Unspoken
J.A. Garland
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: BURST Books
Date of Publication: January 5, 2014
Word Count: 40,738
Cover Artist: E. Smith
Book Description:
Paranormal Bounty Hunter Myka Quinn left behind her failed attempt at wolf Pack life. Now she is focused on providing for her brother and staying out of werewolf territory.
But when she’s framed for a witch’s murder, she must either accept help from a very unlikely source, or watch the lives of those she loves rip apart.
Excerpt:
If someone says
the root of all evil is money, they’ve never met a witch. Hot on Tara Sobrantes
heels, I hungered for a quick capture. But my past experiences with
brimstone-users had taught me not to eat the candy house until Gretel had
heated the oven. The permanent fireball scar on my right butt cheek reinforced
the lesson.
Capitalizing on
a rare break in the rain, I peered through the branches and foliage I’d
arranged to obscure my position in one of the Pacific Northwest’s oldest
forests. Drawn to the sweet scent of exhaled carbon dioxide, a deer fly landed
on my cheek. I flicked away the bloodsucker while keeping my gaze on a distant
group of figures.
Three hundred
feet away, the Mystic Monks began another round of tiresome morning rituals. For
four lousy days I’d watched them worship their gods. Watched, waited and
shivered through one bone-chilling downpour after another. I knew Tara was
hiding at the monastery. While I might not have her yet, or the large bounty
she’d fetch from shirking a loan shark, I was still in the game.
A man wearing a
burgundy cloak ventured away from the others, heading deeper into the woods. He
glanced around, perhaps to confirm he was alone, and then crouched until he
almost sat. The monk lifted the hem of his woolen robe, carefully draping the
material over his knees. I scrunched my nose and started to look away when
something caught and held my eye. A steady stream of yellow wet the thick
carpet of pine needles between his feet. The men I’d known didn’t squat when
they pissed—I got you, Tara.
I stood, careful
not to make a sound. In the tight cat suit I wore, the movement caused the
plastic edge of my Para Hunter identification card to poke my hip. A practiced
shake released two Fae kissed, silver blades from their leather holsters and
into my hands. Blades were good for close combat, not for the gap I currently
faced. With well placed, gliding steps, I narrowed the opening between us.
Finished
urinating, Tara rose, letting the hem of her heavy robe fall. I quickened my
pace, I couldn’t afford to lose her bounty. My brother was all the inspiration
I needed to complete this job.
A scream pierced
my thoughts and the damp, morning air. The pressurized wail thickened then
transformed into a muted gurgle. Tara’s hood fell backward, revealing a bobbing
metal shaft protruding from under her jaw. Someone, not me, had launched an
arrow into her throat.
Move! I lunged
forward, feet slipping as my boots sought purchase on the slick ground. Razor
sharp, a barb sliced through my suit and lodged into the skin and muscle of my
shoulder. The force of the arrow shoved me backward and to the ground. An
instantaneous, moor-like sweat coated my skin.
My nostrils
flared like a wounded animal, and I scrambled to my feet. Normally, I’ll stubbornly
stand my ground, but I’m not stupid. My attacker knew my position, and I didn’t
know his. If I stayed put, he’d fill me full of metal like a scrap yard.
Racing away in a
crazy zigzag, I heard near noiseless whispers as the air parted, making way for
a barrage of arrows. Bolts lodged into the trees all around me, at head level.
Yes, someone wasn’t trying to scare me off. Someone wanted me dead. Not here,
not now. Not when my brother and his family were counting on me.
Bites of pain
skewered my arms, then a leg. The cold cramp of fear tightened its hold on my
lungs. Holy shit, I was going to die. Adrenaline driven, I pushed forward long
after my wounds should have dropped me.
A misty fog had
descended on the dense pine canopy when I finally allowed myself to stop
running. I sank to the ground at the base of a tamarack pine. In unison, my
muscles and lungs screamed a tortured ditty, whose tune I was hella familiar. I
need a new profession or I’m not going to make it to my thirtieth birthday.
Blinking, I tried
to focus eyes blurry with tears. I had officially accepted Tara’s mark. For two
weeks she was supposed to be off limits to all other Para Bounty Hunters. That
was the unwritten code. Someone violated that code, and that someone was here.
They’d killed her and tried the same with me. Who? Why?
And how had they
found Tara? Some might call it cockiness, I called it first class investigation
skills. I was positive that I alone figured out the connection between brother
and sister. Tara had blended in seamlessly with the monks. It took me days in
that damn hidey-hole to catch her slip.
Lids closing, I
slowed my breathing. Trading pain for awareness, I listened to the steady
dripping that came from the pine needles above. Morning dew ran down the rough
grooves in the bark. A crackle here, a chirp there, then quiet. Head bowing to
my chest, minutes spooled by. A long, low howl broke the quiet, followed by
another, then another--young, excited yips joining in.
I’d forgotten
others beside the monks called the Pacific Northwest home. Wolves hunted in
secluded places like this, and the blood trail I left behind was ideal for
tracking.
About the Author:
J.A. is a full time firefighter in California, an addicted trail runner, a connoisseur of all things cheese puff, and an urban fantasy author. When she isn't slogging through the obstacles at a mud run, you can find her hunched over her computer unleashing demons, vampires, and werewolves upon the world.
1 comment:
Thank you for hosting me on your blog. I had a great time and I hope your readers did too!
Post a Comment