To Myself

I never felt good enough. I always felt out of place, like a piece of misplaced piece of furniture. Or that lone object in the room that no one knows its origin, or how long it has been sitting there. They just know that it is there. Tonight, I cried from a place in my soul that I swore I would never allow myself to return to. But on some level, I knew I had to return to that dark space. There I remind myself what I am not, so I can focus on becoming the person that I am supposed to be – so that I can end up where I am supposed to be.

This has been a lifelong, uphill battle. And it is tiring. Some days, I lose the fight. I succumb to the pull of the dark ocean of sadness and dance in its waves. Some nights, I win. I convince myself that everything is going to be ok; that I am ok and all I have to do is keep going. Just one more day. One more day.

But lets get to the real issues shall we?

I’m tired of competing. Growing up, I was the kid that was taken in {with my sister} because my mother had a hard choice she had to make. A single mother who had been in the U.S military for almost ten years but whom had never been placed on a ship. She had a decision to make. My father was a useless, selfish bastard and after the divorce, he made his choice and I am sure he slept very well at night. My mother did what she thought was best: continue her career in the military while in the interim, my grandmother took on the responsibility of taking care of us so that my mother could at least secure a future.

I don’t knock for the choice that she made. Had she not decided to stay instead of retire, who knows how our lives would have turned out. It was hard enough for her to bounce us from baby sitter to baby sitter while my father pursued other relationships with other women. My dad was a “married but single” kind of man, moreover leaving him behind did not even faze me. I don’t even think I mourned the day I saw my mother pack his things and set them out on the curb.

I did not cry the moment we boarded the plane headed for California. And when the plane touched down at LAX, the memory of what my father looked like escaped my memory. All I could focus on was what was next.

Ok now, back to “I’m tired of competing.”

I was the kid with eczema issues. The kid who made everyone uncomfortable. The kid who should have lived in a bubble. The kid I am sure no one thought would amount to anything. Was I smart? Yes. Very. Was I lazy? I prefer the term “unmotivated.” I had the type of family that supported common interests: music and sports were the top priorities. I was good at neither.

Sure I can hum a tune. And before I became a novelist, my earliest creative conceptions were lyrics. I wrote rhymes. Poems. I’d listen to a tune,  and ride the melody with my words. But…what I did still wasn’t good enough. How could the tapping of a pen compete with a cousin who resembled the 90s singer Maya and even sounded a bit like her? When she stepped into the room, eyes sparkled with hope and pride that her aspirations would manifest. And my role? To sit back, applaud with a smile and try to find something productive to do with my life.

Fast forward through my high school years when my eczema had disappeared and normal brown skin returned, I found some validation through church. I went to Sunday School and 11:00 service every week almost until I was seventeen years old and learned absolutely nothing. It was just here I was somewhat important. When I spoke people listened. People actually liked what I had to say. They believed that I would be something, do something great even. They fed me the validation I could not get. They gave me the acceptance that I did not feel. I almost found my place there.

But once again, I make people uncomfortable. The things that I find value in, made people uncomfortable. So I stopped going.

I stopped going, but I kept running.

And I ran my ass all the way to Cal- State Sonoma only because my cousin who is the same age as me was accepted into Kent State. I knew I had to get in somewhere even though I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know if I was ready. I didn’t know anything accept…I wanted to see the same looks of pride…the same joy.

But I failed after a year and returned home to the same empty shell of a home. Yes we had moments of laughter; silliness; and humorous absurdity. However this is the place that shaped me. Defined me. It was in this space that I never felt more alone than anywhere else.

And I forgot to mention…no one ever told me that I was beautiful. No one ever took interest in my extracurricular activities whether it was my internship at the local clinic, or my first and only staged performance that I worked so hard in. Do you know how depressing it was to stare out into a sea of parents and not see one of my own? Do you know how it felt for other families to enjoy seeing your star shine while your own never acknowledged that your star even exists?

It was during this phase where I learned how to be alone. In these moments I learned how to say “fuck ’em” and just do me. Here I taught myself to accept me because…there wasn’t any other way.

