Hi everyone. Today we are celebrating Orlan Drake's new release in his The Broken Crown Saga. He just released book 2: "Twilight's Dominion" in the series. Dive into the details for these two books and check out sneak peeks for this series below. Hope you enjoy them and purchase your copies today. Happy reading everyone. :)
A Cover Reveal for You to Enjoy!
Hello friends! I have some pretty exciting news! This past week, Katie Jenkins-Merical through Storyteller Publisher 22, LLC, released the n...
Saturday, March 21, 2026
New Release: "The Broken Crown Saga," by: Orlan Drake
The King's Fall
The Broken Crown Saga Book One
by: Orlan Drake
Genre: Epic Fantasy
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There existed beneath the old earth a sanctum kept from all maps and memories, shielded by corridors that twisted into each other with a geometry of deliberate confusion. In the deepest of its halls, a chamber circular and primeval waited in perpetual shadow. The room's centrepiece, a stone table whose circumference rivalled a city well, had been carved from a single slab of basalt. Its rim and surface bore etched runes and ancient sigils, their purpose unclear to any but initiates of the silent order that convened there.
Around this table, shrouded figures gathered, their cloaks indistinguishable but for subtle variations in the weave — one a blue so dark it drank in the torchlight, another a coarse grey laced with fine metallic thread, a third in deep forest green that shed a dusting of spores with every movement. Even in the heart of stone, the air hung moist and cold, saturated with the scent of burnt tallow and the musk of old water. From sconces in the arched walls, torches spat and guttered, casting orange light that slithered across faces as pale and anonymous as death masks.
No titles were spoken here, only the functional necessity of names earned and worn like invisible crowns. The magister at the head of the table, tall, angular, motionless save for the slow folding of gloved hands, did not need to identify himself. When he spoke, the voice cut through the stillness as though it had been whetted on the stone itself.
"Our watchers are not in agreement." The words were uninflected, carefully measured.
A murmur passed around the circle, not of dissent but of discomfort. The second figure, smaller but with an evident coiled energy, leaned forward. Her hands were bare, fingers long and stained black along the creases, and she tapped the table where the runes formed a broken circle.
"It is a minor border skirmish, Sentinal," she said. "Bloodier than most, but hardly unprecedented. Let the kingdoms squabble among themselves — Ardanthia and Caladorn have always warred at the fringes." She sounded impatient, as though summoned for a lesser concern.
The magister in blue, whose hood cast his face into shadow, spoke with a slight tremor. "The killing was not so minor. An entire diplomatic train vanished — every courier, every retainer, every guard. The ambassador's body was not even left for ransom. That is new. That is calculated."
The Sentinal allowed the words to settle, scanning the circle with a gaze that seemed to fix on each magister, regardless of where his face was aimed. "Six months ago, an envoy of Ardanthia, Lord Marcus Blackbriar, journeyed south with full ceremonial escort. Their course was direct: Eldoria to Delrith, then through the corridor to Mirashar. Before reaching Delrith, they were set upon and destroyed. Only one man survived, and he staggered back to Eldoria."
"Coward's tale," said the woman with the ink-stained hands. "Most witnesses die of their wounds, the lucky ones first."
The Sentinal ignored the snipe. "Our watcher in Eldoria heard the testimony. The survivor told King Leofric himself that the attackers wore the livery of Caladorn. Our watcher in Caladorn, however, tells a different story: they found no evidence of a sanctioned operation. If anything, Caladorn's own patrols have increased since the incident. Their court desires peace. Their king is tired of war."
A rustling of fabrics, the weight of suspicion shifting around the table. The green-cloaked figure finally broke his silence, voice low and gravelly. "If both kings are ignorant, then who profits from the attack? It's no longer a border dispute. It's something else."
A pause, broken only by the hiss of a torch collapsing into itself. The Sentinal's next words fell heavier for the silence.
"Our order exists not to shape events, but to understand them. Yet this affair grows more opaque with every new witness. Either our watchers lie, or we are being lied to. That alone is reason to intervene."
"There's little evidence it threatens the Balance," the woman pressed. "What can it matter if kingdoms grind each other to salt? We have seen worse in the east. Nothing endures but the Pattern."
"Unless the Pattern itself is being rewritten," the blue-hooded man said.
At this, the Sentinal brought his palms flat on the runic table, producing a hollow note that echoed into the stone. "We are not theorists. To maintain the balance we need clarity, not further confusion. We will look. Tonight, we summon the memory of that day and see for ourselves."
