Blog Tour Kick Off: There's Something Your Son Needs To Tell You by Vernon Ennels Jr. @vernonnennels #memoir

THERE'S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU 
Vernon Ennels Jr.
* Memoir *

Title: THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU
Author: Vernon Ennels Jr.
Publisher: Xulon Press
Pages: 140
Genre: Memoir

Page six of Vernon Ennels, Jr. book, THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU, reads, “I still remember his face, his breath, and hear his voice demand me to lie on my stomach. He would down my pants my mother so proudly dressed me in. And then my Superman underwear…When he was done, he walked me to school and warned me, ‘If you tell anyone, I’ll kill your mother.’”

Author Vernon Ennels, Jr. lived with the horrible secret of being sexually abused and ashamed for some 40 years before he was able to recently summon the courage to tell his own family. “Studies show that one in six men have been sexually abused,” said Mr. Ennels. “Most are afraid to talk about it.”

This book reflects the experiences of males, specifically black males, but encourages both men and women and those from various racial backgrounds to recognize the signs of sexual and mental abuse and to combat the epidemic. “My book,” emphasized Mr. Ennels, “is a mirror of my abuse to shed light on an on-going issue to inspire others to take immediate action when they suspect child sexual abuse. #Saveoursons is my mission to help spread awareness and spark change to save current and future victims of sexual child abuse.”

Forty-something Vernon Ennels, Jr. says his new book THERE’S SOMETHING YOUR SON NEEDS TO TELL YOU  is an “open letter” that prompts other men to step forward and share their very own experiences of child sexual abuse in order to save other young boys from the hands of an abuser.
“My moniker ‘Save Our Sons’ encourages discourse and social activism to help boys and men who have been sexually abused,” said Mr. Ennels. “Many, many people believed these victims were lying, making up a story for attention. Since I am a certified ‘non-celebrity’ I wrote my book for every child abuse victim out there who is terrified of stepping forward.”

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ROniJL
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/30fPMzh
Xulon Press: https://bit.ly/2Ns26L6

 
 

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I went on living what probably appeared to be a typical childhood. I had friends, I played, and became a student known for his perfect attendance. Now, I know why. It was at school that I felt safe. If I was there, he could not hurt me.  

Although I found security at school, it was only five days a week for a couple of hours a day. The other times, my mind was tormented. I needed an additional safe-haven, and that’s when I found church. 

I was obsessed with being loved by my congregation and by age sixteen, I was ordained deacon.  But soon, I discovered a new form of abuse. I was taken advantage of and manipulated. And when I found the courage to share that I was sexually abused, I was told to “give it to God.” Sweeping it under the rug became my norm. I feared being labeled gay by my friends who grew up in a homophobic environment in the early 80s and grew resentful towards my father who abandoned me as a young child. 

I struggled with romantic relationships, calling off two engagements and filing for divorce. But it was when my son turned six, the same age that my childhood trauma began, that I knew it was time for me to release my pain. 

On my healing journey, I’ve developed an intimate relationship with God, sought out counseling, and found my voice. I am on a mission to expose sexual abuse, especially in the black male community where racism has led to toxic masculinity and silence around sexual abuse.  

This is my open letter and I want others to find their voices to heal too as we end this epidemic.

 

Vernon Ennels grew up in Baltimore, Maryland and now makes Arizona home for he and his family. After a long day at work in the business world…he found that writing his book was most productive in the evening hours sitting by his swimming pool. Vernon holds a BS and an MBA in Business Management.  “I was inspired to write my book thinking of my own six-year-old son,” he asserted.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Author website: www.vernonennels.com
FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/vernon.ennels
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Vernonennels
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vernonennels/

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: The Red Carpet at Cannes by Duane Byrge @byrge_duane #mystery

THE RED CARPET AT CANNES 
by Duane Byrge
* Mystery *

Title: THE RED CARPET AT CANNES
Author: Duane Byrge
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 235
Genre: Mystery

Veteran film critic Duane Byrge takes readers on a behind-the-scenes thrill ride at the legendary Cannes Film Festival in his new mystery, THE RED CARPET AT CANNES.

A longtime movie writer and editor for the Hollywood Reporter, Byrge turns to the thriller genre to tell the tale of Ryan Hackbart, who, like Byrge, covers the Cannes Film Festival for the fictional Hollywood Times.

Hackbart finds himself in the middle of a Hitchcock-style mystery as he becomes the prime suspect in the murder of the lead actress of the festival’s opening-night film. Interrogated but released, his passport is confiscated, and he is hounded by the world media. He must solve the murder before the culprit kills him or the police arrest him.

Aided by his female companion, Delisha, Ryan’s investigation thrusts Hackbart into the underbelly of the most glamorous film festival in the world and opens his eyes to what lies underneath the glitz and glamour.

