The young girl tosses and
turns, with soft animalistic grunts emerging from her. Gritting her teeth,
twitching, flitting about, she whimpers as a large weight festers like cancer
within her. A multitude of pressures, cramping with tightness in her tiny
chest. Aching for release. A god, trapped in the frame of a small girl.

Tremors ripple through her
body, intensifying further and further, and—she screeches.

Persephone sits erect, her
eyes closed, mouth agape. Breathing in deeply, her head arches back, her eyes
peel open, and rays of white light shine out from her skull, as she begins
sucking in a tremendous amount of air in one, unending gulp. The bright yellow
moon distorts and wobbles and sways like water, and at one edge begins to spill
into a bright golden river. Stretching further and further, like toothpaste
through its tube. The stream descends toward the Earth, creating a glittering
strand of moon dust, stretching across thousands and thousands of miles until
reaching Persephone’s window, and spilling into her mouth—

“Persephone?” Seth bursts
in. “What’s wro—”

Sasha follows in from
behind, stricken in awe alongside him. “Persephone? Persephone!” she shouts,
running over and throwing her arms around the girl.

Seth hurries over to the
window, watching the stream of moon dust spill into his daughter’s mouth.
Reaching toward the stretched-out moon, specks of dust displace from the
stream, glittering its golden sheen around his fingertips. Looking out and up
through the window, he finds the once full moon half dissolved, crumbled away
like sand.

“What is happening?” Andes
says, appearing in the doorway. Mikhail stands at his side, nuzzling his sleepy
eyes with the back of his hands before waking to the commotion before him.

“She’s not responding!”
Sasha says.

Seth rushes over. “That
light…no, it’s happening again.” Sasha yanks her gaze toward Seth, alarmed. “It
happened earlier today, while reading…this white glow—and this pressure. It’s
the Abyss. No doubt.”

“My apologies,” Andes
says, “But we have larger concerns at the moment. If she consumes the moon, its
absence will devastate the Earth!”

Seth breathes in heavily. A
doomsday event in the middle of the night. She’s my daughter, that’s for sure. “Clear
the room!” he shouts, his eyes illuminated with white abyssal flame. “I’m going
to try something.”

Sasha rises, inching away
slowly. Her gaze locked too fiercely onto Persephone. Seth places a hand on her
shoulder, gesturing with his head for her to step aside. A hollow sensation
takes root in Sasha as she ambles over to Andes.

Seth hovers his right palm
over Persephone’s face, curling his fingers in a circular motion. Hand shaking,
the pull of the moon dust river is too severe, continuing its descent into the
depths of Persephone—setting his entire body ablaze with white flame, Sasha and
Andes feel a gravitation shift pulling toward Seth. Mikhail clings to Andes’s
sleeve, fearing his feet would be swept up in the sudden, unnatural wind
current rushing through their enclosed home. And though the fire is bright, it
does not burn. It does not scorch nor warm.

The moon dust begins to
retract. Rising from Persephone’s throat, she gargles and gags.

Seth’s eyes glow brighter,
and a portal opens at the far end of the room, creating yet another
gravitational pull. Beyond the portal lay a vast darkness, sprinkled with
glimmering stars. Sasha, Andes, and Mikhail huddle together, clinging fiercely
to the doorframe while Seth and Persephone’s abyssal weight holds them steady.
The last of the moon dust ejects from her stomach, and the white glow of her
eyes disappears. Waking up, she’s suddenly lifted into the air by the vacuum of
space—she thuds against Seth’s big right arm, brought close to his side. With
the flick of his left hand, the moon dust flings into the darkness, followed by
a pillar of abyssal flame erupting from his palm. Gravity reverts to normal as
the portal closes.

Rushing to the window,
they find the wobbling moon slowly steadying itself. Aglow with abyssal flame,
searing the fabric of the world back together, it reforms into the same bright
full moon as before.

“I can’t believe that
worked,” Andes says. Sasha stares in awe of Seth, but with an ever-deepening
scowl sinking into her face.

