We owe it to each other to tell stories - Neil Gaiman

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Kalahari Sale Book Loot

I love book sales, and I love when a book sale has prices that are so amazing that you almost do not believe your eyes, and then you scurry to get your items chosen and hurry to get it paid so that you can get them to deliver the wonderful books to you as soon as possible because a bibliophile and new books are the things that dreams are made of. So let me start with the books that I rather sadly was beaten to:

Anne Frank's Diary - A HARDCOVER
Condoleeza Rice's bio - also a HARDCOVER
Kendra Wilkinson's book - A HARDCOVER

It breaks my heart that these titles slipped through my fingers, but I'll get them next time.

All the books that I did get were only R25 each - an amazing sale for 5 books at R125 is like a once in a lifetime happening here in South Africa - so when it happens you do not think rationally, you just take the books you can get!

So here are the books that I got:


The Soft Covers:

James and the Giant Peach
The Marriage Plot
Me
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf
Thirteen Reasons Why
Torn
True Compass


The Hardcovers:

Kris Jenner and all things Kardashian
Absolutely
The Sookie Stackhouse Companion Novel
Gone with the Wind
The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me
Matilda

The Audio Books:

The Twits
Spoken from the Heart

15 brand new stories to delve into - 13 books, and 2 audio books. This is better than Christmas!!! I would like to thank my mom for lending me the money to get these amazing titles, since I am such a broke book worm right now.

Earthly Concerns - Xavier Axelson

Title: Earthly Concerns

Author: Xavier Axelson

Genre: Fiction, Paranormal, Horror, Romance, Erotica, Male/Male

Publisher: Seventh Window Publications

Ebook

Words: 25,454

Purchase link:

Book Description:

Between love and loss, there is obligation…

It was a peaceful night when Barrett and his daughter were driving home… then something happened. Something sinister.

Between shadow and light, there is uncertainty…

Now the only person Barrett can turn to for help is Anson, a man gifted with psychic abilities beyond reason. But Anson is also his ex-boyfriend, a man whose heart he’d already broken.

If you can see, you have to help.

As Anson delves deeper into the circumstances surrounding Barrett’s accident, he begins to realize that he’s not only in a race against time, but in a battle against his own broken heart and the terrifying understanding that whatever has taken Barrett’s child is a force of evil beyond anything either man has ever encountered.

And between decision and consequences, there are… Earthly Concerns

Excerpt:

How could I just go over, and if I did, would I just be stumbling back into the pit of snakes I had just narrowly escaped the first time? I thought this and a hundred other dangerous thoughts until I saw him begin to stand up. I waved him down, then went over and sat down.

Apparently, I thought the best course of action was to dive right in, avoid any further uncomfortable thoughts from belching up from the cesspool that I was creating in my skull.

“Tell me everything,” I blurted, trying to avoid looking into his eyes.

“You look good, all hot and cute,” he said, trying to maintain his smile, but the weight of his sadness was too intense. Instead, he managed a pained grimace.

“Thanks.” I wanted to say more, return the compliment, but found I couldn’t; he was a keen listener and would be able to detect any false sentiment I might throw out. I stared down at the menu and tried to ignore my heart, which had once again taken up its incessant thrumming.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

I didn’t look up, but could feel him staring at me.

When the waitress came over, we ordered. Without the menu to stare at, I looked up and past him.

“Anson.” He said my name like it was some sort of invocation.

Did he believe he was dreaming? I could only imagine the nightmare of not knowing where your child is and if she would ever come back.

“Tell me everything,” I repeated, my voice steady. I lowered my eyes and faced him; and seeing his sadness, I swallowed hard.

“It’s unreal,” he said, this time looking away from me, his eyes glistening. “I’m not sure I know what’s happened.”

The waitress arrived with two small cups of clear broth with some vegetables in them and refilled our waters.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes riveted on him. I couldn’t believe I was sitting across from him in the same place I had met him once before; the day he wanted to return a t-shirt I had left at his place after one of our interludes.