After a long, successful career as a film journalist, Byrge decided to change to the novel format to tell his story.

“You can reveal truths within a novel that you can’t convey with the ‘facts’ of a news story,” Byrge explains. “It allows me to flesh out the full story of the events I have covered.”

THE RED CARPET AT CANNES will please mystery fans and film buffs alike. It’s a five-star travelogue straight into a celebrity universe of dazzling parties, high-end cuisine, superstar celebrities, high fashion, and movie-world politics.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER AT AMAZON

______________________

Ryan wrapped his arms around Delisha's shoulders. At the gold-handled door of their Carlton Hotel suite, he snapped in the entry card.  He pushed the door open, and Delisha turned, facing him. As the evening breeze snuggled in across the room, Ryan saw that the windows  had been left open.   The curtains fluttered, and he could see the brightly lit yachts.  A grand eruption  of pinks, blues,  silvers, and greens sparkled across the sky. The kaleidoscope of colors exploded as the fireworks shimmered down, and formed an aurora  of magical brilliance. Ryan envisioned Cary  Grant and Grace Kelly in  To Catch  a Thief at her door at the Carlton.  In  that incandescent flash of his mind's eye, that gloriously  romantic movie moment was no  longer an unattainable reflection for Ryan. Through the crazed magic of the Cannes  Film Festival, Ryan and Delisha had morphed into the forms of Cary Grant and Grace Kelly.  Ryan's all-time favorite movie moment from To Catch  a Thief  had entered into the frame of his  own life – he in his black tux, and she in her light blue gown.

 

Duane Byrge has written for The Hollywood Reporter for more than 20 years. Starting out as a secretary for the entertainment industry newspaper while he was a graduate student at the University of Southern California, Byrge rose to serve in various capacities, including news editor and senior film critic. He serves as a consultant to the Chicago International Film Festival, where he brought Halle Berry to Chicago in 2001 for a career tribute.

A Wisconsin native, Byrge holds a Ph.D. in Communications, with an emphasis in Cinema, from the University of Southern California, where he has served as a lecturer. His Ph.D. dissertation was the basis for the book, “The Screwball Comedy Films,” which he co-authored. The book was re-released in hardcover in 1991 by McFarland Publishing and re-released in paperback in 2001 as part of the publication’s Classic Series.

Currently an assistant professor of Mass Communications at Virginia State University, Byrge teaches journalism, motion picture history and appreciation, and mass communications. He is working on a book on movie producers, “Before the Shooting Begins,” which will be published by the University of California, Berkeley Press.

Website: www.duanebyrge.com

 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/byrge_duane  

 

Blog Tour Kickoff: Wolves At Our Door by Soren Paul Petrek & Giveaway @spetrek_toche44 #Historical #Fiction

WOLVES AT OUR DOOR by Soren Paul Petrek
* Historical * Action * Adventure *

Title: WOLVES AT OUR DOOR
Author: Soren Paul Petrek
Publisher: Editions Encre Rouge/Hachette Livre
Pages: 319
Genre: Historical/Action/Adventure

The Allies and the Nazis are in a deadly race to develop the ultimate weapon while supersonic V-2 rockets rain down on London. Madeleine Toche and Berthold Hartmann, the German super assassin who taught her to kill, search for the secret factory where Werner von Braun and his Gestapos masters use slave labor to build the weapons as the bodies of the innocent pile up. The Allied ground forces push towards Berlin while the German SS fight savagely for each inch of ground.

Finding the factory hidden beneath Mount Kohnstein, Hartmann contacts his old enemy, Winston Churchill and summons Madeleine to his side. While she moves to bring the mountain down on her enemies, Hartmann leads a daring escape from the dreaded Dora concentration camp to continue his revenge against the monsters who ruined his beloved Germany.

Together with the Russian Nachtlexen, the Night Witches, fearsome female pilots the race tightens as the United States and the Germans successfully carry out an atomic bomb test.

Germany installs an atom bomb in a V-2 pointed towards London, while the US delivers one to a forward base in the Pacific. The fate of the Second World War and the future of mankind hangs in the balance.

Read the first chapter at Booksie and don’t forget to give it a like!

 

 

______________________

Helga Miller shut the door to her small flat in Saint-Omer. With seagulls reeling and crying in the sunny morning sky above, she felt as though she were on vacation. She loved the quaint architecture of the homes, the small shops, and the produce market. Things were scarce, but it was late summer, and the local produce was in. Fish was always available, and she had developed a fondness for it. She could smell the sea and loved the warm sand and relaxed atmosphere at the beach. It was as if there wasn’t even a war.

