Cover of something from BEYOND HADES
Here it is, the cover of my next rampant action-thriller, Beyond Hades, due out early in 2012. Hot on the heels of the highly popular Blacklisted, this story is sure to blow more than a few minds.
What if mythology isn’t myth? The ancient Greeks told fabulously detailed stories involving unbelievable creatures – monsters dominating all tales from that time. Were they just highly imaginative, or was their inspiration from somewhere else?
Doctor Talbot Harrison, a professor in archeology, receives a phone call one day which will destroy everything he perceives as reality. His brother has been mysteriously killed and within moments the United States Military appear at his door, literally dragging him from his home. Thrown into a helicopter under intense armed guard, it doesn’t take long until they are attacked by something which cannot possibly exist, something drawn to destroy the one man who can stop the beasts from a land beyond Hades….
EXCERPT:
“Port side! Port side! Incoming!” he heard one of the marines call through his headphones.
A massive torrent of flames poured over the entire left side of the Super Stallion, licking and probing, tilting the huge helicopter to the right. Most of the marines had heard the warning and taken cover, but the port-side gunner was engulfed in a green liquid which rapidly burst into flames – a blaze which burned a sickly blue-green. His howls filled the cabin along with the stench of burning flesh. One of his fellows crashed the marine to the floor and tried to smother the conflagration, but only succeeded in transmitting the inferno to himself. A more sensible marine stepped up and used a small extinguisher to put out the flames on both men, but Talbot could see the body of the gunner, and it was crispy. The second man’s screams echoed through the enclosed chopper.
“It’s coming around to starboard!” one of the pilots called over the internal radio. The XM218 machine gun on the right hand side of the Super Stallion instantly erupted, firing thousands of rounds out at an incredible rate.
Talbot snapped his gaze around fearfully and saw something… something incredible!
It soared gracefully, gliding through the air against any reason of logic which said a creature of such size could not be so incredibly maneuverable or swift. It had the tail of a snake, body of a lion and head and wings of an eagle. The creature calmly weaving between the tracer rounds held no place in reality; it was something out of myth – Greek mythology to be exact, the same subject Talbot’s brother had been an expert in.
It was a gryphon.
It was impossible. There was no way the thing Talbot was seeing could be real, but there it was before him, majestic wings stretching for at least the equivalent length of the Super Stallion – about one hundred feet! The beast’s body was enormous too, slightly larger than an African bull elephant. There was no way it could possibly exist. No way.
Then the thing which couldn’t possibly exist hit them with another eruption of green liquid which immediately turned into blue-green flame once it mixed with the oxygen in the air. This time it struck the starboard side of the aircraft. Nobody made the same mistake as the gunner had the last time, every single marine finding secure cover as the horrendous blaze struck.
The Super Stallion was smashed sideways in the air by the strength of the attack. Talbot heard orders being screamed through his headphones and the methodical pounding sound of the rear gun trying vainly to take down the target.
“Well it’s about goddam time!” he heard Colonel Wilson yell.
Wondering what he was talking about, Talbot followed his gaze out the port-side window. Darting towards them were four AV-8B Harrier II jet fighters – more commonly known as Harrier Jump-Jets. Talbot would have whooped with joy… if he didn’t feel like he was about to crap his pants.
The fighter planes sped in and Talbot saw them all unanimously fire missiles –AIM-9 side-winders, he guessed. All four missiles shot in curving lines towards the gryphon, smoke trails blazing out behind them.
Simultaneous contact and detonation. Flames erupted from the enormous explosion and the gryphon was gone….
Only to emerge, charred and shaken, but otherwise unscathed. The huge beast beat its wings several times, seeming to consider another attack on the Super Stallion, but instead peeling away from the conflict and rapidly disappearing towards the horizon.
“Call off the fighters, we can’t afford to lose any more,” Talbot heard Colonel Wilson call over the headset. Talbot sat back on the bench seat and stared down at his shaking hands.
“Welcome to our nightmare, Dr. Harrison,” said Colonel Wilson grimly.
Stay tuned for updates.
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HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!
There has been an absolutely phenomenal international response to my debut novel, THE DARK PATH, with fans clamoring for more and more and more. I have been promising another release for a while now but, due to issues beyond my control, things have been delayed… until now.