The most tragic moments in my life, however, began when I met my daughter’s father. I still carry the scars of that relationship. At 19 I didn’t know or understand boundaries. I didn’t know how to say no. I didn’t know what I want…I just simply didn’t know. I didn’t trust my own instincts, nor did anyone really guide me.

That man broke me. Wore me down. For someone who played the role of comedian chasing his dreams, there was nothing funny about the things he did or the shit that he said. He made me compete for his heart, and while doing so, he stripped me of my sanity.  Called me bitches whenever he could not get his way. Made me feel stupid for being a 19, 20, 21, 22 year old young woman who still so much more to learn about life. He drank. He hit. He yelled. And I stayed because for some time…

I had nowhere to go.

He embarrassed me. Made me do shit I did not enjoy. I hated sex. I cried during sex.

But still I stayed.

He drank. He smoked. He blamed me for his failings. And I took it.

I tried to help him because I thought if I helped him, I would help myself.

During his evil moments, he would remind me that he could find better. He told me there was better. I was a convenience. He needed someone to love him even though it was an illusion. He tried to snuff out my dreams, but still I dreamt. But after a while, I had to tear down old dreams to rebuild new ones just to make it through the day.

I stopped writing.

From 20 to 27 I didn’t dare attempt to bring my stories to life again out of fear that he would destroy that too. And when I finally returned to it, the levels of jealousy he demonstrated cannot be described. I felt like I was carrying on an affair, sneaking a moment or two to just escape into my words. The man acted that way with my love of books too. He hated it, resenting the fact that I could love something more than him.

The thing is, I didn’t love him. I did once…but I spent our entire relationship trying to prove to him that I wasn’t like the others that came before me. And in doing that, I allowed him to nearly kill my spirit. He fought hard to turn me into the very person I could never be…

So here I am now, damn near writing an autobiography, psychoanalyzing my moment in the shower, where I cried from the deepest depth of my soul. I silently wailed to the heavens, allowing the rush of the water to wash away my tears. I sobbed until my chest ached. I am far removed from that terrible relationship, no longer on speaking terms with him and have moved on.

Why am I like this?

Because I’m tired of competing. No one is more aware of my failings and shortcomings than I am. Some days I look at myself and wonder how I can fix me. My hair. My skin. Me. I work hard every single day to become a stronger writer. I want agents to find me. I want that book deal. I want my books on every Barnes and Noble shelf there is. I want my stories in every available Kindle purchased. I want my books in Target and Walmart. I want readers to find me and ask me, “When is your next book coming out?” Writing is all I have.

But most importantly, I want to one day look at myself and smile at the person who stares back at me in the mirror.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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It’s Been a While

I cannot believe that I am returning to the world of blogging after a two year hiatus. I am not sure if I know where to begin…should I pick up where I left off? Or should I just start fresh as if this post is the first post I have ever written. I suppose, I will just share where I am right now in this moment versus trying to recapture previous moments that I have buried under my skin.

When I first started this blog page, I was a newbie author still learning how to swim in murky unchartered water. And here I am four years later, a little older, a little wiser and surprisingly…still swimming. Since then I have published my 13th book and I am working on several more. My vision has not changed but the blue print has. It had to.

So here I am…

Tonight’s blog will be brief because I need to return my focus onto one particular project that I plan on submitting to agents. Yes, I still believe in the traditional publishing process. Yes, I am going for it.

Tomorrow or perhaps later on in the week I will take those who follow this blog on a journey into my mind. I will grant those who seek a peek into my heart (a heart that had to be rebuilt from scratch) and maybe, this will be the place where I can bare my soul. Rest well everyone. Enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend. And most importantly, travel safely.