I’m not on holiday, she told herself, but it’s my first time out of Germany, and I’m not going to waste it. She’d wanted to help with the war effort, and now she had her chance. Even after the invasion, everyone back home still thought Germany would win—Hitler told them so, and the propaganda films left no doubt. Why wouldn’t she believe it as well?

Smaller than some of the other women she worked with, Helga prided herself on being athletic and trim. She went for long walks and did calisthenics daily. Her long hair, which she kept tucked under her hat while on duty, was dark, as was the hair of many people from Bohemia in southern Germany. She wasn’t much interested in the men she worked with. Older and serious, they paid little attention to her except to bark orders. They bored her. She liked the young soldiers stationed in the town and at her worksite. They were exciting and fun-loving, and girls like her from home were scarce.

Helga had been recruited right out of university, and while she knew that as a non-soldier, she would never be much of a threat to anyone, she was eager to work on such an important program. The big projects had political or military applications. The project she was working on combined mining and construction. It was unique.

She was on her way to La Couple, where she worked as a mining engineer. Helga knew the fighting was close, but the enemy army was still many miles away. She didn’t think about it much, but when she did, she had to admit it was a bit thrilling. Neither did she think often of the intended use of the facility once complete. At work she concentrated, paying no attention to the fact that rockets launched from there would fall on major cities—and their civilian populations. Allied bombs were falling on German cities, targeting military installations and civilians alike. She hoped the completion of the facility would stop those raids and help Germany win the war.

 Helga walked toward the train station where she would catch the short ride to her worksite. She disliked the frumpy white coveralls she wore, but they, like everything else, were mandatory. She felt as though she were dressed in a sack. How would she ever catch a man’s eye while wearing a tent?

She turned a corner and crossed over the car park toward the train station. It was a squat wooden building consisting of dirty windows, a ticket booth, toilets, and a kiosk that sold newspapers, cigarettes, and whatever sweets were available at a given time. Helga made her way over to the short line to buy a ticket for the next train. She noticed a young woman ahead of her with a mane of curly black hair cascading down the middle of her back. She didn’t have to see the woman’s face to know that she was beautiful; the way she held herself left no doubt. Oh, to have curls like hers . . . Helga fingered the correct change in her pocket and had it ready when she got to the window. She smiled at the man behind the glass. He gave her the same indifferent look he gave all the passengers, French and German alike. She was sure he’d been there before the war and would be there when it was over. His job was simple and didn’t require any conversation.

A rush of wind announced the arrival of the train. Helga moved forward onto the platform and waited for it to come to a stop. It was a tired old commuter train that had covered the same miles of track for years. With petrol scarce, people got around on foot, bicycle, or, for longer distances, train.

After waiting her turn to board, she found an empty seat in the middle of the car. Among the passengers who brushed past her was the young woman with the beautiful hair. Helga snuck a peek at her dark and angular, almost Gypsy-like, face; the lovely girl was almost certainly from the south. She watched men steal glances as she passed. She felt a twinge of jealousy. No man had ever looked at her that way; it wasn’t fair.

The train pulled out of the station and picked up speed. The windows were down, and the warm breeze carried a hint of salt from the ocean. The smell of seaweed and surf wafted through the car, carrying out cigarette smoke and lingering smells. Helga could stay in a place like this forever. With the weekend coming, she was planning to go down to the beach with another girl from work. Two days in the sun, a chance to chat with some young men, drink some local wine, have some fun. There were always young German soldiers about, on leave.

As the coastal scenery came into view, it seemed to shake from the train’s rattling. Seagulls cried down near the beach. The tide was out, revealing large expanses of sand and lowland areas. People were out digging clams and scraping mussels off the exposed rocks. The chalky cliffs were much like their counterparts on the other side of the channel in England.

No sooner did the train stop than the other passengers stood and eked out to crowd the passageway. Helga waited until the aisle was clear before she stood. As she made her way to the door, the car was empty, so it hardly stood out that the young woman was, like everyone else, gone.

Helga made her way from the train station toward the construction site. The path was a mixture of sand, gravel, and chalky white chips weathered away from the hillsides over millions of years. The path came to a wooded area. She could see other workers walking far ahead, but there was no one near her. She wasn’t in a hurry to get to work, especially on such a nice day. She’d be on time; there was no need to rush.

It was a blind corner in the path. No time to react. A dark figure slid behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, another on her chin. With a furious jerk, the assailant broke Helga’s neck and dragged her body off the trail. The killer removed her work clothes and pulled them over her own. In less than a minute, the body was covered with grass and sticks. Unless someone from the trail was looking for Helga, she would never be seen.

