NEW PROJECT ANNOUNCEMENT: LEGENDS OF THE GEM

I’m beyond excited to announce a brand new project!36384932

Coming this fall, Legends of the Gem will advance the lore surrounding the Gem of Notna and serve as a companion to my fantasy epic Notna. Neither a sequel nor prequel, Legends of the Gem is a collection of short stories detailing the crystal’s past. Comic book fans from the 1990s should think of this as my version of Tales of the Witchblade.

Official Blurb:
Millions of years ago, on a planet long ago destroyed, the Gem of Notna was created.

Dr. Jack Corbett is the current bearer of the gem, but what of its past? How did the gem wind up on Earth? How has it helped shape the course of human history? Whether it’s ancient Greece, the Inquisition, the Civil War, or even the origin of one of the world’s most dangerous and notorious villains, the gem has seen—and done—plenty.

J.D. Cunegan (Bounty, Notna) introduces Legends of the Gem, a collection of unrelated, but interconnected, short stories detailing the Gem of Notna’s past. Its power, its effect on the course of human events, brought together in one volume.

Legends of the Gem will release on Wednesday, October 31!

Look out for the cover reveal soon!

 

Official SealBounty has been nominated for a TopShelf magazine Indie Book Award!

It’s a big deal for my debut novel to even be nominated — and there are plenty of perks therein — but if by some stroke of luck I actually win, then there’s no end to the awesomeness that would ensue. Mostly I’m just jacked that someone thought enough of my work to nominate it. That’s pretty damn cool.

Anyway, check it out!

About J.D. Cunegan
J.D. Cunegan is known for his unique writing style, a mixture of murder mystery and superhero epic that introduces the reader to his comic book-inspired storytelling and fast-paced prose. A 2006 graduate of Old Dominion University, Cunegan has an extensive background in journalism, a lengthy career in media relations, and a lifelong love for writing. Cunegan lives in Hampton, Virginia, and next to books, his big passion in life in auto racing. When not hunched in front of a keyboard or with his nose stuck in a book, Cunegan can probably be found at a race track or watching a race on TV.

What’s Coming Up Next

The end of 2017 has been quite the whirlwind, given the release of both Notna and Behind the Mask. But with the Jill Andersen series at a bit of a crossroads four books in, and my first standalone book now out, what does the future hold?

Funny you should ask…

Okay, you didn’t ask. I asked for you. Same thing.

(Speaking of Notna… check out this fantastic review and interview with me over at Readcommendations. And if you haven’t read S.E. Anderson’s Starstruck and Alienation yet… well, what better time than the holidays?)

As we speak, I’m in the middle of writing Betrayed, which will be book five in the Jill Andersen series. It was my NaNoWrioMo project this year, and again I hit the 50,000-word mark, but I’m roughly midway through the first draft. With any luck, Betrayed will be out come spring 2018.

Notna was always meant to be a standalone: no sequel, no series. I am, however, beginning to plan out an anthology of sorts, tentatively titled Legends of the Gem. Similar to how the 1990s comic book Tales of the Witchblade detailed that mystical gauntlet’s history, this series of short stories will do the same for the Gem of Notna. There’s no release date on this one just yet, but if I can have it out by the end of 2018…

Having established, in passing, that Notna and Bounty inhabit the same fictional universe, I’ve been debating with myself as to whether or not Jill’s world should eventually be one with monsters and demons — you know, on top of the conspiracies and the science fiction, etc. But that’s not what the series has been, and I’m not sure how that big a shift would go over.

Once I’m finished writing Betrayed, I’m gonna finally tackle The Keeper. A paranormal thriller that tackles issues of life, death, and rebirth, this is another project I’ve had bouncing around in my head for the better part of a decade. I finally want to knock out a first draft and see what I’ve got from there.

I also have a spy thriller in the planning stages called The Agency. It’s got very much an Alias feel to it (Jennifer Garner’s Alias, not the Marvel Comics series of the same name), and I’m anxious to see what I can do in the genre.

Neither The Keeper nor The Agency have a timetable for release yet.

As a result, I’m thinking of doing a spinoff series. One that builds on the more fantastical elements of the Jill Andersen books, but with more of an urban fantasy twist. I haven’t decided the overall plot or the characters or any of that yet, but it’s something I’m excited to tackle — mostly because it’s gonna be a challenge.

2018 promises to be a lot of fun, and I hope you’ll join me for the ride!

Notna is now available! Get your copy: Paperback | Amazon | Universal ebook Link (Nook, Kobo, Apple iBooks, Scribd, 24 Symbols, Indigo, Angus & Robinson)

Behind the Mask is now available! Get your copy: Kindle | Paperback | Universal ebook Link (Nook, Kobo, Apple iBooks, 24 Symbols, Indigo, Angus & Robinson)

About J.D. Cunegan

J.D. Cunegan is known for his unique writing style, a mixture of murder mystery and superhero epic that introduces the reader to his comic book-inspired storytelling and fast-paced prose. A 2006 graduate of Old Dominion University, Cunegan has an extensive background in journalism, a lengthy career in media relations, and a lifelong love for writing. Cunegan lives in Hampton, Virginia, and next to books, his big passion in life in auto racing. When not hunched in front of a keyboard or with his nose stuck in a book, Cunegan can probably be found at a race track or watching a race on TV.

EXCERPT: Behind the Mask

With my latest release, Behind the Mask, out in five days (!!!), here’s another excerpt to Behind the Maskwhet your appetite. Be warned, though: this chapter contains spoilers from Behind the Badge.

Enjoy!

There had been a time when Daniel Richards envisioned himself going to the Bishop L. Robinson Sr. Police Administrative Building — or The Bishop, as just about everyone in the department called it — every day. A career that once seemed to have him staring at a future in the department’s upper administration had stalled at the captaincy of the Seventh Precinct, and Richards found himself making weekly trips to this building that were for nothing more than tedious meetings. Arrest rates, case closure percentages, and other statistics that made his eyes glaze over… that was what The Bishop meant to Richards.

But even as he ascended the stone steps leading to the Bishop on this sunny morning, Richards knew this meeting was going to be different. There was nothing concrete to this feeling, but the phone call earlier that morning from Commissioner Saunders left an unsettled feeling in the pit of the captain’s stomach. It was, in all honesty, a call Richards had expected in the last couple weeks. A moment of reckoning was at hand, and this morning was apparently the time. Truth be told, he had expected it to come much sooner.

Working his way past the reception area, with the woman behind the desk ignoring him, Richards took the spiral staircase leading to the second floor. From there, Richards was greeted by a narrow hallway illuminated by nothing more than the morning sun pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Several fresh-faced interns wandered the halls, clutching overstuffed manila folders and hoping the bags under their eyes weren’t too obvious. Richards remembered being that young, and even in the uncertainty of the moment, he allowed himself a lopsided grin.

But that grin disappeared as soon as Richards came to wooden double doors to his right. They led to the only conference room on the floor, the room he had been summoned to just minutes after getting to his office and pouring his first coffee of the day. If this meeting went as expected, Richards would need something stronger than coffee later in the day.

