Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton Blog Barrage & Giveaway

Haunted by the King of Death Blog Barrage - Felicity Heaton

Haunted by the King of Death, the eleventh book in New York Times best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot paranormal romance series, Eternal Mates, is now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release of Grave and Isla’s romance, she’s holding a FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY and sharing sneak peeks of the book.
Enter the Haunted by the King of Death international giveaway (ends August 14th) and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate by using the Rafflecopter form at the end of this post or at her website, where you can also download a 5 chapter sample of the novel: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Here’s more about the book and the savage and wicked vampire hero and his powerful phantom mate…
Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton
Haunted by the King of Death (Eternal Mates Romance Series Book 11)
Felicity Heaton
A ruthless vampire warrior, Grave Van der Garde rules the mercenary Preux Chevaliers with an iron fist, determined to retain his hard-won position as one of the most powerful men in Hell and his reputation as the heartless King of Death. But beneath the cold façade beats the heart of a vampire torn between love and hate, ripped in two directions by a single ethereally beautiful female—his fated phantom mate.
Driven by her phantom instincts, Isla used a spell to make her solid in order to deceive the vampire who killed her sister’s demon mate and have revenge on him, condemning him with a single kiss to become a phantom too. But her plan took an unexpected turn when she fell in love with him, and with her new life, and the night she betrayed him shattered both of their hearts. Now, he lives to make her suffer through their connection, one that is fading with them as they begin to slip into the phantom world, and she must face the monster she created if she is to save herself and the vampire she still loves.
With a demon from Grave’s past determined to destroy him and everything he holds dear, and the clock ticking down to their inevitable doom, can he and Isla overcome their past and their pride to work together to claim the future they both desire deep in their hearts? Or will death finally catch up with the vampire king and his phantom mate?
Haunted by the King of Death is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback. Find the links to your preferred retailer at: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Haunted by the King of Death – Excerpt
She swallowed hard as she faced the palace beyond the grand white marble fountain.
It was as beautiful as she recalled, the same colours as the other buildings within the fortress, but different in style. The façade stretched across the huge square, three storeys high, with rectangular black-shuttered windows only two metres apart, the white stone casings that surrounded them a stunning contrast against the yellow render. Between each window, a white flat stone column stretched the height of the floor, appearing to hold up the matching pale stone band that ran across the top and bottom of each level.
Words carved in Latin decorated the band across the top of the ground floor, centred above the arched entrance.
Nulla Misericordia.
Isla made her way past the fountain, focusing on the gentle sound of the water to calm her rising nerves, and strode towards the entrance. Vampires passed her but none of them stopped her from advancing. In fact, most of them didn’t look at her at all.
She wasn’t sure that was a good sign.
Was Grave luring her into a trap, or did he really want to see her?
She passed under the arched entrance of his palace and her pace slowed again as the four sides of the building towered above her in its bare courtyard. The inside was darker, with the two upper floors painted in a more sombre shade of yellow that was closer to grey, and the casings of the windows, the bands that delineated each level and the flat decorative columns all made of black marble.
The ground floor was different too, set back under the building, with rows of narrow arches supporting the upper floors and thick black columns between them.
She kept an eye on the guards who loitered in the shadows under the arches, aware of their eyes on her.
Her nerves started to get the better of her as she crossed the courtyard, her body and mind responding exactly as whoever had built it had intended. It was a building made to intimidate, to unsettle the visitor and set them on edge.
It captured the nature of the one who had ordered it perfectly, creating a vision of power and importance, but elegance too.
Grave.
Isla rubbed her damp hands on her leathers as she stepped up onto the raised path that ran beneath all the columned sides of the building and through the double-width black-framed doorway. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness on the other side, but she kept moving forwards, afraid that if she stopped she would run away.
Oil lamps flickered around the square entrance hall, illuminating the huge gold-framed paintings hanging on the black wall and the imposing white marble staircases that ran up both walls to meet in a curve at the first floor.
A second set of curved marble staircases ran from beside the top of the first ones, sweeping back towards the wall behind her to join with the second floor, and high above her an enormous chandelier hung in the open space between the two floors.
Isla kept an eye on it as she passed under it, her boots silent on the white marble tiles. She never had trusted it. It seemed too large and weighty to hang from such a slender chain.
She walked straight ahead, through another double-width doorway beneath the staircase, and her steps slowed further as she entered the corridor between the entrance hall and the audience room.
Isla turned her gaze towards the black marble floor, keeping her eyes off the grotesque display of mounted heads that lined the obsidian walls. She had dared to look at them once, had been horrified when she had found herself somewhat captivated by the gruesome collection and the way the light from the oil lamps flickered across them, a dancing of shadows that made them come alive.
Another trick meant to intimidate, designed to strike fear into the hearts of those who desired to make a pact with the vampire mercenaries of the Preux Chevaliers and their infamous leader.
Isla lifted her head as she cleared the corridor and her heart almost stopped in her chest.
Grave lounged on his ebony throne on the raised black platform opposite her in the pale-walled room, his scarred chest bare between the two open sides of his black dress shirt. A crystal goblet hung from between his long fingers and he raised it slowly, bringing it to his lips. He lazily sipped the blood, painting his firm lips crimson, his ice blue eyes on her the entire time.
She fought to find her voice as she stood before him in the bare room, but it wouldn’t come as he stared at her, cold and silent, as grim and dark as Hell itself.
His malice rolled through her, his hatred filling the room.
Scarlet ringed his frosty eyes.
The silence seemed to stretch into forever, thickening with each second that she stood in it without saying anything. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to break the silence.
What could she say?
There were a thousand things but nothing at the same time.
