Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Playlist for The Raveners by LD Towers
These are the songs I wrote a lot of this book to.
It’s an eclectic mix. :)
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Publisher: BadBird Publications
Date of Publication: September 20, 2016
Word Count: 100k
Cover Artist: Pranav Lohani
Photo by Blackbird Photography
On 26 May 1897, Bram Stoker brought us the story of Dracula; an undead creature who terrorised the living by drinking their blood. He based his creature on the legends of Ireland and Eastern Europe, bringing it to life with all the pomp of Victorian literature. What if his concept was correct, but the execution was not? What if there was not one creature, but a band of twenty-four? Crusader knights who committed such a terrible act that the Pope of Rome and the Rabbis of Jerusalem joined together in petitioning God to bring a terrible curse upon them.Sentenced to eternal life as punishment for their crimes, yet hounded by both the clerical and the secular as they struggle to live them. The Jews called them Ga’ashekelah: the Raveners. To the Catholic Church, they are the Accursed Ones. Feasting on the bodies of the living to maintain their power.
What starts as a simple trip on the Eurostar to the buried trenches of World War One in Northern France is going to take Imperial War Museum expert Dr. Alexandra Horne on a journey she could never have conceived. From the bustling streets of Paris to the azure waters of Collioure and the very Vatican itself, Lexa will discover the Raveners and those who have sworn to hunt them down.
It was the smell that brought him out of his howl. Like burning sausages. Burning bacon. Seared human flesh. With every ounce of strength he had left, he reefed his arm back. The whip was torn from Mungo’s hands, but it didn’t stop the burning. He had to drop it, but his hand was paralysed. He tried to fling it away but it stuck to his hand. He staggered back and shook his hand like a cat with a wet paw.
“You are stronger than I gave you credit for, Bavarian,” Mungo grunted as he moved forward. “But the cursed can’t use the magic of the Earth. The Earth abjures you.”
Karl couldn’t let go, but he couldn’t let Mungo have the whip back. He was ageing so quickly and the hunger was rising. He needed blood. He could hear the heartbeats of the people in the crowd, as loud as his own screaming. He had to knock Kerr out. There was one roundhouse kick left in him; the supple muscles and sinews of life were freezing into their mummified form.
He hopped onto the balls of his feet and launched himself. Spinning around, the heel of his semi-brogue half boots connected hard against the jaw of the Cardinal. Mungo’s cheek tore open as he went spinning down to the ground in a heap. But despite his pleasure at putting the Cardinal down, Karl had used the last of his own strength. His hands were the spotted and veiny claws of a 90 year old man.
Where was his jacket? Where? Where? He cast his gaze around as his strength ebbed into the whip. It seemed a thousand miles away. He fell to his knees, unable to even stand anymore. All he could do was crawl. But the blood was there in his pocket flask. He just had to get to it. Hand over hand. But he was sleepy. Another feeling he hadn’t felt in almost a thousand years. So hungry and so sleepy. He would have thought that one would cancel out the other but no. It almost didn’t hurt anymore.
Karl’s fingers connected with the fabric but now they would barely function. He’d never aged so fast before. Starvation, even for his kind, was a slow process. He could hear the pops of his tendons now. The one usable hand was turning grey-brown and leathery. “Dammit! Please! No!” If he’d had the ability to cry, his cheeks would have been wet with frustration. But while one part of his consciousness screamed to fight, another part didn’t see much point in struggling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dazed Mungo pulling himself to his feet against Napoleon’s sarcophagus. Blood was trailing down his cheek and the flesh had been laid open to the bone. Karl felt his eyes widen at the beautiful crimson trails. Even the Cardinal’s blood would sustain him at this moment. The old man raised his fingers to the wound and pulled them away, utter hatred in his eyes.
“Oh you will pay for that, Bavarian,” he snarled ferally.
About the Author:
LD Towers travels the world like a rootless vagabond! A military historian, she searches out places of conflict to find a deeper insight to the things she writes about. Presently enjoying the warm weather and azure seas of Central America, she has lived all over Western Europe, including 5.5 years in the incomparable Berlin.
Primarily working in Historical and Military Fiction, LD sometimes sneaks in the odd Dystopian or Modern Thriller piece. In fact, her new book is a complete redo on the vampire concept. Look for The Raveners; coming September 20, 2016.