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The Sicilian Undead: Part One of the Tony Manichinio, Vampire Detective Series

by KB Forrest

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Taino Ti: by K.B. Forrest

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When a powerful vampire leader hands out penalties, it is terrifying, like thunder and lightning, and even the demons and spirits cannot undo his work: Eliade.

Life sucked more than Tony thought possible. When Vampire Dragomir Eliade sucks out his mortal life, he finally fights back and wins in his own way. No longer bound by the awful curse of being a street fruit vendor, handsome Tony sets his sights on the goal of starting his own detective agency. He and his worshipful sidekick, Eliade, take a bite out of crime. When a fearful father seeks help from the duo, Tony realizes that he is up against harsh odds. A statue looted from an Iraqi museum turns out to be an image possessed by the Evil Spirit, Iblis himself. The man, an antiques broker, knew that he was purchasing a stolen item. What he doesn't know is that a Satanist cult wants the statue for its own, and to get it, its members have brainwashed his daughter and won her over to the side of evil. Will Tony have the power it takes to go up against the Evil Spirit, or will he and Eliade become the unwilling servants of the newly risen monster?

Excerpt:
"You fools!" Eliade boomed in a preternatural voice. "How dare you bring this thing," he pointed at the statue. "How ever dare you bring this thing into my Master's domain without his permission! Do you think you can summon an evil more terrifying than my Lord?"

Some of the people were shaking with fear. A few had fallen to their knees, but there were real demons among the hapless, foolish youth dressed in Goth clothing with their black dyed hair and garish makeup.

One of these demons sneered and challenged Eliade. "Your Lord? Your powerful so-called Master? What a joke. If you were a demon of any merit you would know that this," he pointed to the statue, "is the original Evil Spirit. There is no demon more powerful. Bow before your real lord and master, lest he kill you and your entire family."

Eliade smirked. "I am already dead, as is my entire family. If this piece of excrement you call Iblis is so powerful, then let him prove it. My Lord, Master Manichino, can take this statue and shove it up your anus, you butt-dick!"

Tony smiled. He had tried to teach Eliade how to use modern cuss words, but the man always got it wrong. What the hell was a butt-dick?

The demon looked a bit perturbed, but he said, "Lord Iblis created all demons. As our creator, he is above all. He created evil thoughts, evil words, and evil deeds. That is his power."

Eliade's gaze bore into the demon. "Master Manichino is more powerful than any demon in this world and in all of the underworld. He can even go to church, although he chooses not to do so because of a great calamity called Vatican-Two. He even wears the cross of the Christians on his very neck and it burns him not. He walks about in the sun, yet he sucks the blood of both men and immortals. He does not fear holy water…no, he drinks it in small green bottles. He communes with the spirits of both heaven and earth. I have heard him conversing even with the being called God." Eliade gulped so hard that Tony heard him. "He is..." he paused as if about to make a huge announcement, "he is the son of a Pope! He has a ring kissed by his father! He takes and absorbs the souls of creatures to make their cunning his own. Do you wish to confront this greatest of all demons and be tortured as you are forced to serve him for eternity? He might even absorb you and then pass you out into a toilet like so much human waste. He can do that," Eliade said with a shiver.

The demon glanced around uncertainly. "You lie. If there was such a creature, why have we not heard of him?"

Eliade looked at him as if he were a simpleton. "Why indeed. Why would such a great personality bother to make himself known to fleas like you? He is too great for that. I am his mere servant, but even I could pummel your buttocks with ease."

The demon glanced around, probably signaling to his comrades. Tony watched as they shoved the humans aside and crowded around Eliade, who now stood looking like Dracula.

La Bruja:

by KB Forrest

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La Bruja: by KB Forrest

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The power of the witch is alluring, but you can't choose to possess the power of witchcraft. It chooses to possess you, and when it does, you do not have the power to resist.

Marisol Milagros sees things. She does the impossible, for she is a witch from a long line of Puerto Rican brujas. The problem is that she wants nothing to do with magic and brujería. Choosing a career in science seemed like a good way to embrace reason, but her magic still calls to her. She knows she must pay attention to the spiritual part of her? the part that refuses to be quieted. Buddhism seems so logical to Marisol after having taken a few classes at the university. As much as she hates to admit it, another fascinating discovery related to the classes is a cool DJ who is a student by day: Ramon Rivas. He has a magic of his own that refuses to be quelled.

The discovery of her new path is threatened, as is her life, when she meets a new guru in town who calls himself Master Lama Ananda Rinpoche. The so-­called Lama is a deranged killer who has become convinced that Marisol must become his tantric partner.

DJ Ramon stands in the way of his victory, as does Marisol's magic. When the killer decides to take what he thinks is his, can Ramon and his power save her in time?

Excerpt:

The stone walls dripped with moisture. The hall was hollowed out of the mountain itself, and was dark. It was lit only by the light of candles that dripped tallow, as the walls dripped with water. Uriah was the god and Marisol was the goddess herself. This was the true meaning of Tantra, he knew. This would be the ultimate union of cosmic elements. They, he and Marisol were the two tremendous forces, the yin and the yang that together made up the stuff of the universe. He was the sun and the sky, and Marisol was the moist earth, ready to receive him into the dark fecundity of her passive, yet yearning cave. He had chosen her well. They had to be complete opposites. Uriah knew that as he was the noblest and the most precious, Marisol was base and most common.

In the center of the cave floor there was a low bed made of rushes. It had no sheets, for it was meant only for sex. Oil, garlands, and perfumes had been placed in crystal bottles around the bed. In the shadows of the room, he saw the twinkling of eyes as the candlelight caught the moist eyes of the watchers.

Uriah stood near the bed, completely naked. The ritual called for him to avoid arousal for the first part of it, but he was unable to comply. This did not seem to void the ceremony, as the watchers remained silent. He was the god, after all. He could make the rules, he realized. He looked down at himself, feeling like a great bull ready for coitus, but he saw instead the beginning of a potbelly, under which a small penis surrounded by thin brown hair poked forth.

Looking into the gloom again, he saw Marisol entering the cave. She was naked, and her black hair spilled over her shoulders. She shyly held one arm and hand over her breasts, and the other hand covered her private part. She walked into the middle of the room and the watchers began to close in around them. They were arranged so that there was a ring of pairs of males and females. All of them were naked. Each pair functioned together. Each pair held items for worship. One pair held lamps of ghee oil, which were in the shape of a maiden with six arms. Each hand held a plate whereupon a cotton wick drenched in oil burned. Another pair held camphor-burning lamps in the shape of peacocks. Yet another pair held flowers, and another pair fans made of peacock feathers. The last pairs held yak tail fans and garlands respectively.

These pairs of men and women took turns worshipping Uriah and Marisol. The man of the pair worshipped Marisol, while the woman worshipped him. When this part of the ritual was over, the watchers waved sticks of incense of the most rare and precious sorts. They were then presented with gold cups of fine wine, which they drank.

Now the ritual turned to the most secret of all secrets: the union of the holy couple. They were to perform the most titillating of sexual acts, and all the while, he, the god, while absorbing the shakti, the power of the goddess, must never release his seed. In this way, his power would increase one-hundredfold. He would have to exhibit divine power. He would hold his seed as the yogis of old did. She would give unto him, and he would take from her. He drew a breath as he coached himself mentally. He knew he was well prepared, for he had read the necessary books. Usually, such secret acts had to be performed under the strict direction of a guru, but he had become the guru once he had ended the cycle for Lama Lhodrag Rinpoche. He was master unto himself.

First, he was going to have to sit in the lotus position. His shakti would have to mount him while he meditated, and take him in herself, while he sat unperturbed. She had been taught many tricks by which she could tighten her vagina in such a way as to heighten his pleasure to the point of ejaculation, but he would persist and never give up his holy seed.

He would stand and she would have to wrap her legs around him and strike him on the chest while she positioned his penis in her vagina and increased her friction. He had to stand balanced with one foot bent and set against his own thigh so that she could use it to support her vigorous gyrations.

Finally, he would be required to use various "strokes" to cause the ultimate arousal in her. Yet again, he must remain equipoised. He began to review the various positions he would be required to perform. At this stage, he would have to act as the aggressor, although again, he was required to hold back.

The position called the "dagger" required that he thrust into her, and then withdraw. Then he would have to thrust again quite forcefully. The "boar's thrust" would be from either side. He would then raise her legs above his head and thrust down. One leg would then be placed upon his shoulder, while the other leg should be forced outward. Her eyes would then roll around in pleasure. She would flail her arms, bite him, and push him deeper and deeper into her.

His entire body was tense and trembling as he reviewed the path he would have to take. He opened his eyes now. A woman approached Marisol with a pot of oil for the preparation of her place of worship. A tall man, the partner of that woman, approached him with a pot containing sandalwood oil laced with aphrodisiacs. This was a necessary part of the preparation, for it would prove that he was indeed the god able to both receive and absorb the woman, without losing even a drop of himself.

The man knelt on one knee and Uriah noticed how the man's large penis hung down and jiggled slightly with the movement. The man dipped his hands into the pot, and reached for Uriah's erect penis. He rubbed the oil first up and down, and then he massaged the opening slowly. Uriah's mouth opened into a scream of primal passion as his semen sprayed up onto his heaving abdomen. His cock shook with a few small spasms before it slowly drooped down.