Opening both doors to push his way into the conference room, Richards saw one table along the far wall with five impeccably dressed individuals sitting on the other side. Commissioner Saunders, decked out in a uniform that more closely resembled that of a military general, sat at the center of the table with the American and Maryland flags flanking him over each shoulder. Janet Baldwin, the deputy commissioner, sat to Saunders’ right, and to his left was Jeff Downs, the colonel whose help in the Devin Buckner case had eventually led to this mess. Men the captain didn’t recognize sat on the ends of the table, and their suits looked like they cost more than Richards made in a month.

Of the five, Baldwin was the only one who wasn’t a white male. It was a sight Richards had dealt with throughout his entire career.

Each of the five had a full glass of water in front of them. Saunders grabbed his glass and took a long first sip; when he set the glass back on the table, his fingerprints were visible against the morning sun peering through the windows. Richards swallowed, the tick of the second hand on the clock behind him the only sound in the room for what felt like minutes.

“Sit,” the commissioner ordered, pointing to a solitary wooden chair across from the table.

Reluctantly, Richards did just that. His hand went to the service piece on his hip; he took it with him every time he left the office. He felt more comfortable with the weight of it on his hip, and if this meeting went the way he feared it would, he would at least be saved another trip before turning in the weapon. But the captain kept his expression neutral, deciding to get a feel for how this was going to unfold. The tension was thick enough to slice through with a knife, and Richards could feel the collective stares burrowing into him.

For the most part, Richards had always been friendly with the people at the table over the years. Seldom did his disputes with downtown, annoying as they often were, ever erupt into anything major. He had a feeling that was about to change.

Saunders waited until Richards was seated before clearing his throat and adjusting the thin black microphone in front of him. “Where’s the vigilante?”

And there it was. This was the meeting Richards had expected for the past few weeks. Why did it take so long for the BPD to take him to task over this? Were they too busy trying to ensure there wasn’t any egg on their own faces before turning to the all-too-predictable witch hunt? The captain fought the urge to sigh and roll his eyes, instead crossing one leg over the other and running his fingers over his thick black mustache.

“I don’t know.”

It was actually the truth; despite Richards’ best efforts, he’d had no contact since Jill had turned in her badge. He had watched her televised confession with the same slack-jawed surprise that he figured many in the city had, and all of his attempts at communication in the days and weeks since had been for naught. Wherever Jill was, she was in no position to contact anyone who was in her corner — or maybe she had no way of knowing who was in her corner anymore, so she was better off cutting off contact with everyone.

Baldwin squinted. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s tough shit.” Richards was still upset at Baldwin for the way she had acted during the Buckner case, popping up at the Seventh Precinct and roundabout threatening one of his detectives for trying to do her job. Jill had been in line to take the Sergeant’s exam, but Baldwin had made it clear that Jill would lose that shot if she kept poking around the four cops who killed Devin Buckner. It reminded Richards of his earlier days on the force, and it was something he had let himself believe no longer happened. Clearly, he had been naive. “I haven’t talked to Jill since she turned in her badge.”

Downs, who at one point had been the most sympathetic of the five at the table, shook his head. “How long have you known Detective Andersen was actually Bounty?”

Richards opened his mouth, a lie on the tip of his tongue. It was instinct; what was the surest way to protect Jill? How could he make sure she was okay, even if he had no way of getting in touch with her? Lying was certainly an option, but so was telling the truth. And if Richards was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he cared enough to hide the truth. They were likely going to try forcing him out regardless of the answer, because it was now abundantly clear where the department’s priorities were.

“Do you honestly expect me to help you in this witch hunt?” the captain asked instead.

Downs shook his head. “Detective Andersen has been breaking the law.”

“And so did the four cops who killed that boy!” Richards sat up straighter and grabbed the arms of the chair. “Yet I remember some in this room standing in my detectives’ way when they were trying to do their jobs!”

The bespectacled man on the far right cleared his throat. “No one was telling them how to do their jo –”

“Bullshit!” Richards sprung from his chair and jabbed his finger at Baldwin. “She came to my precinct and explicitly told my detective that her shot at a promotion was on the line if she didn’t stop pursuing our suspects!”

“Your suspects were Baltimore police officers,” Baldwin argued. “They were entitled to decency and respect.”

“Decency and respect,” Richards repeated with a shake of his head. “For the four fuckers who tortured a kid, but not for the woman who devoted almost four years to this force, and then tried to go beyond even that to make this city better.”

“Captain,” the commissioner interjected, “sit down.”

Richards did not sit; instead, he began pacing back and forth in front of the table, glaring at each of the five administrators who were clearly pursuing an agenda. He had half a mind to toss his gun and badge at them and be done with it, but that was probably what they wanted. And Daniel Richards was damned if he would give these people the satisfaction of running him out.

“The truth is,” Saunders continued, “we’ve been concerned about your precinct for a while now, Captain.”

Richards frowned, his hands balling into fists. “My precinct has the highest case closure rate in the city.”

“Your precinct also has a record of suspects being attacked in interrogation,” Downs rattled off, reading from an open manila folder in front of him. “Suspects in Holding either escaping or dying, detectives running off without alerting their partners, your own absence several months back when one of your detectives was injured on duty… what, exactly, is going on at the Seventh, Daniel?”

Richards clenched his jaw. “We’re doing our jobs.”

“And aiding and abetting a vigilante,” Saunders added.

“You wanna fire me? Fire me.” Richards approached the table, flattening his palms on the surface and getting in the commissioner’s face. Saunders had a close-cropped cut, his features chiseled and screaming every bit the military career he had before transitioning to law enforcement. “But you will not run me out, you will not touch my people, and you damn sure will not be bringing Jill in while I’m around.”

“No one here’s looking for a firing,” Saunders said, his right eye twitching. “We just want to know where the vigilante is.”

“Well, you won’t be getting that from me.” Richards stood upright again. “And no one from my unit will be helping, either. Now, if we’re done here, I’ve got a precinct to run.”

Turning on the balls of his feet, the captain stormed out of the conference room before anyone at the table could respond. He let the heavy doors slam shut behind him, and as he marched toward the staircase, Richards pulled a gray flip phone from his back pocket. It hadn’t worked yet in the weeks following Jill’s resignation, but after this meeting, he had to at least send her a warning. Even if she didn’t get it, or ignored it, Richards couldn’t let this slide without at least sending up the flare.

Bishop asking about you – be careful

Pocketing the phone and descending the staircase, Richards sucked in a deep breath. He had survived the first blow, but something told him the fight was just starting.

Behind the Mask will be available in paperback and several ebook formats on Dec. 4, 2017. Kindle pre-orders are currently live, as are pre-orders at these digital retailers.

EXCERPT: Behind the Mask

Here’s another excerpt from Behind the Mask, the upcoming fourth book in the Jill Behind the MaskAndersen series! Please note that this is not the final version of this scene; any mistakes are my own. Also, I tried not to post something too spoiler-y, but there might be spoilers with regards to the first three books in the series.

Enjoy!

As soon as Jill opened her eyes, her head began to throb. Turning her head ever so slightly, she cringed at the stabbing pain at the base of her skull. Blinking the stars out of her eyes, Jill slowly pushed herself onto her elbow and frowned at her surroundings. She was in an abandoned warehouse, but it wasn’t the one she had been hiding out in; that one boasted the faint aroma of rat feces, while this one had a decidedly fishier smell. Her guess? She was somewhere close to the Inner Harbor, but tucked away in an alley deep enough that no one would come poking around in search of her.