The killer moved away, pulling Helga’s cap over her head, tucking in strands of curly black hair. Back on the trail, she headed toward the rear entrance of La Couple. She clipped the dead girl’s credentials to her coat pocket. She’d already observed that the guards never even checked the women coming and going from the facility. How incredibly stupid of them.

The guards at the entrance waved her through as she held out her identification. Hardly a glance in her direction. She stepped into the entrance, where, shielded from the summer sun, she was immediately cooled. Moisture clung to the walls and made the floor beneath her slippery. A sheet of water covered the tunnel, pooling in spots. This entrance mustn’t be completed yet, she thought. Touching the spongy chalk walls, she passed on into an area where concrete walls had been added and spanned in a curved ceiling overhead. The passageway was extremely wide. Wide enough to accommodate a small train. Not tall enough for a full-sized rail car, but certainly wide and high enough to transport something big.

The woman’s name was Madeleine Toche, and her inside-out knowledge of her business was nearly as legendary as her hatred of Germans. For this important operation, she needed to know what was inside so she and others could destroy it. Today was a reconnaissance mission. If an attack was ordered, it would come later.

Toche was an assassin, trained and deployed by the British Special Operations Executive, the SOE, and Prime Minister Churchill’s army of the shadows. She’d spent most of the past two years in France killing—Gestapo, SS officers, and troops. Stealth and patience were her strongest weapons. She’d often wait days in concealment, like a spider in its dark recess, until she sprung from a forgotten crack to kill, afterward slipping away. Her reputation spread far beyond Europe.

Raped at the hands of the SS after her beloved brother was killed when Germany invaded France, she’d vowed revenge. With the help of her father, she killed her assailant and escaped to England through Spain. Her young life had been a whirlwind of training with the British SOE and preparing for war.

A German Jew, a hero of the German army in the First War, trained her. His hatred of the Nazis for killing his wife and daughters propelled him down a road of destruction that made Madeleine’s pale by comparison. Those Jews that knew of him considered him a Gollum. A creature sent by God to kill the enemies of the Jewish people. A monster devoid of mercy. An instrument of unspeakable cruelty. Hatred lain bare.

Passageways led off the main corridor she was in, and down which she continued toward the cavernous space under the dome. Oily dust hung in the air. While the chalk was caked and fragile, the hum of diesel machinery and poor ventilation created a haze inside the tunnels. The place was light on security; if there were any other guards, she couldn’t see them. Electric bulbs strung overhead created a misty effect. She was happy with the additional cover.

The tunnel was a hive of activity. With tight schedules to keep, the workers inside remained intent on their tasks, often walking right past her without a glance or a greeting. No one would notice her in here. She stepped aside to allow a group of workers to go by.

The sound of nonstop drilling shook the structure. She walked past workshops and storage areas, all linked by railroad tracks that headed down toward a massive central hall looming ahead. Inside, it was brightly lit and crisscrossed with construction scaffolding.

She walked out into the space underneath the dome, towering seven stories above her. Full-sized train tracks led out of the cavern into a corridor much larger than the one she had just walked through. Machinery was being attached to walls in the middle of the structure beneath the dome. She could identify winches and tracks to move something horizontally above the tracks. But what in the world was this?

She left the dome area to inspect the remainder of the construction. As she passed one of the rooms, she noticed that the ceiling was much higher than the others. At least twice as tall. She paused and walked inside. Workers measured the floor, marking it at intervals to accommodate another set of tracks. A man looked up with a quizzical expression and then motioned her over. She would answer none of his questions; she promised herself as she pointed to her watch and shook her head. When he started in her direction, she turned and walked out of the room. He followed.

Madeleine picked up her pace and started back down the tunnel in the direction from which she had come. She ducked into a dark hallway leading off the main corridor. She flattened her back against the wall, hiding on the fringe of the light spilling in from the hallway. The man hurried in her direction. Just a little closer, she thought. He couldn’t see her in the dark. Once he was near, she darted out, ramming a fountain pen into his ear, pushing it in with the palm of her hand. His knees buckled, and he fell forward onto his face, crashing to the floor. Setting her clipboard down, she dragged his body further into the dark. And though his legs jiggled, she knew he’d been dead before he hit the ground. Finding a bin partially filled with rock, Madeleine pulled his body behind it. Turning, she picked up her clipboard and walked out into the main passageway. She had seen enough. Time to leave.

She walked toward the entrance she had come through, knowing she needed to be gone before they discovered the body. After all the missions she’d completed, and blood that had stained her hands, to get caught on a reconnaissance mission would be stupid. She knew she would find Jack at the top of the hill overlooking the compound. Just make it to the trees, and you’re home free. This is routine. Shoot your way out, but only if you have to.