The man stepped back, as if in shock. All of the watchers stood stunned for what seemed an eternity, as Uriah's cock shrunk back to a small organ that hung off to the left. Semen dripped from it. They began to walk away, grabbing garments from the darkened recesses of the room. He watched in horror as Marisol joined another naked man. He had rich, tousled black hair. His chest was powerful and his thighs muscled beautifully. He placed an arm that sported a strong bicep on Marisol's shoulder in a proprietary gesture. As he turned with her in his arms, Uriah started to feel the beginnings of arousal again. The man's hard buttocks and powerful thighs made his legs weak, while in his heart, black anger roiled. The man was Ramon. The thief was Ramon. The man who had taken everything that belonged to him.

Uriah fell to his knees weeping as he felt the silence of the cave closing in around him.

The Crystal of the Ukteena:

by KB Forrest

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The Crystal of the Ukteena: by K.B. Forrest

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Eternal love and eternal evil are forces not easily destroyed. In the contest between the two, only the most powerful will prevail.

The ancient Native American shaman knew death was near. He entered the dark cave and placed a stone over the pot holding a creature that must never again be unleashed. Hundreds of years later, Grasping Raccoon, a tribe outcast, finds the rare crystal, and the Ukteena rises again. For a short time, terror covers the tribe as if the great net in the sky has fallen to trap them all. Only Red Crane's love for Saucy Calf is able to overcome the Ukteena, but his soul rests uneasily.

Clarissa Ford, an assistant professor of organic chemistry, feels the crushing weight of fighting a tenure battle. Colleagues pick at her research, and department chair James Aydin seems to have it out for her.

When her tension is about to kill her, she finds herself under investigation for the illegal production of methamphetamines. To make matters worse, Gideon Coleman, an attractive FBI agent, has her on his radar.

As hard as Coleman tries to capture the criminal responsible for the drug related murder in a Native American cave site, he finds himself more drawn to the main suspect than to his investigative task. Strange and atrocious murders seem to follow her, and now he is having strange dreams.

The Ukteena has been released, nourished by an inadvertent blood sacrifice. The drug investigation is dwarfed by the horror that has been set free. Red Crane has chosen Coleman as a vessel, for the soul of his beloved Saucy Calf shines forth from Clarissa. It is time for the Ukteena to be quelled for good.

Excerpt:

The hunter knew that he was not going to make the same mistake twice.

His hands were covered in blood. Saucy Calf was lying at his feet with her life pouring out. Her eyes were wide, full of a knowledge that scared him. She coughed, and her lips were stained red with her blood. Her eyes were shining with a kindness that he knew would slide away from him and be gone.

"I'm never gone," she said. But her lips hadn't moved. Her voice was piercing, and unspeakably beautiful. "You just can't see me. Open your heart to me, beautiful one. All I want is for you to see me."

Red Crane screamed. The night swallowed his cry.

She was dead.

There was no compromise. He had seen death so many times. The rocks around the cave entrance glowed with the light of the moon. His eyes found Grasping Raccoon.

"What have you done to your lover? Look at that. You did that." Grasping Raccoon jumped up and down, laughing. "Now you'll know the pain you caused me."

Red Crane felt himself coiling to strike. But the Ukteena struck him first.

Grasping Raccoon screamed and was tossed high in the air. The Ukteena shook him in his jaws and flipped him almost playfully into the air.

Then it turned to Red Crane, sinewy scales sliding past each other. Blood dripped from the jaws of the monster. When it opened its mouth, teeth as long as first year antlers gleamed at him. The Ukteena was death. Yet, there was an innocence in its lack of knowledge, a grace in the pure rage that spoke of deeper realms of pain, of deeper redemptions than he could see. The Ukteena's light burst forth from the forehead of the beast.

And for the first time, Red Crane could see.

And it was all just as they said it would be. His world fell apart and his mind shattered like a mirror fusing into a shining surface from a million tiny pieces.

Kitsune Tsuki: Possession

Part I of the Fox Socerery Series

by KB Forrest

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Kitsune Tsuki: Possession: by K.B. Forrest

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The fox spirit is revealed in its shadow-Japanese folk wisdom.

Andre sees things in his dreams and his heart yearns for more, but he doesn't know it yet. Bent on gathering data for his doctoral thesis on Japanese folklore, Andre finds more than he ever hoped for. When an informant suggests that Abe no Seimei, an Onmyoji, or yin yang magician of the Heian Period, is still alive as myth claims, Andre is intrigued. Legend claims that Seimei was the son of a magical fox, and that he cannot die. Andre is not so gullible as to believe such nonsense, but he checks it out anyway. When he meets the man who calls himself Seimei, the very foundation of his belief system crumbles under his power. His world changed forever, Andre finds that he cannot be satisfied until he knows it all. He must know Seimei, and he gets what he wants, but the cost of it was not what he expected.

Excerpt:

Andre fell to his knees and drank deeply of the crystalline waters. The sound of the waterfall filled his ears with its thundering and a spray of water misted his overheated body. He thought he had never tasted anything so good before. After a while, his body ceased to tremble and he looked up. Directly under the torrent of water, stood a man with his back toward him. He seemed unaware of Andre's presence, so loud was the waterfall.

Andre immediately looked away from the naked form, but that was only his first reaction. He stared now and saw that the man appeared to be well muscled and young. His tight buttocks led to strong legs, only half of which he could see, as the man was standing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Sparkling water cascaded off of his head making him look like a Buddha with his effulgence. The man stood under the water as if in deep meditation in the performance of the traditional Japanese misogi ritual of purification. Andre was riveted.

Andre stood and took a step, then thought better of it. The man was oblivious to his presence. It seemed unwise to disturb him, but this wasn't the only reason for Andre's paralysis. He wondered what the man's face looked like. His skin shone with health. His hair was very long-so long, that Andre at first had taken him to be a woman, but even from behind, the man's muscles removed Andre's doubts.

As if suddenly aware that someone was staring, the man whirled and faced him. Although he was standing at some distance, Andre could see the man's face first register surprise, then it became clouded with anger. The face was still lovely beyond anything he had ever seen before. The man's eyes were large and expressive. His eyebrows were sharply defined bows. Although his features were almost chiseled, his full lips and delicate lines gave him a look that could only be described as beautiful. Beautiful in the elegant and exotic ways the features of some of the ancient Japanese aristocratic women were portrayed in court art. Andre stood with his mouth slightly ajar and his body frozen into inaction by the spectacle of such an attractive person. The man turned slowly and Andre lost sight of him as he made his way behind a copse of trees.

Snapping out of his reverie, Andre began to walk toward the spot where the man had retreated, silently practicing what he would say. The man was obviously angry, but perhaps he could explain.

In an instant, Andre felt it and turned suddenly. Although it had just been a moment, the man stood behind him, fully dressed in archaic traditional garb. He wore a long white kimono over which he had draped a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the crest of the ancient Abe clan. Andre had seen such a piece in a Kyoto museum not long ago. He wore the tall cap of the practitioners of Onmyodo yin yang magic. The man's beautiful eyes narrowed by rage and his face looked like that of Fudo Myo-o, the Wrathful Buddha. Andre stared, unable to speak, but he was deeply embarrassed that instead of staying silent, his mouth worked as he tried to speak coherently while only cackling and squawking like a frightened chicken.

"Go away," the man boomed. "Go away and never come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you."

Oni Devils: Part II of the Fox Sorcery Series

by KB Forrest

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Oni Devils: by K.B. Forrest

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Folklorist Andre Minamoto has returned to Japan to gather data for his doctoral thesis. Most of what he comes across has already been studied. He needs a breakthrough. He needs something new and wonderful. When he discovers a man who claims to be the legendary yin-yang wizard, Abe no Seimei, he is skeptical. After all, a man born in the year 920 has to have been dead and turned to dust by now. Little does he know that he is about to enter an uncharted world where what we think is fantasy is only too real.

Andre is forced to open his mind to the existence of devils, demons, ghosts, and monsters that defy description. He also finds himself opening his heart to the greatest of wizards who has ever lived-Abe no Seimei.

Seimei, the son of a magical one-thousand-year-old fox and a human, lived during the rich Heian period, when the Imperial family still held its power with the help of mighty magicians. Andre takes notes madly as Seimei regales him with tales of his exploits. Andre hears them with new ears as he finally begins to absorb the insane notion that they aren't just tales, but true stories. As he melts in Seimei's hot embrace, he wonders still how to learn of his powers of immortality.

Excerpt:

That evening, Hajiwara checked as usual to make sure the o-fuda spells were secure over each door and window. Then he sat on the tatami mat to wait for the ghosts. He nodded out from time to time as he was becoming weakened from his nightly agonies. He heard the clip-clopping of the women's geta sandals as they approached. Through the shoji screen he could see the beautiful peony lantern glowing. His resolve was breaking-he knew it. He wanted so badly to hold her again. He wanted to say how sorry he was for having locked her out of his life. He wanted her to know that he still loved her-he just couldn't be with a ghost. It wasn't at all like the old nurse had said! He hadn't decided that he didn't love her. In fact, he loved her more knowing that she would return even from the grave for him, but she was dead and he was alive. He hadn't meant to cause her to die of grief. He heard the shoji screen slide aside and his heart froze, then began to race in his chest. O-Tsuyo entered alone. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but they shone on her face, making her look radiant. As she looked at him, her cheeks took on the blush of plum petals. Hajiwara could no longer resist her. His arms opened to her and she settled onto his lap. Her breasts still heaved from her sobs and Hajiwara kissed her deeply as if he could wash away her misery.

