Excerpts from and throughout A Throne of Souls...

October 22, 2016

As much as I'd love to tweet these out, you can't tweet anything meaningful in 140 characters and I don't like breaking apart content just to tweet them out in stages.  So here's my solution...  I'll blog it, then link it.  Between the first eight chapters I've made available for free under Sample Content and the writing excerpts here (all protected under US copyright laws I might add) potential readers should be able to get a very good feel for my writing and what to expect when they make that commitment to buy the book.  If you like what you're reading here and in the sample content, it's only going to get better for you as you begin to read everything and understand the full scope and context before you, as well as the immense character development that went into this story.  I promise you'll be able to tell a stark difference between this and other Self-Published books you've read.  If it doesn't feel like a professionally published book to you, please let me know and I'll fix it, but I believe you'll agree with me that this comes across as something from TOR, or RandomHouse, or Harper Collins Publishing.


So here are some of my favorite excerpts not available in the Sample Content PDF file:


From Chapter 12-Banthis:

"Dawn still a couple of hours away, they stood and talked, continuing their conversation from inside—where they first met so many centuries before. He was still in awe every time he met with her—her dark elven skin perfection incarnate. She was quite literally the definition of a living Goddess.


Lithe, dark, and beyond beautiful Evanyil stood there basking in moonlight with her radiant platinum hair and unique violet eyes, batting them at the doer of all doer’s. No one—not in all her lifetimes—could compare to Damon’s ability to get things done. That made him the only possible candidate for this task—the only one she could trust to get the job done right the first time. And with this task, there would be no second chances. They would either all succeed and reap the benefits, or they would all suffer a fate far worse than any death that could possibly be imagined.


Damon stood there in his full mage regalia, letting Evanyil caress, or rather pet, the top of his hand as she peered into his black mirrors of the soul. They were so amazing lit up the way they were in that cool smoky aura backlit by the moonlight. He was an amazing specimen. She did love him—truly so. It wasn’t just physical love, or lust, between them. It was love of trust, love of reliability, love of dependability, love of so very much history together, and the love of rescuing one another more times than either could count. They had been a team from the very first moment they met. They knew each other’s thoughts and could complete each other’s sentences, and they were just opposite enough to attract without driving each other insane. Well, Evanyil would fit the definition of insanity already—with, or without, Damon. Even that he loved about her. She was just sane enough to be surprisingly lucid at times, and just crazy enough to come up with the most brilliant and unconventional thinking that frequently dovetailed perfectly with his order and structure.


The vines and dogwood masked the entrance entirely to the untrained eye, but they had been here so many times, they knew right where they were going—physically and otherwise.


“Sweetie, I’m not saying it has to be now-now. I’m saying I know it takes time to plot something of this magnitude, and I’d like to start the planning now,” so unusual coming from her—the realization of planning something like this. Evanyil was the act first, solve problems-on-the-fly personality. But, if she, of all people, was realizing the need to plan something like this, then she truly did have an understanding of the consequences at play.


He was trying to keep his thoughts focused and ordered as she continued stroking his hand, leaning her perfect body into his as she blinked at him with those magnificent violet eyes of hers. He knew he wasn’t being used—not really at least. Was he? It was the briefest of thoughts crossing across his consciousness as he replied, “Look, I’m just saying my biggest concern has always been about what happens after. I mean, we’re going to bring enough to this fight, I’m pretty confident we’ll win. The question is, in the massive power vacuum that follows, who gets what, when, how, where, and why are all extremely important questions that need to be asked and answered before the first spell is cast in this war we’re about to start. There has to be a viable path to a lasting equilibrium. That’s all I’m saying. And forgive me for saying this, but you’re not the ‘share my toys’ type.”


Evanyil feigned insult pouting, but she knew where Damon was coming from. He had a valid point—he always did. “You’re suggesting a meeting between myself and your wifey.”


“I am.”


A huff of derision at the thought from Evanyil. She didn’t hate Banthis. They had largely stayed out of one another’s way all this time, but Banthis took Damon away from her. It wasn’t a jealousy thing between Evanyil and Banthis. More like, Damon and Evanyil were best friends, teammates, traveling companions till the end, and then one day Banthis came in and changed all that. She detested the change that came with Banthis in Damon’s life more than she detested Banthis herself. Evanyil knew she wasn’t the marrying type and neither was Damon and yet he’d done it—more than once already. Their relationship had been violently hot, then cold, then hot, then unbearably distant, then ethereal, then… The one constant between them was that they could count on one another, particularly when commitments were given.


He could see the wheels of chaos turning in the half-psychotic mind of hers, and thought better to interrupt her train of thought before someone got killed—or worse. “Look, you two need to figure out who gets what when this goes down. I’ve known you a lot longer than I’ve known her but don’t ask me to choose between you two. That won’t be good for any of us.”


“And what if I am asking you to choose me?”


“Evanyil, please don’t. Please.”


A batted eyelash, then a look down at the lush grass beneath them bathed in moonlight as her spiders stood sentry around them made Evanyil consider her options if it came down to it. “I miss the old us.”


A broad smile from Damon—she loved his smile—caused Damon to reminisce. Thoughts of their first meeting flooded his mind…then their first time together in combat…then all the years she spent with him at his manor. They covered a lot of ground together—shared tremendous history. Cupping her magnificent face, he kissed her—really kissed her—like their lives depended on it. Was that because it did, he wondered. “If this works, we’ll have all the freedom to be whoever we want, to forge, or reforge, whatever state of relationship we desire. And, for the record, I miss the old us too. You mean…,” he paused thinking as a lump formed in his throat, searching for the words, “…more to me than words can describe. You’re my last real living link to the past—at least that part of my past I remember with fondness. I adore you, Evanyil. Please don’t ever change.”


It was a strange, and rare moment, seeing a tear streaking down the cheeks of a living Goddess, but she had what she wanted—for now at least. She had Damon’s commitment to execute the plan that would set them both free. Though, here with him tonight in this perfect moonlit night, she wanted more. She wanted a future with Damon…without Banthis."



From Chapter 18-In The Thunder's Wake:

"Rain and thunder battered at the grounds and gray stone keep of the old Lockhart Manor. Lightning strokes, nearly on the keep’s grounds, invoked smoky motes of crimson mist, barely visible against the storm-woven tapestry of the night air. The wind rustled through chimes strewn about the grounds, swinging the old iron gate this way and that ever since the latch had broken long ago. The chime intonations concatenated with the moaning and metal gnashing of the gate into frightening howls carried on the night air. Between the thunder strokes, porch oil lamps hung from overhang just inside the main gate, noisily swung to and fro, tossing their light in schizophrenic patterns on the porch and in the weather-beaten courtyard.


Inside, burning purple, red, black, and white candles of every size and shape rendered a dark backdrop against virgin white silk and lace window treatments.