Madeleine hurried to join a small group of workers leaving the facility. Neither guard at the entrance gave her any notice until she walked past them. Madeleine made sure to smile at the young guards. They couldn’t help but smile back. Just don’t speak to me in German, she thought, touching the pistol in her pocket. It had become almost involuntary. A reassurance that it was there if she needed it. She could feel their eyes on her body. The bulky uniform couldn’t hide everything. And the more they concentrated on her looks, the less they would think about security; it had worked in the past. The Germans just didn’t see women as threats. They’d think differently if they knew she had a five-million-Francs bounty on her head.

Walking out of the guards’ line of sight, Madeleine stepped off the path. She pulled off the white smock and hat and shook out her hair. She tossed the clothes further into the woods and then covered them with small branches. Soon she relaxed, the adrenaline in her body subsiding. She had much to tell her superiors about this successful mission. She couldn’t wait to reach the top of the hill and see Jack, her husband.

 

Soren Petrek is a practicing criminal trial attorney, admitted to the Minnesota Bar in 1991.  Married with two adult children, Soren continues to live and work in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Educated in the U.S., England and France Soren sat his O-level examinations at the Heathland School in Hounslow, London in 1981.  His undergraduate degree in Forestry is from the University of Minnesota, 1986.  His law degree is from William Mitchell College of Law in St. Paul, Minnesota 1991.

Soren’s novel, Cold Lonely Courage won Fade In Magazine’s 2009 Award for Fiction.  Fade In was voted the nation’s favorite movie magazine by the Washington Post and the L.A. Times in 2011 and 2012.

The French edition of Cold Lonely Courage, Courage was published January 2019, by Encre Rouge Editions, distributed by Hachette Livre in 60 countries.  Soren’s contemporary novel, Tim will be released along with the rest of the books in the Madeleine Toche series of historical thrillers.

His latest book is the historical action adventure novel, Wolves at Our Door.

Website: https://www.sorenpetrek.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SPetrek_Toche44?lang=en

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/soren.petrek

GIVEAWAY!

Soren Paul Petrek is giving away 15 Amazon Kindle copies!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• Fifteen winners will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive an e-copy of Wolves At Our Door!
• This giveaway ends midnight September 27.
• Winner will be contacted via email on September 28.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: Realms of Edenocht Descendants and Heirs by DS Johnson #fantasy

* REALMS OF EDENOCHT DESCENDANTS AND HEIRS *
* by DS Johnson *
* Fantasy *

Title: REALMS OF EDENOCHT DESCENDANTS AND HEIRS
Author: DS Johnson
Publisher: Rosecrest Publishing
Pages: 312
Genre: Action Adventure Fantasy

**********

 

Shaz, Edenocht’s forbidden War Wizard, his elemental mage Serin and, miniature warriors, the Minca begin their unsurmountable task of securing the ancient artifacts, the Sev-Rin-Ac-Lava. Their first task of finding the sheath to the sword Shaz already has, takes them to the realm of their friends the Minca. The companions find themselves in a world torn open by earthquakes and melted earth as the evil Necromancer Semias Trevelis re-incarnates an ancient Runecaster to remake one of the ancient artifacts. The only hope in closing the torn and scorched realm is with the help of the two remaining descendants of the original mages of old, but Shaz doesn’t even know about them, to begin with, let alone who they are or how to find them. Riddick, the Earth Sage, is deep in his own dilemma of figuring out his powers and the appearance of new Islands in the Turbulent Reef, is thrust from one realm to another until he meets back up with Shaz and the others. Can Shaz and his friends outsmart the cosmic powers at play and bring together the elements once again or will there be a ripple of desolation across the planet?

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

______________________

First Chapter

Heavy gusts whipped through the barren wasteland. The radiating heat stung their lungs as they barreled over the uneven ground. Long strands of purple haze lined the night sky. Murky shadows played tricks on their senses as they dodged the tiny night insects. Turkill snagged a small stone as he turned a sharp corner. He placed it in the pocket of his sling and swung it over his head. He regained his footing and twisted at the waist. He let the momentum propel the stone. It sliced through the air like a razor and hit the Jaduuk square in the forehead. The creature fell backward at an instant. The pack of Jaduuk still behind leapt over their fallen pack mate. They dug their hind legs into the ground and leapt over scattered boulders with ease.

Ladtwig ran onto a half-fallen tree and slammed his walking stick into the ground. His small frame launched into the air.  He pulled his arms and legs in tight and rolled through the smelly, orc-like-wolf-hunter’s arms. He somersaulted onto a jagged boulder on the other side and scurried over the edge.

“Send our scents into the breeze,” Shaz said.