But then he tasted death. There were no lips against his. Instead, teeth touched his lips and his eyes opened suddenly. He moaned in terror as he saw that what he embraced was a decaying corpse dressed in a kimono stained with the effusion of death. He began to struggle as the skeletal arms held him tightly.

O-Tsuyo's voice was no longer lovely. It was the voice of an oni devil. "It is true then? Do you hate me, Hajiwara? Did you really leave me? Why did you lock me out of your life?"

Hajiwara stared into the holes where her eyes should have been. He saw maggots wriggling in their depths. The remains of her fine nose oozed to the side and only patches of skin adhered to her skull. A swath of heavy black hair matted with death slid off her skull and fell onto his shoulder. He finally screamed. She wrapped bony fingers around his neck and began to squeeze. As his life drained from his body he watched her change. Her face became animated again. It was red with bulging eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips pulled back from a set of horribly jagged teeth, whose canines were long and dagger-like. She screamed now too, as spiraling horns broke through the bright red skin of her face and grew longer and longer.

The Sorcerer's Daughter: by K.B. Forrest

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The Sorcerer's Daughter: by K.B. Forrest

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Fear yourself, for your deepest fears are his most deadly weapons.

The Sorcerer Gaumata has a score to settle with the King of Kings, Cyrus the Great, and the court Sorcerer-Mage, Rustem. He will stop at nothing until he destroys these men and their entire lineages. The problem is that his opponents also have considerable power. Gaumata, a user of black sorcery, has the ability to possess people by entering their minds. He ferrets out a person's deepest fears and uses them to terrorize and confuse his victim. Once he has accomplished this, he can control a person. Despite his power, he has a weakness. He too, is terrified of something. The Sorcerer Gaumata fears women. After successfully eliminating Rustem and his sorceress wife, Anahita, the Sorcerer is horrified that his plan is going awry. Women may yet be his downfall. The orphan twin children of the couple find themselves separated. The brother, Mihr, becomes Advisor to Cyrus the Great of Persia. The sister, Spenta, finds refuge with a powerful witch, Indrayani. As they grow older, they come into their parents' magical powers. Somehow, they are again pulled into the court of the Achaemenid Empire, a world that their parents fled because of a powerful menace. It still lurks, waiting for them. Can Spenta save her brother, or will they both fall prey to madness?

Excerpt:
Excerpt from The Sorcerer's Daughter: It was the very early morning of the next day and the queen had an army composed of the Scythians, both men and women. All of the remaining Massagetae men and women who could fight, and many outlanders who had come, having heard of the attack were arrayed. Even the Man-Eater tribe had come, hoping to make human meat jerky with the remains of the Persians that would be killed. They had heard that Persians had flesh that made the most delicious of jerked meat because of the fine wines that they drank and the exotic fruits they ate. They would have a good winter stock here. The scouts had reported that the Persians were still unaware of their presence. Apuyani thought that that would be fitting. Silently, the army approached until they were close enough for the archers to announce their presence. The front line of Scythian archers unleashed a volley of fiery arrows and the horrible war cry was screamed from every eager throat. The Scythians were renowned for their savagery and their war cry was enough to make some of the Persians wet themselves. They stormed the encampment as the Persians scrambled to get their weapons and horses. Paror the Round-Footed, the keeper of the Scythian horses, expertly began to lead his men in the theft of the horses. The Scythian steeds were so well trained and aggressive that the Persian horses followed them almost passively. Vardak the Stout was seen swinging his mace from side to side as heads flew off the enemy. His wife, Musa the Golden Haired, was intent on retrieving some beautiful cloth for dresses. She wielded a sword in one hand and held the reins with another, all the while carelessly chopping off the heads of the Persians. One man lay with his head cut down the middle and another ran for a moment after the very top of his head lay in the dust. Demonax the Mean's face was set in exhilaration as he skewered five men at one time with his spear. Spenta had never seen such a sight. At first, she was so frightened by the war cries and the carnage that she felt the gorge rise in her throat. Her stallion reared indignantly when the vomit hit his side and then he pawed the earth, impatient to join. Suddenly, Spenta felt the horse take off in an exuberant gallop. She almost dropped the sword that she held as he lurched forward. It was not that she hadn't had plenty of practice. Indrayani and the Scythian women had taught her by having her slash small trees and then bigger ones with her sword. She had also learned by butchering sheep and goats with one tremendous blow of her sword. The sight of real men being cut open made her sick, but her war stallion was too eager to stop. She was unexpectedly face-to-face with a fierce looking Persian, who raised his spear to throw it at her chest. In his eyes for that instance, she saw the sneer she knew was there because she was a woman. In a flash, a skeletal visage stared at her in surprise as her stallion ripped the man's leering face off with his teeth. Another Persian struck at the brave horse, making a large cut in its chest. This finally galvanized Spenta and the fog lifted from her head. Giving a shrill war cry, she plunged into the battle. She screamed savagely and attacked another Persian, her sword a blur of deadly silver fire. As her weapon struck home yet again, her eyes took on the wild, misted look of battle fury. Those Persians who saw her and lived swore that she was the warrior Goddess, Spenta Armaiti, after whom she had been named.

The Sorcerer in Egypt: Part 2 of the Sorcerer Chronicles

by KB Forrest

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Sorcerer in Egypt: by KB Forrest

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Cyrus the Great, King of Kings, is dead. Like the Sorcerers Rustem and Anahita, he has been humiliated and killed by the powerful sorcerer Gaumata. The perverse sorcerer is not satisfied with his victory. He has his black heart set on the throne of the King of Kings. It doesn't matter who he has to kill to get his wish. Mihr and Spenta, son and daughter of the sorcerers Rustem and Anahita, begin to exhibit signs of unusual power. They become the threat Gaumata must now fear.

Spenta makes moves to protect her brother, but she also finds the love she has longed for in the adoring and passionate Emperor Cambyses, a tortured soul who worships her. Spenta faces danger, passion, and epic historical battles with competence, bravery, and cunning. The Sorcerer Gaumata's machinations yield fear, insanity, and horror for Cambyses.

Delving into other people's most private fears may come at a price. Will his forays into the minds of his victims leave Gaumata unscarred?

Excerpt:

That was what I had to suffer. I remember the bitter cold nights I passed without a blanket and with an empty stomach. Now I can eat delicacies of any kind, but as a child, I starved. Sometimes the men who pleasured themselves on my mother would come and beat me, as if their sexual scratching stirred within them hate and violence. Yes, I do think that was why.

Let me stray not, however. I was going to tell you how my powers came to be. One day my mother was cleaning the house of a rich man. I waited in a corner, trying to make myself small and invisible. But it wasn't so. An obese male child, whose face was as flat as a pan from eating so much food, came and sat close to me. I saw that even his head had become fatty and folds formed under his chin and at the base of his head. His tiny, mean eyes were set into the fatty cheeks and brow in such a way that he looked like a hog fattened for the slaughter. In fact, in his stubby fingered hand he held a large hunk of pig meat, which he gripped by its bone handle. It dripped fat and emitted a wonderful fragrance.

Me, I hadn't eaten for a day, and I watched as his peg-like teeth tore into the crispy, golden skin. The meat smelled wonderfully of garlic and pork! I had never tasted such a thing, but the fragrance made me think it was delicious beyond my dreams! Although the sight of the mean-spirited boy was repulsive, I closed my eyes not to block him out, but to try and savor the meat he held. I took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance until I could indeed taste the rich meat with my own mouth.

I opened my eyes suddenly as the taste filled my senses. I could see myself-my body, slumped before me. I realized that I was in the body of the corpulent boy! I felt that I'd been stuffed into an overflowing bag. His body was so sickening. I paused but for a moment and then I tore into the meat with that boy's repulsive small mouth. I was enjoying the food through another's body! I ate and ate until the entire thing was gone, then like a dog, I began to gnaw on the bone until a great piece of cartilage tore off and I attempted to swallow it.

That thing lodged in his throat and I began to struggle for breath. I stood and tried to scream, but vomit rose and clogged my breathing even more. I, in that boy's body, fell to the ground in terrible spasms and then suddenly it was over. I dreamily opened my eyes and before me I saw a horrid sight. The boy lay curled at my feet. His eyes popped out of a face purple in color, and his mouth was set in a mask of death. Pee had puddled at his groin and he smelled of excrement. I screamed a thin howl of terror.

My mother was on me in an instant and she dragged me away from the corpse. I stood there shivering while she set to screaming for the women of the house. "I found him like this, alone! What has happened?" my mother wailed as if stricken with grief.

The women gathered and began to shriek and wail in mourning. An old woman who appeared almost blind began to grope at the body. "I expected this would happen one day!" she said in a singsong voice. "Daughter-in-law, you have spoiled him so badly that it has happened as I predicted! He has eaten himself to death! You are fat and useless yourself. Now without a son you may as well be dead. I will council my son to find a better wife!"

At this the mother wailed and tore her bodice as she scooped dusty earth up and poured it over her head and body. I stayed quiet, hoping they wouldn't notice me. One woman finally opened the corpse's mouth and pulled the hunk of cartilage from its throat. "It is as she said. Greed has killed this brat!"