The woman's upper lip curled. "The power to see through time is not borrowed lightly, Sentinal. It leaves marks on both the living and the dead."
"We risk more by not knowing," the Sentinal said. "If our council cannot agree on what is, how can we guide what must be?"
The blue-hooded man lifted a hand, uncertain. "If it is as you say, and both sides are being manipulated, then the ritual may be hazardous. Memory is often trapped by the will of those who shaped it."
BLURB:
A Gripping Tale of Royal Betrayal and Hidden Romance
When darkness falls on the kingdom of Ardanthia, readers will find themselves caught up in a story where nothing is what it seems. Princess Eloise faces impossible choices as murder and betrayal tear her world apart. Her secret love for the Prince of Caladorn adds another layer of danger to an already deadly situation. This isn't just another royal romance - it's a heart-pounding adventure where love and loyalty clash in the most dangerous ways possible. You'll feel every moment of tension as Eloise walks the razor's edge between duty and desire.
Mystery and Investigation That Keeps You Guessing
Sir Cedric Blackthorn brings detective skills that would make any crime solver jealous. His brilliant mind works to solve puzzles that could save or destroy an entire kingdom. As Ambassador Zafir arrives with hidden motives and Baron Gorgo schemes from the shadows, every character becomes a suspect. The investigation twists and turns through palace halls filled with secrets. You'll find yourself trying to solve the mystery alongside Cedric, picking up clues and second-guessing every revelation. The chase scenes will have you on the edge of your seat as our heroes race against time through a kingdom ready to explode into war.
Fantasy Adventure That Brings Legends to Life
The Broken Crown Saga starts with this incredible first book that mixes political drama with fantasy elements that feel fresh and exciting. Secret groups work behind the scenes, pulling strings that control the fate of nations. The world-building draws you in completely, making you believe in a place where magic and politics dance together in dangerous ways. This story proves that sometimes solving one crime can prevent an entire war - and that the most important battles happen in the shadows.
For readers of David Eddings and Terry Brooks, this sweeping tale of betrayal, magic, and destiny will leave you breathless.
Purchase your Copy Today!
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Twilight's Dominion
The Broken Crown Saga Book Two
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The figures came on in absolute silence, fanning out across the trail with the efficiency of wolves. In a matter of seconds they had closed off her retreat and were sliding, almost bonelessly, down the talus to encircle her.
Their leader wore a helm that entirely concealed his face, its visor painted with a crude snarl of animal fangs. The others carried composite bows at the ready, arrows nocked, but pointed down — a gesture that managed to be both merciful and contemptuous at once. Seraphina drew Cassia to a halt and set her hands openly on the pommel, every muscle rigid with calculation.
"State your business," the leader growled, voice rendered inhuman by the tin of his visor.
Seraphina debated, for perhaps two breaths, whether to attempt bluff or bravado. The bows decided the matter. "I am Lady Seraphina D'Argent, of Armathor," she replied, "on a mission from Her Majesty Queen Evelina."
The leader turned, a lazy gesture that made mockery of her authority, and a snort went up among his lieutenants. "And your escort?"
"Was not permitted." Seraphina kept her gaze level, though the blood pounded furiously in her ears. "I am to meet with a representative of the Riders, if you are such."
The mention of the Riders produced a shift in the circle. The archers exchanged glances, some wary, some almost amused. The leader drew closer, boots crushing the shallow crust of snow.
"You speak too much for a courier," he observed. "But too little for a spy." He swept a gauntleted hand at her pack horse. "Open your satchel."
She untied the travel case from the gelding, working fingers gone numb in the cold, and fished out the scroll tube. It was heavy, made of dark wood and brass, the wax seal untouched. She held it up so they could all see the sigil of Caladorn: a pair of crossed sabres over a seven-pointed star. There was a stillness, then a slow, careful release of tension among the archers as the leader nodded, almost respectful.
"Walk forward. Slowly," he said.
They escorted her up the ridge, off the trail, through a section of scree so loose that even Cassia balked. For an hour, maybe more, they wound through impossible switchbacks and across narrow spines of rock, each step a new exercise in balance and terror. Finally, the leader raised his hand and the party halted at a narrow saddle between peaks.
Seraphina caught her breath, took a long swallow from her water skin, and paused as she noticed what lay beyond the saddle.