“I had a hunch. The words
she pulled from the book pages floated back into form once she snapped out of
it. The abyssal flame was an added precaution.” Seth collapses onto
Persephone’s bed. The young girl cocks her head in confusion at her father’s
exhaustion.

Andes, noticing the looks
on both parents, steps toward Persephone. “You two get some rest. I’ll tuck the
youngsters back into bed.”

“You sure?” asks Sasha.

“Never more sure in my
life! Now, go.”

Glancing tiredly at each
other, Seth and Sasha hurry back to their room.

Andes pulls a chair up to
the bed and takes the book he gave her years ago from the nearby nightstand. Mikhail
hops into bed beside Persephone, both children content beneath the covers as
Andes begins to read a story.

Persephone smiles widely
toward her uncle. With no memory of what had just occurred, she relishes what’s
to come. A story told by her loving uncle, her most favorite of things.

The Monsters Among Us

The Abyss Borne Gods Book 1

“Kent Priore
writes like a natural about the supernatural, and The Monsters Among
Us is a marvelously dark and true novel. American fiction has found a
terrific new voice.”
—Joseph O’Neill, PEN/Faulkner Award-Winning Author of Netherland

Seth’s life until now has been a product of a diabolical, evil Truman Show, his
entire upbringing a façade orchestrated for malevolent purposes. After his
beloved dies, he undergoes a demonic metamorphosis, which causes the world’s
fictitious walls to crumble.

As he tries to piece a semblance of his life back together and move on, he
meets friends who inspire, but even more harsh truths are revealed, perhaps too
difficult to cope with.

The very existence of life and reality is exposed as a machination of grotesque
gods. And to defeat them, Seth will have to fill his emptiness, for which
there’s only two options…
Bring the world to ruin, or learn to transmute his pain into strength.

Fans of “Jerusalem” by Alan Moore, “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath,
or “The Master and Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakovor will enjoy “The Monsters
Among Us.”

“I was intrigued from the first
sentence, determined to spend the night speed-reading so I didn’t have to
remain in suspense any longer.”
-Ella Dupuie, author of Fractures
of the Fallen

“Supernatural storytelling at its best, this vivid cinematic novel takes the
reader on an imaginative journey through what could be considered end of
days. The Monster’s Among Us is a masterful creation and a
must read—even for those who aren’t fans of fantasy/horror.”
—Joni Marie Iraci MFA author of Vatican Daughter

 

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  “You’ve been gifted with versatile magic. Fire can destroy,
but it can also create. You are a forge that bellows with hellfire. Make use of
it. I have found that magic is best used in creative and unprecedented ways.
Even the dullest magic knows few limits. Magic does what the mind wills it to
do.”

  I start to run after Gluttony. I keep the image of those
poor kids in my mind. The rage in me intensifies. My new demon body in
combination with my anger makes me fast, but not fast enough. I can still see
Gluttony in the distance, but he’s leaving my field of view more with each
passing second.

  My mind is coated red with the image of the flattened
children. Like a shark who had just picked up the scent of blood, my adrenalin
surges, and I can feel a manic fit overtaking me. My perception is flooded in a
crazed haze. I feel limitless, as if I can do anything. This is a feeling I
know well. I felt it when I decided to return home to Crowley and burn it all
to the ground.

  Where’s that voice, huh? Not going to tell me to stop this time?

  {No.}

  Why not?

  There’s no answer.

  Whatever.

  With nothing to hold me back, I really am limitless.
Instinct takes over. I conjure my flames, but not with the intent to attack. I
stretch my arms behind me and point my hands straight back. Fire erupts from my
palms, propelling me forward. I take flight at a much greater speed than my
legs can reach. I hurtle through the air, struggling to maintain balance. Like
a cannonball I blast my way through trees and homes alike. Planks of wood and
support beams scatter about in chaos.

