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First Sneak peek at A Scarlet Past

October 11, 2013 | Fan Girl Friday

From the story’s beginning:

The Thunder moon rode low in the western sky. Ominous black–bottomed clouds streamed past the pocked lunar face, masking the glow of moonlight. The scent of a coming storm scoured the muggy summer air clean. Fergus sniffed appreciatively and strode deeper into Central Park.

If tonight’s meeting with the local Alpha leader went well, he’d have new identity papers, reenlist, and be back killing Germans in a few weeks. It couldn’t happen soon enough for him.

Too many of the vampire Nazis had gone crazier than usual with blood lust. Battlefield violence broke the minds of the German bloodsuckers in frightening numbers. Tales of their horrific rampages surfaced, threatening human discovery of the monsters in their ranks.

Scarier for the packs, werewolves were turning rogue—a dangerous mutation of Alpha males—at an unprecedented rate. The mysterious phenomena cracked the link to their humanity, changing them into mindless beasts with an insatiable hunger for terror and death. No one completely understood what broke an Alpha, but stress was a big factor. The horrors of the Second World War stripped the humanity from both the best and the worst of far too many of their most powerful males with ruthless equality.

An icy awareness of just how close he’d come to madness shuddered through him. The memory gave him a case of the heebie-jeebies and sent an unwelcome jolt to his still-aching wound. He locked his jaw and leaned more heavily on his cane. Goddess damn all SS bloodsuckers and the mortar round that blew off his rear leg. The wound put him out of the fighting and got him a one-way ticket back to the States. He’d been forced to leave the VA hospital against medical advice to conceal his nonhuman rate of healing. A few nights holed up at the Plaza in fur accelerated his recovery.

Now the cursed regrowing limb, near full size, was still weak and hurt with hell’s own fire. He refused to give in to the pain. Sheer orneriness made him push harder.

Gasoline fumes blended with rotting meat—the stench of rogues—seared his keen nostrils. The sounds of scuffling, snarling, and snapping confirmed the ugly news of a fight in progress.

Back with another excerpt next Friday!

Posted by Evanne @ 4:00 am  

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