My mother didn't ask to be paid for her work that day and we went hungry. As we made our way home she grunted and looked away as she spoke. "You! You killed that fat good-for-nothing rich child with the same sort of sorcery that your father used. You had better beware or we will both end up burnt at the stake for using unlawful magic!"

Life was never the same for me after that. My mother never beat me again as she was wont. From that experience I learned that I could enter a person's body and feel the sensations of that body. I would sometimes even control the body in these early days, but only for a few moments, and only if the person was weak in the mind. I remember the first time I discovered this. A bully in my village loved to box my ears whenever I passed by him. He was usually accompanied by a gang of other ruffians, eager to please him, their leader. This time he was alone. When he saw me I cowered down on my haunches at the base of a tree and tried to cover my head with my skinny arms in preparation for his blows.

He lifted me by an arm, for he was quite a large fellow, and was about to deliver a punch when I felt the power. I willed myself to slip into his body and stood there over my slumped and still form. I considered what to do. I could feel a pain in the boy's right toe. It had to be an infected toenail, I thought. It gave me an idea. I gritted my teeth, or his teeth to be accurate, and began to beat that body. I used his own fists to strike his mouth and nose, although the pain was unbearable and I had to scream. Finally I slammed the boy's head into a tree and willed myself back from that pain-seared body to my own sound body. I stood on shaky limbs, but my body felt no pain. I looked at the heap in front of me. Teeth lay scattered about and the face of that boy was ruined. I skipped away, pleased with what I had done. After this the village ruffians kept their distance from me.

It was not always a pleasant experience to possess another's body. I found out the hard way. I assumed that I could control a body if I tried hard enough, but there were exceptions. Women! Indeed these are perverse creatures that I cannot understand. Perhaps it was my foolishness in trying my trick on my own mother. You see, my friend, even if you hate your mother, there is a tie to her that resists all attempts of a man. It was such with my mother. Oh, I hated her, but she proved wily. No, perhaps I give her too much credit. The truth is this-a man cannot control a creature of lesser intelligence. I know this to be true because I once tried to enter the body of a cat and was forced to taste a rat. Tail first that beast consumed it, taking its time to savor the stringy guts.

The Sorcerer Gaumata, King of Kings

Part III of the Socerer Chronicles: by KB Forrest

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The Sorcerer Gaumata, King of Kings: by KB Forrest

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Amid the turbulent times of the Achaemenid Dynasty, the Sorcerer Gaumata has set his sights on the highest jewel-the throne of the King of Kings. He plans to murder King Cambyses with his sorcery. Then Gaumata plans to take advantage of a complex scheme to seize the throne. Chaos and brutality grip the land as Gaumata abuses his power, but in the back of his mind a terror of his own lurks. He has crossed powerful witches and sorcerers who are now determined to bring him to his knees. The sorceress Spenta and her powerful mage brother Mihr are caught in Gaumata's trap, but they have allies in the two witches, Indrayani and Apuyani. They have finally discovered the key to his sorcery, and they plan to use it against him to save the kingdom. Prince Darius, the real heir to the throne, is in danger when Gaumata understands that he has seen through his disguise. Will he be the next to face his worst nightmares in the world of horror only Gaumata, the fiendish sorcerer, can construct?

Excerpt:
The sweat was dripping from Cambyses' forehead as the suffocating dank air of the tomb pressed down on him. It seemed that the smell was so thick in the air that he could almost see it. The cloying smell of putrefaction became stronger after the inner case covering the corpse was exposed and he felt the saliva begin to collect rapidly in his mouth. He could not retch in public, no, that would not do. He heard the noise faintly at first, but then it became louder and louder. It was a buzzing that sounded filthy, like when one disturbs flies that have been feeding and laying eggs on excrement. The atmosphere pressed down and the sound increased even as the unbearable stench was forced into his nostrils. Cambyses began to look about the walls of the tomb, not because he was interested, but because he needed to distract himself. He saw that the intricately painted small figures were beginning to move now. It began very slowly, but he suddenly realized that they seemed to see him too, and some of them were making obscene gestures in his direction. One little man pulled up his robe and wagged his genitals at him while women stood by laughing. Some of the servants behind the little painted oxen that were pulling plows began to point and gape at him. They now seemed to be talking, their rough, guttural language grating on his ears. Somehow he could almost understand what they were saying. Cambyses turned away from the walls, only to find that the chanting was still droning on. He shifted slightly and felt his face color as Matwa, the high priest, glanced at him. Things were getting bad. He just had to get out of this tomb-out of the festering, nauseating atmosphere of that corpse house. The buzzing was steady and strong now. It seemed to be coming from the inside of the closed inner sarcophagus. He held his hands stiffly against himself to hide the shaking, but then his left eyelid began its tremors anew. Now the high priest was reaching for the lid of the sarcophagus. Why? Why? Cambyses looked down slightly and saw that his knuckles were white and visibly shaking. The box was opened for the last time and the King of Kings could see the linen wrappings of the mummy, who had a brightly painted mask over its face. Its arms lay crossed over its chest and they had placed the two royal scepters in them. The linen wrappings were discolored already, although they appeared to be quite dry. He blinked, hoping that he wouldn't see it, but he saw it just as he feared. The buzzing sound had increased dramatically when the lid was raised and he saw it. Struggling to free itself from the wrappings that bound the body, a large creature began to emerge. It was wet, as if it had been born from the hideous, festering, rotting body. It stroked its front feet together as it looked about. Its many faceted eyes seemed to take in the scene as the almost transparent wings stretched out, slimy tendrils breaking off and making quivering puddles under them. The smell of the creature was one of festering liquid putrefaction. It was coming out of the crotch area of the dead man, just as it had been said in the words of the Holy Avesta. Cambyses was paralyzed. The many knobby knees of the creature stretched tentatively and he could see the flat buttocks and flabby abdomen that swung slightly as it rose. It was now looking at him. When the faceted eyes settled on him, his paralysis was lifted. He took up his sword to defend himself. The creature began to buzz savagely as if it could divine his intensions. Cambyses ran at it with his sword poised to strike. Expertly he slashed at the thing, but it was as fast as lightening. It flew at his face and he smashed it with the blunt end of his sword. It rolled on the floor as if it had been hurt seriously, but then recovered and tried to attack him from behind. Cambyses was in a frenzied fight for his life, but not one of the other people in the tomb seemed willing to come forward. Again and again the creature attacked. It seemed to be trying to burrow under his clothes-yes, as the legends said, the Demon of Death, if not contained by the sight of a dog, would try to enter the body of the nearest person by burrowing into his ****. The vile feel of it was enough to make his fight desperate, but the thought of it entering his body! He managed to strike it directly in its abhorrent face. Its feelers were bent now and a loathsome liquid dripped from the sharp teeth that were exposed. Suddenly, the head priest Matwa leapt up to the dead Pharaoh and threw his arms around the body protectively. The creature seemed now to turn his attention to the priest, who appeared to be sobbing and frantically clutching at the frayed spot where the thing had made its way out of the mummy wrappings. It buzzed excitedly and flung itself at Matwa's back. The man writhed in frenzied terror as the thing began to burrow and the man's lower garment dropped to the floor as the creature tore at it. Matwa's scream was unlike that of a man. It sounded like that of a goat whose life is being tortured out of it. Again and again the hysterical shrieks reverberated in the stone pyramid tomb. The thing deftly pulled Matwa's tightened buttocks apart and then began to burrow nose first into the man. Matwa struggled, desperately squeezing his buttocks against the repulsive thing, but it still fought its way in. Soon only a few of the hairy, repulsive feet remained and then they also slid in, leaving a slimy trail, as the buzzing finally died away. Cambyses panted in his terror and looked at the people who stood there gaping in horror. Matwa lay dead and the mummy was torn to shreds. Debris from the struggle littered the floor of the tomb and several canopic jars lay smashed, their fetid contents smeared where a foot had slid in the decaying matter. Matwa lay near the mummy, his torn clothing bloody. One of his legs twitched and then relaxed again. The bones under the mummy wrappings stuck out like white branches. Cambyses was suddenly seized with rage. Why had they not tried to help him and the high priest? What kind of cowards were these Egyptians? He roared his orders now. They were to bring dogs in to watch for the creature and then clean up the mess. He ordered that they take special care of the body of Matwa, now the home of the Demon of Death. Cambyses felt sad for the noble high priest. He had been the only one who had tried to help, but he now lay dead. What a terrible way to die. He shuddered as he looked around at the craven Egyptians who had failed to help him to fight against the Demon of Death. He was exhausted and heartsick. What was he thinking venturing into this evil place without the magi? They would never have let this terrible thing happen. They would have insisted on having dogs present. They would have known the proper spells to ward it off! Cambyses felt the tremors in his body subside somewhat. Now he would have to undergo a lengthy purification process.

Taino Ti: by K.B. Forrest

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Taino Ti: by K.B. Forrest

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Yuis Rosales can't remember a time when he wasn't haunted by dreams of strange people, jungles, and the gods whose forms only he can create. Just when these nightmares are threatening to overtake him, he meets Felipe, who quickly invades both his waking, and his sleeping hours. Yuis only wants to see his art hanging in a gallery, but when he leaves for Puerto Rico, he discovers a history so horrifying that his dreams pale in comparison. His past as a Taíno shaman collides with a madman's lust for mystical dominion... Summoning his own power, Yuis must learn to trust his totem beast, Mukaro...and his passionate lover.