The Vampire Hunters Academy

October 2015…

Sanaya watched her mother sit by the window sill, Jack Daniel’s in one hand and a cigarette in another. Her father had yet to come home, and whenever her mother had a bottle of liquor in hand, she knew things weren’t good. Patrice hadn’t said a word since she’d come home from a long day at the Post Office, and Sanaya knew something wasn’t right. As a matter of fact, she’d been walking on eggshells around her mother all week since her father; Roland went away to the store and never came back. Patrice had yet to file a missing person’s report, being that this would not be the first time Roland disappeared without a trace. Sanaya sighed, secretly wishing some self-esteem was at the bottom of the liquor bottle so that her mother would just divorce him and move on. The man was a cheater and showed no signs of changing any time soon. Sanaya assumed that he had always been that way, but could not figure out for the life of her why her mother would put up with it. The last time he disappeared, he ran off with one of Patrice’s ex-friends for two years before coming home with his tail between his legs. For the first six months after his departure, she had to live with her Aunt Shawna while her mother struggled through a serious bout of depression and drinking. After she almost drank herself to the point of a coma, she finally began to clean herself up, found a new job at the Post Office as a clerk, and things began to look up for Sanaya and Patrice-until her dad came home, and well…things went downhill from there. And now, they were back in the shit hole.

Sanaya crept into the kitchen, trying to block out her mother’s thoughts-which was another thing: she could actually hear what people were thinking as they were thinking, something that at one point freaked her out. She smoothed the fine hairs that framed her face back into the freshly flat ironed ponytail she could feel bouncing against the back of her neck as she stealthily opened the fridge.

The son of bitch got me all the way fucked up, her mother seethed mentally, still staring out of the window. As soon as he comes back, I’m leaving his ass and he can see for himself what it’s like to raise a child all by hisself…

Sanaya quickly grabbed her left over foot long sandwich from Subway her mother picked up for her after school and headed back to her room while she could. If Patrice caught wind of her moving about the house in the state that she was in, Sanaya would have to bear the verbal brunt of her mother’s tirade until it was time for her to get to school.

Fuck him!

Sanaya gently eased the door to her room shut and cut the volume down just low enough not to disturb her mother…and because as of late, her hearing had become much more sensitive and acute that even at the television’s lowest volume, it still sounded like her ear drums were going to explode. As a matter of fact, since she was twelve her senses had heightened to the realms of abnormal. She could see things at least a mile away with total clarity, all the way down to most minute detail. She could smell which equal acuity, having spent many a day in the nurses office for extreme nausea and vomiting from the nasal sensitivity. One time, after being picked up from school for vomiting, her mother asked her if she was pregnant, and drove her to a local free clinic where she was forced to take a pregnancy test despite her still being a virgin.

She hid most of the changes that took place within her body other than the typical issues that all females went through as they transitioned into young adulthood; but everything else such as the heightened sensitivity to her environment, and the awareness of the ever present feeling that something darker, and stronger than herself, she kept locked away. Besides, her mother had other issues to worry about other than the fact that her daughter’s developing “gifts” that should have by rights placed her in the nut house. She learned a long time ago that there just wasn’t room for special people like her; and whatever these gifts are…well, there is no such thing as super heroes. Those characters only existed in the pages of a Marvel comic book.

Sanaya tightened the strings of her berry pink pajama bottoms and plopped on her twin sized bed, decorated with a purple comforter set and covered with stuffed animals she collected since she was old enough to walk. Yeah, it was kiddish but how else would she sleep at night when she always felt like someone was watching her?

Taking a bite of the leftover Philly cheese steak sub, she listened for her mother, happy to have distanced herself from her mother’s toxic thoughts, but dreading what the night may bring from Patrice’s drunken stupor. Sanaya finishes her sandwich and tosses the wrapping her purple waste bin by the door before crawling into bed. Patrice would more than likely sit by the window all night if left undistracted from her thoughts, which Sanaya intended to do. Sanaya wrestles underneath the welcoming comfort of her covers, and allow her thoughts to drift to the sound of MTV’s Cribs, and the hauntingly eerie silence which begun to blanket her street. She shrugged off the horrifying sensation as paranoia, and cursing herself for never being able to relax.

She grabbed the remote and cut the television off and just listened. She heard the sound of her father’s 2002 Honda Civic pull up into the driveway of their two story duplex. The hum of the engine coming to a stop as he stepped out onto the pavement, his heavy footsteps tapping against the pavement. Her whole body tensed as she listened to the jingle of his keys clink against the metal door. Something wasn’t right…she did not know how she knew, but somewhere deep inside of her knew her father’s return just wasn’t right. She detected the presence of someone else just outside of her home’s iron gate, and she sat up quickly. Her eyes adjusting to the dark as if it were day. She listened intently, tuning more into what may have been going on outside than in.

