In their daily struggle for survival, Iraqi Kurdish scavengers uncover a cache of chemical weapons. They offer the weapons to Kurdish rebels in Turkey and Syria to assist in their quest to free an imprisoned leader and create a unified homeland. After receiving a tip from an unlikely source, the newly formed Special Operations Bedlam team is called to arms. Can the team recover the weapons before it’s too late?
“The Kurdish Connection—a compelling read. A story of friendship, danger and intrigue.”—Ann Everett, Amazon Best Selling Author.
“... Randall's authentic voice adds a powerful push to keep a reader turning the pages.” —Janet Taylor-Perry, author of The Raiford Chronicles, The Legend of Draconis Saga, and April Chastain Intrigues.
“Topical - Engaging - Intriguing – Powerful ... A real page turner.”—Rikon Gaites, author of Mummy's Little Soldier and Darius Odenkirk.
“... Randall Krzak brings his wealth of experience living in this troubled part of the world and his military knowledge to bear in this exciting story...”—John L. DeBoer, author of When the Reaper Comes.
"... a journey full of history, suspense, intrigue, and action...a MUST READ for all!”—Les Stahl, Retired NSA Executive.
“... Readers need to fasten their seatbelts for a fast-paced tale made believable by a writer who knows what he’s writing about.”—Preston Holtry, author of the Morgan Westphal mystery series and the Arrius trilogy (forthcoming).
“A behind the scenes story, ripped from today’s headlines deepening the reader’s understanding of an ancient strife ... filled with the sights and smells of the market place and secret meetings, the reader is admitted to the secret heart, the desperate longings of those that must fight and win, or see continued subjugation by their masters...”—Oliver F. Chase, author of Camelot Games, Levant Mirage, Blind Marsh, and Marsh Island.
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They live among us. We know they are there. No government can control them; no authority can stop them. Some are evil. Some are good. All are powerful. They inhabit our myths and fairy tales. But what if they were real, the witches, wizards, and fairy godmothers? What if they were called "adepts" and an ancient evil stalks them? An assassination attempt on the head of the American Meta Association guild sends adept Peter Branton looking for who wants him and his leader dead. Finding the beautiful, shape-shifting assassin leads him to his real enemy, an enemy that is much worse and much more dangerous: living gods of Atlantis. Branton must team with up with his would-be killer and a mysterious warrior to defeat the gods of strife that are intent on starting a war that could devastate all mankind.
A phone call at 9:05 on the first day back from holiday break can never bring good news, especially when it comes from the newly appointed, heavily coiffed, senior executive vice president Susan Thornton-Smith, dubbed STS by her corporate minions, who longed to create a sense of intimacy where none had previously existed. This, however, would not be the case for me. I was ready for my promotion; in fact, I had been at my desk for an hour already making sure everything was 100% perfect for today. My new hot pink crocodile iPad case was lined up with its office accessory family. The iPad itself was just one of the many things I was going to buy to celebrate my promotion to Publicity Director.
Being Assistant Director was a big job at my company, despite the fact that there had never been a director for me to report to. It had only taken me T-E-N Y-E-A-R-S to make it from Assistant to Assistant Director. When “STS” came up on my phone screen, my heart leapt in excitement. I got it, I thought. Maybe there was even a little surprise breakfast being planned.
I dreamed of that office deliveryman bringing trays of treats to successful executives. Really successful people never sneak a bagel with a schmear at their desk, but are served mini-muffins on faux silver trays and drink their coffee out of real china cups and saucers. Finally, I thought, this would be me.
James 'Big Jim' Peck is a professional game hunter in Africa whose life has evolved from wartime encounters to hunting animals; but when a client is killed in a hunting expedition gone awry, he's forced to hang up his guns and retreat to his plantation in the face of an ongoing investigation.
When a rogue Cape buffalo whom villagers believe to be infused with an evil spirit terrorizes local natives, Big Jim is asked to track and kill the creature. With the help of his trusted friend and partner, Caesar Wilde, and American photo-journalist Mary Watkins, they embark on an adventurous journey through the African bush.
After a series of inexplicable deadly encounters the hunters soon realize they are up against a creature unlike any other they have hunted, and it will take all their combined experience and courage to destroy the beast...or be killed!
Keys takes a cab to the address on the message and waits for Walsh. Night is closing in; there are few lights on and no one is about. A voice booms out of the darkness. “Hola, you Keys?”
“Yeah, I’m Keys. What do you want?”
