Occasionally a gal runs into a book that is so addictive, she's unable to put it down.. This fantastic tale by Donya Lynne is one of those rare books.. Ms. Lynne brings you into the world of the vamps behind the AKM All The King's Men enforcement agency.. And she does it with flair!
Micah, the brooding, dark haired, tortured alpha vamp has so much internal pain that you can't help but hurt for him, reading about it.. It made me want to reach into this fantastically descriptive world and try to fix our hero somehow... Our Micah is saved from certain death by the beautiful but broken Sam, who is running from a horrifying human demon of her own & is pulled into the dark, hidden world of the paranormal by the gorgeous man she has saved & feels compelled to help him fight his inner demons as much as her body craves the mysterious man behind the sad mask...
Sam & Micah have to work together to save each other when not only Sam's past starts catching up to her, but also the demons she prevented from killing Micah have decided to make her the next victim in retaliation. Can Micah and his AKM brothers-in-arms save Sam before it's too late? Or will their very own demons catch up & destroy them all?
Ms. Lynne has a way with words and never stops her headlong leap into adventure & drama with this book.. This is a book that you DO NOT WANT TO MISS! Rise Of The Fallen is a must read for lovers of paranormal and urban fantasy... I can't wait to get my hands on the next book in the series!
Platinum Reviews gives Donya & "Rise Of The Fallen":
5 Platinum Rings!
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Blurb:
In the streets of Chicago exists an uneasy, centuries-old truce between vampires and their distant cousins, a race of shifters called drecks. Vampire enforcement agency, All the King’s Men (AKM), is charged with maintaining the truce, but when volatile enforcer Micah Black loses his mate and falls into the biological agony that results from the broken bond, he tests the boundaries of the truce by seeking out Apostle, a leader in the dreck community. Micah wants Apostle to kill him, a request Apostle is more than happy to fulfill.
When ex-Army medic Samantha Garrett inadvertently disrupts the plot and saves Micah’s life, a chain reaction sets Micah’s heart on a collision course with Sam’s, but he will have to protect her from Apostle and her obsessive ex-husband, Steve, if they will have a chance at forever. Can Micah hold his emotions together to keep Sam alive??
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EXCERPT:
"Hello friend." He picked up the small but lethal knife and a tic twitched the corner of his mouth like he was an addict waiting for his dealer to hurry-up-and-give-him-the-stuff-already.
He slowly turned the knife in his hands, mesmerized as he shut off the light in the closet and drifted back into his room. He didn't even realize he was standing in front of his dresser until he looked up and caught his reflection in the mirror. The stranger that glared back at him sneered.
You're a loser. A waste. A burden. A burden who caused Jackson to leave. It's all your fault. You're worthless.
Self-destructive thoughts pummeled him like Mike Tyson in his prime. Each thought was a body blow, hurting him more, bruising his heart, knocking the air out of him.
Micah's breathing deepened and turned ragged. His eyes flitted in a panic. He was suddenly claustrophobic and felt like he was in a six-by-six box. His hands shook. Crazed panic shuddered his lungs. He needed to get out of the box. He couldn't be locked up like this.
Suddenly, his eyes caught that magical, elegant blade once more, and his body calmed. His mind went silent. His breathing returned to normal and he felt a surge of peace.
Aaahhhh, sweet pain waited for him in his hand. He didn't have to go in search of a fight, did he? The pain he needed was right here. It always had been.
With anticipation, he yanked off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. The knife was like a pen light in the hands of a hypnotist: You're getting sleepy. Very sleepy. Do as I say.
Somehow he ended up in the bathroom without a clear memory of how he got there, his arm poised over the raised Spun Glass bowl of the sink. With the underside staring back at him like a sacrifice, his grin widened. The knife – his arm – the knife. His gaze darted back and forth between the two, and a perverse, lusty thrill came over him. He actually pulled a semi in his sweats, he was so excited.
It was as if Micah was only an observer, and the tip of the knife was about to pierce someone else's arm, and he couldn't wait to see them bleed. But when the blade cut into flesh, it was his arm that bled.
Sweet Pain.
His eyes rolled back as he savored the sting, and a content sigh eased out of his throat. As a dom who no longer practiced, he had caused plenty of people pain for pleasure, but never once had he given that pleasure to himself. Mmm. So this was what his submissives had felt. He could see the allure.
Pleasantly dazed, he opened his eyes and watched his blood travel down his arm and drip into the clear glass sink then slide down to the drain, where it pooled around the seam of the metal ring. Then he licked the wound, sealing it with his venom, and cut himself again. And again. And still again. Each time, Micah felt himself tumble further into the abyss of destruction, watching his blood flow like he was rubber-necking a bad traffic accident he couldn't rip his gaze from.
Finally, he looked up at the mirror over the vanity.
Who was that looking back at him? The person in the reflection was a stranger. The enemy. The one who had destroyed everything and chased Jackson away.
Frowning, he growled at himself. "You're a fuck up. A fucking loser."
The knife dug angrily into his flesh again and the face in the mirror winced. Micah smiled in triumph. That asshole looking back at him deserved it. But wait, the fucker was smiling. He was smiling at Micah, mocking him.
"What are you smiling at?"
You, asshole. The stranger laughed at him as if he was in on a joke Micah could only guess at. You're a loser. A no-good, washed up loser. Nobody wants you. Katarina died because of you. Jackson left you. You ruined their lives. You were never any good for them. Save everyone the trouble and just die.
Micah grimaced. Who the hell was this asshole who knew him so well? "I hate you. I fucking hate you! SHUT UP!"
The knife clanked into the sink, and Micah smashed his fist into the mirror. Shards of glass exploded outward and rained down to the tiled floor and into the sink as Micah snarled violently, feeling momentarily victorious for shutting up that asshole.
Suddenly, Micah shook his head. What had just happened? He blinked hard, trying to focus. The broken glass, the blood, the knife, the stranger in the mirror.
Stranger? God, what was he doing? What was he thinking? He was losing his mind. Going crazy. Fighting against himself. Enough sanity remained for him to realize he had just tried to kick his own ass.
And what was with his arm? He raised it and backed away from the sink until his back met the wall, and he sank to the floor. He had cut himself, and blood coated his forearm and his hand. What was he doing?
Then he noticed that the ache in his chest was gone. He huffed out a manic chuckle as he rubbed his palm over his sternum. The pain was gone. Whatever he had done had worked, but now his mind was scrambled like eggs in a hot skillet. None of that mattered, though. He had found the cure to his pain, at least for now. So what if the cost was his sanity?
Hell and shadows invaded his mind as he stared at his bleeding arm. This was his life now. He'd better get used to it. And if he couldn't? There was always death.........
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