Sometimes fear of the dark can keep you alive.

Grey and Koda have a lead on the supplier of Redrum X—a new strain of the deadly drug that creates UV resistant vampires. Preventing the streets of New York City from being flooded with the mindless creatures was only the first step.
Each night as darkness falls, body counts rise. Someone or something has made nights in the city…fatal. Grey must find who or what is doing the killing and stop them. He only has one clue. Rumors of a Mr. Dark are being whispered in the streets.

Is this Mr. Dark responsible for the deaths? Now together with Koda, Grey will enter a world no Night Warden has encountered. A world of darkness no one has escaped.

Can a dark mage wielding a darker blade bring light to save others?

There was only one rule: no children and no innocents. It was his code and it was unbreakable.

The contract was simple. Locate the target and erase everyone on site. When master assassin, Estefan Huracan Karib, is tasked with taking out the Cartel’s homicidal drug dealer, Viktor Marks, he knew the job wouldn’t cost him sleep. He never counted on her being there. Hidden in a closet, the young girl with the dead eyes stared up at him as he finished terminating everyone in the Upper Westside apartment.

Now he had to make a choice: break his rule or save the girl. When he refuses to fulfill the contract, Huracan becomes the next target and goes from assassin to guardian for a girl who will transform his life.

Will Huracan save her or will the Cartel find and eliminate them both? Find out in the first adventure of The Assassins Apprentice-The Birth of Death!

Sometimes magic doesn’t get the point across. Sometimes the point of a blade is required.

After unleashing the power of the neutralizer, Tristan finds himself without the ability to cast magic. Assured this is a temporary condition, Tristan and Simon decide it’s the perfect opportunity to take some much needed time off.

That is until a group of dark mages enters the city looking for Master Yat. Now the Montague & Strong Detective Agency must face and eliminate the threat. There’s only one problem. William Montague—Tristan’s lost brother is leading the mages.

Without magic, Tristan must face mages intent on killing his friend and teacher, find a way to restore his powers, and stop his brother from bringing a greater darkness to the city, dooming them all.

Sometimes the best answer isn’t a spell. Some situations can only be resolved with bullets and blades.

Join Montague & Strong in a thrilling adventure as they face off against dark mages, undead creatures, and a brother intent on a fatal family reunion!

Montague & Strong Boxset

The Montague & Strong Detective Novels Box Set collects three supernatural-and-thrill-packed full-length novels of this Amazon bestselling urban fantasy series in one place for one great price.You get:

Silver Clouds Dirty Sky(Book 4)
Homecoming(Book 5)
Dragons & Demigods (Book 6)  Over 500 pages of Supernatural Suspense and Action!

I put it off for as long as I could/dared.  This book is excellent and I highly recommend you pick it up and give it a read!

Here is the synopsis:

When a Druid has lived for two thousand years like Atticus, he’s bound to run afoul of a few vampires. Make that legions of them. Even his former friend and legal counsel turned out to be a bloodsucking backstabber. Now the toothy troublemakers—led by power-mad pain-in-the-neck Theophilus—have become a huge problem requiring a solution. It’s time to make a stand.
 
As always, Atticus wouldn’t mind a little backup. But his allies have problems of their own. Ornery archdruid Owen Kennedy is having a wee bit of troll trouble: Turns out when you stiff a troll, it’s not water under the bridge. Meanwhile, Granuaile is desperate to free herself of the Norse god Loki’s mark and elude his powers of divination—a quest that will bring her face-to-face with several Slavic nightmares.
 
As Atticus globetrots to stop his nemesis Theophilus, the journey leads to Rome. What better place to end an immortal than the Eternal City? But poetic justice won’t come without a price: In order to defeat Theophilus, Atticus may have to lose an old friend.

This is the eighth book in the Iron Druid Chronicles with number nine Scourged being the final ( which I hope is a lie) installment in the series.

I recently read a post about how damaging this saying can be: writers write. I will give you my views on this saying in an upcoming post.

The original post by JH Moncrieff is located HERE.

Give it a read because JH Moncrieff makes some good points, but I dont agree with her.

Here is my response because right now Im too irritated to write out an answer. For all of you that write.

This is a post by Neil Gaiman on writing.

Writers Write-Read on.

Dear  Author,

By now you’re probably ready to give up. You’re past that first fine furious rapture when every character and idea is new and entertaining. You’re not yet at the momentous downhill slide to the end, when words and images tumble out of your head sometimes faster than you can get them down on paper. You’re in the middle, a little past the half-way point. The glamour has faded, the magic has gone, your back hurts from all the typing, your family, friends and random email acquaintances have gone from being encouraging or at least accepting to now complaining that they never see you any more—and that even when they do you’re preoccupied and no fun. You don’t know why you started your novel, you no longer remember why you imagined that anyone would want to read it, and you’re pretty sure that even if you finish it it won’t have been worth the time or energy and every time you stop long enough to compare it to the thing that you had in your head when you began—a glittering, brilliant, wonderful novel, in which every word spits fire and burns, a book as good or better than the best book you ever read—it falls so painfully short that you’re pretty sure that it would be a mercy simply to delete the whole thing.

Welcome to the club.

That’s how novels get written.

You write. That’s the hard bit that nobody sees. You write on the good days and you write on the lousy days. Like a shark, you have to keep moving forward or you die. Writing may or may not be your salvation; it might or might not be your destiny. But that does not matter. What matters right now are the words, one after another. Find the next word. Write it down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

A dry-stone wall is a lovely thing when you see it bordering a field in the middle of nowhere but becomes more impressive when you realise that it was built without mortar, that the builder needed to choose each interlocking stone and fit it in. Writing is like building a wall. It’s a continual search for the word that will fit in the text, in your mind, on the page. Plot and character and metaphor and style, all these become secondary to the words. The wall-builder erects her wall one rock at a time until she reaches the far end of the field. If she doesn’t build it it won’t be there. So she looks down at her pile of rocks, picks the one that looks like it will best suit her purpose, and puts it in.

The search for the word gets no easier but nobody else is going to write your novel for you.

The last novel I wrote (it was ANANSI BOYS, in case you were wondering) when I got three-quarters of the way through I called my agent. I told her how stupid I felt writing something no-one would ever want to read, how thin the characters were, how pointless the plot. I strongly suggested that I was ready to abandon this book and write something else instead, or perhaps I could abandon the book and take up a new life as a landscape gardener, bank-robber, short-order cook or marine biologist. And instead of sympathising or agreeing with me, or blasting me forward with a wave of enthusiasm—or even arguing with me—she simply said, suspiciously cheerfully, “Oh, you’re at that part of the book, are you?”

I was shocked. “You mean I’ve done this before?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “You do this every time you write a novel. But so do all my other clients.”

I didn’t even get to feel unique in my despair.

So I put down the phone and drove down to the coffee house in which I was writing the book, filled my pen and carried on writing.

One word after another.

That’s the only way that novels get written and, short of elves coming in the night and turning your jumbled notes into Chapter Nine, it’s the only way to do it.

So keep on keeping on. Write another word and then another.

Pretty soon you’ll be on the downward slide, and it’s not impossible that soon you’ll be at the end. Good luck…

Neil Gaiman