Of greater concern was the man crouched down next to her. His mask was in a heap on the floor, and Jill found herself face-to-face with a man who, facial scar aside, looked as far from intimidating as anyone could. His skin was smooth, which told her this man was likely barely out of his teens. His eyes, a striking blue that pierced through the relative darkness, held a mirth that sent a chill down Jill’s spine.

But that scar… the stories it could tell…

“Oh, good.” The man’s voice was chipper, the slight hint of a Russian accent buried within it. “I was hoping you would wake up soon.”

Jill almost asked where she was, before clamping her mouth shut at the realization of how stupid that question would sound. Though this was her first time seeing the man’s face, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was the other vigilante. His black bodysuit alone, outfitted with the finest Kevlar she could never afford, gave away that much.

“Why am I not dead yet?” she asked, cringing when her voice threatened to give out.

“Why would I want you dead?”

This man had to be joking… and yet, the quirked brow and the slight frown told Jill otherwise. She forced herself into a sitting position, rubbing a hand along the back of her neck. “Well, you work for David Gregor. It’s a pretty easy assumption to make.”

“The old man is a means to an end,” the man answered with a one-shoulder shrug. “I am Piotr.”

Was the pain in her head causing Jill to imagine things? Had the man who had hit her upside the head with a pipe and knocked her unconscious just introduced himself to her? She frowned in a combination of pain and confusion, resisting the urge to shake her head until the throbbing subsided. She caught sight of her katana out of the corner of her eye; the weapon was propped up against the far wall, still buried in its leather sheath.

It was hopelessly out of her reach. It was also not tucked into its usual hiding place like it was supposed to be.

“What do you want?” It was pretty much the only thing she could think of to say. Nothing else seemed appropriate.

“You and I have a lot in common,” Piotr answered.

That much was true, at least on the surface. He was a black-clad vigilante, much like Jill… but she drew the line at killing people, while this man apparently had no such qualms. He had dispatched of four disgraced police officers in a public display that was as brazen as it was sudden, and she had seen him slit another man’s throat two nights ago with such ease that she wondered how many times he had done that before. Honestly, she was surprised he hadn’t yet pulled that trick on her… even as her hand went up to her neck.

“If you count fashion choices, sure,” she said.

Piotr’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “What do you know of Project Fusion?”

Jill’s heart skipped a beat, and she had to will herself into keeping a neutral expression. She felt the pit open up in the bottom of her stomach, and her hands tightened into fists for no other reason than to hide how much her hands had started to shake. She opened her mouth, but whatever words she was planning to say got stuck in the back of her throat. Instead, she shook her head and stared at her captor.

It made sense, if only in hindsight. She had seen the video footage of the van careening into the bay, the way Piotr had leaped from the speeding vehicle and rolled his way back to his feet without so much as a scratch. The way he had moved the first time they fought, his allegiance to Gregor and his fascination with her. Jill could try to deny this all she wanted, but the fact was that Project Fusion was the only connection that made sense.

Ramon’s theory held water after all.

But still…

“I know it tanked years ago,” she said with far less conviction than she had hoped.

“No.” The ghost of a smile played on Piotr’s lips. “It did not.”

Behind the Mask is currently set for a Dec. 4 release in paperback and ebook. Catch up by picking up your copy of Bounty today — or you can pick up The Bounty Trilogy — exclusively on Kindle — to read all three books in one go.

BLOG TOUR: Alienation by S.E. Anderson

J.D. Cunegan

Welcome to the Alienation BLOG HOP TOUR.

Please take your seat and strap yourself in, as we take you on an intergalactic tour. You will be amazed, entertained, and educated. Manoeuvre through the cosmos and be astounded at all you see. Hunt down the hidden words that will get you to your final destination where a one-of- a -kind award awaits one lucky traveller.

You are here to celebrate the release of Alienation, book two of the humorous Sci-Fi series, Starstruck.

20623566_10213617375530787_675999032_oSally Webber’s dream is coming true: Zander is back and taking her out for a night on the town–on a planet hundreds of light years away from Earth.

But when an accident separates her from her alien tour guide, she’s thrown into the seedy underbelly of an insane city where nothing is as it seems. Suddenly lost and desperate to get back home, Sally is willing to do anything to get out, even if it means accepting spontaneous marriage proposals, crashing some fancy parties, or joining what appears to be the space mob.

All she wanted was some decent interstellar pizza, but now it might be the end of the world as evil nanobots and an out of control AI try to take the universe by force, and the only one who can stop them is missing in action. Sally has no choice but to try to stop them herself–if she can stay alive that long.

Pre-order your copy now!

Alienation is the fantastic sequel to the hit sci-fi comedy, Starstruck by S.E.Anderson.

Ad

An Interview with Zander

You’re immediately impressed by the striking figure who walks in. Zander strikes through the room like he owns it. You feel slightly unsettled, actually: you can somehow feel him taking in the room, counting people and exits. There’s no doubt in your mind that he could easily subdue you if things get out of hand. But when he reaches your table, he brushes a hand though his gravity defying hair, and smiles. Instantly, you’re at ease.22218159_10214098773365432_2004129849_o

Blog: Hi, you must be Zander!

Zander: That’s me! You want to interview me? What’s this all about?

Blog: This new book you’re in. Alienation? It comes out soon, and I want to give my readers the inside scoop. If that’s alright with you, I have a few questions.

Zander: Fire away!

Blog: I love your enthusiasm. Right. So tell us a little about yourself. You’re not from Earth, are you?

Zander: Nope, I’m from… somewhere else. It’s really complicated. I could through a few syllables together and call it a planet, and you’d believe me. I won’t stoop that low. I’m from, in short, space.

Blog: O…kay. So you’re an alien. You look rather human, though.

Zander: A lot of ‘aliens’ in this corner of the Milky Way do, you might be surprised to learn. We all share some common ancestors, got separated over a few million years. We’re cousins to the stars.

Blog: Does that mean you have special powers?

Zander: My sister, Blayde, makes me call them abilities, for some reason, But yeah, I have spooky powers! I can jump – basically, teleport – from any one place to the other in the universe. It’s a little limited: while I can jump really well to a place I can see right before me, when it comes to the intergalactic vastness of space, the locations I reappear seem to be completely random.

Blog: Fascinating. So when you take Sally somewhere out in the universe, you have no idea where you’re taking her?

Zander: Nope! Isn’t that fun? The universe is a surprise planet grab bag.

Blog: But what if it’s not safe?

Zander: We’ll be fiiiine. I’ve been alive for thousands of years, I know how to keep my friends safe. I’m immortal! It’s pretty awesome.

Blog: If that were the case, we wouldn’t have much of a book…

Zander: Aww, come on! Fine, sometimes I mess up. I’ll admit it! When it comes to Sally, I completely lose my bearings.

Blog: And why’s that?

Zander: I’m not… not quite sure. I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Follow this exciting blog tour starting at your first stop UrbanHype101 and if you get lost in cyber space, come back to UrbanHype101 for the tour map.

