For the entire weekend of Halloween, Dusk of Death will be on sale for $0.99 on Amazon and then slowly creep back up to its original price throughout the week until November 5th. If you haven’t grabbed a copy yet, starting October 29th is a good time to do so. It will also be featured on a few sites, so if you get those crazy discounted books emails, you should see it in there. If not, take a look below and click on the cover:
Dusk of Death
Let the demon hunt begin.
When Armen Leza fell from Hell, demon hunting was the last thing on her mind, but when all Hell breaks loose, this Fallen is humankind’s only hope for salvation.
Armen feels alone in her flesh. She can hear things unheard by humans, scent out the gut-churning stench of evil, and see the shades that lurk in the shadows, but if there is one thing she knows for certain, it’s that demons lie.
When her past keeps rearing its ugly head, Armen and Phoenix P.D. Detective Terry Armstrong must face an apocalyptic event that will throw this world into the Darkness forever, leaving the fate of all humanity in the hands of the malevolent. Getting the truth out of demons can be murder, and Armen must do so before they succeed in extinguishing the Light.
If you’ve joined our newsletter, where we’ll also announce this spectacular sale, there will be a special preview of Book II’s cover this weekend. For now, go on and sample Book I.
Armen fought the urge to roll her eyes. “So, tell me what I’m about to see.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’d much rather see the look on your face when you see it without prior description.”
“Damn, it must be bad.” Especially if he wasn’t telling her; he really got a kick out of watching her face twist into different expressions. According to him, the more grotesque the description, the higher her brows went.
“No, unique would be a more appropriate word.” He stepped through the door.
That did not make her feel any better about the prospect.
She followed him but stopped short in the doorway, wrinkling her nose as she caught a familiar odor. The squalid scent slithered uninvited into her nostrils, and she had to force herself to move forward, despite the inclination to purge her last meal.
Terry paused, a quizzical expression morphing his features momentarily. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She took another sip of the singed coffee, mostly to have the brew’s aroma dominate the other odor.
“He’s in here.” Terry headed for a bulky, steel sliding door standing partially open on the west wall of the warehouse. He pulled on the large handle. The door creaked and screeched as he heaved it open.
The scent of copper filled her nose and coated her tongue in a thick slime, and she gagged on the rancid air before barely stopping herself from turning tail and running away.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered when the scene paraded before her. She winced; using the divine name could bring trouble, given the scent she’d picked up moments ago. The real world of cops and robbers and twisted murderers wasn’t ready for supernatural of the religious variety yet. Not that they ever would be, unless they were fans of a certain television show.
“Told you it was unique,” Terry said. “Some damn weird occult shit, though, eh?”
Right, that’s what we’ll call it. She shifted her eyes from the scene to Terry’s face. “That’s an understatement.”
The man hung on the freestanding wall, pinned by nails piercing his stretched skin. He still lived, if one could call it that. As Armen stepped toward the door’s track, the victim shrieked; startled, she spilled hot coffee over her hand, cringing as the liquid scalded her skin.
This skin . . . .
He stopped suddenly, and Armen studied the wall.
Ancient symbols, drawn in blood, surrounded his crucifixion pose. Razor wire encircled the entire scene so no one could go near. The man’s head dropped forward, but he wasn’t dead—yet.
“He keeps doing that,” Terry said. “But he’s not talking. We’ve tried. Makes noises, though. Maybe they cut out his tongue?”
“Perhaps.” It wouldn’t surprise her one bit; the symbols told her what kind of evil was at play. “Why did you call me? He’s not a corpse.”
He cast a glance down at her. “The occult shit. You have a knack for it. I figured you would know what all this meant.”
She turned her attention back to the hanging man and sighed. “The symbols, they’re demon script.”
“See what I mean?”
“Terry, this is a very bad situation.”
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As a special bonus, use the coupon FRIGHT16 here on our website to purchase any of our books for a 50% discount! Offer good through November 5th!