I would like to announce that I will be bringing my second novel, BLACKLISTED, directly to you, my readers, in an attempt to expedite the whole process. I am going to be working with the same editor as THE DARK PATH and hope to get it out within the next couple of months. Yes, I know it’s still a wait, but we want to bring you the best quality product possible and don’t want to rush the process just for the sake of saving a couple of weeks. BLACKLISTED will be available at all major online retailers in both print and ebook, though the print version may be released later than the ebook, I’m not sure yet.
Once again, I apologize to all of you who have been waiting so long. So in an attempt to make amends with my readers, BLACKLISTED will be initially released in ebook at a discounted price of only .99c!!!
Yes, you heard me right. For the first month after the release date, BLACKLISTED will only be .99c on Kindle, Nook, Sony, iPad, Kobo and wherever else I can release it. I am doing this in an attempt to apologize to all those who have remained my faithful fans despite the amount of time between books. Unfortunately, due to printing costs, I don’t think we’ll be able to discount the print version yet, but that may change as more information comes to me.
In the meantime, check out my awesome concept cover art below. This isn’t the final product, but gives an idea of what it’ll look like.
And as a further teaser, here’s just a snippet of what’s coming:
BLACKLISTED excerpt
Two cops slammed Mike down onto the chair, snapping him back to the present. They hesitantly released his handcuffs and jumped back in case he attacked.
He didn’t. That’s exactly what they wanted, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He just stared coldly at the detective badge on the chest of the man sitting opposite him while the other two backed out of the interrogation room.
Deep within, Mike had known what he’d been doing over the last few years would eventually catch up with him, and he’d vowed to stop a hundred times. But every time he turned on the TV, he saw another scumbag being let off over some sort of technicality.
The law system no longer worked, and something deep inside made Mike keep doing it. Why couldn’t they just stop the bad people from hurting others? He hadn’t wanted to do the things he did, but the compulsion to act when the law failed was just too strong.
Mike scrubbed at the unseen blood on his hands for the hundredth time.
Damn this! He didn’t want to be here! He was a good man, had been trying to do good for so long, but he couldn’t just sit back and let evil go unchallenged. There was a huge, driving need within him to protect people, forged into him during his time as a bouncer, and an instinct to punish those who walked free, thanks to the death of his father at the hands of a man he would never know. These bastards could not be allowed to go unpunished; he had to stop them. And the only way he knew to stop them was to kill them.
He couldn’t be evil, could he?
At least he could afford a good lawyer; that might count for something. And then there was always the chance the police might not have done their job thoroughly enough – just like they hadn’t done their job all those times before, leaving him to clean up the mess.
Bastards.
Anger rose up inside Mike, warming him from within and pushing away his depression. Cops cared more about eating donuts than they did about doing their damn job. If they’d covered everything the way they were supposed to, Mike wouldn’t be in this situation. It was all their fault.
“Michael T. Swanson,” said the detective. Mike looked at him blandly, trying to appear bored. “Seems like you’ve been a very busy man. How do you find the time to go around murdering people when you’ve got that fancy club of yours to run? I guess everyone needs a hobby, right?”
Mike gazed at him blankly.
“I suppose you’ll be able to use your phase in jail to your benefit; all that extra time inside to pump up those big muscles.” He pointed at Mike’s bulging bicep. “You can make yourself all pretty for when they finally give you the lethal injection. At least they won’t have trouble finding a vein to stick the needle in.”
Mike just stared. He’d ask for gas anyway, he hated needles.
The cop slammed his palm down on the desk. “Why are you looking so smug, you asshole? They’re going to kill you. If you confess now, they’re likely to go easy and just give you life. With parole, you might even be out in fifteen years. You’ll barely be forty years old, plenty of time left to live out the rest of your life. But death is final, Mike, make no mistake about it. There ain’t no coming back from that.”
Mike yawned. This guy was so full of shit; they’d never let him go for the things he’d done.
The cop swore, pacing away before returning and leaning heavily on the desk. “Now I know you’ve got that fancy lawyer and all, Mike, but he isn’t gonna save you from this.” He grinned maliciously. “We found your DNA at three crime scenes and we’re building up a case that’s gonna be rock solid.”
That got Mike’s attention. It was possible they might have found something at one of the scenes but how -?
“How did you get my DNA?” asked Mike, unable to help himself. He hadn’t done anything since arriving at the station – and he certainly hadn’t agreed to a DNA swab.
The cop grinned. “It’s amazing what technology can get for you these days, Mike. We got your DNA from your old drug tests back when you were boxing. Did you know they recorded your DNA when they screened you for drugs? They label it as something completely different to keep the whining ninnies ignorant, but when we found a hair on the body of that pedophile you killed – um, what’s his name?”