Even now, looking beaten and tormented, the man somehow managed to provoke me in ways other men hadn’t. I saw him as beautiful and felt my stomach lurch. I looked at his brown eyes that I remembered looking gold in the sun, and his oddly handsome face. Not a traditionally good looking face, but handsome in a bookish, learned way. I felt my body begin to respond.

About the Author:

Xavier Axelson is a writer and columnist living in Los Angeles. His columns include interviews with counterculture celebrities, artisans, singers, writers, performance artists, politicians, and activists. While his writing has been called, “raw, dirty, and absolutely beautiful,” Xavier hopes to push boundaries of what is expected in the M/M erotic genres.

Where to find Xavier Axelson:

Facebook

Twitter

Examiner

Website

This is a tour hosted by Full Moon Bites

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?

I would not say that I am afraid of Virgina Woolf, but I am intimidated. So intimidated that I only added one Virginia Woolf title to my Classics Club selection. I do think that I am going to add an extra 10 slots to my list, making it a total of 150 books in 5 years, which gives me the opportunity to add more books by authors that intimidate me like Virginia Woolf, and it gives me the space to add authors and titles that escaped me when I set up my list. So, I shall be adding title 141 today and it is:

141. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee.

Please do let me know if you have any titles that you would like to suggest, and that I will consider for the last 9 spots on my list.

Kalahari.com is having a ridiculous sale - 5 books for R125 that is a crazy R25 per book - I went a bit wild, and will let you know what I got as soon as they arrive. Needless to say, Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf is one of the 15 titles I selected.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

My Classics Club Selection


When I started making my list on Friday, I had sought to only add 100 titles to it, but then I thought of a couple more and thought, okay I'll stop at 120, but even that was not enough - I have a comparatively staggering 140 books, as I am not adding the Harry Potter books as a single entity - that is just madness. So without further ado, here is my list - in no particular order:

  1. Out of Africa - Karen Blixen aka Isaac Dinesen
  2. The Good Earth - Pearl S. Buck
  3. The Odyssey - Homer
  4. The Iliad - Homer
  5. The Aeneid - Vergil
  6. Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
  7. The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides
  8. The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides *I do argue that despite its newness this is a modern classic
  9. Atonement - Ian McEwan
  10. Gone with the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
  11. Revolutionary Road - Richard Yates
  12. Franny and Zooey - J.D. Salinger
  13. Nine Stories - J.D. Salinger
  14. The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
  15. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
  16. This Side of Paradise - F. Scott Fitzgerald
  17. The Beautiful and the Damned - F. Scott Fitzgerald
  18. Tales of the Jazz Age - F. Scott Fitzgerald
  19. Middlemarch - George Eliot
  20. Silas Marner - George Eliot
  21. The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
  22. Lady Chatterley's Lover - D.H. Lawrence
  23. Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
  24. Dracula - Bram Stoker
  25. The Age of Innocence - Edith Warton
  26. The Picture of Dorian Grey - Oscar Wilde
  27. The Importance of Being Earnest - Oscar Wilde
  28. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
  29. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
  30. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
  31. Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
  32. Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
  33. Persuasion - Jane Austen
  34. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
  35. Emma - Jane Austen
  36. 20 000 Leagues under the sea - Jules Verne
  37. Journey to the centre of the Earth - Jules Verne
  38. Around the World in 80 Days - Jules Verne
  39. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
  40. The Call of the Wild - Jack London
  41. White Fang - Jack London
  42. A Passage to India - E.M. Forster
  43. Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
  44. Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  45. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
  46. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
  47. The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
  48. The Sun also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
  49. For Whom the Bell Tolls - Ernest Hemingway
  50. The Cantebury Tales - Jeffrey Chaucer
  51. Things fall Apart - Chinua Achebe
  52. Dr Zhivago - Boris Pasternak
  53. The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo
  54. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
  55. Uncle Tom's Cabin - Harriet Beecher Stowe
  56. Don Quixote - Cervantes
  57. The Colour Purple - Alice Walker
  58. Cry, the beloved country - Alan Paton
  59. The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint Exupery
  60. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
  61. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
  62. The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
  63. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
  64. North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell
  65. Wives and Daughters - Elizabeth Gaskell
  66. Cranford - Elizabeth Gaskell
  67. The Wizard of Oz - L. Frank Baum
  68. Peter Pan - J.M. Barrie
  69. Bohemian Girl - Willa Cather
  70. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
  71. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
  72. Shirley - Charlotte Bronte
  73. Villette - Charlotte Bronte
  74. The Brontres Went to Woolworths -Rachel Ferguson
  75. Matilda - Roald Dahl
  76. The BFG - Roald Dahl
  77. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
  78. James and the Giant Peach - Roald Dahl
  79. Paradise Lost - John Milton
  80. 1984 - George Orwell
  81. Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
  82. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
  83. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
  84. Gulliver's Travels - Jonathan Swift
  85. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
  86. Ivanhoe - Walter Scott
  87. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain
  88. A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
  89. In Cold Blood - Truman Capote
  90. Breakfast at Tiffany's - Truman Capote
  91. One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest - Ken Kesey
  92. Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier
  93. Beloved - Toni Morrison
  94. The Bluest Eye - Toni Morrison
  95. The Diary of Anne Frank - Anne Frank
  96. Their Eyes were watching God - Zora Neale Hurston
  97. The Cider House Rules - John Irving
  98. Lolita - Vladimir Nobakov
  99. The Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis
  100. The English Patient - Michael Ondaatjie
  101. East of Eden - John Steinbeck
  102. The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
  103. The Pearl - John Steinbeck
  104. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
  105. The Reader - Bernhard Schlink
  106. The Help - Katheryn Stockett *this has to be seen as a modern classic
  107. The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
  108. Mrs Dalloway - Virginia Woolf
  109. The Poisonwood Bible -Barbara Kingsolver
  110. Sons and Lovers - D.H. Lawrence
  111. Far from the madding crowd - D.H. Lawrence
  112. The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
  113. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
  114. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
  115. The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner
  116. As I lay Dying - William Faulkner
  117. White Oleander - Janet Fitch
  118. The Oresteia - Aeschylus
  119. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy - John le Carre
  120. The Road - Cormac McCarthy
  121. The Curiouse Case of Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
  122. Labyrinths - Jorge Luis Borges
  123. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle - David Wroblewski
  124. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - J.K. Rowling
  125. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - J.K. Rowling
  126. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J.K. Rowling
  127. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - J.K. Rowling
  128. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J.K. Rowling
  129. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling
  130. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling
  131. Possession - A.S. Byatt
  132. The Mysteries of Udolpho - Anne Radcliff
  133. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
  134. Metamorphoses - Ovid
  135. Slaughter-House Five - Kurt Vonnegot
  136. Death in Venice - Thomas Mann
  137. The Metamorphosis - Thomas Mann
  138. Antigone - Sophicles
  139. The 3 Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
  140. Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe

Phew! That is my list, I have already read one of the books this weekend. So keep an eye out for my page dedicated to the Classics Club, and let's see how much progress I can make in 5 years. What I know so far is that I'll be reading Middlesex, Out of Africa and Revolutionary Road soon, so let's see how many of the 140 I can cross off my list this year.

Friday, 23 March 2012

The Classics Club

So I know that I am late to jump on the Classics Club band wagon, but then they do say better late than never. I have been thinking about doing something similar, but now that Jillian from A Room of One's Own has gotten the Classics Club going, why not join in?