A man moves into a circle of light cast by a streetlamp. He grins widely, highlighting a gold front tooth in the light. He takes a long bladed knife from his belt.
“I want you, señor.”
Keys hears a scrape behind him. “I see you brought a friend. I take it you two were sent by Manny. You guys dandy boys, too?”
“You will die here; I will take pleasure to kill you, gringo.”
Gold-tooth nods to his confederate to move in on Keys.
Keys lets his camera bag slip to the ground to pull his pistol.
“Pistola, pistola,” the man behind Keys yells.
“You are not to have pistolas here,” Gold-tooth says.
“I don’t go anywhere without it,” Keys replies. “I keep it with me for occasions just like this.”
“You would be in much trouble to use the pistola; only Federales have pistolas.”
“Amigo, everybody here has a gun. You must be too poor to own one. Put up your knives and go away. I’ll let you live to pester someone else. You can tell Manny to come for me himself.”
“I no get paid to run away. I don’t think you can shoot dos.”
Keys shows his teeth in a wide grin. “I don’t need to shoot both of you. I’m gonna kill you and your friend’s gonna run away.
“He will no run.”
“Okay, amigo. He takes one more step and you’re a dead man. If your friend doesn’t run, he’ll be dead too.”
Keys raises his pistol, extending his arm to point the gun at the gold-toothed man.
Gold-tooth crouches slightly, turning his body to make his silhouette smaller. “Police pistolas don’t shoot so good I think. Maybe you miss; maybe you no good shooter.”
“You don’t know anything about pistols, do you compadre? This is no police pistol. You’d know that if you knew guns.” Keys rotates his wrist to show the pistol’s frame.
“See, this is a .357 magnum. I load it with lead hollow-point bullets. I’m gonna aim for your gold tooth and the bullet is gonna take your whole head off. Your neck’ll spout blood like a fountain ‘cause your black heart won’t have time to stop pumpin’. Your friend is then gonna run like a rabbit.”
Keys turns the gun back on the gold-toothed man, slowly thumbing back the hammer, making a sharp click at each of the hammer’s detents. He sees Gold-tooth’s grin disappear; a tremor reflects on the blade of gold-tooth’s knife.
“I’m getting’ tired of this, Goldie; let’s see how brave you are. Go ahead, tell your man to take one more step. You’ll never live to see him take another.”
Headlights splash over the men; each of them raises a hand to shield his eyes. Tires squeal, the car slows, then turns toward the men. The brilliant headlight beams freeze the three men still as stone statues.
Gun drawn, Walsh rushes out of his car on the run.
“You are no worth this trouble, gringo. Manuel, he will have to kill you.”
Both Gold-tooth and his friend shrink out of the lights and into the darkness.
“You okay, Barry?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Where the hell’ve you been?”
“I got lost, man; that map you gave me ain’t the easiest thing to read, you know. It’s dark and I gotta stop every so often to find the streets.”
“It’s okay, Jer, you timed it perfect anyway. Our friend Manny hired those boys to do me in. Let’s get back to the hotel. I’m bushed. Tomorrow we’ll pack up and get the hell outta here.”
“Let’s go find Manny first,” Walsh angrily exclaims.
“No! If we did find him one of us is gonna get hurt. The boss tells me Washington thinks I’m a loose cannon as it is. I don’t want to get stuck here tryin’ to explain how I could let it happen. I’ll put it in my report; the brass can deal with it. If they don’t like it, I got my twenty years in.”
Lars instructed Eileen to stay where she was and to keep well hidden. He then worked his way to the left of the house. Not seeing anything, he moved closer to the rear of the house. Near the woodshed, Lars could see a body beside the woodpile. It was Ronald. Lars moved back around to the front of the house and took his position behind a large tree stump, which hid most of his body. Lars pulled the hammer back on his rifle and aimed at the front door. He let out another wolf howl. The three men came out again. This time the first two men out the door had guns. Lars aimed at the first man and squeezed the trigger. He quickly reloaded and fired at the second. Both men fell immediately while the third ran back inside the house. Lars hurried back toward the rear of the house and caught the third man running out the back door, heading for the woods. He made it halfway to the tree line before Lars dropped him. Lars ran up with his rifle ready to shoot again, if necessary. It wasn’t. The man was dead, blood oozing out of the hole in the center of his back. Lars hurried back around to the front of the house to check the other men. Lars had been dead on when he shot those two as well. Lars poked the bodies with the end of his rifle. There was no movement.
