Release of Wing! Book 5 in the Unfinished Song is Here!

Wing, Book 5 in The Unfinished Song is here! To celebrate, today only there will be a special price. Pick up your copy as soon as possible!

Here's where you can buy it:

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** Please use only this Amazon link. There is currently a pirated copy on Amazon for $1.99.

If you haven't started the series yet, you can begin the first book Initiate for free, here:

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Now...the back cover and a sneak peak into the first chapter of Wing!

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UMBRAL SERVES THE DEATHSWORN. He exists for one purpose only: to hunt down the last girl with rainbow magic and kill her. Now he has Dindi at his mercy. But he discoverers that the Raptor Riders of Orange Canyon have played with dark magic that threatens all Faeath, and he needs Dindi’s help to stop them.

DINDI BARGINS FOR HER LIFE. She offers to help her captor rescue the White Lady from the Raptor Riders, who plan to use the faery as a pawn in a monstrous scheme. But Dindi will never forget that Umbral murdered someone she loved…and never forgive. She vows to escape and bring him to justice.

A DARKNESS UNCOILS IN ORANGE CANYON. If they can’t work together, the darkness will consume everything.

WELCOME TO FAEARTH…where humans are trapped between the immortal fae and the minions of Death. But one woman and the warrior who loves her will defy every taboo to protect their people.

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Chapter One

Blade

Umbral

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I don’t know who I was before.

It doesn’t matter.

I can’t live in the past. The past is dead. I know my future. I know my purpose. I’m told I chose it, this path, this shadow. Who knows. Do any of us really choose what we become? Does the stone choose to become the blade? The chips fall away from either side of the flint, and the edge is revealed by the stone-knapper. The edge was always there, waiting to draw blood. You can’t blame the stone-knapper for setting it free.

As a stone dies to be reborn as a blade, so a man dies to be reborn as Deathsworn. So I died to be reborn as Umbral: an edge sharpened to cut a single throat.

I have killed many. Men. Women. Children. Some in battle. Some in their sleep. Some I looked in the eye as I drained their lives. I felt their arms rub against mine, their palms press my palms, as if we were friends. I shadowed their auras as an eclipse blocks the sun, leeched their light and stole their power. Their faces accuse me in the grey mist just before dawn, before I chip free of them, each and every day. Those faces do not matter to any but themselves and me, and not even to themselves any longer. If I had not killed them, another Deathsworn would have.

There is one, however, that only I can kill.

Umbral

Shadow, his unhorse, galloped across the field of blood and snow, into the forest, where rain battled the fire that wanted to devour the trees. Any colder and the rain would have turned to sleet.

The girl trembled in Umbral’s arms. She felt good there, soft and tiny and clinging to him like a child. Her hair, brightly dyed red, held the fragrance of henna and dried flowers. She clutched at his chest as if she trusted him to protect her; though, more likely, she was just afraid that if she didn’t hang on, he would let her drop and break her neck. He sheltered her from the rain as best he could.

As if a few drops of water were the main danger to her.

Deep in the forest, he reached the Deathsworn menhir, large and looming, black and crowned with bones. Here he tapped his horse with his obsidian-beaded hoop, and the shadow beast halted. The forest fire had burnt out here, but it had done its damage. The skeletons of trees around the megalith stuck up from ash, raw black claws.

At the base of the menhir was another stone, gray granite, broad like an elongated egg or gently convex table. Heavy wooden stakes bit deep in the ground on either end of the stone table. A quick glance confirmed that Ash had stored his extra provisions under the lee of the stone, as he’d ordered.

When he slid from the horse with the girl in his arms, she tried to pull away.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded.

“Shhhh.” He stroked her aura, absorbed and stole wisps of her light into his own darkness. The power tasted even sweeter than he had imagined. “Calmly. I promise I won’t hurt you. This won’t take long. Come.”

Suspicious yet lulled, she let him draw her to the stone.

Drawing on the void of his Penumbra, he spun ropes of darkness. He pushed her back onto the rock.

At last her panic overcame her paralysis. He expected this moment of resistance. His victims never gave up easily; they always flailed for freedom at the end, always futilely, like birds with broken wings trying to fly.

He sculpted her aura as smoothly as a potter worked clay. She gasped as he fed pleasure into her aura, and while the sensation incapacitated her, he molded her back to the rock and bound her with the dark snakes of energy, wrists over her head, legs stretched straight crossed at the ankles. The rain pelted her, soaking her clothes, outlining every delicious dip and rise of her body. The arc of the rock lifted her hips and breasts, as if in offering. Her nipples pebbled from the cold. She shivered even as her body buckled, shuddering in involuntary ecstasy.

“Shadow.” Umbral snapped his fingers at his horse.

The dark bundle of equine-shaped energy unfolded and refolded itself into its giant bat form. Shadow flew to the top of the upright menhir and reached its wings forward, sheltering them both from the rain.

He used her sweet power, transmuted, to light a ring of fire around both the menhir and the sacrificial altar. Wet leaves burned like incense. Even now, he could not see her Chromas. But when he sipped her aura, the rush of power made him giddy.

He was supposed to take her to Obsidian Mountain to confirm who she was, but he had no doubt, and he dared not wait. She was more powerful than they suspected. She was too dangerous. She had to be eliminated now, before she realized her own strength.

Umbral drew his obsidian blade.

Dindi

She was helpless. With a single touch, the man in black had reduced her to quivering flesh, yearning for more of whatever he had done to her. Even after he released her, the aftershock left her whole body tingling.

Dindi recognized the Deathsworn menhirs, but he had no right to bring her here. She was not wounded, condemned or sick. By the law of light and shadow, his kind had no claim to her. But he had stalked her, deceived her and captured her. If he knew the law of light and shadow, he obviously did not give a damn.

She still did not know why he wanted her.

His strange, dark beast crouched overhead, hiding them from the rain under huge leathery wings. The man in black lit a circle of flame around them with a single gesture.

His face. His lie of a face. Why did he have to have that face?

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