What is the Classics Club you wonder? Well the Classics Club aims to unite bloggers and readers that would like to focus more on the classics, by setting up a list and setting a deadline, so that you have a goal - but one that does not become so rigid that you quit before you have really even started. So the basic idea is to select 50, 100, 200 or more classics that you would like to read, and choose a period in which you would like to read them - whether it is a year or 5.

There are so many classics to choose from and so many different books that make up so many different kinds of classics, that you really can go wild. I think I'll go for a list of 100 - who knows I may increase it to 150 - it all depends on the list that I am busy compiling. I think that my list is going to be pretty broad - and I know I'll include modern classics such as Atonement and Middlesex. But then I do need to focus more on the classics that we all think of when we hear someone uttering the word classic, so I'll definitely be reading some Austen, Dickens and Wilde. And since I am not going to be doing any academics as of next semester, I'll have more time to focus on my progress within the Classics Club.

The Classics Club is more than just a list and a deadline - the Classics Club also provides support within the Classics Readers community, who knows, you may end up making a couple of new friends because of your love of Gone with the Wind or The Beautiful and the Damned - the possibilities are endless. Above all - the Classics Club gives you a space in which to enrich your life and sharpen your mind with the beauty and wisdom that one so often only ever finds in a classic.

So let's go against that quote that says that the classics are "something that everyone wants to have read and nobody wants to read" - join the Classics Club today! The Classics Club is also on Goodreads.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

The Fallen One - Lenore Wolfe


Title: The Fallen One

Series: Sons of the Dark Mother, #1

Author: Lenore Wolfe

Genre: Paranormal, Fantasy

Publisher: Triquetra Press Publications


Book Description

An ancient race and a prophecy foretell of four dark princes, the sons of the dark mother, who will rise up with a nation of old vamps to stop the rogue factions from ruling over mankind. Justice is the first in that prophecy, from the ancient Jaguar People. He is the Prince of Fire. Jess is one of the three sisters of the Jaguar witches who must help him to stop these factions of rogue vamps--or none of their lives will ever be the same.

Excerpt:

Prologue

Chicago, Illinois, fifteen years before….

The children moved down the back-street alley, just as they had every day before, on their way to school. The crisp air bit at their noses. The gravel crunched beneath their feet, mixed with clean, white snow that, on any other day, would have had them playing and laughing with glee, leaving a trail of footprints behind them. Today was just an ordinary day, a day like any other day, a day that should have been light and happy, like any bright, sunny morning, on any clear, cold day.

But the children were not laughing. Even to a child, something about this day didn’t feel right.

Their older brother always walked them to school, then took himself off to class. The three girls glanced up at him now, almost in unison, beneath the dark, curly lashes of their matching yellow-green-gold eyes. The charge in the air was almost palpable for children as sensitive as these children. Something in the air simply wasn’t right.

Something didn’t bode well—for any of them.

Their brother’s name was Justice. And perhaps it was fortuitous that his parents had named him so, for nothing would prove this better than on this day, at this hour. He was about to live up to his name, and he always struggle with this responsibility, as well as the monster inside of him. But that couldn’t be helped—any more than what was about to happen.

Justice was just fourteen years old, and was a stout, muscular youth. His skin was darkly tanned by the sun. And he was his three little sisters’ knight in shining armor. He would do anything for them—and they knew it. His heart was big—much too big for the burden of what was about to happen, and that burden would weigh upon him for much of his life. He was also a gentle boy—except when gang members threatened his sisters.

Then he was anything but gentle.

The gang had a thing for him because of this. They had never quite been able to settle the score. And each time—the score grew bigger.

One of the gang members stepped out in front of them now, before they had even reached the end of the alley. Justice knew they had been waiting for him. This wasn’t the first time they’d laid a trap for him. Yet somehow, Justice knew, this time it would be the last.

He had beaten their asses last time—even with the odds at one against five. Anyone else probably would have decided to leave him alone after that. But somehow Justice had known that this vendetta they had for him had only intensified, and he had known they’d be back for more.