The presence moved through the shadows with the stealth and agility of a trained assassin before coming to a stop just underneath her bedroom window. She got up to take a peek when she could hear her mother’s drunken outburst slam into her cranium.

“So which bitch was it this time, Roland?” she demanded.

Sanaya could see it in her mind’s eye: her mother leaning against the wooden dining room table with a multicolored scarf on her head full of tightly coiled locks she kept hidden under various wigs; her large brown eyes tinged with red from hours of crying and drinking; her once beautifully smooth brown skin marred with worry lines and few wrinkles here and there; her 5’9” frame draped in an old tattered red robe; and all signs of hope and happiness completely drained from her pores. Standing before her father was a shell of a woman who lacked the one thing she wanted most in the world: the love of her husband.

Sanaya listened for her father’s reply, which came out in a melodic echo that caused her skin to prickle.

“You’ve been drinking,” was all he said.

Hearing her father’s voice made something within her snap, and she mentally shot her mother a message: Run mama!

However, the message fell on deaf ears because her mother instantly began her verbal tirade, belting out curses, threats and everything else she could think of. Sanaya quietly eased the door open and slid out, and crept down the hall, cautious to remain hidden in the shadows, careful not to be seen by the version of the man she knew as her father. All of her instincts began to fire off the instant she laid eyes on her father. He looked like Roland, sounded like Roland; and said things that Roland would say…but Sanaya shuddered… Roland wasn’t Roland.

She peered out just in time to witness her mother slap her father with a force that should have knocked the wind out of him, but he never staggered. He never flinched. He just glared at her with such intensity, that even in her drunken and enraged state, Patrice took a step back. And that is when Sanaya noticed the difference. Roland’s mouth crested with two pointed teeth that were as thick as switch blades and equally as sharp, which extended to near the end of his jawline. His normally hazel brown eyes flickered a deep crimson, and his honey brown skin appeared more ashen and dull.

Patrice took another step back, unsure of which direction to go, and Roland stalked after her.

“Get the hell away from me Roland,” Patrice warned. “I mean it.”

“Or else what?” Roland asked coolly.

No longer able to sit back and wait for her father to seal her mother’s fate, Sanaya sprang to her feet, armed only with her bravery and fear for her mother’s life she charged at her father, only for him to knock her into the wall with the sweep of his hand. Her head connected with the 8 x 12 mirror her mother insisted on purchasing from Ross a year ago, before she collapsed to the ground.

“Sanaya!” Patrice called out, her back now pinned against the cupboard and her husband’s face just inches away from hers.

“I am terribly glad to be rid of you, you miserable, useless bitch,” Roland articulated slowly. “I long ago grew tired of your endless ramblings…” He leaned in closer. “And to answer the question you begged of me long ago, yes your sister is better.”

Patrice’s gasp was followed by her scream as Roland slammed her into the cupboard and sank his teeth into her throat. Sanaya, dazed and bloodied, struggled to get to her feet when the window from which her mother gazed out into the night shattered, and the watchful presence emerged, dressed in all black and armed with a long sword and a mission burst through the shattered window. With the speed and agility of a panther, the hooded assassin’s sword sliced through the air with a chime, taking Roland’s head clean off of his shoulders. Patrice’s body slumped to the floor, her hands clutching her throat.

Sanaya managed to get on her feet, forcing herself to stumble to her mother’s aid. Slightly dazed, she inched closer drawing in deep breaths as she watched her mother spew up her own blood. Kneeling beside her, she brought her mother’s head to her chest, unsure of what to do or who to turn to. The hooded assassin, still clutching the sword approached them, pulling out a small vial of clear liquid and removing the spongy cap. Before Sanaya could respond, the assassin sprinkled a few drops of the mystery fluid onto her mother and the instant the drop made contact, her mother began to incinerate.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Sanaya sobbed jumping back, as her mother screamed and thrashed about as her body became consumed with flames.