There’s something new to read, see, or hear on each of these stops.

Don’t forget to hunt for that special word and if you find ALL of them, send them to scavengerhunt@bolidepublishing.com and you could win a signed copy of Alienation and a gift pack of unique swag. This contest is open internationally.

15th October Readcommendations

Downdwellers

EXCERPT: Notna (LAST ONE)

With two days until Notna‘s official release, one last excerpt to whet everyone’s appetite.

Enjoy!JD_Cunegan-72dpi-1500x2000 (6)

Easterwood Airport, College Station, Texas

No matter how many times Cassandra tried to school her features into a neutral expression on the drive to this tiny airstrip, the knowing grin on her face just wouldn’t go away. Even though she was now in her thirties, with a cavalcade of degrees on her wall, Cassandra could never quite embrace the “stuffy academic” role. Her lectures often turned into excited ramblings over subject matter that she had long ago devoured and still revered. She treated students not as subordinates, but as equals who shared in her life’s passion. She grinned at the mere thought of unfolding the mysteries of the past. Her heart raced whenever she was on the cusp of a new discovery, and the prospect of a treasure hunt, unlikely as it was, still made her adrenaline pump.

“You’re thinking about that five million, aren’t you?” she teased.

Jack, who was the more skeptical and guarded of the two, smirked. “Aren’t you?”

She squeezed his hand near the gear shift of their black SUV. A private jet sat on the runway in front of them. A pair of packed duffel bags sat in the rear of the vehicle, stuffed haphazardly with just enough clothes and supplies for a couple of days. Jack had insisted the bags were not an indication that his mind was made up…and neither was the fact that they were at this airfield, staring at a plane promising to take them to Brazil two days after a Smithsonian representative had dangled five million bucks in their faces for an artifact.

The more Jack argued the point, the less Cassandra believed him. He would likely never admit it, but deep down, Jack was just as excited at the prospect of this find as she was. He was simply doing a far better job of managing expectations. After all, they still had no tangible proof the Gem of Notna existed. All they had was Dr. Roberts’ word, and the assertion that the Narazniyan Scrolls, once translated, would shed light on the matter.

Cassandra’s eyes never wavered from the plane. It resembled one of those jets billionaires flew around in: the kind that had bottle service and lavatories lined in gold. Awful fancy for the government dime.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No, it’s…” Jack paused, sucking in a deep breath. “It’s a persuasive number.” He lifted his hand, kissing the back of Cassandra’s. “There’s that dig in the Canadian wilderness I’ve wanted to go on for years. We do this, and that gem’s real…”

The smile on Cassandra’s face grew. “We’ve paid for that dig and then some.”

“But what if we get down there and come up empty?” Jack asked. He was always asking the questions no one else would; it was why Cassandra often argued their field of study was, in fact, a science. Even if other scientists disagreed. “All that wasted time and effort, all because we decided to chase a number. To say nothing of all the class time our students will be missing.”

“Oh, I dunno.” The grin on Cassandra’s face turned cheeky. “Way I figure, this thing’s real, and if and when we find it, we can fund all the digs we want for the foreseeable future. If it’s not? Hey, free trip to Brazil. And I think our students will be okay.”

“Right, ’cause getting stuck in the Amazon is my idea of romance.”

Cassandra pulled her smile into a mock frown. “Hey, wasn’t Brazil where Sam came from?”

Jack bristled at the mention of his ex-boyfriend. The relationship had occurred while Jack was pursuing his Master’s degree at UCLA, and had ended when Sam received a job offer in Australia. The break-up hadn’t been pretty, but time had given Jack the perspective he needed…and was the only reason he let Cassandra tease him over it from time to time.

“I doubt we’ll bump into him where we’re going.”

Cassandra quirked a brow. “So, we’re going?”

Jack glanced out the windshield again, just in time to watch the door to the jet open and the steps lower to the runway. Tricia emerged from the plane and stared at the SUV, a confident smile creeping onto her face before she lifted her wrist and tapped her watch twice.

“I guess we are.”

Cassandra leaned over to kiss Jack’s cheek. “Hey, we got this. Nothing to lose.”

‡‡‡

As the private jet soared over Central America, Jack couldn’t help but glance out the window. He had seen this view countless times throughout his career, but in the luxury of private air travel, he didn’t have to put up with cramped seats with no leg room and all the other inconveniences a commercial flight would keep one from enjoying the sights. For as quickly as this jet was cutting through the air, the ride was surprisingly smooth. The bottles of beer available free of charge were a nice touch. Jack had never been one to turn down a free drink.

Even as he polished off the rest of his bottle, wiping a drop of condensation off with his thumb, Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the price tag. The government was footing the bill for this plane, and the Smithsonian was offering a pretty penny for this trinket. Assuming it existed. Jack wasn’t so sure, but his curiosity was at the point where he had to find out one way or the other.

Jack squinted into the sunset as the plane hovered over Costa Rica. The Hitoy Cerere biological reserve, if he remembered correctly. Jack chuckled to himself, setting the empty bottle at his feet. He had lost count of how many times on commercial flights he had left fellow passengers in awe after pointing out something on the ground and spouting off all sorts of facts about it.

Cassandra, leaning over in the seat next to Jack, broke his train of thought, and they shared a smile when she pulled the tray table down in front of herself and laid the Narazniyan Scrolls flat across the surface. She had been working on them since before the plane took off, and Jack knew better than to disturb her once she got into the zone.

She was as stunning in her sky blue t-shirt and khaki shorts as she was when she dressed for her graduate lectures, and Jack thanked his lucky stars every day that she had fallen for him. Her silver locket, a gift from her mother after she graduated from high school, always hung around her neck.

“So check this out,” she offered, brushing a bead of sweat from her temple; such intense concentration always made her sweat. “Remember back in the office, it looked like there was one passage on this scroll that was a different color than the rest?”

Jack nodded with pursed lips. “I thought I saw that.”

“Right? I thought it was a trick of the light.” Cassandra turned on one of the overhead lights. “But here, you can really see it.”

Jack furrowed his brow as he studied the scrolls as closely as possible without fully leaning into Cassandra’s seat. As many times as he had seen these words, they still held no meaning to them. At first glance, the text appeared to have been scrawled in Hebrew, but a professor at the department who specialized in Hebrew argued otherwise, claiming several different linguistic inaccuracies. Unfortunately, that professor couldn’t tell them what language the scrolls were actually written in.

“The next-to-last paragraph,” Jack said.

“But the rest of it is written in black, like you would expect,” Cassandra pointed out. “I’m not sure what that implies. I mean…I’ve heard of prophecies written in blood before, but that’s fiction. Right?”

“Only way to know for sure would be to physically test the scroll.”

“Which would compromise it,” Cassandra argued.

Truth be told, they should have done this when they first came into possession of the scroll weeks ago. But the hustle and bustle of academia pushed that to the back burner. In fact, Jack had been so busy with his lectures that he had given the scroll little thought until Tricia interrupted his class two days ago. It had always been in the back of his mind, to be sure, but it was always a project for later.

Tricia emerged from the cockpit, standing and watching the two professors talking over the scroll. She cocked her head to the side and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. This was the second time she had seen the scroll with her own two eyes, and if everything she had heard about it was true, then this trip was going to be quite the treat.