The city was carved into the living stone of the mountain's interior, hidden from the world by both geometry and design. Terraced galleries spiralled down the inside face of a gigantic crater, studded with windows and fire-gleaming vents that gave the place an eerie, hive-like vibrance. Slender bridges of bone-white stone spanned the void between rocky spurs, connecting to massive towers whose roofs gaped open to the sky. Far below, at the crater's deepest point, a plaza of blue granite caught the light of a hundred lanterns, transforming it into a pool of shimmering stars.
She had never seen such a thing. She had never heard of such a thing. And yet, as she stood there, wind plucking at her cloak, Seraphina understood instantly, with a sick clarity, that Queen Evelina had always known.
They did not take her down the public steps. Instead, the archers led her along a narrow spiral cut into the stone, half-tunnel, half-balcony, with just enough space for one person and a horse at a time. The air grew colder with every turn, and the hum of unseen machinery — bellows, pulleys, some kind of water-driven elevator — echoed from deep within the walls. At last they emerged onto a flagstoned platform where the leader, visor now up, gestured for her to dismount.
"Wait here," he said, less threatening now. "You will be summoned."
Seraphina did not ask how long. She untethered her gloves, flexed her hands, and tried not to shiver in the thin mountain air. The view from the platform was staggering; across the chasm, the terraces of the city glimmered with what looked like glass or ice, and tiny figures moved between the arcades.
A boy in a grey tunic arrived, bearing a tray of tea and something that looked like bread but tasted of cedar and salt. He smiled at her with a gentleness that belonged to another world. When she asked him his name, he merely gestured for her to drink.
Time stretched, then snapped back when the leader returned, flanked by two more guards in matching visors. "You will come," he said.
BLURB:
The peace was always a lie. They just didn't know whose.
Queen Eloise of Ardanthia has done everything right. She negotiated the alliance with Caladorn, married the prince, held her court together through blight and borderland attacks and the whispered threat of an ancient secret order. Now, with villages vanishing overnight — crops blackened, livestock dead, people simply gone — she does what any good ruler would do. She sends her best.
Sir Cedric Blackthorn, the precise and principled knight-investigator. Captain Elira, a soldier who has survived too much to flinch at anything. Tomas, a scholar more at home with footnotes than fistfights. Ryn, a street thief from the Saltspire docks whose instincts are worth more than anyone's education. And Auralias — the Court Mage, brilliant and unsettling in equal measure — who brings knowledge of old magic that none of the others possess, and who may be the only thing standing between Ardanthia and the League of the Moon.
Together, they are hunting the League before the League can finish what it started.
What they find will change everything they think they know — about the attacks, the conspiracy, and the true scale of what is being assembled in the dark. There are artifacts, older than any living kingdom, whose power was thought lost to history. There are secrets buried so deep that uncovering them will cost more than anyone is prepared to pay. And there is a question, growing louder with every mile: who, exactly, is the enemy?
Twilight's Dominion is a story about loyalty tested to breaking, courts where every smile hides a calculation, and the particular horror of realising that the enemy has been in the room all along. It is about a queen learning that the peace she built was built for her — and a company of mismatched, battle-worn companions who keep fighting even after the ground gives way beneath them.
Set across mountain fortresses carved from living rock, fog-wrapped port cities, a besieged royal palace, and the treacherous corridors of two kingdoms in collision, this is epic fantasy for readers who like their politics sharp, their magic consequential, and their betrayals earned.
Perfect for readers who love:
• The political intrigue of A Song of Ice and Fire
• The ensemble loyalty of The Lies of Locke Lamora
• The world-building depth of Robin Hobb
• Characters who are competent, scarred, and worth caring about
"There's no certainty in what's ahead. But I'd rather die among friends than watch the world go to monsters."
The Broken Crown Saga:
Book One: The King's Fall
Book Two: Twilight's Dominion
Book Three: Echoes of Kings - coming soon
Purchase your Copy Today!
Check out the Book Trailer:
I am a new author writing under the pen name Orlan Drake, my real name is Chris Hills Farrow. I've worked as a freelance writer for magazines in the past but have always wanted to write fiction, and after having more free time during the lockdowns, I have made some progress. I enjoy fantasy because it opens my mind to other worlds or ways of life that do not exist in real life, or have ever existed.
Learn more about Orlan...
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Saturday, March 14, 2026
"The Occult Series," by: Lauren Louise Hazel — Series Tour & Giveaway!
Hi everyone. I hope you are enjoying your Saturday. Things are moving along as I plan to feature another book tour around The Occult Series by Lauren Louise Hazel. Dive into the sneak peek for this YA Urban Fantasy below and find out how to purchase your copy today. Happy reading everyone :).