Serin twirled her hands, spinning the air before launching it toward the Jaduuk. The Jaduuk hunter snarled. Drool dripped from his long fangs at the sides of his mouth. Long ears at the top of his head twitched, and his snout-like nose puckered as he caught the scent. He skidded in the soft dirt and shot off toward them. Turkill leapt behind the boulder Ladtwig was behind and rolled to a stop.

“That should draw them this way,” Shaz said.

“And then what?” Serin asked.

“We set a trap.”

“How those things are twice our size, and we have no idea what they’re capable of?”

“Then we find out.”

“You know, I’m starting to doubt your logic here,” Serin said.

“Here, help me with this rock.”

Serin called the air and sent a puff under the immense boulder.  Even with her air magic, the boulder was almost too heavy to move. She gripped the ground with her toes and stretched her arms out as far as she could. The boulder inched gradually. Shaz thrust his shoulder into the stone and heaved. It moved into place and Serin dropped her arms. They hurried behind the rock and crouched into its shadow.

Serin gripped the cold stone for support. Shaz could tell she was becoming weaker and he did rely on her air magic more than he should. Think, think, what would Grandfather tell me to do?  he thought.

“Do you think you could make a sand pit, while I keep them busy?” Shaz asked.

Serin studied him with a little surprise. She understood from his expression that he knew she was tiring. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded. Shaz touched her shoulder and she became aware of his energy. It tickled her skin and gave her a little more confidence. Shaz gripped the hilt of the sword and rounded the boulder. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but then, a funny image played out in his head. He sucked in a deep breath and the image became a little clearer.

“One, two, three, four, five.” Shaz counted.

He found five Jaduuk scents and a blurry image of where they were formed. Three were larger than the other two and he surmised they were the males. He pulled the sword from his side and allowed the energy to surge through his arm. He took several steps from Serin and then ran toward the smaller beasts.

Serin slipped off her boots and wriggled her toes into the soft sand. She hadn’t understood why Shaz wanted the boulder moved but now understood it was because the ground was softer here. She gathered the strength she needed and began filling the sand with air. A steady stream of wind burrowed into the sand making the top bubble and bounce. Serin’s arms ached. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the wind, but she found it difficult. She breathed heavily, and her body began to sag. The wind continued to burrow deep into the ground making the circle widened. She had no idea how big to make it because she had no idea how big the beasts actually were, or if they could jump high, or at all.

Shaz clenched his fist. The pounding of the ground intensified as the pack quickened their paces. He was confident they had him locked into their senses and the only way out was to fight. A high-pitched snarl echoed over his shoulder. The enormous jaguar leapt over Shaz and sank her claws into a Jaduuk. The creature recoiled. A strong odor wafted through the air and Shaz covered his nose. Jagwynn gripped the sand and slid on her haunches. The Jaduuk snarled and roared. Jag returned the roar and leapt at the Jaduuk. The Jaduuk dug its claws into Jag’s flesh. Jagwynn yelped and her eyes widened. She opened her jaws as wide as she could and gripped the Jaduuk’s face with her claws. She sunk her teeth into the think leathery texture of the beast’s neck. The Jaduuk reared back and tried to shove the huge cat off. Jagwynn swung her tail to keep her balance as her hind legs pushed herself onto the beast. They toppled to the ground and the more the Jaduuk wriggled the tighter Jag clenched.

Shaz ran at one of the smaller Jaduuk. He flipped the sword and sliced the beast’s chin. The beast roared and stumbled backward. Shaz spun and brought his blade over his head. The slight glow of the sword’s markings made a mark in the night sky. He pulled it down with ease and listened to the whipping sound it made. The blade sunk deep into the shoulder of the oncoming Jaduuk. A high-pitched howl pierced Shaz’s head and he flinched.

Shaz flew several feet from another Jaduuk’s fist hitting him in the ribs. Shaz struggled to breathe as the pain raced to his brain. The cold gritty earth found its way into his lungs as he gasped for air. Shaz coughed and gagged as a mixture of blood and sand escaped his lungs. The metallic taste the blood left, sank into his consciousness. The heat of the Jaduuk’s breath ripped down his spine. He couldn’t make his body move. No matter how hard he tried and how much he yelled in his mind, it wouldn’t respond. 

“Stay here,” Turkill said.

“What are you going to do?” Ladtwig asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I have to help.”

“We are way too small, they will eat us alive,” Ladtwig said.

“Maybe that’s the way we fight them then,” Turkill said.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, they can’t fight something they can’t see.”

“But they see with their noses.”

“Yep.”

Turkill pulled all his leather armor and clothes off, clear down to his skivvies. Ladtwig’s eyes popped out of his head. Turkill pulled his knife from his belt and sliced several desert plants off their stems. He rubbed them vigorously until his bronzed skin no longer showed.

Ladtwig followed and covered himself.

“This plant stinks,” Ladtwig said.