The longer he stared at her, the stronger a feeling within her grew, until she was close to looking away from him, unable to hold his gaze as her insides churned.
Guilt.
The man before her was so different to the one she had tricked into kissing her, so much darker, and it was her fault. She was responsible for the changes that had taken place, turning a passionate and attentive vampire into a powerful, dark and deadly monster.
And now she had to ask the monster she had made for a sliver of compassion, for his help.
She didn’t deserve it, but she still dared to hope that he would give her the help she needed because he would fade too if they didn’t do something about their bond.
His eyes narrowed on her and glittered with ice as he lowered the goblet to rest on the arm of his throne.
“Come to finish the job, Isla?” His voice darkened as he eyed the handles of the two blades strapped to her lower back. “I can see no other reason you would crawl back to me.”
The phantom instincts she tried so hard to contain got the better of her and she took a hard step towards him. “You deserved what you got.”
“Did I?” He chuckled mirthlessly, a bitter hollow sound that she didn’t like, not when she had heard him truly laugh with joy. “I seem to always get what I deserve.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the distant look in his eyes and the feelings she could sense in him said it wasn’t directed at her. Something was troubling him. She glanced at his chest, at the fresh healing scars on it, and the ones on his handsome face too. He had been in a battle again. Had something happened there?
He idly swung the goblet back and forth, his pale eyes locked on it as the blood sloshed side to side.
“It is nice to still be able to hold things.” His gaze slid towards her and darkened, his voice little more than a snarl as he glared at her. “Would you not agree?”
She fought the urge but her eyes still dropped to her blue boots.
“We have a problem,” she whispered.
“No, I have a problem. More than one but let us focus on the one that stems from you.” Grave’s grim tone had her lifting her head again, pinning him with a look she knew conveyed every ounce of curiosity running through her blood because he scowled at her in the way he always did when daring her to say something when he wanted her silent. He stood sharply and the goblet in his hand came flying at her so fast she barely had time to dodge it. It exploded against the wall behind her and she flinched. Grave growled. “You get to go back to being the phantom you are. I fail to see how that is a problem for you, Isla. You can lure more men to their doom with that pretty smile and those wicked curves. You must have grown bored of being stuck in this world, bound to one male… unable to get your fill of—”
“We will not become phantoms,” Isla interjected, unable to bear any more of his barbs.
He fell silent, stood there before his throne staring at her again, staring right through her in that way he had perfected, reducing her back to the meek female she hated with all of her heart but couldn’t seem to stop becoming in his presence.
She looked down at her boots.
“If we do not become phantoms… what do we become?” His calm and collected tone sent a shiver through her, a warning that she was treading on thin ice. “What will this do to us?”
This male was at his most dangerous when he was like this, outwardly unaffected by anything, but inwardly churning with anger, with darkness that ruled him and began to show in his eyes as the scarlet gained ground against the pale blue.
Fire and ice.
Grave was made of them. A beautiful contradiction. Two elements that shouldn’t be able to live together but somehow he made it work, harnessed both to his advantage.
Savage bloodlust.
Ironclad calm.
Isla tipped her chin up and faced her fears head on, because all he could do to her was exactly what was going to happen to her anyway if he refused to help. “It will kill us.”
His handsome face turned sombre, lips flattening for a moment, before his expression darkened and eyes narrowed on her.
“And I am meant to believe this?”
Isla frowned back at him. “Believe what you want. It is the truth, Grave.”
“Do not speak my name,” he barked, so loud that it echoed around the room and she tensed, instinctively took a step back towards the door as his rage poured over her and shone in his scarlet eyes. “You do not have the right to speak it. Not anymore.”
Isla lowered her eyes and they caught on his chest, on a chain around it and a pendant she could see now that he had stood, causing it to fall from beneath the sides of his black shirt.
The delicate silver Celtic knot nestled in the valley between his pectorals.
The ancient symbol was one of protection, designed for a loved one.
A phantom symbol.
A gift that she had given him.
A spark of hope ignited in her chest.
Grave lifted his hand, slipped his fingers beneath the pendant and raised it, drawing her eyes up with it. They jumped back to his face when the pendant reached his chin and she searched his eyes, aching for a sign that whatever feelings he’d had for her still existed somewhere inside him and that he would help her.
“I wear this,” he said in a low voice, soft and almost tender as he gazed at the symbol of her affection. “I wear this to remind me of your lies… a reminder of what you did to me, in case I am ever foolish enough to forget it… to relinquish my mission to make you suffer.”
The spark of hope inside her stuttered and died.
His face blackened and he curled his fingers around the pendant as he scowled at her, the red bleeding from his eyes, leaving them icy cold blue again.
“If death is the price you must pay for what you have done, so be it, Isla.” He turned away from her, stepped off the platform and walked towards the open door in the back right corner of the room.
Isla took swift steps towards him, panic rising to swallow her as he stepped through the doorway.
Her entire body tensed when he slammed the dark wooden door in her face.
Her knees wobbled but she refused to collapse, forced herself to stand tall.
She had been a fool to hope Grave would help her. She never should have listened to her sister. Melia didn’t know him like she did. Now she had wasted another day in which she could have been hunting for a phantom mage.
But worse than that, she ached more than ever for Grave.
Isla pressed her right hand to her chest and closed her eyes, focused on the mark on her back between her shoulder blades, near her heart. It warmed, tingling on her skin, but then the connection that had been opening slammed shut in her face just as the door had.
She turned away from it, lifted her chin and let her hand fall away from her heart.
If Grave wouldn’t help her, then she would track down a phantom mage alone. She would do all in her power to stop what was happening to her, and to Grave.
She would save him somehow.
She owed him that much.
She couldn’t undo what she had done...
Isla stilled.
Or could she?
Haunted by the King of Death is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback.
Find all the links, a fantastic 5 chapter downloadable sample of the book, and also enter the giveaway and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Books in the Eternal Mates paranormal romance series:
Felicity Heaton
About Felicity Heaton
Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.
If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.
If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:


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Totally Addicted to Reading
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Moonlight Gleam Reviews
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T&L Book Reviews
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Book Reviews by Lynn
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KT Book Reviews
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Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Interview with Izzy Szyn!

Today with have Izzy Szyn in the hot spot!!!



Tell us in 3 sentences about your latest release.

My next release is going to be Sexual Healing. It’s in the upcoming Coming in Hot Medical Boxed set. It’s a former friends turned into lovers paranormal romance.
What is your favorite movie?
Hmm, I think Pitch Perfect right now.
Do you put parts of your own personality into your characters? 
Yeah, especially about the Pepsi drinking.
Do you write full time or do you have another job? 
I work full time, but have hopes to be a full time writer.
Do you require essentials items on your desk before you can write? A notebook? A cup of coffee? A furry companion? 
Just my laptop and quiet mostly. Have glass of Pepsi or iced tea by me and my dog laying by me. (I keep a glass of Pepsi by me at ALL times)
What is your favorite type of ice cream? 
It’s an ice cream that I can’t find anymore. It’s called Hot chocolate. It has marshmallows in it.
What genre do you like to read? 
Erotic, contemporary
If you had the chance to travel anywhere, where would you go? 
Australia
Tell us 5 interesting facts most readers wouldn’t know about you.
I used to be really shy. There are times that I still am, especially around people I don’t know very well. I remain quiet until I get a vibe of the group.
I’ve never had a driver’s license. I’ve always taken a bus, cab. But I’m hoping to change that. 56 isn’t too old to start is it? (Never to old to start)
I’m the oldest of six kids.
While I love visiting with people and traveling, I prefer to just stay home watch TV.
There are time when I feel like I suck at this writing thing.