****
A shuddering, thrilling urban fantasy series
The Reign of the Occult
The Occult Series Book 1
by: Lauren Louise Hazel
Genre: YA Urban Fantasy
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“Prue!” Everett gasped, unable to disguise the desperation in his voice. His legs were aching, his lungs burning, and his heart was pounding erratically in his chest – a reminder that, despite everything, he was still alive.
Maybe not for much longer.
He wheezed, attempting to inhale more air, but from the weakness in his legs, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.
“Prue! Which way?” he cried, casting a panicked glance at his sister. He imagined he could hear them, the cocking of their guns, drawing near. Every flicker of movement in the streetlight, every sound, felt magnified, as though even the shadows were poised and ready to pounce.
“Both ways are blocked,” Prue replied at last, her feet pounding the pavement beside Everett, faltering only as they approached the junction. She frowned, eyelashes fluttering, and clenched her fists, her nails leaving angry red indentations in the palms of her hands. She was very pale.
“What are you talking about?” Everett gasped, slowing to a canter.
“Nothing is certain.”
Everett, while used to his sister’s cryptic remarks, was not in the mood for games. “That’s not helping!” he cried, skidding to a halt as they reached the turning. He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Are we going left, or right?”
Prue froze and her eyes did too, as they often were when she saw things nobody else could. “I told you,” she said, in a detached tone. “Both ways are blocked.”
Everett cocked the gun he’d held loosely in his palm, trying to ignore the way it slipped slightly in his grasp, dampened by his sweat-slick skin. “Does that mean we’re dead either way?” he asked, with a carelessness he didn’t quite feel. He checked his ammunition, if only to busy his shaking hands, knowing it would probably make little difference in the end. Maths had never been his strong point, but he knew one gun against hundreds were never favourable odds.
“They’re coming,” Prue informed her brother, although she did not meet his eyes. She was staring into the blackness at the other end of the street; Everett followed her gaze, but as always, saw nothing.
“Where—?” he began, before freezing. He couldn’t see, only hear, the rapid pounding of footsteps along a cobbled street. Low at first, the sound was growing louder, clear in the otherwise silent night. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up in warning. “Ok, you’re right,” he conceded, in a generous tone, “They’re coming! No foresight needed for that. Which way do we go?”
Prue shook her head, dark hair clinging to her bowed face, her eyes crunched in concentration. She was covered in sweat.
“Wait— wait—” Everett muttered, in a panicked breath, realising his sister was going to be of no help. He could see them now, shadows moving in the darkness, emerging at the end of the street. The Officers of the Occult. He shot three times in quick succession – one, two, three – and something must have found its mark, from the strangled cry of pain that followed. They were still alive, then. Good.
Everett had only a moment to feel relief before the others swarmed. They were closing in on them. Although in range, they had yet to fire a single shot; as he expected, their aim was to capture, not to kill.
“Something is changing,” Prue said from beside Everett. She clutched her head, fisting her fingers into her hair, as though physically trying to remove something from her mind. “Another factor is clouding things. His choices are unclear. He’s conflicted already.”
“Prue!” Everett cried, trying to pick something of use from her incoherent ramblings. He pushed her sideways, behind the wall of a garden and out of sight – at least for the moment. They were running out of time – the Officers would be upon them in less than a minute, and then there would be no escape. “Pick a way! Which way has more chance of survival?”
Prue gazed up at the sky, but she was seeing nothing. “Left,” she replied at last, “Maybe he will spare us.”
Without taking a second to contemplate what his sister might mean, Everett grabbed her slippery hand and pulled, turning a sharp left, the Officers of the Occult temporarily vanishing from view.
***
On the top floor of the Tower was the penthouse, overlooking the skyline. From its vast array of windows, spanning floor to ceiling, each area of the city was in sight – from the tall blocks of government buildings, to the dark entrances of the Underworld, disappearing into the distance.
The Occult had been at the bottom of the Tower once, a fringe party with little influence and labelled extremists, but now they were at the top.
Standing at the window, his face reflected in the glass, was the Head of the Occult. He was tall, with grey hair dusting at his temples and frown lines creasing his forehead. He had the look of one who had been handsome once, with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. He had been an Officer before he was the Head – a specialist armourer who created the Occult’s weapons.
Now, he was in charge. He had made it his personal mission to eliminate all that was evil in the world.
Starting with the Magic Users.