Lars cautiously peered inside the front door and then walked in―ready to shoot if necessary. The house was silent. There had been only three men, and Lars had taken care of them in short order. He went into the bedroom and found Sara on the bed lying face up, naked with a gunshot wound on her forehead. The pillow under her head was soaked with blood. He moved closer to the body. There was blood between Sara’s legs and she had marks on her arms and face. Bastards! Lars shook his head in disgust and covered Sara with a sheet. He then headed back to the woodshed. Ronald was lying face down in the dirt beside the wood pile. There was blood on the leg of his jeans and two blood spots on the back of his shirt. He still had the ax in his hand. Lars guessed the men had sneaked up on Ronald and shot him in the back. Then they raped and killed Sara.
Lars walked back to where he had left Eileen. She had watched Lars cut two men down in a heartbeat, and she had heard the shot ring out from the back of the house. She was crying when Lars reached her. “We need to call the police,” she said.
“And how do you suppose we do that?” he replied.
“I don’t know, but we need to call someone.” Eileen cried, as he led her all the way to the house.
“That’s not how the world works anymore,” Lars informed her. “There is no law anymore.” Her tears let up as she thought about what Lars said. Eileen was shocked at how a man who could be sweet and gentle could be so cold-blooded. But she knew Lars had done what he had to do.
Lars took Eileen into the bedroom where Sara lay. He pulled the sheet back. He wanted Eileen to see what he had seen. He wanted her to know exactly why he had done what he did to those men. When Eileen saw Sara, she became hysterical. She screamed and her whole body began to tremble. Though she only looked at the body a few seconds and then turned away, Eileen saw the bruises on the arms, legs and neck of the pale and slightly bluish body. She saw the blood and matted hair between her legs. Eileen then understood the trauma Sara had suffered through. Lars grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. He gave her a big bear hug, but a bear hug was not going to comfort her much now. They just stood there for a while and Eileen finally began to calm down and her trembling lessened. Lars pulled the sheet back over Sara’s body, and then went back outside. Eileen followed, softly crying.
Lars found a shovel and chose a nice spot to bury his friends. He began to dig. As Lars dug the graves, Eileen sat on a stump and thought about what had happened. Sara was such a beautiful woman. That could be me, she thought. Lars is right, there is no law out here to help us. We must help ourselves, and if we fail we will die just like Ronald and Sara.
Eileen got up, drew her pistol and found a target to shoot at. It was only a discolored spot on a nearby tree, but to her it was an attacker. She pulled the hammer back and fired at the spot. She fired again and again until her pistol was empty.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lars demanded.
“I’m killing an intruder,” she replied.
Lars just stood there in his hole looking at Eileen as she reloaded her gun. Again, she fired at the spot on the tree. When her gun was again empty, she walked over to the tree to check on her accuracy. Lars got out of the hole he was digging and walked over to the tree as well.
“Well done,” he stated.
“Thank you,” she replied.
Eileen could see ten holes in the tree, all within the dark area she had chosen as her target.
“What brought this on?” Lars asked.
“I’m not going to end up like Sara,” she replied. “Hell no! That is not going to happen to me.”
Lars smiled, then returned to his hole digging leaving his red-faced partner to her target practice. Eileen reloaded her pistol three more times and unloaded it on the tree. She then reloaded the gun again and stuck it in her holster.
An hour later, Lars had dug two holes side by side near a large elm tree. Eileen couldn’t help Lars wrap the bodies in blankets for burial. She was still very distraught and her crying continued intermittently. As Lars placed the bodies into the makeshift graves, Eileen picked some flowers she found at the side of the house. Lars began to fill the two graves with shovelfuls of dirt. When he was finished, Eileen gently placed the flowers on top. They both just stood there for a moment. Lars mumbled some words, and then turned to Eileen again and gave her another hug.
Eileen followed Lars back into the house. He looked around and gathered all the ammunition he could find and placed it into a cloth tote. Lars also found two .357 magnum pistols, which he put into the bag. He then gathered up the guns lying beside the dead men and a couple rifles Ronald had that Lars didn’t want to carry all the way home. He hid these in the woodshed where he figured no one could find them. Then Lars went back to the dead men. One by one he dragged them out into the yard. Lars closed the doors to the house, turned to Eileen and told her it was time to get back home.
“Are you going to just leave these men out here in the yard?” she asked.
“Coyotes and buzzards need to eat too,” he said. “Now let’s get home.”
Again, Lars seemed so cold-blooded, but she did not say a word.