New York Times Bestselling Author Izzy Szyn was born in May of 2014 when a friend dared her to write. Born and raised in Detroit, Mi. Izzy now lives in Oklahoma City with her furchild Misty, the friendliest Chihuahua/Terrier you will ever meet. Currently works in a call center, where she writes in between phone calls. 

Izzy loves to keep in touch with her readers.  (from Amazon)



Twitter: @izzyszyn


Amazon Author Page:  http://amzn.to/2akuhn1
I’m also on Instagram and Google Plus.

Buy Phantasy House on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2atFJ21


Buy Storm Delight on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2aqAeCz

The Right Kind of Trouble by Shiloh Walker

TheRightKindofTroubleRBBanner
RightKindofTrouble_cvr_300dpi (1) 
  GoodReads
Synopsis
Desire won’t take no for an answer in The Right Kind of Trouble by Shiloh Walker
In the small Southern town of McKay’s Treasure, everybody knows that the handsome local police chief, Gideon Marshall, has been carrying a torch for Moira McKay. It’s also no secret that Moira has been rejecting Gideon since…forever. But after an attack from a mysterious stranger bent on taking down the McKay family, Moira becomes filled with distrust toward most men. Now she wonders whether she’s been wrong about Gideon all along―and if it’s not too late to admit him back into her life…and into her bed...
Gideon has finally convinced his wasted heart to give up on Moira, who he’s loved since he was sixteen years old. Moira’s attack changes everything, however―and he vows to protect her. But how much is he willing to risk for a woman who’s always kept him at bay…until now? And is it too late for Moira to tell him that her love for him has always been locked deep in her heart―and he holds the key?
BuyNow
Teaser
RKOT graph 2 (1) RKOT graph 1 (1) 
  Excerpt
Gideon was staring at her, his chest rising and falling in a harsh rhythm. She thought maybe that if she reached out then, he might have turned and walked out. So she just pushed her jeans down her thighs, along with her panties. Naked now, she stood there waiting. She figured this was best. If he turned around, if he rejected her while she was naked, vulnerable, maybe it would even the scales. The old wooden boards of the floor creaked a little as he took one step, then another toward her. She licked her lips, hardly daring to breathe. “And what about tomorrow, Mac?” he asked. “You going to push me away . . . again?” She saw the answer he thought to be true in his eyes. Slowly, she shook her head. “Mac?” She held out her hand. For the longest time, he didn’t move. Then he did—toward her. In the time it took for her to take a deep breath—whether it was to blow out in relief or to brace herself, she didn’t know—Gideon had hauled her up against him and she found herself pressed against the wall. She went to kiss his neck, but he tangled a hand in her hair and yanked, forcing her gaze to meet his. So she stood there, trembling and barely able to think past the want while he tore at the zipper of his jeans. He let go of her hair but only so he could pick her up and brace her against the wall at her back. A moment later, he came inside her, hard and forceful, and the screams trapped inside her lungs seemed to explode throughout her entire body instead. She could feel that scream—it had a taste, a rhythm, a need all its own and it belonged solely to the man who held her pinned to the wall.
BooksInTheSeries
Headed for Trouble (1) (1)
The-Trouble-With-Temptation-940x1538 (1)
AboutTheAuthor
Shiloh Walker has been writing since she was a kid. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest. Her Secrets and Shadows series includes Burn for Me, Break for Me, and Long for Me. She has authored dozens of works of romantic suspense, contemporary and paranormal romance, and urban fantasy under the name J.C. Daniels. AuthorLinks
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Monday, August 1, 2016

July Reading Challenge Update

I started the year out great!  I read 12 books in April!  woohoo!  It looks like April was my best month so far this year.  I had 14 books in July!! Hot Damn!  I know my numbers went up, when I added in the books I was reading to my youngest.  That is something that I didn't do until this year.
How are you doing so far? We have officially hit the half way point.  Are you on track, behind or ahead? According to Goodreads, I am ahead.