Omens delivered in dreams. Undecipherable words whispered into unwilling ears. Monstrous visions from the past, and a strange attraction to a strikingly handsome man force Yuis to face his shamanic future.

Excerpt:
Yuis stared out beyond the concrete walkway toward the beach where couples were walking hand in hand. The gentle waves lapped at the sand and the smell of the ocean beckoned to him.

He descended the concrete stairs, but just before he reached the beach, he cried out as powerful dizziness made him lose his balance. The steps seemed to dissolve and his body floated down. He fell onto the soft sand of the beach, and fought to regain his equilibrium. What was happening to him? He felt like he was in the grip of a nightmare and he was struggling with a heavy weight. He gasped as the feeling left him abruptly. The thumping salsa music had stopped. A tropical bird called out into the night and the sound rose high and then died away. Yuis stood and looked behind him, but the concrete stairs were gone. All he saw were rough slabs of stone that cut through the verdant jungle as they ascended through the dense mist of the evening.

Eyes were on him.

He whirled around as the haunting call of the owl rent the silence of the night.

Silhouetted against the moonlit waters was the form of powerful man. He could tell that he was as unclothed as nature had created him. Yuis took a step backward, but the man ran forward and grabbed him. It was Felipe, but Yuis's heart beat fast when he saw his long hair and the untamed look in his eyes. Felipe bent and kissed him. Yuis tried to pull away, but the heat from his kiss made his body remember what it felt like to have Felipe inside of him. He held Felipe tight and he could feel his throbbing erection on his belly. His passion escaped him in a moan of anticipation. Yuis's fingers were buried in Felipe's long hair and he arched his back as his tongue crept into his mouth.

Yuis pulled back to look at him, but he cried out in protest.

"Yuis, I must have you. It's the will of our ancestors that our souls be forever joined."

His ragged voice and the tension in his powerful frame made Yuis ache for him. The heat of his skin and the magic in this wild air uncoiled desire inside of him like he'd never known. He pulled Yuis down to the sand and kissed his neck. Felipe's hands roamed over his body caressing him, making him scream out his name in longing. Ceaseless desire that was as endless and primal as the ocean exploded in Yuis's head.

"Yuis."

The word, spoken with such passion, seemed to fade, but it resonated within him as the dizziness came over him again.

Calor del Amor: by K.B. Forrest

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Calor del Amor: by K.B. Forrest

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Is the wide-eyed man-child Gabriel an innocent and naive kitten or is he a scarred and wily tomcat ready to pounce? Before he learns the truth, Detective Alejandro Cardoza must win the fight against his own willful body, which desperately wants Gabriel.

Gabriel Palacios flees his abusive father's clutches, even though he's been warned that the mad cop will stop at nothing to control him. He lands in New York City after enduring a trip with a demented admirer, only to find that he immediately comes under suspicion for a horrible crime.

Detective Alejandro Cardoza investigates this crime, but finds himself caught in a web of deceit and desire that threatens to ruin his career. He is determined to nab Gabriel, the prime suspect, but he finds his own heart under siege by love for this mysterious and tragic young man.

Excerpt:
Detective Cardoza walked over to the laptop and peered at the screen. He hit a key and looked up at Gabriel. "Murder? What is this?"

"No ... nothing! I'm writing a novel. It's none of your business!"

"Have you been overseas in the past five years?" Cardoza narrowed his eyes and continued grilling him. Gabriel was frightened, and he tried to hide his shaking hands.

"Well, I visited Puerto Rico when I was twelve, but that's not overseas. That's part of the U.S. It's not a foreign ..."

"Alright already!" Cardoza grimaced in annoyance. "Gabriel, I am Puerto Rican, so you don't have to convince me."

"So never been to a foreign country? Never to South America?" Cardoza moved closer. His hand reached for Gabriel's face and he stroked his cheek with his thumb. He bent closer. Gabriel felt his hot breath, and looked into his intense eyes until he could no longer stand it.

Gabriel stood up from the bed suddenly and backed away from him. He stepped back nervously and the back of his leg struck the leg of a rickety chair. Before he could regain his balance, Gabriel began to fall.

Detective Cardoza's notebook fell from his hands as he dashed forward and grabbed Gabriel by both shoulders. For a moment, Gabriel's knees buckled and Cardoza was holding him close to his broad chest. Gabriel's arms instinctively wrapped around him and the anxiety that had been eating away at his soul overwhelmed him. He began to sob into Cardoza's chest and he held Gabriel tightly so that he heard the steady thumping of his heart.

With his left hand, Cardoza began to stroke Gabriel's hair, and for a moment, he felt his warm breath near his ear. They were silent for what seemed to Gabriel like an eternity. For that moment, Gabriel felt as if he had died and was floating in a place where nothing bad could touch him. His father couldn't hurt him and the questions were far away. All he was aware of was the spicy smell of Cardoza's skin and his strong embrace. He wanted to stay like that forever.

Cardoza held him with one arm, and with the other tipped his head back. Gabriel couldn't stop his lips from parting in welcome as the man dipped in and tasted him. With their faces so close, Gabriel felt the soft, hot breath of the man inviting him to come closer, to join with him. His tongue, which had avoided the one being thrust into him, now had a mind of its own and it shyly ventured into the other man's mouth, but retreated hastily.

The act seemed to fuel Cardoza's passion. He bent in so that Gabriel felt his balance slip. He was held by one strong arm around his waist and another holding him by the back. He sighed deeply as he felt the man's erection poke his belly. His own rubbed against the man's thigh. For a few breathless minutes, they joined, lips to lips, and hot bodies against unwanted clothing. Gabriel felt that he would burst, and the thought embarrassed him out of the man's spell. It was like when you wake from a good dream and you want to continue sleeping, but it's too late. Gabriel pushed away from him and saw that Cardoza's eyes were slightly moist. Gabriel wished that they'd met under different circumstances, but then he remembered; Cardoza was the hunting dog, and he was the frightened fox.

"Enough for now," Detective Cardoza said in a husky voice. "I'll see you again soon, but take care of yourself. You better ..." He broke off as if he were unsure of what to do next. Then he was gone.

Still Waters: by K.B. Forrest

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Still Waters: by K.B. Forrest

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What happens when a suave city-slicker must put his life in the hands of a country horn-dog, whose idea of elegance is a two-story outhouse? To Charlie, who just can't keep his hands off Yoshifumi's most private possession, it seems like "more fun than when the legs fell off Nellie's hamster."

Charlie Stillwaters thinks Yoshifumi Murakami is cuter than a sack full of puppies, even after he learns of his connections with the notorious Japanese Yakuza mob, and the fact that he's so mean that if a rattlesnake struck him five times, it'd die. There is something Charlie just has to have. He's bad after Yoshi - he's as hot as a billy-goat in a pepper patch, but will they live to do it … or will they die and become haints of the worst sort? With the New Orleans-based mob hot on their tails, and suspicions mounting, Yoshifumi is forced to pair up with Charlie, who insists that he can "learn him plain an' fittin' American," and who thinks 'possum in the half-shell, a.k.a. road-kill armadillo, is good eatin.'

Excerpt:
Charlie looked up once again and he saw that the sun's angle had changed, and red- gold sunlight poured over the scene. The brilliant rays of sunlight glowed on Yoshi's skin and were refracted by the beads of water that clung to him. Yoshi was half turned away from him and he was running his hands down his chest. Charlie inched forward to get a better look. It seemed that the dour, pessimistic man had a sensual side to him that he kept under close guard. He snickered and Yoshi froze. He let out another shriek of alarm and leapt out of the stream.

Charlie felt his stomach clench with fear. A water moccasin! He scrambled out of the cave. How am I going to get him to a hospital! Charlie's heart was pounding as he reached him. Yoshi was clutching his clothes to his groin and staring between his legs with horror.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna die!" he wailed.

"Where did it bite you? Did you see what kind of snake it was? Was it dark brown or did it have a white ..." Charlie stopped his tirade of questions and stepped back.

"Look!" Yoshi squeaked staring at the small brown tick that had attached itself to the skin of his dick. "I'm infected with lock jaw! I'll die a horrible, painful, lingering death! Oh God, I should've listened to Daddy! Now look! To have it all end like this! The pointlessness of it all! Oh the pitiless gods ..."

Charlie cut him off with uproarious laughter.

"This isn't funny!"

Charlie laughed so hard that tears were squeezed out of his eyes. It felt good to laugh after such terrifying things had happened to them. He fell back against a tree, still heaving with laughter.

"You ain't gonna die. This is your first tick, ain't it? Congratulations.

The Sorcerer's Secret: by K.B. Forrest

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Sorcerer's Secret: by K.B. Forrest

Back Cover:Fire-dreams of Fire-visions of Fire. Where do they come from? Aryazate doesn't know why, but he fears the power secretly growing in him. Am I a demon, or a sorcerer? Kavada, the blacksmith, seems to be the only one he can trust, but even he doesn't know the extent of Aryazate's secrets. What would he say if he found out that the beautiful maiden Aryazate, is really a young man forced by circumstances to conceal this truth, which day by day becomes more evident? Just when he thinks Kavada is ready to hear the truth, Aryazate's worst nightmares become reality. The Head-Mage Monushir accuses him of sorcery and has him imprisoned. What will this trial reveal? Is the truth so horrible that Aryazate will welcome torture and death by fire-by the same fire that haunts his dreams?