After all, if she returned to the states with one of the world’s most famous legends in her possession, she could write her own future. Nothing would be off-limits to her anymore, regardless of gender. The Louvre was an option; she could walk into any museum in the world and they would practically bow down to her.

Hell, if Tricia wanted to, she could open and operate her own museum. As prestigious as the Smithsonian was, as great as that name looked on her résumé, Tricia loved the idea of calling the shots herself.

“Any luck?” she asked.

“I wish.” Jack shook his head as Cassandra rooted around in the laptop bag she had in the overhead bin. The scanned version of the scroll had been loaded onto a jump drive—several, in fact—before they packed for the trip. Within minutes, Cassandra had the machine open on her tray table and stuck the drive into the appropriate port.

“With any luck,” she offered, “this program is worth the money it cost.”

“Mind if I see the scroll?” Tricia asked.

Cassandra shot Jack a questioning look, knowing that he’d had a hard time letting the scroll out of his sight since it had come into his possession. They still had no idea what it said, and Jack didn’t believe in the Gem of Notna, but as an ancient scroll, he treated it with the reverence and care he would for any artifact. The lack of time spent on the project in no way shaped Jack’s reverence for a relic of history.

“Look,” Tricia said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, “we’re pressed for time here. If that scroll can point us in the right direction, I need to know. We need to know.”

“The Smithsonian?” Jack asked. “Funny how we’ve never heard anything from any of them. Just you. You sure you’re not just in this for yourself?”

“Believe me when I tell you that you’d much rather be dealing with me. My boss, Mr. Fletcher, can be a real pain in the ass. But he’s tasked me with securing this artifact, so rest assured that if I’m on your ass, it’s cause he’s on mine.”

Jack quirked a brow. “And if we come up empty?”

Tricia shuddered and closed her eyes. Honestly, that was a possibility she wasn’t willing to consider…mostly because there was no telling what Mr. Fletcher would do if she came back empty-handed. He wasn’t known for being particularly understanding.

“You better hope we don’t,” she offered.

With a quick glance at the parchment, Jack opened his mouth to protest…before shutting it and handing the scroll over. Tricia took it in both hands, careful to keep the material completely flat as her eyes danced over the text. She wasn’t dressed as impeccably as she had been in Jack’s office two days prior, but even in cargo pants and a tank top, she exuded a certain elegance.

Jack raised a brow. “Is this the part where you tell us what that thing says?”

Tricia shook her head. “I wish.” She handed the scroll back. “Of all the languages I mastered in school, this was not one of them.”

“Um…guys?”

Both Jack and Tricia glanced over at Cassandra, who was looking at the pair with a furrowed brow. Her face was bathed in the computer’s backlight, and Jack couldn’t miss the way her throat bobbed up and down when she swallowed.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

“I know what the scroll says.” Cassandra stared at Jack and Tricia, flipping the monitor around so they could see the text shifting right before their eyes. What had been little more than a series of indecipherable marks now appeared in perfect English. Cassandra’s pulse quickened, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“It just…doesn’t make any sense.”

Jack leaned in to study the mass of text before him, trying to ignore Tricia hovering over his shoulder. They both mouthed the words as they read them, and the crease in his brow deepened more with each word he took in.

The Chosen One will make himself known when the time is right, when the skies turn red and the Mighty River flows with blood. The gem will select the Chosen One as its new host, bestowing its power upon a noble soul with the knowledge and the clarity with which to use it. The Chosen One will not seek this power; rather, it will be thrust upon him as foreseen by the Gods themselves. Only the Chosen One can prevent the End of Days. The snakes will hiss at the sky, the waters will be cleansed anew, and balance shall be restored. The Primordial will beseech the Chosen One, and He will be like the Gods.

“Why is the Chosen One always a he?” Cassandra asked.

“Because it’s men who write these things,” Jack said as he sank back in his seat with a shake of his head. “What do we know about the Narazniyans?”

“Hardly anything,” Tricia answered, leaning back against the door leading into the cockpit. “No one in my circle has heard of them, and every Internet search brings up nothing more than wild theory and some bullshit about aliens.”

“Maybe they’re a little-known ancient society native to South America,” Cassandra offered. “That would explain why these scrolls, and that temple, were in the Amazon.”

At a loss, Jack returned his gaze to the window. Without any more answers, Tricia and Cassandra followed suit. They really should have worked harder to get a translation back on campus. If nothing else, it would have given them more time to suss out what the passage actually meant. There were colleagues at Jack’s disposal on campus; now, thousands of feet in the air and heading to the Amazon, he and Cassandra were largely on their own.

Ancient societies were often a cause for celebration in their line of work, but Jack was feeling anything but jubilant at the moment. He hated not having concrete answers; even the translation of the scroll had left him more confused than before. Tricia eventually returned to her perch inside the cockpit, while Cassandra continued her work on the translation program. The plane turned to the east, coasting over the waters just north of South America.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, the suddenly choppy water became harder to see. Jack let his eyes wander toward the sky, his heart skipping when he was met with a blanket of red.

It looked like a typical sunset, but in light of the translation…

Preorder Notna today! Notna releases in paperback, Kindle, Nook, Kobo, iBooks, and Google Play on Oct. 10.

NEWS: NOTNA Available for Pre-order!

JD_Cunegan-72dpi-1500x2000 (6)Notna, my debut foray into urban fantasy and the paranormal, is now available for pre-order across several prominent ebook formats. The book, my fourth full-length novel, will be out in ebook and paperback on Tuesday, Oct. 10.

Pre-order Notna today on Amazon, Apple iBooks, Kobo, Nook and Google Play.

About Notna
History’s most peaceful race created one of its deadliest weapons.

Forged in the Living Flame by a long-extinct alien race, The Gem of Notna is the stuff of legends, on par with Pandora’s Box or the Holy Grail. But once archaeologist Dr. Jack Corbett stumbled upon the crystal deep in the Amazon, he triggered a whirlwind of events and found himself neck-deep in a centuries-old holy war. The Divine and the Underworld have been locked in a virtual stalemate for the past three hundred years, and the Gem of Notna could be the key to breaking it.

With the gem in his possession, Jack discovers a world of monsters and gods, as well as an entirely different plane of existence that watches over our own. Old grudges resurface, fallen warriors are reborn in the most violent of ways, but at the end of the day, the fate of the world may well rest in Jack’s hands.

J.D. Cunegan (BountyBlood Ties) introduces Notna, a supernatural fantasy epic that will leave readers flipping through the pages with every twist and turn. Grand in scale and steeped in the very comic book lore that lured Cunegan to writing in the first place, Notna proves that anyone can save the world – or die trying.

About J.D. Cunegan
J.D. Cunegan is known for his unique writing style, a mixture of murder mystery and superhero epic that introduces the reader to his comic book-inspired storytelling and fast-paced prose. A 2006 graduate of Old Dominion University, Cunegan has an extensive background in journalism, a lengthy career in media relations, and a lifelong love for writing. Cunegan lives in Hampton, Virginia, and next to books, his big passion in life in auto racing. When not hunched in front of a keyboard or with his nose stuck in a book, Cunegan can probably be found at a race track or watching a race on TV.
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EXCERPT: Notna

In part to celebrate World Book Day, I present another excerpt from Notna, my upcoming urban fantasy/paranormal book that will be out in paperback and ebook on Oct. 10. Bear in mind, this is a work-in-progress and that any mistakes are my own.