The hooded assassin regarded her with a disinterested stare before returning to Patrice’s body as it slowly turned to a pile of ash. Patrice’s screams abated, her arms no longer thrashing about as the flames continued to consume her. Sanaya’s sobs became louder as she fell to her knees once more. Whatever her father had done, he’d brought it home to her mother and now…both of her parents are gone. Overwrought with grief, she buried her face in her hands, not expecting the sudden strike of a small dart to the base of her neck. She flinched, and scrambled to her feet to address the sudden threat, however, the specially calibrated toxin sent a shock to her nervous system and the last thing she remembered was the heavy hand of the hooded assassin catching her by the waist before her face hit the floor.

 

 

Release Date: TBD

****All works are created and written by Delizhia D. Jenkins 2016****

Stay tuned.

Viper Returns

Staring into the hazel brown eyes of the woman who used to fuck the man you are in love with is not fun. Had it not been for the fact that Michael is damn near comatose, I am certain that this encounter would have led to a fight to the death. Tall, lean, with a thick head of naturally curly raven hair that hung loosely past her shoulders; full cherry red lips, high cheek bones set atop a perfectly symmetrical face-yeah, I will give Michael his props. She is taller than me by almost a foot, and as she glared at me with hatred oozing from her pores, I knew this is a bad idea… Scotland is a long ways from here, and the last thing I want to do is travel abroad with a bitter bitch.

“Where is he?” She demanded, pushing past me, barely giving me time to step to the side.

“Let’s make one thing clear bitch,” I say through clenched teeth. “The only reason why you were called is because I do not know how to heal him.”

She stops mid-step and turns to face me, her expression unreadable.

“It figures vampire,” she says coolly. “What knowledge would you possess on healing Vampire Hunters? We kill your kind and have proven ourselves to be effective at doing it.”

“Yeah, well for you to be so effective I don’t see too many of you around-“

–“I don’t think it is best that you accompany us to Scotland,” she snaps coldly.

“I didn’t ask you to come here to think.”

She glares at me. “Just because you walk in the sun does not mean you cannot be killed,” she threatened, her tone menacing and filled with murderous promise.

“I have killed werewolves, vampires older than me, and monsters among men,” I warn inching closer to her, “which means I will have no problem killing you. I am trying to get this man to Scotland so he could receive the help that he needs. Now if I am willing to risk my own survival with full understanding that I will be surrounded by very old and experienced Vampire Hunters that should tell your silly ass something. “

We glare at each other in a heated stand- off that extended past just a few minutes, and it was her who decided to stand down.

“Just watch your step vampire,” she threatens, and returned her attention to Michael, whose coloring had turned to a ghastly white. “So he was bitten by a werewolf AND a vampire?” She quizzed, pulling the sheet back and examining the wound.

“No. He was bitten by a werewolf/vampire hybrid,” I say, feeling slightly annoyed at having to re-explain what had transpired prior to her arrival.

“That cannot be…” she said quietly.

“Well it is. Even vampires are experimenting in the scientific communities now.”

She replaces the covers over him. “I don’t know how we are going to be able to transport him by plane to Scotland. He is gravely ill, and one look from the flight attendants and he will be asked to leave.”

“And not to mention that he is a wanted suspect for a series of what humans refers to as murders in Florida. He would never make it past the TSA,” I add shaking my head.

“And how the hell did he end up a wanted man ? He is the most honorable man I know and he wouldn’t dream of getting caught up in the likes of …” She scans me up and down. “…in the likes of your world.”

She has one more time to cross me with another slick ass comment before this whole thing becomes a wrap. “Clearly you don’t know him as well as you wished you did,” I snap. “And if he is so honorable then why the hell haven’t you seen him in how many centuries?”

She glowers at me, before focusing her gaze on Michael. Her eyes soften at the sight of him in such a vulnerable state.

“Because we were both young and reckless at the time…and incredibly foolish. I always knew that I would come back to him at some point…”

Irritated doesn’t even begin to cover the desire to rip her head off of her shoulders. I glare at her, fangs lengthening by the second.

“Well I hate to break it to you,” I say lethally. “But he is taken.”

“By you?” She scoffs in disbelief. “What possible future could he have with you?”

“One that he clearly didn’t want with you, otherwise we wouldn’t be in this position now would we?”

