of magic and secrets ruthlessly guarded by an elite group of Fae warriors.
This place has brought out a power buried deep within me. A dark and monstrous power.
I have no choice but to turn to the Fae for help.
Lochlan is the leader of those warriors meant to guard the border between realms. He’s secretive and arrogant yet undeniably alluring. I have no reason to trust him, but he’s the only person who can teach me to protect myself.
He pushes me to my limits and threatens to unravel me with every husky command. More than anyone, he has the power to undo me. Because with every lesson, I lose more of myself to him and this new world I never asked to be a part of.
We walked a mile or so to the city gates, where we were offered a mount by the city guards to ride to the palace in the center of the city. Not anticipating visitors, they only had one spare horse at the gate. We would have to ride together.
Of course, we would.
I took a deep breath and joined Lochlan near the majestic black beast. The horse began to whinny anxiously and prance in place, his brown eyes bulging wide. I was no horse expert, but it was plain that the horse was uncomfortable with my presence.
“Stop upsetting the horse,” Lochlan said as he walked up to the agitated creature and took the reins, stroking the behemoth’s neck while cooing softly at him.
“I’m not doing anything!” I replied indignantly.
Lochlan grunted, then swung me onto the saddle without warning. I squealed like a five-year-old girl.
“Stop your screaming. You’ll upset the horse more than he already is.”
“I couldn’t help it. You startled me. Next time, let me know before you throw me onto the back of an angry animal.” Boorish, impossible man.
Lochlan lifted himself onto the saddle behind me, one arm snaking around my middle. His lips lowered to my ear. “Keep up with the attitude and see where it gets you.”
His words sent an avalanche of shivers down my spine.
Before I could recover, he gave the reins a tug. The horse surged forward, forcing me to cling to Lochlan’s arm at my waist.
Award-winning author of contemporary and fantasy romance. With Jill’s books, you can count on confident heroines, plenty of steamy tension, and deliciously assertive leading men. There are no guarantees in life, but with her books, you know everything will work out in the end. However, a perfect ending would not be nearly as satisfying without a seemingly insurmountable challenge. Jill loves to add plenty of adversity in her stories, creating unforgettably dynamic characters and sneaky plot twists you will never see coming.
Nicole Fontane thought her demons were buried deep enough. She was wrong.
After barely escaping the blood bath of the Harvest ritual, Nicole and her vigilante compatriots learn that there are others practicing blood magick on Tulare Island.
Hired to rid the island of the remaining blood magick users, Nicole and her allies come face to face with The Better Day Church and the mysterious Young Family, whose nefarious behavior is well known on the island. The murky organization stirs old memories of a cult buried deep in the Louisiana bayou—flickers of Nicole’s traumatic past and the altar she barely escaped.
But when Nicole receives an invitation to the Young family’s private residence to attend a secret meeting with The Daughters of the Vine—an elusive sect of women led by Gavina Young—she knows there is no escaping her fraught history with cults.
The invite is clearly a trap, but it’s also an opportunity to take down the church. Nicole soon learns that the sickness lurking behind the walls of the Young family’s manor runs far deeper than the banal allure of blood magick. The church’s matriarch harbors a predatory interest in Nicole’s power—barely disguising her desire to harness it.
Nicole must unravel the mysteries of her newfound abilities, or her first job may be her last. Worst of all, she may end up on the altar again.
My name is Carla Vonzale Lewis and I like my martinis shaken… never stirred.
Carla was born in Georgia, but please don’t mistake her for a Georgia peach. She’s more like a prickly pear. Speaking of being born, someone asked her recently if she remembered her birth. And she had to say, “Yes, I do remember that handsy doctor pulling me out into the cold. Right Bastard!!!”
Despite being born in the South, she grew up in California. Every once in a great while she gets to experience all four seasons. But mostly, it’s just heat.
When not writing, Carla enjoys reading, binge watching shows on Netflix, and trying to convince her husband that getting a dog is a wonderful idea.
And one day, she will discover how many licks it actually takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