Bloggers are welcome to do posts on their blogs with their lists, updates etc. Feel free to take the graphic at the top of this post and link back to this thread.

*What is your total goal for the year?

SUB-GENRES: 
» Paranormal Romance
» Mystery
» Young Adult 
» Military (Romance)
» Time-Travel (Romance)
» Historical Romance 
» Steampunk/Gothic
» Horror/Thriller
» Anthology

*Feel free to add your own categories as well if you wish to break down your TBR list


My goal for the year is 120 books.  I have read 75 so far!
I am half way there!!!!!! 
(I have added in the books I've read to my daughter as well)
» Paranormal Romance
» Young Adult 
» Time-Travel (Romance)
Highland Stone by Sloan McBride
» Historical Romance 
» FanFiction
» Horror/Thriller
» Anthology
Wicked Hot Reads (finished in Jan.)  This one took me over a year to read!
» Sports


**My full list of books for 2016 can be found here --> https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/7740214-eskimo-princess-jenkins?shelf=2016
*I read a lot of Historical Romance and Paranormal Romance.  However, I do try to branch out.
To join us on this reading challenge you can comment on this post or start Here at the beginning


Salby Evolution by Ian D Moore


Salby Evolution Blurb

One man holds the key to our future. One man holds the key to our extinction.

The merciless Salby viral strain, sweeping across the country, spawns a new breed of predator.

Simon Lloyd, borderline alcoholic, must vanquish the demons of his past and change his single-minded ways.

Filled with resentment, he enters a world far removed from his own. He must choose to take a stand or risk losing his estranged wife and children forever.

Against overwhelming odds, unethical science and the prospect of eternal exile, the decisions he makes will shape the future of mankind.





Buy LInks:

Kindle Edition (pre-order option)


Paperback Edition (Available now)



Excerpt:

2 – Journey

Salby, North Yorkshire, 19th March 2014, 1050 hours
It had been one hell of a night. I woke in a cold sweat at around 1100. The nightshift meant I could afford to sleep in most days—sometimes until noon; no one cared. I pushed myself up with a muted groan. As I shuffled along the tired, worn out bedroom carpet, my foot snagged on the pile of dirty clothes from earlier. I kicked at them in annoyance. The bedroom was quirky, according to the landlord, which was a fancy way of saying it was small.
My body screamed for more rest, but today I had to be up and at ‘em. I pulled at the vertical blind, just enough to allow the light from the overcast sky to illuminate the room briefly—it looked like it might rain later. My mouth tasted like a pack of twenty marinated in stale coffee. Flush and brush filtered to the fore.
In the bathroom, which was just as quirky, I stripped out of my shorts. Out of habit, I kicked them towards the already overflowing wash basket. My wife—dammit—ex-wife, usually took care of such things. It was surprising what I took for granted. My Goddamned shed for another thing!
The steam of the shower seduced me into a welcoming embrace; slender fingers of hot water massaged the throbbing aches in my shoulders and back. To be fair, at fifty-four, that was the only real niggle.
Clean and considerably more alert, I stepped from the cubicle, stood at the basin, and scrutinised in the mirror. Despite the condensation, I’d faired pretty well, in my biased opinion.
“Life in the old dog yet,” I muttered.
I still sported a relatively full head of hair; wavy and flecked with the tell-tale grey, it had a mind of its own. Although my eyesight wasn’t as sharp and glasses were needed more often, other than that I’d kept the later life spread at bay, well mostly.
I towelled dry, padded back to the bedroom to dress, eyed the least creased T-shirt, and, with a quick sniff to see if it was clean, or clean enough, pulled it on. I picked up the discarded shorts and added them to the top of the wash basket pile, followed by the wet towel. Jeans would suffice for today. At least they were clean.
“It’ll keep ‘til tomorrow—” I mused.
With a final cursory glance at the box bedroom, I took the stairs down as I made my way to the ‘practical’ kitchen. That smarmy son-of-a-bitch saw me coming. A caffeine kick wouldn’t be a bad idea. My mind began to recall the night as the kettle groaned into life, and that uneasy inner quiver made itself known once more. I needed coffee, and fast.
It took serious effort, but my thoughts snapped back to reality and I formulated a plan for the remainder of the day. It included reporting the incident that had occurred this morning to the police, but not before making it over to see my children.
In days long passed, years looking back, I’d once been an easy-going guy, a family man and loving husband who rarely stressed over much of anything in my life. That changed after the separation and my exile from the family home, still a great source of resentment within me. I loved my then baby son, and I thought I had the makings of a promising father. Things began to go wrong, especially when the second pregnancy was announced.
You did your best, you worked all the hours you could to bring in needed cash, you’re not invincible. My conscience argued.
It seemed as though the whole world closed in around me, I felt trapped, boxed-in, and this was a factor in the breakdown in the end. There were accusations of infidelity on my part, unproven and unjustified, maybe just the hurt feelings manifesting themselves into some sort of rational explanation; a final nail in the proverbial coffin.
She accused you, remember?
My beautiful wife, Charlotte, kept really busy with our newborn son, Tom and then two years later, our daughter, meant one-on-one time had been sporadic at best. Overtime beckoned for the new arrival back then, which saw us having even less time than usual, and added to our joint fatigue—for different reasons. The ever-opening fissure in our once tight bonding finally took its toll. We split just before Holly was born.
You couldn’t take any more verbal abuse, it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. You did the right thing!
Over the last five years or so, I’d thought long and hard about those events, about the sadness in my own heart, the guilt at the outcome, and about what to do for the future. Of course, I wanted to be a dad! I wanted all the things that go with being a parent, but the uncertainty of what I might find after so long had become a daunting prospect, only multiplied as the years rolled onwards. Anyway, enough self-pity.
I picked up my wallet from the side cabinet, grabbed the car and house keys and stuffed them into my jeans. In a lightweight jacket, I stepped out into the street and eyed my car. The fresh dent screamed: “Guilty.” I looked up and down the road—it was a fairly affluent area, most of the houses either privately owned or bought-to-let properties.
It still seemed quieter than usual, given the time—no mothers getting ready for the return of their kids from school on lunch hour, usually to be seen chatting over fences or hedges. None of the older generation making their way slowly to or from the local shops—but as I looked up the street, I could see something. I instinctively pulled my glasses from the inside pocket at my breast and slipped them on to sit neatly square on the bridge of my nose. “Everything in its place. A place for everything.” My father’s voice echoed in my mind.
 