“Sir,” said Damian, from where he was stood at the far end of the room, crouched under an archway. His features stretched tightly across a chiselled face, but his eyes were revolving uneasily, almost unwilling to look at his master. He had been the Head’s second-in-command for many years – and before that, a military doctor. “They’re still on the run.”
“Where?”
“Sector 3E. They’re outrunning the Ground Forces.” Damian ground his teeth and admitted reluctantly: “It’s impossible to corner them.”
The Head of the Occult surveyed him for a long moment, his expression so unreadable that he could see Damian resisting the urge to shift under the intensity. The kid had grown strong. A life in the military had pushed him to his limits. He was not a tender-hearted healer anymore.
“Nothing is impossible,” Damian stated, “even against such wickedness. I suggest a different approach if your Ground Forces aren’t working.”
“The Tracker—?”
The Tracker was a User with the power to track anyone if she had something they owned – to link her to her target. The Occult utilised her skills frequently. She was useful but not very accurate – she could sense only general areas, rather than pinpoint locations. Like most Users, she was imprisoned. The powerful ones were kept in the Tower.
Close, just in case.
“No,” said the Head. A pause, then, “Not the Tracker. We already know where they are, we don’t need to track them – their expertise will be of little use.”
“Then, who?” asked Damian. After an icy silence he added a hasty, “Sir.”
“The boy,” the Head replied, without so much as a flicker of expression. “He’s yet to be tested. Let us see if he’s as powerful as people say he is.”
Damian was forced to admit, “He won’t like it.”
The Head laughed. “He won’t have much choice,” he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Send him. He should be able to trap them – no matter what they might be using.”
“Yes, sir,” said Damian. He saluted and turned on his heel.
It would happen, at last, the Head thought. They were within his reach. He was going to find them.
***
Tall, dark buildings blinked past as Everett gazed at the streetlights, breath ragged and increasingly erratic. He followed Prue’s lead, twisting and turning down different avenues and streets, hearing the distant sounds of the Occult’s officers behind them. They saw nobody else, heard nobody else, and Everett’s stomach sunk with dread.
“Where are we going?” he gasped. His head was spinning as he tried desperately to inhale more air.
“We’re trying to escape,” Prue replied, sarcastically.
“I’m going to die,” he informed her, almost hyperventilating. They turned down another alley, the sounds of the Occult fading away, and Everett couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, despite knowing the danger was far from over. “I’m about to keel over.”
He was still complaining when Prue froze halfway down the alleyway. Everett rushed to her side, as her fingers bit into the tender skin of her arms. “Prue,” he hissed. A streetlamp flickered. “What are you doing? We’ve got to go!”
“We can’t,” she replied in a quiet voice. “Besides, they’re gone.”
Frowning, Everett looked back the way they came and squinted into the darkness, seeing and hearing nothing following them. In fact, the whole street was eerily silent, something that in Everett’s extensive experience, never boded well.
“They’re not following us?” he asked, uneasy. His grip tightened on his gun and he narrowed his eyes, looking out for any sign of movement in the empty alleyway.
“They don’t need to,” Prue explained, spreading her arms wide and twisting on a heel, “They already have us.”
Before Everett could question her, another voice spoke from the shadows. “They did say you were good,” it said, coming from a slight figure that had suddenly appeared out of the darkness. It was a man, perhaps no older than twenty, with curly brown hair, white skin, and gleaming eyes. He had the mark of a Magic User engraved on his arm.
A User? Like Prue? thought Everett. To test his theory, Everett raised his gun and shot three bullets in quick succession. Instead of riddling the man in the leg, there was a crack of blinding light as the bullets splinted against an invisible shield; they fell and clattered to the floor, rolling out of sight in the darkness. The man’s face flinched in strain, but he remained unharmed.
Telekinesis? Everett thought. The power to move matter with his mind. Everett was impressed despite himself. He was a powerful Magic User, then. Just like Prue.
“Everett Leigh,” the stranger said, with deliberate disinterest; his eyes betraying him, as he looked Everett closely up and down. Everett knew when he was being assessed. “You’re Prue’s brother and loyal bodyguard. Fast, strong, and good with a gun.”
“Half-brother,” Everett pointed out. “The Occult are recruiting Users now?” He laughed loudly, in sheer disbelief; the sound echoed, rebounding off stone, almost hysterical. “Those filthy hypocrites.” Everett knew that the Occult hated magic and all that it stood for. They had created a system to eliminate it. They must be desperate to resort to Users.
“Fight fire with fire,” said the User.