Lars led the way back home, and for a long time, Eileen didn’t say a word to him. Finally, about halfway home, Lars stopped. He laid his bag and gun down against a log and turned to Eileen. He took her by the arm and pulled her close to him and gave her another bear hug. Eileen still felt shocked, hurt, and sad for Sara and Ronald. “I’m sorry,” he said. Eileen began to whimper a bit, and Lars gently pushed her back and looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through this,” Lars said. “It couldn’t be helped. If I had not done what I did, the same thing might have happened to us. We could have ended up just like Ron and Sara.” Eileen nodded her understanding, but she could not help feeling the new feelings she was now experiencing.
Eileen had never seen anyone killed. She saw people killed on television and never gave it a second thought. To see two men buckle as bullets tore through their flesh, splattering blood everywhere, became very real for Eileen today. She felt their pain as she jumped from the echoing report of Lars’ rifle. She felt the pain of the man who ran out of the rear of the house as well, though she never saw the man get shot. This was something she would never forget.
The one feeling she was not having was fear though. Her stomach was in knots, but she felt safe with Lars. Lars was a gentle man, but when necessary, he transformed into a killing machine. He could take care of himself, and he could take care of her, she imagined. Or can he? Ronald couldn’t protect Sara. I can learn to shoot like Lars, Eileen thought, but can I kill another human being? I must. I don’t have a choice now, unless I want to end up like Sara. Eileen managed a small smile and pulled Lars back to give him a hug. “We had better get going,” he said, and they continued their trip home.
Lars and Eileen worked together to make dinner. They didn’t mention their ordeal throughout the meal. When they were finished, though, Lars suggested they go out on the porch. “We can talk some more while we watch the sunset,” he said. Lars refilled and handed Eileen her glass of tea, got his, and together they walked onto the porch.
Eileen was first to talk, “I know why you did what you did. It’s hard for me, but I know it was necessary.”
“We can’t take our safety for granted anymore,” Lars said. “We cannot assume everything will work out for the best around here. We need to get real serious about our safety or we may not live long.”
“Do you think we’ll have more intruders?” Eileen asked.
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW ENEMIES
Those who know don’t speak. Those who speak don’t know.
Jimmy Rafferty was in his twenties when he heard that scrap of ancient wisdom. It appealed to him. He quoted it often without understanding. Or perhaps he did. The mafia had Omerta, in the east end of Glasgow, Rafferty had the Tao. It was enough. The boy from Bridgeton climbed the mountain and for over forty years his empire was held in place by the unsaid. No one discussed him or his business.
All his life Rafferty had been strong, physically and mentally, depending only on himself. Few were brave enough to go up against him. Those who had regretted it. The stroke and the stick that came with it represented what he despised most. Weakness. He had lost weight, a lot of weight; clothes hung on him like hand-me-downs, and his eyes were watery hollows that could no longer intimidate. Illness had aged him. Before, he’d stood ramrod straight, now he stooped and when he walked he shuffled. More and more he found himself thinking of the past. And it wasn’t just his body that had suffered; something at the very centre of his being was missing: the iron will of old was gone. His concentration wandered. At times he wasn’t really there.
That left a question: who would take over?
The trouble the family faced cried out for a leader but his sons didn’t have the stuff. Kevin was thick and Sean was a non-event. In a year what he had achieved would be gone. Between them they would lose it all.
It should’ve been easy. Steal from the thief and bury him where he’d never be found. Jimmy had let Kevin handle it. A mistake.
Rage built in the old man like an approaching train; a murmur on the air, a quiver in the rail, until the monster roared and thundered, unstoppable. His hands trembled, the stick danced. He screamed. ‘You moron! Fucked us right up, haven’t you, boy?’
At the end of a lawn shaded by trees and set back from the road the house held its secrets. Nobody would hear. Kevin fingered the scar running from his ear to his chin and braced himself against the expected tirade. It didn’t come. Instead the tone was gentle; it terrified his eldest son.
‘‘Come on. C’mon, Kevin. Convince me. Tell me it wasn’t your fault.’
Sean watched his brother’s humiliation. Kevin was still scared of his father – maybe understandable in the past – not now. For all his noise Jimmy was spent and knew it. He’d been decisive. A force of nature. Once. With his hold slipping, anger replaced action. The old man’s power was gone; he was impotent.
Jimmy said, ‘How does a guy end up dead before he gives us what we want? I mean, how can that be? We needed him breathin’ in and out. Didn’t even capture his mobile. A bastard monkey could figure it. But not you.’
