Blurb :
Drast,
cunning but reckless, is on the hunt for admiration. Tyran,
calculating but tactless, is in search of affection. Bound by a
friendship thicker than blood, the two brothers have been hardened by
their father’s ambitions. Drast and Tyran are forced to set aside
their own hopes and dreams during their struggle to fulfill their
father’s desire for immortality. The two will face skin-switchers
and dragons, ultimately leading to a final clash with Wolos, God of
the Dead.
Excerpt One
Erzebeth
convulsed. Her fur and skin shedding away while she wheeled about on
the ground in agony. The bones readjusted and organs reset from beast
to human. Where a beast had stood was now the naked figure of
Erzebeth. Cuts and scratches patterned her body, but none were fatal.
Tyran
had no place for modesty. The Vucari woman, within the privacy of the
ice dome, struggled to her feet. Again, her dark eyes met his own,
filled with compassion.
“You
need to be put down, young Red.” Her voice was calm as her feet
crossed in front of one another, closing the distance between them.
“Your power is greater than any I have seen before, even from the
Anshedar.”
“What?”
Tyran said, forehead wrinkled with confusion. He had never heard of
the race before, whether beast or otherwise.
“You
are like a rabid dog, young Red. You are the perfect companion,
loyal, and possibly even loving somewhere deep inside,” Erzebeth
bit her lip. Her breasts, barely covered by her dark hair, touched
the front of his chest. She halted her feet. “But, you are tainted
by a disease that is stronger than the goodness in you. You cannot be
left to live in this world, or you will corrupt every living thing
around you.”
Tyran
tilted his chin, lips parting. His free hand touched her pale skin,
as whitish as the ice fortress that veiled this moment.
“You
would taint me, young Red.” She stepped up on her tiptoes. “As
with the rabid dog, you need to be put down.”
He
grabbed her by the back of the neck, and pulled her to him. He kissed
her with more force than he had ever kissed any woman.
This
woman was not Isolde. This woman was battle hardened, and a warrior.
She was not plain.
She
grabbed his shoulders and returned the embrace, her tongue touching
his lips. Her body was far warmer than his own, as if it were heated
by the darkness.
He
did not know what he was doing in this moment. It may have likely
been the first time that his mind was clear from thought, acting
without thinking. Though, in time, he may consider that when his
death was nigh, he found that this was something he wanted to do
before death found him.
The
crashing against the ice pulled him from the moment. Tyran pulled
back, moving the Vucari’s hair from her cheek. “You won’t kill
me, Erzebeth.”
“No,”
she breathed. Her hands fell to his chest. “But, it still needs to
be done.”
BIO
Joshua currently
lives in Alaska with his wife and children. In 1999, he began
crafting the world for Thrice Nine Legends, including Melkorka
and Anaerfell.
He is also the author of the A
Midwinter Sellsword and
Gladiators and Thieves
in the Hawkhurst Saga.
His short story, Grimsdalr,
is inspired by the tale of Beowulf.
J.C.
lives in the Midwest with his wife and two dogs. He is currently
pursuing his M.A. in English Literature while continuing to craft his
own dark fantasy world. Before he had completed junior high,
J.C. had received his first box set of Dungeons
& Dragons
and devoured the J.R.R. Tolkien’s The
Lord
of the Rings.
He has had a passion for the fantasy genre ever since.