He yelled at his sisters to run, the way he had every other time, and run they did. And like every other time, it didn’t occur to any of them that their brother wouldn’t come out of this okay. After all, he always did; he was their hero.

They couldn’t know what these beatings did to him. Nor could they know what today would cost him, or what he would suffer—all for what was about to happen.

The gang was fed up with getting their asses beaten down. They were fed up, and they wanted revenge. They hadn’t taken any chances, and this time they’d brought some equalizers. Yes, Justice had a big heart when it came to his sisters—but this was war. And he was at home with war. He felt as if he’d fought in wars for lifetime after lifetime, as if he’d been going to war forever. He felt old, even though he was only fourteen.

His shoulders dropped upon eyeing the number of gang members they had brought this time. They weren’t interested in honor. They weren’t interested in making this a fair fight. It had occurred to him, more than once, to wonder why they didn’t just get it over with—and shoot him….

They had, however, never brought guns to these fights. The fact that they hadn’t was the only sign of honor they’d ever shown. Perhaps they had seen him as a worthy opponent, in some twisted way. Other than that, they’d shown no mercy.

And neither did he.

Justice fought without a shred of mercy. He was as strong as an ox, even at his young age, and the last time they had fought, he’d given these boys a beating that had laid them up for the past few weeks.

But they were ready for him this time, and the gang was sure that they were finally going to even the score.

One of them hit Justice with a heavy pipe: the sound of it hitting his flesh was a sickening thud in the cool morning air.

He beat that kid’s face with his beefy fists, while the others fell upon him.

They hit him with chains, boards, and even a brick, while he unflinchingly kept pounding on the gang leader. He was going down, he could feel it, but he wasn’t going to go down alone—and he refused to waver.

However, he did worry. What would his sisters do now, with no one to protect them?

He was screaming inside; he was beyond rage. His family had fallen apart. Their parents had failed them and he had done everything he could for two years now to make up for the lack, to protect them, but now even he had failed them.

He bellowed like a wild animal, screaming his rage at the sky. His entire world was gone, and now theirs would be too. For without him, they wouldn’t last long.

This gang hated him too much to let this end with him.

He screamed, bloody and beaten: screamed his frustration—screamed his rage. He had failed them. His chest burned, his body burned: he was on fire. He’d never felt anything so painful. The gang members just kept beating him down. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move anymore. He knew he was dying.

He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. He was a sensitive: he knew things, sensed things the rest of the world didn’t believe existed. But even he wasn’t prepared for the change that suddenly came over his body. He stared at the claws that had unexpectedly ripped out of the end of his arm. For a moment he could only stare. The members of the gang stared too, and first, and then, when he rolled easily to his feet, they backed warily away from him. He let out an eerie cry: the cry of a jungle cat. The gang backed farther away, glancing down the alley, clearly trying to gauge their chances for escape while shock turned their faces to chalk.

Menace filled his veins. He felt no pain now—and neither did he feel mercy. Nothing could stop him; and he didn’t stop, not even when they screamed, not even when their blood sprayed across the clean, white snow like art gone crazily awry. Everyone who witnessed the aftermath was left with a horrifying sense of nausea once they realized what must have taken place here this day.

He didn’t stop, not even when their blood filled his senses. He didn’t stop until they all lay in shreds—and when he finally did, he could only stare at what he had done.

He stared down at his now-human form, unable to absorb what had happened, what he had turned into, what he had done. He bent over double, bile filling his senses, along with the smell of their blood.

He had killed them.

He had killed them all. He couldn’t grasp the enormity of it. Nothing made sense; his head whirled and his heart pounded. He couldn’t absorb what he had become. Nothing could have prepared him for this, for what he’d changed into.