Game over. She says nothing more and looks longingly at Michael before reaching into a small sack that he held tied around her waist, pulling out a handful of herbs and then gently placing them on top of the wound. Her expression was incredibly pained, and from what I could gather full of regret. I suppose in her mind Michael was the one that got away, but what she fails to understand is that the feeling is not mutual. He grimaces, and his eyes flicker open in surprise of her appearance, and then he returns back to a peaceful sleep.

“That should help draw out some of the pain,” she says softly.

“What is that?” I ask curiously.

“Hunters Bane. It is an herb that is grown in the lands of Scotland, Ireland and even in certain parts of Africa. We use it to help us heal faster.”

We watch as he sighs in relief even in his sleep, and I wonder if perhaps keeping him here would serve all of our interests. I may not have to travel all the way to Scotland after all, especially if I can locate enough Hunters Bane from one of these off the market herb stores that offer holistic alternatives that give humans a false sense of hope in the art of healing.

“We have to get him out of here,” I say out loud. “As much as I would like to keep him comfortable in this hotel room, we just raided the lair of one of the most notoriously feared vampires the world has seen, and I expect there to be an army after me.”

Rowena shoots me a quick look before returning her gaze to Michael.

“He can come with me. I have plenty of places to shelter him. Considering the fact that you are responsible for this man’s current condition, transporting him to Scotland would probably kill him. I can contact his parents and the rest of the elders and have them meet me-“

“You have got to be out of your goddamn mind if you think I am going to allow you to take him anywhere alone,” I growl between clenched fangs.

“Tread carefully vampire,” Rowena whispers with a hint of poison. “It is because of you that he is even in this predicament-“

“And it will be because of me that he lives. You are here because of me. You would have never known he was in need of help had I not reached out to you-“

Suddenly, there is a crash just beyond the hallway. Both of us key in, our sense on high alert, and I detect the disgustingly potent smell equivalent to that of a wet dog: werewolf.

She looks at me, her green eyes littered with distrust.

“We have to get out of here,” I say. “Now.”

“How are we going to transport him without us being seen?” She asks, her gaze dancing between myself and Michael.

“I can transport him through vapor. You just have to tell me where to go,” I say moving quickly towards the bed where I bundle him into the blankets.

“And where does that leave me?” She demands.

“You’re a huntress,” I say, gently lifting possibly one of the largest men in the history of the world into my arms. His pain filled groans tug at my heart, threatening my concentration. “I am sure you can handle yourself just fine. Now, where did you park?”

I can taste the shift in the electricity that saturates the air. Familiar howls, and snarls from shifting werewolves are approximately ten feet away from the hotel room in which we stand.

“Listen,” I say firmly. “We don’t have time for bullshit. We have to leave now. Where the fuck did you park so I-we can get this man to safety!”

“I am parked underground in the black Lexus truck,” she says quickly.

“Take the window. It’s about a thirty foot vertical drop. Once you hit the ground, there is a side door which leads to the underground parking structure. Meet you there in 20 seconds.” With that I dematerialize with Michael in tow.

“More like 15,” I hear Rowena whisper as she rushes to the window and takes a sprawling leap.

Traveling through the vapor, I see how we managed to leave just in time, because as soon as Rowena makes it out of the window, the double latched door goes flying off the hinges and in comes three massive wolves, fresh from transition with fangs dripping with frothy white saliva. The news of Lucas’ Barnes death clearly travels fast, and with that in mind, I move Michael and I through the airwaves and materialize in front of Rowena’s truck just as she came running into the parking structure. She unlocked the door and started hit the ignition button that is on her key chain, and I gently ease Michael into the backseat, strapping him in. Rowena is already in the front seat, and there is a brief moment in her gaze where I can tell she is debating on pulling off without me or not, however I am not about to give this bitch one second of wishful thinking because I am strapped in the passenger seat before she can complete the thought. She scowls but hits the accelerator and we speed out of the underground garage and onto the busy streets of New Orleans.