JD_Cunegan-72dpi-1500x2000 (6)

 

Prague, Czech Republic

St. Vitus Cathedral was visible from the Vitava River, towering over much of Prague. With the sun as bright as it was on this bright April morning, the cathedral shined, especially the sea green edifice atop the main tower. The temple of Gothic architecture was housed within Prague Castle, and it was the final resting place of many a Bohemian king.

St. Vitus was a magnet for tourists, dozens of whom were milling about the grounds. Cameras hung from their necks, and many of the visitors stared up in awe at the rose window on the front of the cathedral. Tourists not wearing cameras had instead pulled out smartphones, squinting into the sun as they tried to frame just the right shot on their screens.

One tourist who held neither camera nor phone, a brunette woman, instead sat cross-legged at the base of a fountain with a large sketch pad splayed over her lap. She stared intently at the cathedral, chewing on her lower lip as the pencil tucked in her left hand scratched back and forth over the paper. Pamela Daly occasionally glanced down at her work, making sure she was capturing the church’s architectural elements.

This may have been Pamela’s Spring Break, but she still had to nail her final on Gothic architecture at the end of the semester. These sketches were going to go a long way toward fleshing out that section of her research paper. As much as Pamela detested art history, the fact was she wouldn’t graduate from Syracuse if she didn’t pass classes such as this.

A group of children ran through the square, chasing after a dirty, ratty soccer ball. Their laughs and shouts of glee carried through the square, and Pamela couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face even though she couldn’t understand their native tongue.

A flash of light erupted from the sky, and was gone was quickly as it had appeared. Everyone briefly glanced at the sky, including Pamela. The pencil dangled between her fingers as she used her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun. A flock of birds flew from one grove of trees to the next, crossing St. Vitus on the way.

Everything appeared to return to normal.

With a shrug, Pamela returned to her sketch. The soccer ball skipped along the cobblestone ground. Tourists snapped pictures of the cathedral and took selfies with their smartphones. The sound of Pamela’s pencil scratching against the rough paper was the only sound that filled her ears, even as something in the back of her mind told her to glance at the sky again.

Mouth agape, Pamela stood. Her pencil and sketchpad both fell to the ground. Her eyes widened, and Pamela brought up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh, my God!”

The horror in Pamela’s voice caught everyone else’s attention, and as they looked to the sky, they saw a human figure plummeting toward the Earth. Women gasped, grabbing children as the men stared in silent horror. The children watched in wonder, a few of them smiling and pointing.

“Angel!” One of the children jumped up and down like a kid discovering presents under the tree on Christmas morning. “It’s an angel!”

The figure crashed through the top of the cathedral, and the gasps from the onlookers turned into shrieks and cries of horror. The body burst through the main tower, leaving a gaping hole and showering pieces of stone and other debris onto the ground. Tourists scattered to avoid the debris, some of them stopping just long enough to scoop up the children who were still staring.

As everyone else distanced themselves from the cathedral, Pamela ran toward it. Her body began moving before she could stop herself, and she abandoned the sketchpad lying open on the ground. She could hear the body crashing through the buttresses and the ceiling of the main worship hall as she shoved her way into the church. With a grunt, she pushed the heavy double doors open with her shoulder.

Pamela paused for a few seconds to catch her breath and allow the throbbing in her shoulder to subside. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim of the cathedral, in stark contrast to the bright sunlight outside. Starting to walk again, Pamela silently thanked herself for leaving the heels in her suitcase.

Pamela weaved her way into the worship hall, jumping with a start when she heard a groan from a pile of rubble near the altar. The stained-glass windows called out to her from the corner of her eye, and in more normal circumstances, she would’ve allowed her curiosity to get the best of her. Even the Mucha window, in all its colorful glory, was begging for her attention.

Pamela passed by John of Nepomuk’s tomb, giving it a passing glance before pained groans again called her attention to the altar. She dropped to her knees, tossing aside a few bits of rubble and waving the dust out of her face, only to gasp when she saw a man lying face-down on the floor. His silver breastplate shone in the sunlight beaming through the hole in the roof. His brown leggings were tattered and covered in burn marks. His dark hair was matted to his face and tied back into a ponytail.

Looking up at the ceiling, Pamela frowned in confusion. Not only was it unclear from where the man had fallen, but he had clearly plummeted a great distance. No one should have been able to survive a fall that far, especially after crashing through stone and wood along the way. In some ways, the man appeared to be in better shape than the cathedral.

But how was that possible?

The man groaned again, rolling onto his back with a grimace. More debris fell to the floor around him, the resulting dust causing Pamela to break into a small coughing fit. By the time it passed, she locked eyes with him; they were blue, impossibly so. Blood ran from his nose and a cut on his right cheek oozed even more blood.

“My God,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

The man erupted into a coughing fit of his own, rolling onto his side. Something silver caught Pamela’s eye, and she looked down to see a blood-soaked sword on the ground. Its gold hilt shined brighter than anything else on the altar, even the candle holders in the center. She squinted; an angel ascending to the heavens was carved on the handle.

“Are you…” Her frown deepened. “Are you alright?”

For the first time, the man acknowledged her. He glanced wearily at Pamela before nodding and rolling onto his back once again. Aside from the cuts on his face, the man didn’t appear to be injured, which was impossible on so many levels.

He sat up, the wounds closing before Pamela’s eyes. His eyes still held a faraway look, and the stubble on his face was at least a week old. Pamela glanced over her shoulder, confident that no one had followed her into the cathedral. Was it because they were off calling for help, or had they gone about their day assuming the man had died?

Probably the latter, which begged the question: how was he still alive? And where did he come from?

“Wow…”

Her eyes went skyward again. The man’s eyes followed.

“That was some tumble,” he muttered. “What happened?”

The man lowered his gaze, fully taking in Pamela for the first time. His lips opened, but no words came out. With his mouth agape, the faraway look returned.

Pamela frowned as dread built in her stomach.

“Well, uh,” Pamela paused. “What’s your name?”

The man furrowed his brow, chewing on his lower lip. For the first time, char marks were visible on his breastplate. Pamela’s heart sank when saw them, resisting the urge to reach out and run her fingers over the marks. If the man didn’t understand how he wound up face-down in a church in Prague, perhaps he didn’t know much of anything else.

“I,” he began, his frown deepening when the words caught in his throat. His eyes widened when they locked on Pamela’s. “I don’t remember.”

EXCERPT: Notna

I’m excited to share with you an excerpt of my upcoming novel Notna, which will be available sometime in late 2017 in both paperback and Kindle. Keep in mind that this is a first draft and there will likely be changes before publication. Enjoy!