He sounded bored – purposely nonchalant – but Everett could see that he was working hard to keep it that way, his relaxed stance and careless shrug almost too casual. Everett knew fear when he saw it. “You’re betraying your own kind!” he hissed, watching in satisfaction as a muscle in the man’s jaw jumped. Everett smirked in triumph, realising he’d hit a nerve. He continued with gusto: “You’re helping the Occult kill your own people!” He gestured at the User’s mark – bright and tender on his wrist. A new recruit.
“It’s not so simple…” Prue interrupted. She was the last person Everett expected to rally to the User’s defence. Everett looked at his sister with surprise, but her gaze was elsewhere. She smiled, just a small quirk of her lips. “…is it, Noah?”
The User recoiled visibly at own name. Everett looked back and forth between the mysterious man and Prue with increasing interest. Prue could see more than he could. She knew something. This User, for all his gifts, was not without a weakness, and Prue was exceedingly good at taking advantage of those. It was one of the reasons she and Everett had lasted so long on the run.
“You’re not doing this because you want to,” his sister continued, her voice soft. “They have someone you care about.”
“You’re being blackmailed?” Everett cried.
The User was too busy staring at Prue with wary eyes to respond to Everett’s indignation, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was told you see the future, not the past,” he mused, stepping forward, shadows casting monstrous shapes across his features. The angles of his face were sharp, but his eyes were soft – a strange and striking contrast.
“I do.” Prue was triumphant, as though she was sensing victory. “I see us freeing her.”
“Who?” asked Everett.
“His mother,” replied Prue.
Noah looked pained.
“What?” Everett croaked. He knew one thing for certain: he would never help anyone who worked for the Occult, even if they had imprisoned his mother. The thought made him sick. “I’ll do no such thing!”
The User was ignoring him, looking directly at Prue. “You’re lying to me,” he whispered, edging forwards. It was as though he was unable to help himself, his face shining with sweat as he stepped into the light of the streetlamp. He looked ordinary enough to Everett when the shadows had fallen away. A little thin, a little tired, but young and not particularly threatening. Everett was not impressed.
“No, I’m not,” implored Prue.
Noah crossed his arms, steeling himself against Prue’s words, but in the bright light he looked petulant. “You can stop with your lies. I’m not going to let you go, no matter what you say. I have to bring you in. He’ll kill her.”
Everett tensed like a coiled spring and cocked his gun in warning. “You’re not bringing me anywhere!”
“Noah,” Prue murmured, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t have to.”
Noah looked strained now, and Everett could see haunted shadows beneath his eyes; he hadn’t been sleeping. “Yes, I do. You don’t understand. I have to capture you.”
“Then do it!” Everett challenged. He was fed up of talking – fed up of mind tricks and manipulation. If Noah was going to capture them, kill them, or whatever, he could just do it already. Was he trying to prolong their agony?
“Not now, Everett,” Prue ordered, throwing him a look. “Later.”
Everett fell silent, understanding what Prue had left unspoken. They had been on the run together for years and had learnt to trust and rely on nothing but each other. Everett could read her look like a book – he knew he had to wait for his cue.
“Look, Noah—Noah...” continued Prue, now sure she had the User’s undivided attention. “I know you want to save her, but you won’t be able to do that by working for them. We can save her, I promise you.” She stepped closer, and Noah stepped back, into the shadows. Everett could not see his face. “You’ll realise that soon enough.”
“I can’t take that risk,” he replied, shaking his head. “If I let you go, they’ll kill her. I won’t let you escape – I can’t.”
“I know you won’t,” Prue admitted. She edged closer, stopping only inches from Noah’s face, commanding his full and rapt attention; Everett shifted uneasily at their closeness, hand inching towards his gun. “You’ll change your mind eventually,” she continued, with a twisted smile. “I’m sorry we have to do this.”
“NOW!” Prue screeched, turning back to her brother. Noah recoiled, but Everett was quicker; he raised his gun and shot three times, before he could question himself, before he could hesitate.
Hesitation could be fatal.
The first shot caught the User unprepared, and he cried out, blood splattering across his shirt. The bullet had hit him in the arm, beneath his shoulder, and he’d gone ghostly white in pain.
The next shots ricocheted off his resummoned mind shield, but it was already too late – Noah was stumbling back in exertion, sweat beading down his forehead, his face etched in agony. Everett knew they had to leave before the User recovered; no doubt he would want to take revenge for the gaping bullet wound, and the wrath of a User could be great.
Prue had realised the same thing as her brother. She charged back down the alley, grabbing Everett’s hand as she went. “Run!”
