Hi guys, we have Amelia Faulkner popping in today with her new release Lord of Ravens, we have a great excerpt so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~
Lord of Ravens
Lover. Predator. Killer.
Laurence Riley’s inheritance comes with a price – one he’s not at all sure he can pay. When his urge to hunt grows out of control, he sends a desperate prayer to his ancestor for guidance. But he never expected that Herne the Hunter would answer.
Scion. Target. Victim.
There are horrors lurking in Quentin d’Arcy’s past, but they won’t hide there forever. Something ancient is coming to take him home: a creature of nightmare who feasts on the flesh of children. When the choice is between his own life and the lives of innocents, there is no choice at all.
Honesty is the worst policy.
A legendary horror comes to San Diego, but it’s merely an emissary. Laurence has seen the real monster, and it’s a darkness which will destroy everything he loves – especially if Quentin ever finds out what it did to him as a child.
It’s down to Laurence to prepare for war against a force which far outmatches him. The enemy has the most powerful weapon of all at his disposal, and if they’re to stand a chance, Laurence must master the same power.
He must learn magic.
Lord of Ravens is the third book in the Rainbow Award winning Inheritance series and contains mature themes and events which may be distressing to some readers. It has a moderate heat rating and an HFN ending
He tore through scrub and shrub alike. Those who would not bend of their own will bent to his instead. The scent trail of his prey was bright and fresh and the plant life it thought would provide cover would instead offer only betrayal.
Leaves rustled as trees reshaped themselves for the hunter. He was one with them, for they knew that nutrients left from his kill would sink through dry earth and nourish their roots. The cycle would remain unbroken.
Laurence stilled. The scent was strongest here. His prey had left spoor up and around the trunk of a tree, but that was a mistake which was to cost the beast its life.
This was the wrong night to trust a tree.
Laurence raised his head and commanded the tree to release its fugitive, and it did so without hesitation. Boughs shook. Red leaves fell like blood-touched snow.
The squirrel clutched at thin air as the tree rejected it.
It was too soon to allow himself to feel triumphant. His prey was worthy, and the hunt was not yet over, so Laurence sprang, his hands forward to snatch the creature from the air while it was still vulnerable.
It gave a high-pitched squeak, but Laurence wasted no time. His hands turned like he was opening a jar.
The squirrel’s neck snapped.
Now he could let the triumph take hold.
Laurence hunkered down with his back to the tree and used the shrubs for cover as he tore into the meat with his teeth.
Laurence jerked awake with a muffled yell.
Goddess, it was cold. Maybe he’d kicked the sheets off.
Where was Quentin?
His thoughts were a mess. The dream was so real he swore he could taste blood.
There was something in his mouth. It felt like dog fur. Damn stuff got everywhere. He spat it out and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, but that only got another strand of fluff right up against one eyeball, where it scratched and irritated and made his eye water.
Laurence growled and tried to swing his legs out of bed.
Dry leaves crinkled beneath his naked legs.
Startled by the unexpected, he lost his balance and fell against the parched earth. Faint moonlight filtered through the almost bare branches overhead and slowly the world came into focus.
His fingers were spattered with darkness.
The grisly remains of a squirrel lay discarded by his side.
It took a second for his gut to react to the news, but when it did, Laurence crawled onto all fours and started to heave.
How the hell he’d made it all the way to the shop without getting caught was beyond him. He didn’t care. He kept his head down and sprinted like his life depended on it, because the last thing he needed was pictures of his naked ass all over the damn internet.
In the alley behind the back door he was safe.
But he was still butt naked and didn’t have the damn keys.
“Shit. Shit, shit shit, shit.” He peered in through the glass of the door and hopped from one foot to the other, then looked around for something to break the window with.
All he could see were the store’s dumpsters, and diving through those didn’t appeal to him, so he looked into the back room and searched for anything remotely living. It was dark, but his eyesight was getting better now he and Quentin were, well…
He bit his cheek. Now was not the time to get a hard-on.
“C’mon. Come onnnn!” He held his hands up to prevent the moonlight from reflecting off the glass so he could see through it better.
A row of bouquets for the morning’s deliveries were lined up on a shelf by the sink. Something with roots would be better, but these would have to do, and Laurence concentrated.
Burgundy peonies twisted and flowed from their vases. Dahlias pushed free as their stems grew. Roses provided scaffolding as the bouquets stretched and contorted themselves across the sink. A couple of vases fell over as the weight dragged them forward.
All so that a red ranunculus could coil itself around the window latch and force it free.
Laurence let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d held, and the plants insinuated themselves between window and frame until he could get his fingers into the gap and heave it open. He propelled himself up onto the sill and slithered through the gap as he made the plants withdraw to save from scratching himself on thorns, and once he landed on the cold, hard floor inside he turned toward the sink.
A brief flicker of a tiny red light over his head made him pause.
He hurried over to tap the code in and disable the alarm before the cops showed up to find him naked in his own store, then closed the window and washed his hands. He didn’t need to turn the light on to know that the crud on them was blood.
Amelia Faulkner was born in Thame, Oxfordshire, and sprouted upward in short order. The ground around Thame is reasonably mucky, especially in the winter, and she can’t be blamed for wanting to get away from it.
Raised on a steady diet of Star Trek and Doctor Who, Amelia stood no chance in not becoming a grade-A geek. She has sat on the board of the British Fantasy Society, contributed fiction and fluff to various published roleplaying games, and written non-fiction for SciFiNow and SFX Magazines. For every positive there is an equal and opposite negative, and Amelia is forced to admit that she loves Wild Wild West.
In her spare time she enjoys travel, photography, walking her Corgi, and trying to convince her friends to replay the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game with all the Goblins decks.