Excerpt:
The observers saw the corpse handlers as they set down their burden. They saw them uncover the body and take up a sharp knife to cut the gown it had been dressed in, exposing the naked body for the great birds to consume. Turning, they left even as the buzzards descended en mass on the body. The mad rush of the buzzards caused the coconut that the corpse handlers had substituted for Baraka's head to fall to the ground. from high above with a thut as it split open. They could see the dark stain of blood on one end of it and people backed away. Suddenly, the spectators noticed something strange and very disturbing. The buzzards, which had appeared to be ravenous, were regarding the body with scorn. One great male flew away and others followed. Not one bird had tasted Baraka's body. Monushir gave an audible squeak of fear. It was a greatly inauspicious sign that the birds didn't eat the body. It meant that a ghost or a demon haunted the body. Monushir grabbed his holy kusti string and shook it violently as he intoned the demon-exorcising spell. Others, frightened and confused, followed his example. People backed away and the corpse handlers took up the leashes that secured the funerary dogs, as if they could gain strength from them. They quickly joined the leashes in a kind of knot to increase the strength of the dogs and placed their own kustis outside of their white robes. Suddenly it became dark and lightening cracked above. "Evil!" "It is a sign of evil!" "Indeed! Lightning and no sign of rain!" The crowd seemed paralyzed with fear. Nobody ran. A reverberating sound, like the deep breathing of a dragon filled the air, and the ground shook. From above the Daxma, a swirling shape appeared. Slowly it took form. A headless creature with the body of a human and the obscene tail of a water dragon slowly descended. The king's entourage, including the brave Tripura, seemed caught in a trace of horror so great that they were unable to move to protect him. They watched as the head formed. First, it looked like a lump of unformed flesh, but tusks grew out and it writhed as if in pain. Great fiery eyes popped from the raw flesh and it chomped as a vicious mouth tore forth from the mucoid opening. Needle-like teeth shone yellow with slimy saliva. It roared and the land shook. With a loud thud, it landed and crushed the corpse cart under a great foot. Monushir seemed at first to be paralyzed with the rest, but then he reached into his robe and pulled out the barsom wand used by the magi for spells. He waved this over Aryazate's body three times. A blinding light covered Aryazate and he felt the change. He felt the great sword in his hand and the new glorious clothing that covered him. His own power took over now and he saw the crowd regarding him with open mouths. The demon roared again and people screamed in terror. He rushed at the creature and felt his power bust forth. His hair lit with a fiery nimbus and his entire body glowed like Mithra as he descends from the heavens to bring the morning sun. The sword struck the demon's neck and his great head fell to the ground. The body remained standing for a moment, but then fell like a great mountain struck by lightning. Thick blood poured from the severed head and trunk, wetting onlookers who screamed in terror. Before their eyes, the body dematerialized until it rose like fog and vanished. There was a shocked silence before the crowd burst into cheers. Aryazate looked down at himself. He was dressed as a man in a royal warrior's garb. He looked like a prince. His long hair was neatly rolled into a knot on his head, as was the habit of the kings and princes. His garb did not cover his powerful biceps and the size of his chest was evident. Gone were his womanly coverings. He was a man.

Pride of the Beast: by K.B. Forrest

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Pride of the Beast: by K.B. Forrest

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Fleeing a charge of murdering his master, Artavan, the orphan slave boy, joins his noble friend Tork, on a mission beyond the village-where it is rumored that demons and monsters roam. They soon encounter two sinister strangers who may have a link to Artavan's unknown past. The Sorcerer Angraminyu, a powerful mage bent on killing one of the strangers, Prince Devdata, will not allow Artavan and Tork to part ways with them, not that Artavan wants to. Although he once thought that Tork was his only comfort, now he begins to see something concealed in his shifty eyes. Does Tork know something about him, which he wishes to hide? Who really is his friend? When he finds himself in the strong arms of Prince Devdata, Artavan's heart disobeys his mind, even though grief will surely be the result.

Excerpt:
Without a pause, he leapt up and again flew at the dragon. This time, his sword cut into the scaly skin. Blood as luminous as light dripped to the ground accompanied by a roar that almost made him soil himself with fear. The huge beast spread diaphanous wings that seemed to be made of flexible crystal studded with gems, and moved them, fanning up a slight, fragrant breeze in the dank room. For a moment, Artavan hated himself for injuring this monstrous, yet beautiful beast. The creature seemed to be regarding Sarama and him without real fear, and it had yet to defend itself. Artavan backed up, encouraged by its lack of response, and struck again. This time he cut another gash in its horny skin and the beauty of its blood stunned him for a moment until he felt one of the small front feet grasp him by the neck. It quickly drew Artavan to itself and he was so shocked he didn't even struggle at first. He looked into eyes that glowed, but seemed to him to be calm and without rancor. He wanted to reach out and touch the lovely scales. When it opened its mouth to swallow him, Artavan saw that its teeth were made of the same luminous material of which its claws were fashioned. He felt its hot breath and braced himself for death. Sarama launched herself from the ground as the creature bent over Artavan and she bit its tongue with a garbled growl of victory. The creature dropped Artavan and roared furiously as crystalline blood the color of liquid rubies spilled forth covering Sarama, who tried to shake the tongue as she would the small animals she would catch and kill. Bracing her short legs on the dragon's scaly lips, she shook her head with its covering of wiry fur with a frenzy. The dragon used its small front feet to awkwardly grab Sarama and squeeze her. Artavan realized the brutal strength it possessed as bones crushed in the dog's body making popping noises and tearing the skin wherever the mighty crystal claws dug in. With a groan, the little dog went limp at last and the dragon shook her as if in revenge. Finally, it threw Sarama's torn and bloody body to the ground in front of Artavan. It hit the ground with a wet slapping sound that tore him from the sight of the sparkling, beautiful dragon. Artavan screamed long and loud in anguish he'd never before felt as his dear Sarama lay torn open before him. Before the scream had died in his throat, he saw Devdata fly into the chamber to confront his evil enemy. The creature moved against the wall and seemed frightened for a moment, but then it made a low honking noise and its tail crashed against the stone floor noisily. Artavan saw that the tail ended in several upright scales that seemed as sharp as cut gems. It was long and the dragon used it with amazing speed, swiping at the Prince.

Son of Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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Son of Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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In a world lit only by fire, Atar still sees honor even as hope dims

Dragons and sorcerers populate Atar's world. A lost prince taken in by a tribe of savage Scythians, he is hated and abused because of his disabilities. He does not know that he is to be the next Firestarter. As he is forced to confront evils he never imagined possible, he also gains the strength to find his voice and his honor. Watching and hating him, his half-brother, son of the evil wizard Dahaka waits for the opportunity to take away Atar's destiny for himself. How will Atar and his werewolf companion and lover, Bulliwuf, thwart and evil they cannot see?

Excerpt:
Excerpt: Atar crept out of the camp. He could feel the night wind. It still had a chill of winter. The moon was waxing high in the clear sky and it shone on the landscape like an eerie noontime sun. Atar felt his breath quicken. Tonight was a time of celebration, especially since he had been miraculously granted his boon. He was dancing, he realized with a distant part of himself. He was moving his graceful, muscular body in the moonlight to the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It was the sound of a young girl, sighing as she discovered the passion of love for the first time, yet this voice was deep, ancient, and eternal. He laughed richly, throwing his head back, delighted with life. He was alone, he knew, and this knowledge allowed him to dance in honor of that odd, achingly beautiful voice without any inhibitions. Out of the dark emerged a tall form, resplendently silver in the moonlight. Atar stood suddenly dazed as he recognized the werewolf. His silvery hair shone in the dark. His eyes, so cunning in the face of a wolf, still held a deep mystery. In one large hand he held a bouquet of exquisite flowers. These he handed to Atar, who was too stunned to speak. "Is this how it is done, my dear Atar? I saw you give such a thing to the girl. I was hoping..." Atar was used to speaking with Bulliwuf mentally. This was perhaps why he never spoke to the others. Only Bulliwuf understood. He struggled to speak. He opened his mouth, but only a sigh emerged as Bulliwuf pulled him closer, so that their bodies met. Atar felt the hardness of the werewolf, and his heat. The flowers fell from his hand as his arms instinctively embraced Bulliwuf's strong back. The werewolf buried his nose in Atar's hair, snuffing as he usually did. His hot tongue, so familiar, lapped around his ear. Hot desire emanated from the silvery form. Atar went stiff with the sensation. He held on as if his life depended on it, and the heat from the naked werewolf seemed to seep into every part of his willing body. He'd always found acceptance with Bulliwuf. To be loved fully, to be an object of desire, rather than of scorn made him feel confused and weak. Bulliwuf took his face in his large hands and held him as he kissed Atar deeply. He took of him hungrily, until Atar was breathless. Their hot bodies intertwined, and Atar felt his soul rise to places he'd never imagined existed.

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Trial by Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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Trial by Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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Chief Melik of the Scythian Paralatae tribe is dead, horribly mutilated. Evil Zohak leads the warriors in accusing Atar, who must now run for his life. Atar decides to go to the great One Hundred Year Festival with his lover, the werewolf Bulliwuf. Arriving at the festival with no money, Atar joins several competitions, which have significant prizes. Atar's quest for money brings him to the attention of the evil wizard Dahaka, who first mistakes him for his long lost son. The Summons will be heard by all qualified mages at the end of the festival, but only one can be awarded the title and power of the Firestarter. Zohak and his father Dahaka plan to see to it that Atar never hears the Summons.