Needing no further prompting, Everett followed her back down the street; he could hear Noah’s ragged cries behind them, fading into the night.
They ran and ran, until Prue skidded to a halt behind a warehouse, relieved and exhausted. They were both rasping into the silence.
“Prue,” Everett gasped, scraping his fingers down his face and bending over, a stitch stabbing at his sides. “That was too close.”
Prue let out a wobbly breath and shook her head.
Everett surveyed his sister. It was not often that she was unnerved. “Were you telling the truth about us freeing his mother?”
“Of course,” Prue cried, looking offended that Everett thought she would lie. Everett would have lied, had it been him. “I knew that if we caught him off guard at the right time, there’d be a chance that we could run for it. And we did.”
“You can’t expect him to spare us if this happens again,” Everett grumbled, rolling the muscles in his shoulders and checking his gun. He was almost out of ammunition. “I don’t think he’ll forgive me for shooting him.”
Prue smiled. “Oh, he’s already forgiven you,” she informed him, with her usual certainty. “He knows you did what you had to.”
Everett eyed her suspiciously. “You have a lot of faith in him, considering you just met,” he observed.
“I’ve seen his coming for a long time,” she explained. “I just hoped we’d meet under different circumstances.”
***
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Everett’s legs felt like lead. His hair was plastered to his forehead. They had run miles since their confrontation with the Occult and their new User, ducking into alleyways, doubling back, and looping from block to block. They could never be too careful where the Occult were concerned, but they felt sure they had lost them.
It was still dark, and the streets were deserted, as they always were when the sun went down, the only light coming from the scattering of streetlamps along the main roads.
The Occult had spread stories that the creatures of the Underworld – Demons and shapeshifters – came out at night. Everett had rarely seen them himself. He knew it was more of the Occult’s relentless propaganda machine, spreading fear to the masses. It was human fear of the supernatural – of the things they did not understand – that gave the Occult power.
Everett glanced at himself in a car window and winced; his skin was unusually pale, aside from the splotches of red on his cheeks. Shaking his head, he turned to his sister, trying to gauge her mood. Her eyes were glazed, but not in the usual way that meant she was having a vision – she looked tired. Her short hair was matted against her temples and her movements were unusually sluggish. He felt a pang of protectiveness in his chest. He would offer to carry her – if he believed for one moment she would accept.
“Where now?” he croaked. He hated himself for asking when she was weakened. He was supposed to be protecting her, but without Prue’s foresight, they could run straight into a trap. Using her magic was useful, after all.
She jolted from her reverie, blinking rapidly. “To Lily’s. We need rest, food…”
“…a shower,” Everett chimed, attempting to unstick himself from his shirt. He dreamt of a long, hot bath, of sinking beneath the surface and blocking out the world forever. But as pleasant as it sounded, and as much as he wanted it, he could not take the risk of endangering Lily – not again. “What if she’s being watched?” he pointed out.
Prue shook her head with what looked like great effort. “She’s not, we’ll be safe there for now.”
Everett shrugged. “For now.”
***
The User returned from his mission without the targets, covered head to toe in blood. He did not look like much for one supposedly so powerful, but the Head knew appearances could be deceptive. Noah was a scrawny boy, more bone than muscle. He struggled when Damian brought him before the Head; he was calling weakly for his mother. His head was bowed and his legs were shaking. His arm had been hastily bandaged but was still seeping blood. A bullet wound.
And it was all over the Head’s marble floor, tainting the space with User wickedness.
Damien would have to make sure the floors were bleached. Thoroughly.
“You were the one that caused us so much trouble?” asked Damian, with clear disgust. “And you were defeated by a gun shot.”
“I thought he could only be defeated by the Illusionist…” said the Head.
“The Illusionist is the only one who can subdue him, sir,” corrected Damian.
The Head only used the Illusionist when he had to. Her physical body was weak and could not handle much strain. Her User power, however, was the strongest in his arsenal.
Noah stared resolutely at the floor, silent, his chest was rising and falling in panic. He looked like a trapped little bird, bent and bowed, with the windows casting shadows at his feet.
The Head moved on the dais at the far end of the space. He could see his own reflection in the glass; arms crossed behind him, his suit was shining in the burgeoning morning light. He looked like a statue of great grandeur, as old and immovable as the Earth.
“Tell me, User,” he said, pleasantly, “Why should I spare your mother?” His lip curled and the room darkened, the sun disappearing behind the skyline. “You have failed me, and you’ve failed the Occult.”