Some sort of animal lay in the middle of the road, a pushchair abandoned close-by. Beside the carcass, or more specifically, bent over it, what appeared to be a child—who should probably have been in class. Maybe the animal had been hit by a car, though there didn’t seem to be any. I walked closer to the prone boy and almost stopped when the familiar, tingling sensation hit me, a pre-emptive alarm about what was to come. I dismissed the feelings and continued to walk towards the lad. He was no more than ten years old, crouched over the body of what now appeared to be a swaddled baby.
“Hey kid, you okay? Where’s your mum?” I called.
The child stopped moving and pushed back from the small, bundled form to rest, bottom on heels, before he turned his head towards me. Now I froze, unable to comprehend the vision before me as my mind screamed for me to turn and flee as fast as I could. It was irrational, given that it was only a child, but the image of the boiler-suited roadkill sprang to my periphery once more. The young boy stood, and slowly wiped away the sticky, sweet red blood from his chin, his hair caked in the thick coagulated life liquid of the baby he had clearly attacked. I stared wide-eyed at the boy, his white school shirt covered in red spatter marks. His hands dripped thick splodges as he began to walk towards me with an expression of pure rage. His small, contorted face appeared aged by the twisted furrows of his brow, and his teeth showed remnants of flesh beneath peeled back lips. The high-pitched scream of a youth possessed pierced the otherwise still air.
After a myriad of pointless, irrational, time-wasting thoughts flashed through my mind, I did the only sensible thing—turned on my heels and ran for the car. I dug deep in my pockets as I opened my stride to outrun the advancing child. I popped the door locks and slammed the door behind me, locking it from the inside as the blood-soaked boy approached. My fingers wouldn’t work properly. I fumbled with the keys trying to find the ignition but couldn’t tear my gaze from the boy. Finally, I managed to insert the key and turn it, and the engine kicked over.
A thump to the passenger side window saw me rush for the door lock on that side. Now I wish I’d fixed the central locking. I pressed the small lever down and scrambled back behind the wheel. A woman, covered in mud with her clothes ripped to shreds, thumped her head into the glass. Her torn sleeves revealed sizeable wounds to her arms as she locked her blackened stare upon me. She gnashed her teeth together as she withdrew for another strike.
Click, click, click-click.
The sound terrified me. Another headbutt to the passenger-side glass. It wouldn’t take too much more to break it.
Click-click, click.
Without thinking, I slammed the gear lever into first. The gearbox clunked and ground metal-on-metal as the drive tried to engage too early, but mercifully, it held long enough to send the car surging forwards. I yanked the steering wheel hard over to the right, my foot pressed insanely hard to the floor as if the pressure of the pedal on the chassis would make it go faster, sooner.
My actions catapulted the car onwards before a gear change even registered. The woman cartwheeled as her grip waned on the bodywork. The boy, less than twenty feet away, moved to his left in an effort to thwart my escape, clearly unable to distinguish the distinct disadvantage he had against the size of the Vauxhall.
The car juddered with the torque from the engine as it tried to feed power to the wheels on the slightly damp surface of the road. Sure enough, it gathered speed, and I veered to the right in a vain attempt to miss the boy. I hit the horn in one long, uninterrupted blast, a warning I had no intention of stopping. To my surprise, the youngster didn’t attempt to move out of the way. He stepped farther to his left and into my path, determined that I would not pass. The car struck him hard at pelvis height and threw his small body upwards over the bonnet. I instinctively covered my face as the windscreen cracked inwards when the child’s head bounced off it, leaving a spider-web impression, and a large clump of the boy’s hair and scalp embedded.
I stamped hard on the brakes. The body of the boy slid off the bonnet to disappear beneath the front of the car. It emerged with the momentum of the impact a split second later and I watched the once tense limbs crack and break, becoming floppy and loose as the joints shattered. The boy rolled repeatedly, finally coming to rest upon his back.
I stared blankly at the spindled windscreen, my brain not processing what had happened and refusing to allow me to move until it had. My eyes tried to focus through the spiked, angry-looking cracks in the glass to the body of the child in the road, as my hand unconsciously gripped the door handle. It’s a child! The noise from the pop of the door snapped me back to some sort of reality and I began to tremble inside. The realisation that I’d just intentionally run over a schoolboy hit me like a, well, like a car driven at speed.
I pushed the door open, and my gaze never faltered from the body, transfixed by the small form lying on the ground. I feared the possibility of having killed him, but more so, the fact that he could very well be alive.
I approached as quietly as I could, my footfalls deliberately subdued, cautious, so as not to wake the prone body—I needn’t have bothered. When I got to around six feet away, the boy sat bolt upright and turned to match my gaze. I screamed in terror and tried to turn and run at the same time, only managing a half-step before my legs tangled and gave way. My face met the macadam and left a calling card upon it. My arms pulled me forwards as I scrabbled to rise to my feet, for a split second fleeing on all fours and unaware of whether I was pursued or not.
I made it back to the car, scrambled inside, and floored the accelerator without even closing the door, which slammed shut in reaction to the forwards momentum. The rear-view confirmed it: my head and face were a mess. I tried to focus on something, anything to take away the only images I could see as I drove hard towards the far side of town.
The plan was simply going to see my children, maybe to stop at a shop to buy them something to soften the shock of my arrival after so long. It would only have been a token gesture really, but I thought of it none-the-less.
That was what I would do. I refused to falter from my resolve to rectify something I should have done years ago.



Author Bio:




Born in Sutton Coldfield, England, Ian served with the British Army for four years both here and abroad.

Ian works full time and also owns his own internet based business. Having been writing short stories and poetry for many years his first published novel, Salby Damned, was released in July 2014. Ian has since written the sequel Salby Evolution, due for release on 1st August 2016

He now lives and works in Goole, East Yorkshire. Ian recently headed the first group anthology created for charity entitled You’re Not Alone, featuring a host of talented authors from this group. You’ll find it on Amazon so please, help us to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Support by buying your copy.


Ian’s Blog Page – The Quill Pen Writes:


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@ianstories

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Email: iandmoore71@hotmail.com