  I wonder about the people living in these homes. Are they
safe? Have I killed them? I don’t care. I feel useful to Melphis for the
first time, and my bloodlust is reaching glorious heights as Gluttony’s body
grows larger in my view. We are passing the border into New Mexico at intense
speeds. Before I know it, we have passed into Colorado, the foot of the Rocky
Mountains in sight. He appears to slow down. What is he looking for here?

  He comes to an abrupt stop, pulling up the ground beneath
his tentacles as he does so. I keep my speed and make my descent. I plummet
hard upon his back. His tentacles give out, causing his large body to fall to
the ground. A thundering crash shakes the surrounding space.

  “Who’s there?” Gluttony roars. “Wait, no—Greed? You
smell like my brother!”

  For a dumb brute, he’s quick to piece things together. He
rises, supporting himself with six of his eight tentacles. The other two pursue
me. One slithers behind and wraps itself around me. The sludge-like tentacles
are as strong as they are giant. I struggle but remain motionless. The heat
rises again. I feel empty, but from that emptiness arises my rage which festers
and grows ever more passionate. Flames overtake my body. I can feel the slime
of his tentacles melting away, like sweat dripping off me.

    “Fuck you!” I roar.
The blood-stained clothes of those helpless children rush back to me, then so
do the memories of my own ruined childhood. The flames increase and grow hotter
until the whole tentacle catches fire. It burns away at a fierce speed. Ashes
flutter away as black sludge spills out from the now open hole in his hard
shell. Gluttony roars and his tentacles squirm like a spider that has just been
stepped on.

    I climb on top of his hard shell and
beat down my fists with reckless abandon. It withstands my punches, at first. I
can feel my strength rising alongside my rage until at last, cracks form. The
fractures stretch wider with each punch. Gluttony moans as they grow deeper.
Melphis called him a transporter. Just what is he protecting with this dense
outer layer?

    My focus intensifies and locks onto
the growing fissure in his shell. My mind goes blank. All that exists is this
shell, the sensation of my knuckles bashing into it, and the white flashes of
rough skin being blown away in shrouds of dust. He is mine—he’ll pay—I’ll make
him pay—for
those kids—for
me—

    The back of my head is hit by a
dense, wet object and I am knocked off the beast. My body shatters the trunks
of a few trees as I make my descent.

    {Your lack of focus has made you
blind to the monster’s many tentacles.}

    “Shut u—” I choke.

    Gluttony’s enormous face is now mere
feet away from mine. My elation fades as I watch the skyscraper-devouring mouth
open at its four hinges. A long snake-like tongue emerges out of utter
darkness. It coils itself around my body before his teeth drop down, devouring
me along with much of the landscape. I feel my body now coated in slime, as it
slides down Gluttony’s throat. The darkness of the pit consumes me.

Graduated from Bard College with a BA in the Written Arts,
Kent Priore is an author of dark literature, genre-blending epics and
vignettes, where dark romanticism meets modern psychology for a macabre but
hopeful depiction of inner struggle and the human ability to endure, and
perhaps even prevail. He has a fascination with humanity and is one of the few
to believe that despite our many weaknesses, we are far stronger than we often
think. He wishes to show that strength to those darker individuals, burdened by
lonesomeness, poor mental health, and other forces perceived to be out of their
control, as well as show them that all is not lost.

 

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the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Enter the In the Wake of Gods Giveaway Here

She
rubbed the back of her head, felt a small lump, and winced. Her head was
throbbing. Her knee was yelling at her and now she heard angry, men’s voices.

One of them yelled, “Over there! There she
is. Get her!”

Another pulled out a long knife and they
ran toward her.

Amy rushed into the woods. Turning around,
she could see they were catching up to her.

Up,
Amy, up. They won’t be
looking up.

She climbed an oak tree as high as she
could. Pulling on the long skirt, she squatted on a branch.

The branch felt odd and slithered
underneath her. A large, looming face in the shape of a dragon stared at her
unblinking.

Holy
cr—

The creature put a long claw to its mouth
and said, “Shhh.”

Amy took a deep breath. A scream was
building inside her but before she could release the ear-piercing screech, she
was muzzled by the creature. Her heart jolted as its wing enveloped her and she
lost consciousness.