“Uh huh.”

Turkill removed his sling and gathered as many rocks as he could and shoved them into his pouch. He secured them around his waist and crept out from around the boulder. Ladtwig filled his pouch and grabbed his dart gun.

“I thought you were out of darts?” Turkill asked.

“I am, but you never know.”

The steady wind had long dried all the water from their bodies. It was hard to move around without feeling the sting of their skin cracking. The heavy clouds thinned letting a soft hint of the moon’s light shine over the wasteland. Turkill caught a glimpse of the pack running toward Shaz and Serin.

“Over there,” Turkill said.

Ladtwig nodded and hurried around the other side of a broad faced rock. They froze in place when they heard Jagwynn snag her prey. Seconds later Turkill waved to Ladtwig and they maneuvered closer.

The largest Jaduuk waited at the back of the pack. He twisted his ears back and forth and sniffed the air. Turkill crept up to a desert plant and cringed as a twig snapped under his foot. The Jaduuk cocked his head and flicked his long pointy ear backward. Turkill froze and held his breath. The beast turned and studied the landscape. He sniffed again and sank his massive claws into the ground. A deep orange glow radiated from the creature’s eyes. Turkill’s heart sank and he pushed the bile back into his stomach. Ladtwig tossed a stone across his path on the other side and the beast turned. The Jaduuk meticulously searched the night.

Turkill laid a stone into his sling and sucked in a deep breath. His arm shot above his head and his wrist flicked the sling so hard that the motion didn’t even take half a second. The rock soared through the air like lightning and sank into the back of the beast’s skull. The Jaduuk stopped mid-step and hesitated. He touched the back of his head and felt the stone. He turned around in slow motion and tried to make sense of what happened.

Turkill held his breath as he tried to understand why the rock didn’t take him down. The beast shook his head and the orange glow returned. Turkill gulped and sunk as low to the ground as he could. Ladtwig flicked his sling sending another stone into the Jaduuk’s temple. The beast stumbled but didn’t fall. Turkill scoured around in his pouch for the sharpest stone he could find and loaded it into his sling. He stood, raised his arm and flicked his wrist. The stone shot out of the sling and ripped across the sky.

The fierce rotation of the rock became like a razor as it sliced its enormous bicep. Ladtwig slipped as he stepped over a rock and fell. He rolled over and rubbed his hiney. He hurried to his feet and positioned himself behind a rock. He reached for another stone, but his pouch wasn’t there.

“Blast,” he said.

The Jaduuk turned and moved toward him. Ladtwig hurried to the bush to search for his pouch. Turkill moved behind a dead tree trunk and loaded his sling. He peeked over the trunk but couldn’t see the beast. He moved to the end of where it had been, but it wasn’t there either. He hurried to the other end and peeked under the haggard roots. He could barely make out the Jaduuk and crept to a closer rock.

Shaz gripped his ribs and closed his eyes. A strong sensation coursed his torso calming the pain to a tolerable degree. He caught a glimpse of Serin stepping back behind the boulder. His heart swelled with undeniable gratitude for her. He shook his head and flung the Honor Blade behind him, letting the motion carry him back to his feet. The Jaduuk jumped back but not far enough. The tip of the blade raced over its belly.

Shaz parried and sidestepped. The Jaduuk pulled a battle ax off his back. Shaz studied the images in his head the best he could and readied himself. Shaz threw up his sword and caught the ax at its head. He spun the blade and yanked. The Jaduuk gripped the long-hardened wood shaft tightly in his paw. Shaz let the blade slip away and parried back. The Jaduuk pounded its chest and howled. The grounds vibrations rippled into his body. He identified the remainder of the pack and learned they had mobilized toward them. Still keeping the beast in sight, he checked to see if Serin was ready yet.

Serin leaned against the boulder and wiped the sweat from her brows. Her lightweight cotton tunic stuck to her slender frame. She tried to steady her breathing but found it difficult. She rubbed her aching arms and shivered from the wind as it blew against her wet skin. She examined her sinkhole and confident it would at least take a few of the beasts. Serin brushed off her feet and slipped them back into her boots. She boosted herself from the boulder and curled her tongue between her teeth. A high-pitched whistle whipped over the air. The long-draped fur at the top the Jaduuk’s ears curved over to shield its inner ear from the noise. Shaz closed the gap and brought the sword up to a side strike. The blade made contact at the base of the creature’s neck. The ridiculous stench wreaked havoc on Shaz’s senses and he struggled to keep his nerves. The Jaduuk staggered, swaying back and forth until it lost consciousness and fell with a thud. Shaz searched his night vision and determined the rest of the pack wasn’t far behind.  

