Two Men. One Apocalypse.
Rise of the Revenants by Poppy Dennison
Vampyres are on the loose in Detroit, and novice hunter Taz Cohen is on the job. The mission seems simple: stop the vamps. But Taz knows nothing about the mythical creatures, so he’s in for the fight of his life. Then he meets insanely attractive construction worker Darren Foster, who jumps into the battle with both feet. Sparks and bullets fly as they struggle against the vampyre horde and their attraction to each other. Avoiding gruesome death from the undead might be easier than shielding their hearts from each other.
Legacy of Blood and Death by Rhys Ford
For Javi Navarro, Detroit will become another blood-splattered city in his rearview mirror after he puts its dead back into the ground. Expecting an easy hunting job, Javi instead finds a kiss of ancient vampyres on the hunt for a descendant of their long-dead creator.
Reclusive Ciarnan Mac Gerailt abandoned his family legacy of blood and death magic after it nearly destroyed him. Unfortunately for Ciarnan, the Motor City can only be saved if he resumes his dark arts and joins forces with Javi Navarro, the hunter who brought the vampyre apocalypse–and hope for the future–straight to Ciarnan’s front door.
Rise of the Revenants:
“YOU HAVE reached your destination.”
Taz pulled to the curb and put his black Challenger into park. The car rumbled beneath him, preferring the high speeds on the interstate to the stop and go of city driving. And in this neighborhood? He’d be safer going ninety on the highway than parked along this stretch of Detroit’s inner city.
Nothing to do about it. With the vampyres seeking their prey throughout the city, Taz’s only hope was to find the missing descendant and pray the mystery man could put a stop to his ancestor’s machinations.
Taz turned off the engine and glared at the dilapidated excuse for a house across the street. Only a couple blocks from the remains of old Tiger Stadium, the property looked deserted. He climbed out of the car and stretched. This was his fourth stop of the afternoon. Why the hell John Chapman’s name was on over thirty properties in the city, Taz hadn’t figured out. Time was critical here. He needed to find the man.
Task in mind, he ventured across the street just in time to see a delicious excuse for a man staring at a map. Hottie glanced up at the house, then back to the map, before frowning and shaking his head.
That wouldn’t do. Such a gorgeous face shouldn’t be frowning. Sated and exhausted would be a much better look. Taz pretended questioning the hottie about his interest in the same house he was interested in would be critical to his search. In reality, not a single light shone in the house, and from the looks of the place, no one had lived there for a very long time. Taz predicted another dead end.
Hottie glanced up when Taz stepped onto the sidewalk in front of him. He scurried back a couple paces, his hand going to his side.
In Detroit? No telling what that could mean. Taz might have taken the opportunity to slip into his protective gear, but that didn’t mean a bullet to the chest wouldn’t hurt.
Legacy of Blood:
DETROIT WAS dying.
She’d been dying for a while now. Lots of things had brought her to the brink. Everything from corruption to selling herself cheap, the lady’d done it. She’d done it all. Now the wrinkled, rattling carcass of her used-up body stood on the street corner of life hoping for that one last car to roll out of the darkness—hoping for that one true Golden Trick who’d see her beauty and take her home.
There were a lot of people who weren’t quite ready to let Old Dame Detroit slip off gently into the night. Despite the decay and dissolution, pockets of resistance were growing—tiny hubs of humanity clinging like lichen and barnacles to the slumbering, aging behemoth whose bones were too brittle to hold up her weight.
Evidence of the ragtag groundswell shone between the death shrouds the city’s caretakers pulled up around her. A massive gardening effort where a foundry once stood. A spot of brightly painted, refurbished houses on a street more cracks than solid asphalt. A three-block-wide field with partially erect brick walls and chain-link fence holding Bob’s Chicken Output Consortium, where if he wanted, Javi could pick up his own twelve eggs for a dollar.
The smell and sound of the chicken ranch was overwhelming, powdery and bitter with an occasional storm of clacks and clatters more in tune with an arriving train than any fowl. Still, it was a sign of life on the old girl—a flush of young skin peeking out between the tired feathers of her plucked-thin boa.
Of course, he’d probably feel a hell of a lot more optimistic about the Old Broad if he wasn’t cruising through her deserted, seemingly war-torn streets looking for the undead.
But if he was going hunting for bloodthirsty rabbit during duck season, he needed to know who else was out there in the field with him.
About the Authors
Poppy Dennison, a sassy southern lady, developed an obsession with things that go bump in the night in her early years after a barn door flew off its hinges and nearly squashed her. Convinced it was a ghost trying to get her attention, she started looking for other strange and mysterious happenings around her. Not satisfied with what she found, Poppy has traveled to Greece, Malaysia, and England to find inspiration for the burly bears and silver foxes that melt her butter. Her love of paranormal continues to flourish nearly thirty years later, and she writes steamy love stories about the very things that used to keep her up all night. If her childhood ghost is lucky, maybe one day she’ll give him his own happily ever after.
Rhys Ford admits to sharing the house with three cats of varying degrees of black fur and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and an overworked red coffee maker.