It started to rain, as though the Goddess knew exactly what he would need here, now, on this day: this day that would mar every other day of his life for years to come. The rain felt warm and melted the snow even as it washed away the blood. He stared up into the sky, amazed at how the cold, crisp morning had suddenly turned warm enough to allow the rain, even more so than he’d been by the beast that had ripped its way out of his body. He stared, letting the rain drench his skin, washing him clean.

He stared at the lifeless bodies of his enemies, watching their blood run down the alley in rivulets, and it finally occurred to him—with the sense of self-preservation finally pulsing through his brain—that he should get out of here before someone saw him.

He looked wildly around, expecting to see horrified faces staring at the monster he’d become: but no one was there—no one had seen what he had become. No one had witnessed his murderous acts: well, at least, no one who had stuck around afterward.

He straightened up and stumbled back down the alley like a drunk. He bent and ran, watching behind him, expecting at any moment for someone to chase him, for someone to scream, “There he is, the murdering monster, there he is, let’s get him….”

But they never came. No one ever came for him.

He’d just made it to the end of the alley when he saw her small face peeking out, staring in horror at her gentle, loving brother, her yellow-green-gold eyes wide with shock and terror, and he knew that she had brought the rain.

She controlled the weather, and whenever she was really upset, storms were sure to follow.

She was his youngest sister, and he had no idea how it was she had escaped from her other sisters, but there she was, hiding behind some cardboard boxes, staring at him in horror, with her small body shaking—but whether that was from what she had just witnessed or from the fact she was drenched, wet, and cold he couldn’t tell.

She looked at him as if he was the monster he now knew himself to be. And when he stepped toward her, she started screaming, her screams shaking him worse than anything else that had happened there that day. And then she ran.

He somehow made it home, although he wouldn’t remember how he had managed it for many months, nor would he remember how the people he had stumbled past had stared at him in horror and fear, often quickly crossing to other side of the street. He found his way into the bathroom, where he stared horrified at his own reflection in the mirror and touched his face. It felt surreal; he felt surreal. He felt numb, carefully touching his face while staring at—and watching himself—in stupefied horror. How could he possibly look the same? He’d become a monster. How could he look the same—ever again?

He tried to clean the blood off of himself using the buckets of water they had hauled from a friend’s house, since their water and electricity were now shut off. He tried to clean and examine his wounds. He peered through bleary eyes at his head. As near as he could tell, his head was split in five separate places.

He needed to go to a hospital. But how? How could he take himself to the hospital? Wouldn’t they connect the brutal slayings in the alley to him, because of the beating he had taken? He stared at the splits in his scalp. He didn’t have a choice. These would never heal by themselves. He stared at the gashes on his arms and on his chest. Blood covered him everywhere. Finally, with despair, he began to walk the six city blocks to the hospital. People stared at him, as they had before, giving him a wide berth.

By the time he stumbled into the emergency room, he’d lost too much blood. He spent the next three days in a hospital bed, and received more than eight hundred stitches. They sewed up the gashes in his arms, the knife wounds to his chest and ribs, and the gashes in his head. They told him he was incredibly lucky to have survived whatever had killed those gang members. They said it looked like an attack by a wild animal, and whatever beast it had been had cut those young men to shreds. They couldn’t imagine what kind of wild creature would have come this far into a large city, or how it had avoided detection. But it had, for sure, been a large, wild animal.

The police questioned him. The doctors questioned him. The news questioned him. And then it seemed as though all the wildlife, fish, and game experts in the US had come to question him. Finally, even the government came to question him.

They said it was the gang’s fate, for they were some of the worst scum around and had a reputation for not showing mercy.

As for Justice, they repeated that he was lucky to have lived. He had escaped both the gang and the crazed, wild animal, and he was the luckiest young man alive.

They couldn’t have known just how true those words were—or how he’d managed to stay that way. They couldn’t have known that the monster that had killed those gang members—had also saved his life.

But now Justice had a problem. How had he transformed? And why?


Sound like just the book you are looking for? The Fallen One can be purchased from Barnes and Noble or Amazon.

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