Jagwynn released the lifeless body and searched for her next target. She narrowed her eyes and slunk close to the ground. The coolness of the red dirt felt good on her warmed fur. At the back of the pack, she found the smallest Jaduuk and made her way. Jagwynn lay in the taller straggly grass and waited until the Jaduuk came close enough. She lunged with her forceful hind legs and released her claws. Jagwynn sunk her claws into the Jaduuk’s shoulder and flung it to the ground. She flipped around and lunged again.

The Jaduuk went sprawling to the ground. Its look of shock and instant fear fed Jagwynn’s excitement and she sank her teeth into its neck. The Jaduuk squealed and flailed around but Jagwynn gripped tighter.

Ladtwig found his pouch and tried to tie it back onto his breeches. The hot breath of the Jaduuk caressed his bare skin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood out and his body shivered. He gulped and turned around. His head lifted upward as far as it could go. The orange glow was now dark red. Its long snout flared, and drool dripped from its giant fangs that crested its eyebrows. Ladtwig searched his pouch but his heart sunk when there were no stones. He slid his foot backward.

Ladtwig didn’t see the rock behind him and toppled over it. He scooched backward scrambling to figure out what to do. As he grappled the ground he brushed up against a prickly plant. He broke off a long stem and jammed it into his dart gun. The Jaduuk opened his mouth wide and roared. Ladtwig sucked in and blew as hard as he could through the dart gun. The stick shot out and lodged into the back of the beast’s throat.

Stunned, the Jaduuk dropped its ax and grabbed at its throat. Ladtwig scurried out from under its extensive claws as it staggered around. Turkill shot across the dirt and loaded his sling. The rock ripped across the sky with a whistle and embedded into the Jaduuk’s throat crushing its airway. Ladtwig jumped to his feet and darted back to the boulder they had left their clothes behind. 

“One, more second,” Shaz said under his breath.

Serin whistled again and peeked out. Shaz dug his boot into the ground and lunged toward her. He crossed the distance at full speed and slid to a stop as he rounded the boulder.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathing heavily.

“Yes, but I have no idea how many it will hold?” she said.

Shaz nodded and peered around the rock.

“In about ten seconds, run that way as fast as you can and don’t look back,” Shaz said.

Serin scowled and searched his face. He wasn’t playing, and a hint of fear crept into her chest.

“Go!” he said.

Serin propelled herself from the rock and dug her boots into the sturdy ground. She was glad the clouds had thinned letting her see enough of the landscape, so she didn’t have to stumble around. The pounding of the beast’s heavy claws drowned out the blood beating in her ears. The sudden boost of adrenaline surged throughout her body giving her a satisfying renewal. She leapt over a fallen tree trunk and caught herself as the loose ground moved under her feet.

From the corner of her eye, she found Ladtwig and Turkill huddled under the lowest ledge of a substantial rock. She picked up a rock and chucked it at them. They jumped, grabbed their things and darted toward her. She slowed her pace, so they could catch up.

“Don’t stop running,” she said as they met up with her.

“Where’s Shaz?” Turkill asked.

“He’s coming,” she said.

 

As a little girl, DS Johnson thought she was dumb. In the first, second, and third grades she was in the ‘Resource’ program or ‘Chapter 8’ as it is also called. Even though she was then put in the regular class, and she was such a young age when she had caught up with the other students, she knew within herself all too well by then, she was not a smart child. All the way through high school this girl struggled. She graduated with a glorious 2.9. Yes, it was heart breaking for those little numbers to reflect the great struggle and all the efforts she had put forth.

She went on to start beauty school, figuring she wasn’t college material. Suddenly, she learned that she wasn’t dumb after all. She was what is called a kinesthetic learner or ‘hands on’ learner. She LOVED it. She went on to do very well, for many years. Until, life got complicated. She had five children, a husband, and a disabled mother who now required constant care. While contemplating how to earn a little bit of extra income, now that doing hair wasn’t an option, a thought came to her.
‘Write a book’ it said.

She replied by looking around and with her finger pointing at herself, and said,
“Who me? I graduated high school with a 2.9 remember?”

The little thought came again, “Yes, you. Write a book.”

It so happened, that she told her younger sister a bedtime story almost every night as a child and had been telling her children nighttime stories for most of their lives, so she did. It took five years to learn from the internet, a few writing classes, some great blogs, a lot of practice, one very good editor and the awesome support of her family. But she did it. DS has a wonderful adaption of the intricately detailed structure of role playing games mixed with the vivid descriptions of the fantasy genre to create a unique world of elemental magic, wizards, sorcery and quest filled adventure unlike any adventure you have seen before.

Her latest book is the action adventure fantasy, Realms of Edenocht Descendants and Heirs.

Website: www.dsjohnsonbooks.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DSJohnsonBooks