A few moments later, she was gulping for
air. Fully expecting to open her eyes and see the hotel lobby, she was stunned
to be staring into the eyes of a dragon.

–A dragon, a huge dragon with big, green
eyes.

You’re
safe.

Amy shook her head. “No. No, I’m not.
There’s no okay in this, whatever this is at all. This is crazy. Why is this
happening?”

Where
did you come from?

She stared at his mouth. It wasn’t moving.

This hallucination was freaking weird. A
talking dragon that didn’t move his lips. They’re going to take her away and
leave her in the psych ward for the rest of her life.

Her eye began twitching. It wasn’t real.
None of it makes sense.

Think,
Amy.
Dragons aren’t real. How could a dragon talk?

Anything can happen in a hallucination.
She repeated to herself. This isn’t real.

Was she dead? Is this purgatory? Her own
personal nightmare of an afterlife? Could she have injured herself so badly
that she died?

She wasn’t a bad person. It certainly
wasn’t in Hades. Well, it better not be Hades.

A talking, psychic dragon communicating
with his mind.

Of course, it makes soooo much more sense.

She watched as the men ran into the woods,
searching for her.

The dragon spoke in a deep, soothing
voice, “Why are you dressed in that garb?”

Amy stared at the huge beast.

The beast’s green eyes penetrated her with
a questioning glare.

“A— a party. We were going to a party.”

He looked at the bracelet.

“Someone put them in my shopping bag.”

“Let’s go. We need to get you into normal
clothing. I’ll take you to Bev’s.”

Amy started climbing down the tree.

“No, no.” The dragon grabbed her and
placed Amy on his back before taking flight.

Amy squealed, inhaled and released another
louder scream.

“Stop.” His body jolted. “Your obnoxious
squawking is impaling my ears.”

Within a few moments, they soared through
the air and flew from cloud to cloud.

Her stomach flipped and she swallowed the
huge lump in her throat.

“Ugh, no ups and downs, please.”

He laughed. “No quick drops? You’re the
slow-boat kind of person.”

Her heart was finally returning to its
normal beat. She was getting comfortable riding on his back and was beginning
to enjoy the view.

“Whoa! This is awesome. I never have
flying dreams.”

The dragon huffed.

Amy was mesmerized. It was freaking
fantastic. The warm heat from the sun and soft air on her face, the flapping of
his wings, it was glorious.

She could do this. It was peaceful. He was
gliding along and she was euphoric.

Hold
on.

“Hold on? No, don’t ruin the moment!”

The dragon took a deep dive. Amy let out
an earsplitting shriek and gripped the back of his neck tighter as he
gracefully landed on the ground in front of a small, wooden cabin.

He grunted in pain.

“Your fingernails are cutting into my
skin.”

“Sorry.” Amy dismounted him like she would
a horse.

“You don’t look like you’re sorry.”

She gave him an angry side-eye.

He grumbled, “Go. Tell her I sent you.”

“Um. You want me to knock on a stranger’s
door, in the middle of BFE, and tell her a dragon sent me?”

 “We’re not in Egypt.”

She snapped, “What? We’re in the middle of
freaking nowhere. That’s what BFE means!”

Ignoring her irritation, he responded,
“We’re in Ireland.”

 “Ireland? I’ve never been to Ireland. How am I
dreaming that I’m here? I’ve only seen pictures and this in not anything like
the pictures.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t have a passport with me!”

She rubbed her forehead. Why would she
need a passport in a dream?

“No worries.” He blew out a frustrated
breath. “I’ll be back in a blink. In the meantime, tell her Blaze sent you.”

“Oh, look. A fairy circle.”

His wide-eyed, incredulous stare gave her
pause. He shook his head. “Wow.”

She shrugged.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My mind goes
really fast sometimes.” She limped toward the fairy circle.

“What are you doing?”

Amy chuckled. “Making a wish.”

He looked at her like she was growing
horns.