The shame of rejection beating down on him, Atar must still rise to face challenges, or death at the hands of a wizard.

Excerpt:
Excerpt for Trial by Fire: The night air was cool against his over-heated body. It glided over him like liquid silk. They stopped by an icy creek and lapped the water like animals. Atar had his head bent over the clear water, when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Ishria, as if knowing that it was time to rest, began to pull on grass. "I have suffered through so much, my friend," Bulliwuf said in a voice so smooth and luscious that Atar gasped. "I have seen you succeed and I have wanted to take you so many times. Do you know how hard it is for me?" He took Atar into his strong arms and pushed him against the trunk of a dark, ancient oak. "I want you now. I can't wait." Bulliwuf's silvery-blue eyes had the eerie shine of an animal. He stared into Atar's eyes and cupping his chin, he kissed him. First lightly-so lightly that it was as if a feather passed over his lips. Atar pushed against him now. He hadn't realized how much his own passion had been pent up. His hands moved over Bulliwuf's powerful body. He could feel the nakedness of the werewolf rubbing against him, and it was more than he could take. He ran eager hands through the silver hair that was soft-almost like a rich fur, but so long. His ears were hot. His whole body seemed too hot. Atar had never taken the lead in their love making, but now he moved with aggression. Bulliwuf chuckled in his deep baritone, and this excited Atar. How sweet he tasted. Atar kissed him all over, panting as his hands moved over the muscles. He knew Bulliwuf's body so well. It was as if it had just dawned upon him. He wanted nothing more, and he knew that for all of his bragging about women, that Bulliwuf only wanted him. Atar wanted to own Bulliwuf. He wanted to take him in and adore him forever. The stars shone brightly in the night sky and the air hummed with life as it had done on a night, many, many years ago. As their bodies came together and they cried out in passion, the world seemed to join with them. The cacophony of night animal sounds, the babbling of the water in the creek, even the sounds no human could hear enveloped them as Bulliwuf shared his awesome power with Atar. For that moment, Atar saw and heard things through his werewolf. The night cried out with them and pulsated with eternal life.

Burned Dreams: by K.B. Forrest

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Burned Dreams: by K.B. Forrest

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Atar is now the Firestarter, but his only wish is to escape to the land of his dreams. It is the fabled "Land of the Water Dogs," where white mares graze by a crystalline lake. Atar and Bulliwuf are making their way there, but as the rightful heir to the throne of the Persian Empire, Atar is thrown into responsibilities he does not wish to face. Zohak is waiting to pounce on the throne. He is also an heir, but his rule will bring disaster to the fair land. When forced to compete for the throne, Zohak loses until he cuts a deal with a demon. Zohak was once the evil brother of Atar. Now he is a demon.

And then the Evil Spirit, who is full of destruction, whittled forth the Dragon of Drought.-The Videvdad.

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Excerpt from Burned Dreams: "Do you want this?" "Yes! Yes!" Zohak screamed. The Goddess was inches away now. Zohak was surprised to feel the deep fear struggle violently to the surface, he thrust his hands out, warding her away, his face a mask of fear, but it was too late. He couldn't move. She bent her head, and kissed his right shoulder with unseen lips. Tiny fangs pierced his skin. They were scalding hot, like fire. Zohak shuddered with pleasure. She kissed his left shoulder, tiny fangs again piercing his skin. Zohak felt the most wondrous waves of power shoot through him. He felt like a god! Then Zohak screamed and screamed. He fell to his knees, screaming. And all the while, his head rang with the sharp, measured sound of iron striking iron. The sound rolled through him, tearing at him, tearing at his sanity like a raging river. The awful clanging mingled with his pain, producing a fear inside him unlike any he had ever experienced. He screamed until the blood dripped out of his mouth and nose. He felt the most awful sense of shame and violation that he had ever known. The pain persisted like fire, with unbearable intensity. The Goddess behind him laughed. The thick air was foul with the scent of rotting corpses and vile things. "What have you done? What have you done?" Zohak screamed at the presence, hating it with all the intensity of his pain. He could not hear his own words for the awful clanging in his head. The measured tones fell with inexorable precision. Zohak fell to the floor, clutching his shoulders as more unbearable pain centralized there. Under the palms of his hands, he felt his shoulders swelling. He felt something smooth push against the palms of his hands. "What…what's happening to me? What? Ahh!" Zohak screamed again, but his voice was horrible to hear. The weak, rasping croak was a parody of his normal clear voice. He took his hands away, but he could feel the things growing. A hungry hissing filled the chamber, and the clanging died away. Zohak strained to hear it, but the hissing was now dominant. "No! No!" Zohak sobbed, wishing this were a dream. The chamber was in blackness again. Zohak stumbled over to his room, and fumbled for the lamp. He somehow got the thing lit. Blinded by tears, he blundered into his bedroom. The light from the lamp seemed to be swallowed up by the utter darkness around him. He froze before the mirror, shaking his head in denial. Through his tears, he saw the sleek black shapes weaving in the air above his head. Their scales glinted in the yellow light as they undulated ceaselessly in a way that was sensual, but at the same time unspeakably horrible. The one on his right shoulder dipped and flicked his damp hair with its red, forked tongue. The copper eyes of both snakes regarded Zohak with steady malevolent intelligence through the mirror.

Banner of Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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Banner of Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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"Then the Evil Spirit whittled forth as our antagonists evil sorcerers." The Avesta.

Zohak, the evil brother of the Firestarter Atar, has made the ultimate pact with the demons. He learns that the power the dragon-snakes have given him does not come without a cost. He is horrified to find that they require human brains for food. Atar if faced with the final test. The winner gains the throne of the Persian Empire. Meanwhile, the kingdom is wracked with disturbances. The drought has caused famine. Zohak institutes a monstrous tithe, and Kava, the blacksmith loses his family. The Army of the People rises under Atar and Kava, but they are faced with an Imperial army now composed of full and part blooded demons, sorcerers, and wizards. Their only hope is the power contained in the body of Atar, the Firestarter, but he must first find a way to activate it.

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Excerpt from Banner of Fire: The drip, drip, drip of water cut through the air. Each drip reverberated in his head. Zohak opened his eyes slowly. At least the clanging hadn't started. His limbs were heavy. He tried to speak, but only a low moan escaped his lips. He thrashed his head and moaned louder. He saw the figure in the doorway. It was dark, but rays of light made a fiery backdrop. He moaned again and tried in vain to move. The figure casually set a huge mace down and pulled a wicked-looking knife out of its sheath. Zohak recognized it as the knife belonging to his foster father, Melik of the Stout Ribs. He had given it to Zohak just before he was murdered. The man's face was visible now. It was Atar the Idiot, his half-brother, and the real heir to the throne. Zohak wanted to plead with him. Atar's face was impassive. All of its anger was gone. He pulled off the covers to reveal Zohak's naked body and then, as if working with a deer carcass, he began to flay Zohak. Unable to scream, Zohak moaned in torment and terror. Instead of the torment ending in death, he was roughly dragged out of his bloody bed and it was then that the clanging began. The dragon snakes were already writhing in agony with their master, but now their frantic movements maddened him. Clang, clang, clang! Another figure appeared at the door. He was a huge man-yes, it was the blacksmith Kava. He was carrying iron chains. He took these and wrapped them around Zohak's burning body and they made his flesh sizzle like roasting meat. Zohak was overwhelmed with the horrifying odor of his own burning flesh. The blacksmith eyed Zohak for a moment then reached back to something he'd set on the floor. He put an ox yoke on Zohak's neck. Zohak could see the agony in the man's mind. He saw the blacksmith's daughter, the one his dragon snakes had eaten. His skinless body burned at the memory. He could see and feel the agony of every person he'd fed to his snakes. In response, the snakes vomited a vile-smelling substance that tortured him as it spilled over his exposed flesh. The men were making him walk. They moved on and on until they reached a mountain that looked horribly black. They led him into a cave deep in the mountain. The blacksmith held a hammer in one hand and a long iron spike in the other. He was unable to move as the man hammered the spikes into his body, pinning him into the rock. Zohak realized that the man was being careful not to harm his vital organs. The two men left him in the darkness and suddenly Zohak found his voice. Zohak's screaming brought the guards, his viziers, and even his wife, Jahi the Lovely. "Bring the astrologers and magicians," he croaked. His hair was in disarray and he hadn't changed his bedclothes. Urine soaked the front and back of his robe, but Zohak didn't care. "So what does this dream mean?" "We cannot be certain…" "It can mean several things. Perhaps not all bad," another astrologer said. "Guards!" Zohak roared. "Prepare to have these men all flayed alive. They are hiding the truth for fear." An old astrologer, the chief, stood. "I will tell you. The reason we hesitate is that there is no good news. The dream means this: Everyman is born not for his parents, but as a tithe for death. No person-not even the highest king, can escape death. It means too, that your evil deeds have earned you a terrible reward. The man they call the 'Firestarter' will come back and he will destroy you. The blacksmith of your dream represents the many people you have killed to satisfy the greed of your snakes. Because of that greed, people have risen against you. You cannot escape your destiny, which is endless suffering as an eternal captive in Mount Damavand. The iron with which they bound you represents good over evil. The blacksmith works with iron. Iron represents forces that work against demons. It means, in short, that you are now not a man, but a demon. For you, death would be a blessing."