Mike gazed at him, his expression like stone. “It’s your story, you tell me.” He wouldn’t admit defeat yet.
“Anyway, once we got that hair and ran it through the system, your name popped up. Along with similar evidence at two more scenes, it was enough to get us a warrant, and with all the crap we found at your house we’re gonna bury you. We’ll substitute the DNA from your toothbrush for the blood test results and say we got it out of your trash. It’s completely underhanded, but if it helps us keep a psycho like you off the street it’s worth it.”
Mike shook his head. Bastards.
Suddenly the door to the interrogation room slammed open and four black-clad soldiers, their features hidden behind black combat masks, strode in followed by a man wearing a crisp Armani suit. Mike glanced at the cop, but he seemed just as stunned as Mike.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man in the suit ignored the detective, looking Mike up and down before nodding slightly and indicating to the soldiers. All four moved to where Mike sat and lifted him to his feet. A set of manacles was produced by one and they secured Mike’s hands and ankles.
The cop made to grab the man in the suit, but in a move of amazing alacrity the suit spun away from him, sweeping the detective’s hands aside in the process. His right hand then shot forward, grabbing the detective by the throat, whilst his left arm wrapped around and trapped the cop’s right arm under his armpit. He clamped his index finger and thumb around the cop’s windpipe, pushing up and closing the carotid arteries. The cop made a weak cough before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the floor.
The man in the suit gently laid the cop on the floor before standing once more, completely at ease. A few inches shorter than Mike and a good deal lighter, the suit returned his stare evenly and Mike felt a chill deep within. This was not a man to be trifled with.
Around thirty-five years of age, the strange man had a fair complexion with sandy-colored hair parted evenly to the left and lightly oiled. It gave the impression of someone more scholarly, but even without the display Mike had just seen, he would never have taken this man lightly. Behind those brown eyes flecked with black laid a deep intelligence bordering on what seemed like insanity… or fanaticism.
“Who are you?” asked Mike, trepidation creeping into his voice. He’d been so sure of what was going on with the police, had run it through his mind a thousand times before getting caught so that nothing was a surprise. But this, getting busted out of jail by a bunch of guys who beat up cops and dressed up like they were with the army, this was something he was totally unprepared for and he felt dread rising within him. It was a strange sensation to arrive so soon after he had so recently been prepared to die. He stared at the man in charge, waiting for some kind of explanation.
None came. The man in the suit pointedly ignored Mike and motioned for the soldiers to take him out of the room.
As they marched through the police station, other soldiers came in behind them at various points from other areas. Mike saw cops lying all over the place, some with what looked to be tranquilizer darts sticking out of them.
What the hell was going on?
His heart began to race, his palms for once feeling free of blood as sweat poured from them.
The soldiers wore no markings of rank or country, were dressed completely in black from head to toe, but moved through the place with a coordinated efficiency that impressed the former bouncer. It impressed him as well as unnerved him; something on this scale was almost beyond belief. They slid through rooms with a precision that spoke of years of training, their black boots barely making a sound as they glided swiftly from place to place, completely securing the station. No emotion emanated from the eyes within the black combat masks, and Mike felt his trepidation mount once more.
These guys were definitely not amateurs.
They finally exited out the rear of the station and into a car park where Mike saw several unmarked military-looking Humvees parked – all painted uniformly black with dark-tinted windows. He was bustled into the back seat of one of these while two soldiers climbed in and sat either side of him, pinning him in. Both had their Beretta M9 handguns drawn before sitting and held them ready on their laps. Mike saw the safety mechanisms on both guns were clicked off, the little red dot staring up at him like a promise of blood if he decided to resist.
The front passenger door opened and the man in the suit entered the vehicle. Flipping open his phone Mike heard him say, “Implement clean and sweep of entire station. Use G-67 formula on all subjects and create a cover story of a gas leak resulting in temporary amnesia accompanied by loss of consciousness. That is all.”
As the vehicle moved away from the police station, Mike couldn’t help but wonder yet again who these men were and what agenda they had.
And why did they want him?
Mike’s bladder was uncomfortably full, and yet his mouth seemed completely dry. He shouldn’t feel like this; he was the killer, the one to be feared, but he sensed only terror. Not at the thought of death, merely panic at the unknown. Why the hell was this happening? What could they possibly want?
Copyright(C) 2009 Luke Romyn
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