 

 

Viper Book 2 Teaser 2

In the Light of Darkness: The Grey Chronicles of Dawn

He was not supposed to love me. As a matter of fact he is not supposed to protect me. He was supposed to murder me as was ordered by the Queen years ago. I am supposed to be dead-a thousand times over and yet here I stand ready to fight another day. I have fought. I have died. I have killed. But, I have yet to be extinguished. He lives and therefore I am. And yet, we run. We will continue running until her entire line has been exterminated and I am finally free. I cannot help what I am nor did I ask to be born and still, she hates me.

They say stay in the light!

I say run from it.

They say reject the darkness.

I say embrace it.

The Queen of light has tasted the bitter sweet nectar of vengeance and she loves it. She is the hunter and I am her prey. But in all stories, there is a beginning and an end; there is good, there is bad, there is wicked and there is kind…but there is a special brand of evil that deceives even its own self…an evil that has convinced itself that the light that it bears makes it inherently and unquestionably good.

There is black. There is white. And then…

There is me.

She is coming for me. She is the blizzard that blots out all shades of color; destroying everything in its path, freezing it to its core and stripping away everything encoded in its DNA until there is no sight, no sound, no warmth…just the hum of the freezing cold and the soul of the barren.

Beware the light. There is safety in the shadows…

 

Prologue

In the beginning there was oblivion: an absence of light, sound, and life. Darkness was the companion of the Infinity, the beginning and end, the creator and destroyer of worlds…The Supreme Being. And then, from the darkness, a small spark of light grew and The Infinity watched with amusement as this tiny form began to take shape, separating the darkness and separating itself from the oblivion until The Infinity found himself the center of opposing forms which vied for his attention. The two forces warred with each other, competing for the attention and approval of The Infinity until finally they were separated and each given a certain portion of time to hold the attention of The Infinity. The Infinity called one Day and the other, Night and bestowed upon each their own gifts so as to amuse themselves whenever one or the other were not in His presence. And then, one day The Infinity expanded the darkness further beyond the realms of oblivion, and decorated it with solid forms of varying circular and three dimensional shapes that could not be seen through such a thick blanket of darkness. And so, The Infinity took from the Light and scattered across the darkness countless numbers of dusts of white hot heat that shown brightly whenever Light disappeared to entertain The Infinity.

And then, the Light became sentient as did the darkness, both sides peeling themselves from the backdrop of what no longer what they’d been. Both left their imprint in the skies and beyond while The Infinity watched with idle curiosity with full knowledge of all of the limitless possibilities that intertwined with the fates of The Light and The Dark and the next level of creation He had yet to call forth from His essence. And while the newly developed life forms of archaic knowledge evolved into powerful beings capable of their own creation, The Infinity created Man, sculpting them in His image and likeness and granting them dominion over the newly formed world-their own kingdom to rule while He would watch over them. He assigned the newly sentient beings a single responsibility: to watch and to protect these humans, for other beings formed as a byproduct of His creations and sought to destroy everything He created.

For centuries, the Light and the Dark guarded the humans with vigilance until one fateful day, the strongest of the Darkness, a being by the name of Han violated the Law of the Higher Realm by appearing during the Day in the human world, causing a solar eclipse as he watched the barbaric atrocities that humans committed against the other. He frowned in disgust as he witnessed armies of mindless, human males seize a smaller village of peoples, one by one and decided that he would not act as a Watcher for mankind. His black eyes blazed with indignation and prideful fury of being subjected to a keeper of men who were not worthy to rule a kingdom of their own. He concluded humans did not deserved to rule; but to be ruled.

The solar eclipse signaled the Light of the breach and therefore triggered a series of irrevocable events that lead to the separation and creation of the two houses: House of Light and the House of Dark. From the House of Light, the strongest of the beings was elected to rule as King and upon his election he selected his Queen-another powerful being of Light and the strongest of the female class. From the House of Dark, Han emerged as the sole ruler without the benefit of a Queen to rule by his side. The House of Light banished the House of Dark from entrance into the human world, prompting a millennia long war between the two houses. The House of Light claiming victory, and forgetting the values from which they originally stood and took form in the presence of humans across the globe and became “gods” in the eyes of men.