Kevin’s excuse was worse than feeble. ‘He laughed at me.’
‘So you knifed him. That would take the smile off his face. Taken the smile off mine. Pity you didn’t remember why we lifted him in the first place.’
Kevin blurted out his defence. ‘That guy was a nutter. I pumped him full of shit. It didn’t matter, he was never going to tell. He just kept laughing. I lost it.’
Rafferty’s face was inches from his son’s. Kevin could smell his breath, sour with cigarettes. ‘You never had it to lose,’ his father said. ‘Your brother got the brains.’
Sean knew he wasn’t talking about him.
‘We’re out because a junkie you were working on laughed at you. He thought you were a clown and so do I. Our friend in the sun is expecting results.’
‘He was waiting to make contact. We know he was waiting.’
‘Hear that Sean? Your brother said something that wasn’t stupid. That’s what we have to do. Wait. Sounds like the kind of thing you’d be good at, Kevin. Maybe I should put you in charge. Head of Fucking Waiting.’
The son had endured taunts and jibes and worse from his father all his life. This time it was deserved so he took it but, then, he always did. Getting people to talk was Kevin’s speciality and he enjoyed his job; it shouldn’t have been a problem. Except the thief wasn’t right in the head. He didn’t care. Even with his injuries the bastard was mocking him. With the last “fuck you!” Kevin snapped. The knife felt heavy against his palm. He heard the thud and sensed the blade twist into the heart.
Jimmy Rafferty turned to his sons. The effort had drained him; his chest rose and fell. ‘We’ve still got a chance. Sean, keep an eye on your idiot brother. Make sure he doesn’t screw up.’ He sighed and leaned on the stick. ‘I wish Paul was here. He was young but he was a doer. And he was smart.’
Sean flinched. Paul. Always Paul. Should he tell the deluded old bastard the apple of his eye was a reckless fool who died an unnecessary death proving it? Wouldn’t the great Jimmy be surprised to discover that sainted Paul had mocked him behind his back? Talked about replacing him. Not yet, this wasn’t the moment.
Those who know don’t speak
I closed my eyes and focused on the fire in my hand, then sighed in relief when it went out. The trouble was, the heat inside me did not fade. It burned with the anger I could not release, with fury at what my people had endured at the hands of the Puppeteer.
I breathed in slow and deep to calm myself, to find some small measure of peace. This accomplished nothing. I simply stood there and tried to fight back some vicious beast with nothing but breath.
I was the beast. The chimera in my blood had come alive through the anger which could not be restrained. There was a monster in me as well.
Prologue The Little Louisiana Pageant, Whitfield Centre, Baton Rouge Timmy Donald waited to be introduced; he wasn’t nervous. Timmy was a round-faced cherub, kiss-curled and confident. A tiny robot programmed to perform, and at five, already a veteran. The MC gave him a big build-up. ‘From East Baton Rouge, a homeboy paying his tribute to one of the greatest entertainers of all time … Timmy Donald!’ The red velvet curtain parted, leaving Charlie Chaplin in the spotlight – lost, unsure and vulnerable. Timmy played it to a T, cocking his head to one side, leaning both hands on his stick. The face of a comic genius gazed out of the golden light. A single note gave him his key, and the spot followed the diminutive performer through a show of stagecraft beyond his years. A piano track, played without finesse, tinkled in the background. Timmy brought the walking stick into action in vintage Chaplinesque. He scrunched his shoulders and tipped his bowler, letting it run down his arm, a weak smile revealing the courage of the little tramp beset by cruel misfortune. He sang “Smile,” and the audience loved him. At the end of the song, he twirled, walked his “Charlie” walk and shuffled towards the back of the stage. The spotlight died, the curtains closed, the lights came up. Timmy’s father was pleased. All the hard work, the day after day rehearsals, had paid off. That trick with the hat had taken months to get right. Worth it, though. ‘You can’t put it out if you don’t put it in,’ Tom Donald reminded his son every chance he got. The old jazz musicians’ maxim about the value of practice appealed to him. Timmy’s performance shouted its truth. He was the winner for sure. Everybody said so.