“Um, yeah. Make a wish and the fairies
will grant it only if they see fit. You have to watch out for all the fairies protecting the
fairy circle. You don’t want to step on them, you know.”

Amy stepped back from the circle. “Hello, little fairies. I hope
you’re having a pleasant day.”

He harrumphed and walked away.

“Hey, it’s my dream. I can do what I want.”

Amy raised her hand to knock, but never
made contact. An elderly woman, in her mid-seventies, opened the door.

“Oh, I thought I heard Blaze’s voice.”

“I’m Amy. He told me to tell you—”

The woman opened the door wider. “Come in.
The sun’s going to be setting soon and it’ll be a bit chilly.”

The elderly woman had light hair, dark
blue eyes, and a wide, pleasant smile. Her hair was rolled up into a bun tucked
on the back of her head. Amy’s memories immediately went to the cartoon with
the grandma lady who owned the canary, Tweety.

Amy cautiously entered the house and as
she turned to look about, a man rushed through the doorway.

He was an average-looking man except for
his eyes. They gleamed an effervescent green. The man’s dark hair was a deep
contrast to his light skin.

She never cared for the five o’clock
shadow but it did do him justice.

“There you are, Blaze.” She handed him a
mug.

“Thank you, Bev.”

“Mark on his way?”

“Soon. He has a few things he needs to
take care of before he comes.”

Mark?
As in Harlow?

Bev turned to Amy. “What would you like,
dear? I’ve got some hot tea on the table or, if it pleases, I can pour another
draught.”

“T—”

“She needs normal clothes.”

Amy glared at Blaze. “And who are you?”

“I’m the man who saved your skinny bum and
brought you here.”

“And how, pray tell, did you do that? A
dragon…” Her voice trailed off.

Bev looked puzzled. “So, she’s not from
medieval times?”

“No.”

“She didn’t time-travel here?”

“No.”

Time
travel? Amy interrupted, “I can speak for myself.”

“Really?” He snorted. “Go ahead, darling,
and explain how you got here.”

“Fine. I was at a party.” Amy flipped her
hand in the air. “I tucked the jeweled comb in my wig and the next thing I
knew, these men attacked me and I’ve been having this dream or possibly been
unconscious ever since.”

Blaze sat at the table. “You’re not
unconscious.”

“Then you tell me what’s happening.”

Bev took her arm. “Oh, sweetie, it’s been
a day for you, hasn’t it? Sit, relax, and have a cuppa. I’ll get you some
clothes that should fit you. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

The concern in Bev’s voice was telling.

Wariness clung to Amy as a hesitant smile
tugged at her lips, a stark contrast to how she was feeling.

“I don’t need clothes. I just want to wake
up.”

Bev asked, “Wake up?”

Blaze waved Bev’s question off and spoke
to Amy, “Somehow, you’ve managed to get two very powerful and magical relics to
bring you here. People have gone to war to possess the magical comb and
bracelet.”

Amy grunted.

“Those men stole the relics to take over
Mu and conquer the magical world. They will not hesitate to kill you for them.”

Amy bit her upper lip, repressing a
nervous giggle. “Not ruby-red slippers? Will lightning flash from the jewelry
when you try to remove it from my hair and wrist? Do I repeat ‘there’s no place
like home’ three times?”

Blaze glowered. “I don’t find your sarcasm
amusing.”

She removed the jeweled comb and handed it
to Blaze. “Here. Take it.”

Bev glared at Blaze and tapped Amy’s hand.
“Blaze can get you back to where you belong and to your party whenever you’re
ready.”

“Good.” Amy put her wrist toward Blaze.
“I’m more than ready.”

Blaze reached to take the bracelet off her
wrist. “It won’t come off.”

Bev put her hand to her chest. “What?”

Amy’s voice shook in panic. “No, no, take
it off!”

“It won’t come off.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it.”

She fiddled with the clasp and finally
threw up her hands in frustration. “It won’t come off!”

Bev walked over to the cabinet and brought
back a bottle of Irish whiskey and three glasses, and said, “It has begun.”