Furious and not willing to succumb to defeat, the Han and his armies of darkness infiltrated the human realm, destroying everything in its wake. He ordered the capture and execution of beings of Light, and a bounty for the capture of the King of Light. Millions of humans died by the order of Han’s decree, and with their new found kingdom on the brink of extinction, the Queen of Light called forth a great flood washing away all traces of Darkness, but unfortunately nearly wiping out the entire human population.

Angered by the ambitions of His creations, and disgusted by their constant warfare, The Infinity commanded that both houses cease their warfare and demanded that they form a truce. The House of Darkness scoffed at the idea of a truce with his greatest enemy, but even he understood there was no other choice to be made. And so, the House of Light and the House of Dark signed the first peace treaty in the history of the realms that would last for only but a few centuries.

Peace could never be eternal when chaos remained king.

The House of Light returned to their thrones high above the human realm, and the Queen of Light surprised her court the birth of the first heir to the kingdom, a son whom they named Orion and the first of a line of powerful Light Beings. The news of his birth reached the ears of Hans, who went into a jealous rage within the Dark realm of which he ruled. With no queen or any female counterpart to couple with, he could never replenish the ranks of the his armies. And besides the replenishing of fallen men, he suffered a loneliness and a yearning for the tender touch of a beauty that would carve her heart with his name. And despite his hatred for the House of Light, he could not deny that the Queen was a beauty that could not be explained in any language by any tongue. Fair and delicate features with eyes that blazed with valiance and golden truth, lips blushed with rose with a natural fullness that when pulled back even into a hateful grin could bring a man or being to his knees. Her hair cascaded in a river of gold to the center of her back. There’d been many a time when he considered kidnapping her for his own pleasure, and now that she’d blessed her king with a son was too much.

Disguising himself as a mortal, he infiltrated the earth realm unguarded and fell into the heart and bed of a human woman, after enticing her with every charm at his disposal and within months she gave birth to the first of his many descendants. Unbeknownst to the House of Light, he courted hundreds of women, but only selecting 13 of what he considered to be the most desirable and it was not until the Legend of the 13 Concubines reached the ears of the House of Light that the treaty was broken and war continued. From these 13 Concubines came the 29 of his descendants: humans with all of the powers of darkness, combined with the infallible human spirit who would later become known as The Greys. The Queen, horrified by the abominations that were plaguing her human subjects, conferred with her husband, who decided not to destroy the new race of humans that were being bred in their midst. Infuriated with her husband’s decree of diplomacy, she sought the skillset of a well-known and rogue assassin from the House of Dark, and with the promise of a seat in her kingdom, under the blinding secrecy of the light, the King of the House of Light was murdered, and the assassin forced to take the blame was executed by the now adult son of the Queen. Without a King, the House of Light became strictly matriarchal by her edict, and so began the call for the House of Light to seek and destroy any and every human reported with supernatural powers and abilities to preserve the kingdom that the Queen had grown to love.

But the Greys fought back and they fought hard against the Warriors of Light to the delight of the King of Dark, Han. Next to his pure blood warriors the Greys proved to be formidable against the House of Light, equaling in their numbers of casualties. But then, The Infinity moved His Hand against the House of Dark and imprisoned Han and his armies in a hole of impenetrable darkness, leaving his children, The Greys alone and without his defense. With Han incapacitated, The House of Light swept through the human populations, eradicating the Greys by the thousands until they no longer bred and no longer thrived…with the exception of a small clan that learned to live in secrecy. They successfully hid from the Queen and her Warriors throughout the centuries until one fateful day when the first female Grey was born in decades. Having been born of a pure blood Dark father and a half blood mother from the House of Light, she is destined to reunite the Houses by freeing her ancestral father according to prophecy.

The Queen watched and waited and once the news of her birth was sung across the dimensions she dispatched her warriors to locate the child and extinguish it. Han sat quietly in the surrounding and impenetrable darkness and smiled, “It has begun.”

 

Available May 22, 2016

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New Characters and New Stories

It has been almost a year since I posted any blogs relating to my writing. But worry not, the drought is over. Changes have been taking place over the course of my life that forced me to redirect my focus on strengthening my craft, which brings us to this: I will release five new books before the year is over. And if you think I am kidding, follow me over to the next few blogs for samples of what is to come.

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