Tagged: teaser

Blood Soaked and Gone teaser

The latest teaser, warm from the keyboard, just for you!

I stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath, and cracked my back. Awareness of the world edged back into my mind—funny how intense emotions can absorb you—and I looked at the small room as if I’d never seen it before.

Chunhua was absorbed in the machine on the table. Jeff and Rebecca were talking, foreheads pressed together, as they sat on the examining table. The Man Scythe rested against the steel frame of the table, probably in need of a major cleaning. Our bags and belongings were strewn around the room.

“I didn’t pack a change of underwear.” I said, out loud, to no one in particular. “I don’t know how long I’ve been wearing these clothes. I’m covered in dried critter gunk, too.”

Jeff looked up at me, coated in a layer of icky stuff, and I stared back. How had I not noticed the condition we were in?

“Lad,” he said, “this is war. Smelling like a slaughterhouse, without a change of Y-fronts on the horizon, is par for the course. Now, stop it before you start crooning for the Champagne you don’t have.”

“He’s just sour because he’s a pretty, pretty princess in disguise.”

I was flabbergasted.

“Rebecca,” I asked, “did you just launch a snarky comment in my direction?”

“I did.”

“I’d say you’re starting to feel like part of the family,” Chunhua spoke up. “That’s good.”

Another little tease from “Blood Soaked and Gone”

Anything we might have said after that was drowned out by Chunhua’s techno-telepathic barbarian yawp. It surged through our brains and curled our toes.

As a unit we all cried the same question back to her, “WTF?!”

“I got it!” She yelled. “Mine, I tell you! Mine!”

Did you know that you can hear someone cackle like an evil witch through nanotech cellular service? You can, because Chu let off something that left claw marks inside my skull and made my bladder twitch.

I got up and booked to the next room, along with almost anyone else in a leadership position. 410 got crowded in seconds. That’s the power of technologically enhanced twitch reflexes, I guess.

Chunhua was sitting on the floor with the most disturbing, moist-eyed, teeth-bared expression of bloodthirsty triumph on her face I’d ever seen. Any alien, zombie, sociopathic turd, or giant monster would have trembled in the face of a loaded Chunhua Yan. Something, or someone was going to die, and I thanked my lucky stars that it wasn’t me.

“What is yours?” I asked, since I was standing right in front of her.

“I hacked it.” She beamed up at me.

“You rock.” I gasped in awe. “There has never been rock that rocks as completely as you rock. No topography has ever been so stony and rigid as your rocktasticness in this moment. I am honored to be in your presence.”

“Jesus Christ, Frank, d’ you think you could pour it on a little harder than that?” Shawn kicked me in the shin.

“Not without a fire hose.”

Can you tease

the beginning of the third book when the second hasn’t even been released yet? I don’t know! Want to try?

Let’s go!

She trains for it every single day. Before the day that went to hell, she was a blade fancier, just like me. Not anymore. Now she’s bare-hands, guns, and a club as long as my biological forearm. Her choice of weapons isn’t the beginning or the end of how she changed in the months after that night.

I watched her spar with four recruits one afternoon and it was one of the most brutal physical beat-downs I’ve ever seen. Charlie demolished them all. Thankfully, the guys were recent nanotechnology recipients—they healed well and quickly—or there would have been four battered corpses on the floor of the gymnasium.

Her physical appearance changed to match her feelings, I think. When we first met, she looked like ¼ tomboy, ¾ hot country chic. She was curvy, really curvy, and maybe a pinkie finger width overweight. It didn’t matter to me because she was spine-straightening gorgeous, but I knew she didn’t feel good about it.

When I’d last laid eyes on her, prior to our afternoon Slopehead encounter, there was not a single extra ounce of weight on her. Sure, the curves hadn’t disappeared, but the rest of her was ripped and lean.

She’d also cut her hair; the blonde curls I loved so much were gone, replaced by unevenly cropped spikes.

You get the idea.

My reverie was disrupted by the thunk of tires over the lid of “severe tire damage” spikes outside the far gates of NOVA FOB 001—I used to call it “home” before it became a base and sprouted acronyms like a herpes outbreak.

Northern Virginia Forward Operation Base 001.

If we’d been asked to brainstorm on a name, we would have come up with something much more creative. They didn’t ask.