‘We can’t find him.’ Claudine Charlton couldn’t believe it. It had been going so well. A good crowd. No hiccups. No tantrums. Even one or two who might have something. Not as good as the Chaplin kid but not bad. She watched Alec Adams giving out instructions. He’d been with her for years, from the very first contest, and she would be first to admit that when it came to stage-management, there was nobody better. They had been married once, a very long time ago. Claudine never let herself forget that he was a snake. Alec shook his head. ‘No sign.’ ‘Did you ask his parents?’ ‘His father thought we had him.’ In a room off to the side, the judges sat round a beat-up table, drinking coffee. Claudine didn’t knock. The interruption took them by surprise. ‘We have the final result, Claudine.’ ‘Who won?’ ‘The little boy.’ ‘Forget it. He’s out of the running. We need another decision and fast. Bump everybody on a place; that’ll give us a new winner. Stick any of them in third, it doesn’t matter. The cowgirl, the crowd liked her, she’ll do. OK? Two minutes.’ ‘But she was awful.’ ‘No.’ Claudine stared the objector down. ‘She was third.’ Alec met her behind the stage. ‘Cops are here. And the father. Somebody needs to speak to him.’ ‘What? Oh, yeah.’ She ran a hand through her hair in quiet desperation. ‘What do I tell him? What can I say?’ ‘Reassure him.’ ‘You do it. You speak to him.’ ‘It’s your show, and I’m busy. You’re the boss, remember?’ She hurried towards a guy in an ill-fitting suit – had to be a cop – talking to Timmy’s father. Uniforms covered the stage door; the front was already closed. ‘Mr Donald, Claudine Charlton.’ Timmy’s father was too upset to reply. She placed a comforting hand on his arm and spoke to the policeman. ‘I’m in charge. What do you need to know?’ ‘When did you notice the kid was missing?’ The policeman glanced at Tom Donald and walked-back his tactless question. ‘I mean, when did you notice Timmy was missing?’ ‘Twenty minutes ago. He was one of the last to go on. Once they’ve done their thing, the contestants stay in the dressing rooms. No wandering around until we announce the winners.’ ‘Sounds fine. So how come he’s gone?’ ‘Wish I knew.’ The detective gave an order to a sergeant. ‘Start interviewing. We needID, names and addresses. It’s going to be a long night.’ Claudine said, ‘Is there anything I can do?’ ‘Start looking.’ ‘What about the show?’ He didn’t answer her. ‘Shouldn’t we go with the final ceremony? Keep it normal’ ‘Good idea. Finish the thing. Nobody’s going home for a while.’ One hour later, a locked store cupboard in a back room was the only place that hadn’t been searched. The detective wasn’t prepared to wait for a key; he barked his instructions. ‘Break it open.’ Two uniforms forced the door. The wood frame cracked and splintered and gave under the pressure. In his career, the cop had come across plenty of bad stuff; that didn’t make it easier. The colour drained from his face, and he knew he’d been doing this shit for too many years: time to take the pension, kick back and go fishing. But for now, he was the officer in charge, so he made himself look at the horror guaranteed to keep him awake at night long after he’d turned in his gun and badge. Stuffed in at the back, on top of paint pots and dustsheets, was a broken Charlie Chaplin doll that used to be Timmy Donald. And so, it began.
Buck Sergeant O'Malley has seen a lot of war: more than anyone in First Platoon, Boy Company realizes. Because O'Malley is 6,000 years old and, using various names and disguises, has been there from Thermopylae to the trenches of World War I, trying to protect the men going into combat, trying to save women and children, trying to push back the darkness that descends each time men takes up arms against men. And now his squad has been ordered "over the top" to face enemy machinegun fire. Will this be the end of O'Malley's very long life?
“A simple vow for a complicated fate. Life and love proven through blood and flame. Choices changing destinies on a dime.”
After slaying the dragon and “rescuing” Olivia, Crown Prince Magnus will settle for no one but her as his bride - his final challenge to overcome before becoming King Magnus, Dragon Slayer.
Through trials of blood, fire, and death, Kaden has broken the curse confining him to a dragon’s form for over a century. With fire brewing inside him, he struggles to reach his beloved Olivia in time to save her - and his own sanity.
Unsure of the fate of her dragon, Olivia is consumed with grief. She consents to wed the prince in order to save the lives of her family. His advances push her to take her destiny into her own hands.
But deep in the woods trouble stirs, as an old enemy seeks to rectify a curse broken. The prize of a life earned must be stripped away again… permanently.
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An Unbidden Visitor by Dianne Ascroft Narrator: Elizabeth Klett Published by Self-published on 11-21-17 Genres: Fiction , Historical Length: 32 mins Source: Audiobookworm Buy on
Summary by Blogging for Books: In the burned-out, futuristic city of Empire Island, three young people navigate a crumbling metropolis constantly under threat from a