Amazon, Barnes and
Noble, and Wall Street Journal bestselling, award-winning author, Pamela
Ackerson is a time traveling adventurer. She was born and raised in Newport, RI
where history is a way of life. She lives on the Space Coast of Florida where
everyone is encouraged to reach for the stars!

Her literary
journey is as diverse and adventurous as the time-traveling escapades she
writes about. With a rich tapestry of genres at her fingertips, she weaves
stories that span from the wild frontiers of the Old West to the intricate
cultural tapestries of Native American history. Her work doesn’t stop at
fiction; she delves into the realms of history, self-help, and even marketing,
showcasing a versatility that resonates with a wide audience.

Ackerson’s
presence on the Space Coast of Florida reflects her forward-thinking approach
to writing, always aiming for the next big leap in her storytelling odyssey.
Her prolific output is a testament to her dedication to her craft, inviting
readers to join her in exploring the vast landscapes of human experience and
imagination.

Honest reviews of
Pamela’s books are always appreciated.

Absolutely no AI
programs were used to create any story she has written.

Thank you and have
a good moments day.

 

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 Gill’s life
experiences have informed her writing. 
For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced
her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past
to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the
ongoing corruption.  Her experiences as a
social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t
Hurt a Fly.  In this book the fatal
combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist
give rise to a cliffhanging finale.

 Reviewers
have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing
to the end, whilst not wanting to finish. 
Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed.  In her books bad people get what they
deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.

 She is
currently writing her third book. 

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A red
cloud rising out of the east was borne seaward on a hungry wind that howled
like a devil. It was a hot cloud, a wet cloud full of the promise of rain, and
yet it shed no drop on the forest below. It spread across the wilderness
without end, a cloud like a funnel, a cloud like a waterspout turned on its
side.

It crossed
the scorched earth between the forest and the city on the coast, low to the
ground and howling. Then it arched up like a striking snake, a hissing serpent
that ate the sky and reared high over the city’s walls.

By then no
one walked the city streets. Everywhere the city’s folk had fled indoors, even
from the courtyards of the king. No peltast stirred on the battlements; no
sentry held his ground. From within the walls of the palace, men peered out
through slits at the unnatural red storm.

Women held
each other in their boudoirs, and children sheltered under mothers’ skirts.
Noise went everywhere, carried on a wet and flailing wind that made hairs stand
up on arms and necks and dogs scramble under sturdy beds to whine.

Macon was
in his father’s stables with his sister Tabet when the maelstrom started; and
there he stayed, working with the grooms to calm the horses, lest one break a
leg rearing and kicking. Among horses, as men, hysteria travels fast.

Don’t miss the
rest of the Sacred Band Series!

The Sacred Band of Stepsons series is Homeric and heroic
fiction following the exploits of an ancient cavalry unit modeled on the Sacred
Band of Thebes. Deftly mixing history, myth, and fantasy, Morris’ Sacred Band
of Stepsons live and die in a world where gods are real and magic works —
sometimes.

Morris’ accursed cavalry commander, Tempus, first
appeared Sacred Band first appeared in the million-selling Thieves’ world
shared-universe in 1981. Subsequently, Janet Morris, first alone and
subsequently with her husband Chris Morris, take the Sacred Band into their own
series of novels, set in the fourth century BCE. Passionate, gritty, lyrical
prose and unforgettable characters make this series. Perseid Press Sacred Band
novels includes the “Author’s Cut” of the Beyond Sanctuary Trilogy and Tempus, as
well as the epic novel The Sacred Band, and The Fish the Fighters and the
Song-girl.

 

Find them at Perseid Press

Best selling author Janet
Morris began writing in 1976 and published more than 30 novels, many
co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her fiction work
was in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she also wrote
historical and other novels. Morris either wrote, contributed to, or edited
several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on
nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and
national security topics.

 

Christopher Crosby
Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as
well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to
author Janet Morris. He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a
principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but
occasionally uses pseudonyms.

 

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