Noah started, as though he had been electrocuted. He made to stagger forwards, but was pulled back by Damian’s restraining hands.
The Head did not flinch.
“Please! Don’t! I swear – I’ll do anything!”
Noah was struggling against his bindings now, but even telekinesis would not work on them.
The bindings had been one of the Head’s greatest creations – his first prototype weapon of anti-magic, forged to capture and defeat countless Users. They wielded dangerous magic they could not hope to master or control and that magic that had led to years of death and war. Only the Head could subdue it.
He sighed. “You promised you would bring them to me.”
“I just – I need more time,” he said desperately. “I wasn’t ready for them before but now I am.”
The Head swept his assessing gaze down the User’s bandaged arm and across his panicked face. He raised a brow. “You don’t look ready to me.”
“Please don’t hurt my mother,” said Noah. His Adam’s apple was bobbing, and his eyes were wet with tears. He had unusual eyes – so light a green they looked almost yellow, almost gold. “I’ll bring them to you, I swear.”
His mother was imprisoned in the Tower, only floors below them. Of course, Noah didn’t know that. The Head wanted her close – in case the User tried anything.
The Head waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not interested in false promises. You must be punished – she must be punished – for your failure.” He walked back and forth along the expanse of windows, casting a long shadow across the marble floor. The Head knew he looked like a giant walking amongst the clouds. “I run a tight ship here – I cannot tolerate failure.”
The User was shaking his head, muttering, “No, no, no!” under his breath. The Head knew he was no help to them like this, weak and witless. They needed a User of immense power that was promised, not a quivering wreck. Still, he was an asset. One of their strongest, he had been reliably informed.
“Sir, would it not be more beneficial to give him another chance?” ventured Damian, slowly – carefully. “He’s the most powerful User in our service. If he cannot capture them, then who can?”
The Head said nothing for some time. He weighed up the options with care. He did not act out of cruelty – only out of necessity – and it was with reason, not emotion, that he made his decisions. As all great leaders did. The Occult did not rise to such heights without reason. They had been an unpopular party once, buried in the masses. The Head had lifted them to greatness.
“You have one week,” he said at last. “Do not fail me again.”
The User choked slightly on his own tears but nodded frantically in agreement.
He would not fail again. The Head would not allow it.
***
To be continued…
BLURB:
The Reign of the Occult is a shuddering, thrilling, urban fantasy for Young Adults. Filled with hair raising chases through shadowy streets, frightening fights and mind-blowing magic, it's sure to keep many a different genre loving reader happy.
The battle between the Underworld, full of darkness, and the Overworld, full of light, has been evenly balanced for millennia. Caught between them is the mortal world, where humans have become so afraid of a magic they cannot understand or control that they allow the Occult to rule them. After the Occult joins forces with the Underworld, the balance shifts and the Overworld is decimated.
But still, in the mortal world, the magic won’t die. It appears when a supernatural being and a human have a child, like Prue.
This is the first volume in an epic new fantasy series that spans the three richly detailed worlds as Prue, her non-magical half-brother Everett, and all Magic Users, fight to survive. They are being hunted by the Occult, who turn the Magic Users they capture into tools to eliminate their own kind and, eventually, to destroy all traces of magic.
Purchase your Copy Today!
****
The Queen of the Underworld
The Occult Series Book 2
Add to your TBR List!
Check out Reviews and Recommendations!
BLURB:
The Queen of the Underworld is the second novel in the award-winning The Occult Series by Lauren Louise Hazel.
Following the fall of The Occult and its Head, Prue receives visions of The Queen of the Underworld—a powerful Demon who was once overthrown by her allies and exiled from her homeland—rising in its place.
Prue sees that the Queen is connected to Prue’s best friend, Lily. This leads Prue and her half-brother, Everett, on their mission across worlds to destroy the Queen and save their friend. But nothing is what it seems.
The Queen is ready and waiting for them—and she will stop at nothing to secure her future and wipe out anyone who opposes her.
Purchase your Copy Today!
****
Lauren Louise Hazel is a Cyber Security Manager by day and writes YA fantasy by night. She has one annoying brother and younger sister. As she was growing up, the only item her dad would buy her without demanding her pocket money was books. He’s hoping the writing is successful so he can get a Ferrari!
Some of Lauren’s favourite books and influences include the classics – like Lord of the Rings and The Hunger Games – and anything by Haruki Murakami and GRR Martin.
Learn more about Lauren...
Readers can access a free fantasy ebook if they join mailing list at www.llhazel.com
****
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