The Not-Too-Distant Future…
Depending on the culture, the Underworld has been known by several other names. Gehinnom, Sheol, Hades, Hell, the Fire… seemingly every Western culture or religion has some version of a spiritual place full of torment and punishment for the wicked. A simplified version of what was actually the truth — and the Underworld was not latched to any particular religion. It existed on its own merits, a hellscape of eternal fire and bloodshed. This was not merely a place for the wicked; anyone could fall captive to the Underworld’s eternal prison. No one ever escaped with their life or their sanity intact; the few who would manage to cross back over were condemned to a life of solitude and mental degradation. The ones who died in the Underworld were, in all honesty, the fortunate ones. But even they were faced with futures full of little more than torment and bloodshed.

On this night, the Underworld doubled as a battlefield. The final battlefield, truth be told. Fresh blood pooled everywhere, severed limbs decorating the drab, lifeless landscape. Fires blazed skyward, flames reaching for a nonexistent ceiling. The constant roar of the fire provided the soundtrack for swords clanging together, sparks flying, and warriors crying at the top of their lungs. Those cries were cut short when a blade lopped off a head or rendered a battle-hardened warrior defenseless. One of the Divine’s finest sword-wielders looked on in disgust as his hands were severed from his arms, still clutching his sword. But before he had a chance to look up, the leather-skinned demon swiped just under the warrior’s chin. The blow was clean, and the blood didn’t flow until the warrior’s head slid off and fell to the ground in a fit of dust.

From atop his throne, built from the bones of those who had dared defy him over the centuries, Seraphus couldn’t help but grin. This was what he spent the last several hundred years working toward: breaking his realm’s stalemate with the Divine and finally gaining the upper hand in this never-ending war. His smile grew when his eyes glanced down at the body at his feet. The previous bearer of the Gem of Notna had been formidable, far more than Seraphus had expected, but in the end, he was just another human being. Snapping his neck has been satisfying, but not nearly as much as prying the gem from his cold body and taking it as Seraphus’ own. The crystal hissed in protest initially, but once it settled into the ruler’s chest, talons and tendrils slithering all over his pale frame, he knew he was worthy.

And now that Seraphus had the gem, the Divine was without hope.

But there was one Divine warrior who hadn’t yet given up. Seraphus watched with great interest as Josef cut a swath among his demon hordes. Josef had died in battle several hundred years ago, at the hand of the vampire Demostricus, but the Divine — in a fit of panic — had resurrected him to serve as an ally for the Chosen One. Though the Chosen One lay dead and broken at Seraphus’ feet, Josef continued his rampage. He beheaded Ornias with little effort, green blood splattering onto his brown cheeks, his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail. Another armored demon got the jump on Josef, but a well-placed elbow allowed him to break free. One more sword swipe and another demon head fell to the ground.

Two more demons approached, one from each side. Josef grit his teeth and pulled a dagger from the small of his back. With a blade in each hands, Josef thrust both arms out to either side of himself. Both weapons plunged into the demons’ respective necks. Seraphus couldn’t help but cringe at the resulting bloodbath and the gargled screams of his fallen minions.

“Seraphus!” Josef called out from the bottom of the throne. He smashed one of the skulls with his sword. “This ends now!”

Rising from his throne, Seraphus kicked the body at his feet aside and curled his hands into fists. Black eyes turned red and began to glow, as did the ruler’s fists. He was shirtless, a scar running from his right shoulder all the day down, across his abdomen, and stopping near his groin. Of all the scars Seraphus had accumulated over the years, this was his proudest. It spoke to his resilience, his tenacity. His refusal to let anyone or anything stand in his way. He approached the warrior with slow, purposeful steps until they were level with one another.

“Does it?” Seraphus couldn’t help the chuckle that burst past his lips. “You are losing, nomad! Your numbers are few!”

“So I should just quit?” Josef twirled the sword, which was a foot taller than him, over his head. “You don’t know me very well, heathen.”

“I know enough.” Seraphus raised his right fist, a black tendril snaking out from the gem on his chest and slashing Josef across the cheek. The warrior responded by slicing the tendril in two, a loud hissing filling his ears and causing him to recoil. Seraphus used the opportunity to close the distance, sinews of lively black covering the ruler from head to toe like armor. He grabbed Josef by the neck and lifted him into the air. “I know your Chosen One has fallen. I know your numbers are few. I know you, valiant as ever, are weak.”

Josef, struggling for breath, grit his teeth and kicked Seraphus in the stomach. The ruler loosened his grip and Josef swung his sword. Sparks shot from the tendrils as the blade bounced off with no damage done. Josef tossed the weapon aside and bumrushed Seraphus, tackling the ruler to the ground. They both grunted when Seraphus’ back slammed into the ground, dust kicking up around them.

“I know you talk too much,” Josef muttered, backhanding Seraphus across the face. Something black spills from Seraphus’ nose and mouth.

More tendrils shoot out from the gem, wrapping around Josef’s neck and pulling his arms away from Seraphus. The warrior struggled with every bit of strength he had, but the sinews only tightened their grip as the hissing grew louder. Josef found himself hovering several feet in the air, the living armor surrounding him growing thicker and more voluminous. It began creeping onto his face, and as Josef bit back as scream, he felt one of the sharp points poke him in the side of the neck. A drop of blood fell onto Seraphus’ foot.

The ruler grinned, the glowing around his eyes almost blinding by now. Both fists unfurled and Seraphus raised his arms above his head. “Enough!”

Seraphus’ voice echoed throughout the Underworld, a large tendril shooting from the gem and piercing Josef’s neck. The warrior gagged when the weapon came out the other side of his neck, blood pouring down his chest. His eyes widened for a moment before all of the breath left Josef’s lungs. He fell slack, now dead, hung upright and in the air by nothing more than the gem’s living armor. With a snap of Seraphus’ fingers, the tendrils disappeared. Josef’s body fell to the ground in a heap, and he watched as five angels followed suit, having fallen in the heat of battle.

At last… at last, Seraphus’ moment of triumph was nigh.

When the war was at its peak, Hermes found himself terribly overwhelmed. Grabbing Cassandra Federov, the blue-haired woman who had been The Chosen One’s partner from the beginning, he had hidden behind one of the many mountains decorating the otherwise barren landscape. There were bloodstains and burn marks littered throughout the surface, but it provided the Wise One and Cassandra the cover they needed. Cassandra, predictably, had resisted the urge to hide, but considering how many of the Divine’s soldiers were helpless in this battle, Hermes wasn’t about to let a mere mortal run into the line of fire.

But that was before the Chosen One had fallen. Minutes later, the image of the Chosen One’s neck being snapped in half was vivid enough to turn Hermes’ stomach. He closed his eyes and raked a shaky hand through his white hair. The scar on his cheek throbbed, and for the first time since the Primordial had informed him of the prophecy coming to pass, Hermes was at a loss. The Primordial had failed. The balance within the universe had shifted with this new development, the centuries-old stalemate between the Underworld and the Divine over. Seraphus had his army ready, and no matter what the Divine had done — aligned itself with the Chosen One, resurrected its most decorated warriors, nothing was going to stop Seraphus.

Especially now that he had the Gem of Notna.