The Impossible Promise: by K.B. Forrest

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The Impossible Promise: by K.B. Forrest

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Seeing is believing-unless you are seeing double

Roscoe didn’t mean to do it. He beat a woman almost to death, but hell, she was a whore. A woman who had no appreciation for him! He knows one thing: he is a lot of man to love. Now her pimp is ordering him to pay up. He knows he can do it because he’s in line for a big raise. One small thing stands in his way: Darlene Savage. Darlene wants to make it as a network technician because she has what it takes, even if all of her co-workers are male. One big thing stands in her way: Roscoe, a man who hates her and believes no woman can do his kind of work. He is constantly scheming to get her fired, but the competition heats up when a new job opens. Darlene finds an ally in Billy-Bob, a fascinating geek by day, and cowboy by night. The only problem? He's like a changeling. She never knows what will come up next. What she doesn't know is that Billy-Bob is not just one man. He is really two men—identical twins, and one of them is courting her without the other’s knowledge. Will she finally realize and make her choice, or will Roscoe make sure she never lives to choose?

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Excerpt from The Impossible Promise: "Hi, darlin', I was just over to see Mr. Flarck. He wanted to ask me if we'd had lunch. What was that about?" She closed the door and fell into his arms crying. When she finished her story, Bob was surprised that even though he'd done this to hurt Billy, he felt real sympathy for the beautiful young woman. It seemed that someone was out to get her canned. "So he tried to frame you so that you won't be considered for the job? That's low. Look, here is my cell phone number." He wrote the number on the back of his official business card. "If you need me to vouch for you or to catch these guys at their game, just let me know. I'll break that whale's leg if he tries anything." Darlene was wiping her tears, and he put a hand on her face, holding her as he dabbed a tear with his thumb. God, she was beautiful. "Tonight when we go out, I'll let you know if anything else happens," she said. He realized that Billy and Darlene had made plans for a date. This meeting was going to screw things up, but since his stomach still hurt from Billy's punch, he deserved it. He said goodbye and started to leave when a huge man with a pendulous gut came charging out of the next office. A smarmy smile spread over his face. He pushed past Bob and looked into Darlene's office. He shook a fat finger at her and said, "Get a room." Bob was instantly filled with rage. He recognized that Roscoe fellow from her description. There couldn't be two of the same blob. He grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him close ferociously. "You watch yourself, Buster. I've de-nuttered my share of hogs, and I'll do it again any day. You cross me, or my woman, and I'll make you squeal like a stuck pig, you hear me? Answer before I get my nut-clippers out." Roscoe said, "Let me go. Oh God, I'll do whatever you say." "You address me as Oh God, Sir." Bob shook the man until his jowls trembled like pouches of Jell-O. "Oh God, Sir." Roscoe said obediently. Bob walked down the hall assertively, hearing his cowboy boots clip along the polished floor. He imagined Darlene laughing in her office.

The Impossible Promise: by K.B. Forrest

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The Daughter of Fire: by K.B. Forrest

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You can't ignore your inner demon.

Korin was a slave, beaten and abused, but never broken. Everyday she watches the soldiers of the Imperial Army practice, and she wishes she were one of them, rather than the lowly slave that she is. One day, her slave supervisor attempts to blame her for the catastrophic loss of the army's herd. In the resulting dispute, she accidentally kills him and flees to the army camp, where she is mistaken for a minor officer. Thus begins her journey in the land of free men. She doesn't ever want to return to her old life. When crazy Antiochus, a superior officer, takes her in and covers for her, she takes up her duties with a passion. All is threatened when a fellow slave recognizes, and reports her. Will they call her bluff and engage in a sword duel meant to uncover her real identity? Adding to the already dangerous situation is the fact that the last of the pureblooded demons, Vorak, has taken an intense interest in her. He suspects, like the others, that there is more to Korin than meets the eyes. Could Korin's uncanny strength and affinity for the night have a more sinister meaning than she realized? Could she be a demon? Korin must discover the meaning of her strange powers before she gets caught up in something she can't control.

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Excerpt from The Duaghter of Fire: "Don't you dare make a mockery of this army! You are a woman and a murderer." Korin gave him a condescending smile. "Am I? Well I didn't notice much difference between you and me but as far as being a murderer, how could I deny that? I've bathed entire villages in blood." She grinned at him and stared. "But maybe that mage would care to come back here and question me? If this was all so important that he convinced you to come out here, then why did he run away unless he was lying and knew I could prove it? Where are the people who say I'm a demon? The magi are forever cooking up stories to make themselves look important." Korin could feel the men bending under her persuasion. Their faces cleared of fear and all that was left was something Korin had never seen directed at her. It was the look Mogpaste used to give Master Sheed. Korin watched the men's eyes shift from her to their leader. His brow creased uneasily. "Curses! You lowborn son of a dog-eating pig-raper! I'll have you punished for insulting me at the very least! Fifty lashes, and I'll give them to you myself! We'll see what's under that breastplate of yours." Korin shrugged like it was of no concern to her, but she felt sweat break out on her upper lip and forehead. "You wouldn't be the first man to want to disrobe me. I didn't think that you were that kind of man." Her smile was infectious and the guard behind the leader sniggered. "Then again I suppose it's not surprising considering that you're under the control of the magi…I mean to say that you have a great respect for the magi." "You!" he screamed and launched himself at her. Korin saw his body tense and danced aside as he came at her. He wheeled his arms to try to regain his balance. Korin couldn't resist. Her leg snapped out and connected with his rear end. He bellowed like a herd-beast and landed in a graceless heap. Korin darted forward and kicked his ribs with her new stout boots, marveling at the added strength the tough soles gave her. The man let out a squawk of rage and surprise. "He attacked General Kayle!" "Oh the gods! He actually bested the general." Korin froze. She had no idea the man was a general. She knew she was in serious trouble now. She turned and sprinted toward the tent city. Korin looked back and saw that her boot print was stark against the black cloth that covered his rear as he turned, screaming at his men. She entered the tent city, but immediately had to slow her pace or attract notice. She heard the distant scream. "Seize him!" General Kayle yelled in a shrill voice that barely reached Korin's ears. She slowed to a walk, wondering what to do. Ahead, Korin caught sight of Antiochus and a lithe man with powerful shoulders. Her spirit leapt toward them like a drowning man seeing land. Even in her state of agitation, she noticed the surprising grace in the way the man next to Antiochus stood. One hand confidently rested on the hilt of the long rapier at his side.

Fire Demon: by K.B. Forrest

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The Impossible Promise: by K.B. Forrest

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You can't ignore your inner demon.

Korin feared a real fight. She’d had so little training, but her inner demon took over before she could be killed. Now she is terribly scarred, inside and outside. But now she is also a feared general and the head of the rebels. Zohak has fallen prey to madness, having accepted the forbidden fruit of power. He is a slave to the same devil who entrapped Vorak, only he is also possessed by the demon snake-dragon Kaliya. He now feeds on terror—literally. Only Korin can stop Zohak’s reign of terror, but he calls upon Vorak to lead his armies. When confronted with such a challenge, Korin fights with Vorak, who spirits her away. He simply cannot resist her. The unexpected awaits them both as they manage to form a plan to vanquish the Devil Eblise and win freedom for themselves and for the kingdom.

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Excerpt from Fire Demon: The group of seven wizards had locked hands, making them too powerful for the magi to defeat. They glowed with a greenish iridescent light as they enveloped themselves in a mist that made them invisible to human eyes. They walked forward toward the woman who could feel their approach. She began to scream. The wizards on both ends of the hand-holding line held sacrificial daggers. This must have been part of their plan-the plan B, if the head sorcerer somehow lost his head. If they succeeded, Eblis would be restored to his power completely. Korin ordered her mount to descend, but she was quite far from them. Now Korin saw with a jolt of horror that in the confusion of the battle, Eblis himself had escaped. He shimmered briefly through his cloak of invisibility. Korin shuddered involuntarily when she saw his true form. He was shucking himself out of the boy body, and as he did, his head elongated into an angular mask of rage. His skin was old-as ancient as parchment, but it glistened with putrefaction that would have left a corpse that long dead. His ears were mostly cartilage, and they were very long. Pointed at the top, the devil's ears were pendulant on the bottom. He wore earrings made of human bones. The ear holes writhed with what looked like maggots, but as she looked closer, Korin realized that they were festering, squirming naked humans covered with the slimy effusion of death. His eyes were black hellholes from which fires spiraled. Occasionally the burning arms or legs of some damned person could be seen thrashing about in hopeless pain. Bags of flesh hanged from his eyes, making him look even more ancient and evil. His long, pointed nose was warted heavily and appeared like a pendulous, rotting gourd. The mouth of the beast was the most horrific. Thin, cracking lips surrounded sharp, but decayed teeth swarming with creatures ranging from naked humans to insectoid creatures who fed on the humans, while the humans fed on the cheesy decay between the teeth. Eblis walked awkwardly in a cross between the knuckle walk of an ape, and the dragging of a disemboweled monster. Indeed, his gut bobbed over the ground as his obscene genitals trailed a slimy track as he walked. His distended anus stuck out of the flat buttocks that hung loosely. Worms and maggots dropped from it as he made his way to the woman who struggled and screamed anew, although mercifully, she could not see Eblis' real form. Vorak thundered from his position in the army. "No! Korin, stop! Don't approach that devil!"

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