The Book has been Published!

After long, endless nights, typing and editing until the wee hours of the morning, I can finally and proudly say that my very first novel, Risen from Ashes, has finally been published!

Finally...

Oh shush you. You are the reason for mt doubts - but no matter!

Anyway, here is a preview of Risen (one of my favorite parts)

Only when their steps faded did Raven’s men resume moving, like cats prowling in the dead of night.

They reached the first and only flight of steps leading up. Just as the Captain took the first stride, the cellar door opened and two guards walked down.

By mere luck, they were arguing, so they did not notice the intruders retreat out of sight.

Hiding behind the stacked boxes, Raven waited until the men had passed then signaled Noble and Oak, who were on the other side, to dispose of the guards post haste. The two nodded, then unsheathed their hunting knives and followed the guards surreptitiously.

Stalking their quarry like looming shadows, they turned the corner. Fate befell the sentries as a silent struggle broke out. A gruff, muffled voice cried out as metal cut against flesh, two figures fell limply to the floor out of sight; all was still again.

The two men reappeared with fresh red blood forever stained in the fibers of their gloves.

With silent speed, they made their way further up the steps and through the enclosed stronghold. Noiselessly and with grace, they eradicated any sentinel that would otherwise give them away, until they were yards from the last flight of steps that led to their asset’s lone tower.

Their pathway was blocked.

  

Just below were four guards standing watch. Unaware of the marauders in the hallway, the guards conversed with each other in their native tongue.

In these candlelit halls, they could not see the special operation agents; Raven gave the order to use their sniper rifles on the guards. He held his fist in the air, and his men, each of whom had their own target, waited.

Lightning stuck, the flash illuminated the dim halls for a breath’s moment, then a clap of thunder was followed by a rolling percussion; the execution order was given. With perfect precision from years of training, Ira’s team shot the four guards.

They were dead before they hit the floor.

Once clear, Raven and his men made their way up the last flight, he held everyone back, except Pie. The two positioned themselves on either side of the barricaded access and heard voices.

In a gruff, deep voice, a man spoke in Russian. Then, another, softer voice, filled with malice, responded with vindictiveness. There was a loud smack followed by a dry, harsh, taunting laugh.

The operatives heard the guard speak in English, “You will never be free.”

Raven counted from three.

Two.

One.

He and Pie simultaneously kicked open the door and breached the small candlelit room. It swung hard, hitting the wall behind it and extinguishing the candle’s flame.

Without the only light source, everyone was sheltered in darkness.

Before the shocked sentry had any time to react, the surprisingly agile prisoner grabbed the gun from the guard’s holster on his hip and shot him once in the foot; the sound of his desert eagle shook the stormy night and reverberated in the small tower room.

As the guard went down with a cry of shock and agony, the prisoner, who pulled the recently fired gun, shot him again, point blank.

He lay lifeless on the floor.

With surprising haste and dexterity, the captive slammed his fist against Pie’s face and he stumbled backwards coughing horribly through his fingers as blood escaped his nostrils.

Raven responded by aiming his gun at the man’s head.

He ordered, “Freeze!” before the captive could pull the seized gun on him.

In no imminent danger, for the moment, the others carefully stepped in, avoiding the dead man at their feet. Oak, who was last to enter, nearly tripped over Pie, who was on the ground; he helped his brother-in-arms up.

  

“You okay Alec?” Ira asked with his weapon still poised at the prisoner’s head. With a vigilant glare, he watched the captive’s dark figure like a hawk; dark as the room was.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Pie stifled through his gloved hand, “Damn, what a punch for skinny fingers.” he complimented as he felt the imprint of Aether’s contact on his cheek.

The surprisingly slender captive was veiled in shadow, no features were discernible but he cocked his head at the sound of Ira’s voice; his long mane of hair was, apparently, unkempt and scraggly from six years of little to no proper care.

“Can that be the elusive, sly, and flighty Ira ‘Raven’ Byrne?”

The mysterious voice that spoke for the first time did not sound gruff or low, but carried a soft-spoken and even a honeyed tone.

With every flowing utterance that escaped the lips of the detainee, Ira was stunned even more at the thought of this inconceivable prospect.

“No. No way. That’s impossible!” his throat went dry as parchment; his heart raced with fear as anxiety took over his previously calmed mind. His weapon slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a clang, eyes widened in horror and realization, “It cannot be… no! You are dead! Blackbird is dead!”

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