The Sundered

THE SUNDERED

The world I know is flooded. You don’t go in the water. You don’t touch it. If you do, it gets you, drags you down, and you’re gone.

THE CHRISTMAS DRAGON by Ruthanne Reid

THE CHRISTMAS DRAGON

The box jumped. Boxes are not supposed to jump. It’s a law somewhere, I think. Maybe Guyana. Apparently not in New Hampshire, because the box kept jumping.

STRINGS

STRINGS

My music made a lovely kkmagic. It was tiny magic, sure, but effective: it thickened the air and caressed the listener like intimate fingertips toward a gently quivering wakefulness.

HALF-SHELL PROPHECIES, an urban fantasy by Ruthanne Reid

HALF-SHELL PROPHECIES

This kind of pub is always gloomy, you know? It’s like the owners are inviting chicanery. Might as well hang a sign on the door that says Dark Deeds Welcomed Here.

Whatever. I won’t be here long. Bran is easy to spot thanks to the light in his hands.

For Daws to Peck At

FOR DAWS TO PECK AT

Vampires do not grow old, nor do they sicken. They heal from injuries quickly—at least, when they have something good and red to drink—and never do they simply languish.

This was just one reason why Jonathan was strange.

BELOVED, NOTTE

COMING SOON

A NECESSARY END

COMING SOON

Join my newsletter for the latest story updates