As soon as Josef’s lifeless body landed, Hermes sank down to his knees. He cradled his face in his hands for several heartbreaking seconds, letting the emotion of the moment overwhelm him. His impossibly blue eyes, once the picture of clarity, were now clouded with tears. Tears of loss. Tears of mourning. Tears of failure. The Chosen One was supposed to be Earth’s salvation; instead, he suffered the same fate all mortal men did — albeit in a far more violent and destructive way. The screams of the dying filled Hermes’ ears, drowning out the roar of the hellfire. This truly was it. This was the night he was finally going to meet his end. For real this time.

“Josef is dead,” Hermes whispered with a shake of his head, staring skyward. A dragon roared by, one wing twice his size. Were the beast focused on Hermes, it would have itself an easy meal. Instead, the dragon swooped down low, gathering two Divine warriors into its mouth and ending their lives with its powerful jaws. The red spray made Hermes flinch; hundreds of years of war, and he still wasn’t used to the bloodshed. Perhaps this was why he never actually fought.

Hermes glanced to his left to see Cassandra where she had been ever since Seraphus had snapped the Chosen One’s neck. She was on her knees, practically catatonic. There was a distant, not-even-hear-here look in her green eyes. A scratch on her cheek trickled blood, but she didn’t notice it. She didn’t even blink. None of her muscles moved. Not even a twitch. So many times in recent months, Cassandra had been the one to insist on soldiering on, fighting the battles that needed to be fought. More than once, Hermes had wondered if the Gem of Notna had gotten it wrong. Jack Corbett had been a fine Chosen One, no question, but Cassandra had proven to be even bit as worthy as he… if not more so.

Just as obvious, though, had been Cassandra’s love for Jack. The devotion she felt to him was so strong, not even a war for the fate of the Earth could turn her away. But now, that devotion had led to her worst fear: the man she loved dying, right in front of her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Were the situation not so dire, Hermes would not begrudge Cassandra her moment of stasis; in fact, he felt the urge to go catatonic himself. But they couldn’t afford that. Not yet.

“Cassandra,” Hermes said, gently placing his aging hands on her shoulders.

No response.

The dragon returned overhead, its roar a blood-curdling shriek that vibrated in Hermes’ bones. He cringed and shook his head, making sure the monster wasn’t coming for him before turning his attention to Cassandra once more. “Cassandra, are you here? Are you with me? Say something!”

At first, Cassandra was as still and as silent as she had been. But without warning, her eyes turned red and began to glow. She lifted her gaze, chin held up high. The moment startled Hermes so much that he let go of her, watching in awe as Cassandra got back to her feet and began to float. She went from inches above the ground to several feet, until Hermes had to crane his neck to get a look at her. The energy surrounding her eyes was now encasing her entire body. Her hands had curled into fists. Hermes opened his mouth, but there were no words.

Instead, she looked down upon him.

We are here, O Wise One. There was an echo to Cassandra’s voice, as if she were no longer the only one occupying her mind. The Bearer has fallen. The Nomad has fallen. The Primordial was wrong not to interfere.

Hermes didn’t disagree, though this wasn’t exactly the time for an I told you so.

Returning to the ground, Cassandra grabbed one of Hermes’ hands and gave it a squeeze. When his eyes met hers, Cassandra nodded. Consider this our apology.

Cassandra pushed herself skyward, as if flying were something she had been doing for years. A force field of red energy surrounded her and she made a beeline for Seraphus, who was now back on his throne with Josef’s severed head in his lap. Seraphus! She called out, and Hermes couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile that spread across his face when Seraphus jumped to his feet, the head careening down the staircase back to the ground.

The Primordial has always acted in… indirect ways, Cassandra began, grabbing Seraphus by the throat and squeezing until black blood oozed out from under her fingertips. She lifted Seraphus into the air, almost reaching the same height the dragon had just moments before. But even we were helpless to stop this. Well… not so much helpless as stubborn.

Cassandra released her grip, and Seraphus plummeted several hundred feet back to the ground. He landed with a stomach-churning thud, several bones snapping in the process. Seraphus did not immediately return to his feet, barely able to get back to his knees. His nose was broken, a fountain of black spewing from his nostrils down his face. He grit his teeth and snarled before Cassandra landed behind him, grabbed a tuft of his dark hair, and smashed him face-first into the ground once more.

You will not win, O Terrible One. We will not allow it.

A tendril shot out from the gem still embedded in Seraphus’ chest, impaling Cassandra in the stomach. She doubled over with a grunt, her free hand reaching down to grab the strand of sinew buried in her gut. With another grunt, this one almost a scream, she yanks out the tendril and snaps it at a ninety-degree angle. The resulting hiss of anger and pain is sudden, before the strand recoiled back within the ruler. The red in her eyes was now white hot, and Cassandra flipped Seraphus onto his back before straddling him and choking him with both hands.

“I will take back what is mine,” the echo was gone from Cassandra’s voice, “and end this war!”

Reaching into Seraphus’ chest, Cassandra grabbed the gem and began to yank. The ruler’s skin was molded into the crystal itself, and the harder Cassandra yanked, the more Seraphus cringed and writhed in pain. Eventually, the skin began to tear away. Seraphus grunted and bit back several screams, but once Cassandra finally managed to pry the crystal from his chest, her fingers coated in black blood and the tendrils that had swiped at her disappearing, the ruler could hide the pain no more. His scream echoed throughout the abyss, catching all of his undead minions off-guard.

Hermes watched on in awe. Becoming a vessel for the Primordial had actually been her idea. Seeing everyone around her so supernaturally inclined had left Cassandra wondering if there was anything she could do to change that — and seeing as how she wasn’t going to abandon Jack any time soon, Hermes thought it wise to at least investigate the possibility. Gaia and the rest of the Primordial hadn’t been happy — Hermes long thought they were nothing more than lazy do-nothings who hated to be imposed upon — but given the gravity of the situation had reluctantly agreed.

Upon meeting Cassandra, Hermes had underestimated her. What she had lacked in physical strength, she more than made up for in cunning, intellect, and heart. In many ways, she surpassed even Jack, and Hermes felt that she would’ve been just as deserving of being the Chosen One. Even now, he had to chuckle at the memory of something she had once said: Why is the Chosen One always a he?

Well, because the world was an unfair place.

Nominate NO SAFE PLACE on Kindle Scout

No Safe PlaceLast year, indie author Mary Head released her debut novel, The Only One, a romance that undid many of the genre’s less savory stereotypes and told a touching and entertaining story. Now, she’s ready to publish her second novel, a thriller titled No Safe Place, and you can help.

Click here to nominate No Safe Place on Kindle Scout. If the book is selected, everyone who nominated it will receive a Kindle copy for free.

You like free books, don’t you?

No Safe Place is a fantastic read: frenetic, fast-paced, packed with tension, and full of relateable characters. What Head did for romance novels, she’s bound to do for thrillers.

So please, click the above link, nominate No Safe Place, and help out a fellow indie author.

About No Safe Place
Hannah Cole, a young graduate student, and her father David Cole, a senior FBI agent, enjoy a happy life together, until Hannah is kidnapped from their home one night, turning their world upside down. With the force of the FBI behind him, including his best friend Juliet Grayson, trusted partner Chris Tyler, and rookie agent Eli Shaw, David rushes to find his daughter, while Hannah struggles to stay alive, both of them racing against a deadline that could mean the end of Hannah’s life.