The Night's Embrace

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THIS IS AN EXCERPT. THE FULL VERISON IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON. Maxilyn Lykaios is the last of the first: a werewolf. This is a secret she had hidden and killed for all her life and now it’s no longer a secret. Six months ago she disappeared, rolling off a cliff in an act to protect Kassandra, daughter of Virgil Theron, the Elder who carried out the genocide of Maxilyn’s entire people. Now a new player has entered the game and friends and families do not guarantee anything anymore. Enemies are anyone and everywhere and Maxilyn is running out of places to hide. With a new threat from the shadows looming over the supernatural world alliances both new and old will be tested and Maxilyn will find there are things she cannot run from. (Book Two in the Children of the Night Series)

Fantasy / Adventure
4.8 5 reviews
Age Rating:


Crimson eyes deep within the darkness asked, in a tongue unspoken to the mortal ear in eons. He was summoned here, it matters not who summoned him, only that he has been summoned and all that was sacrificed to bring him forth cannot be brought back. He smiled, displaying his fangs as he approached the bloodied and mutilated body that lay motionless on the ground. It had been a great deal of time since one has summoned one of his kind, even he himself has not been brought forth from the void in eons. To that he owes to this woman, this wolf—most surprising. She is far smaller than her predecessors, not because of being a runt, but because she has stunted her own progress.

He stepped forward, into the moonlight, his shadowed figure cast away to reveal the details of the form he has chosen for this exchange. A man of bronze skin and hair black as the night he comes forth, hanging down to his shoulders while sleeked back, his eyes catlike and red, ears pointed with a grin to display his fangs. This was not his true form, though it was one suited for this time and place in this world, a world outside of the Abyss.

He walked closer to the chained woman, her back impaired with numerous cross bow bolts no doubt made of silver. Still she was alive, a strong woman indeed and not simply because of the blood within her no, her body was primarily a product of her own work. Though a man he could not be called, the word his kin referred to themselves as was a name that would not be uttered in the tongue of this world, but rather the name bestowed upon them by their created: Strigoi.

He looked across from the young wolf, to the pillar where the smoldering remains of a woman vampire stood fragile. It would take, but a touch, a breath from one’s lips to render the ash without form. Curious it is though for the summoning circle that brought them together was one edged into this floor eons ago, used when the first mortal made a pack with his kind and thus was granted the gift of immortality. But that was a story for another time, for now he is here to fulfill the wish, the hunger of the descendant of the Blood of the Abyss.

The Strigoi knelt down offering his words to one he knew to be alive. For her he gave a smile:

So tell me little wolf, do you want to punish those who have wronged you?

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