Kindle Author Sponsor: Donna Burgess
Darklands: A Vampire's Tale
Barnes & Noble
"Darklands is a fabulous urban fantasy novel, full off violence, paranormal creatures and fabulous sexual scenes. I was captured from the first page. I had to finish the book to see how this was going to end."
—Natasja's Book Blog
"This was an engrossing story from beginning to end... it draws you in deeply to the storyline and doesn't let go until the final page... I highly recommend this to those looking for an exciting read...
—Words of Wisdom....from The Scarf Princess
"Darklands was definitely a change of pace. The tone was gritty, dark, and violent, with several cringe-worthy moments...I would recommend it to fans of urban fantasy and horror, and vampire romance looking for something darker."
—Book of Secrets
"Burgess was new to me and she definitely impressed me. I look forward to more of her work, vampire's specifically!"
—Leilani Loves Books
"...the characters are complex and multi-faceted; there's very little that's simple about this book."
—Bea's Book Nook
“Darklands: A Vampire’s Tale is a dark, supernatural horror story, with some greatly disturbing scenes (a must in this genre), and some uniquely crafted characters. Although Devin annoyed me at times, the other characters were a lot more interesting, the story is fast-paced, intense and gripping, and all in all, it’s a captivating book that will keep you terrified from the start till the end.”
—I <3 Reading, a book review blog
Twenty years ago, Susan Archer witnessed the brutal murder of her beloved twin brother.
Now, the murderer, Devin McCree, has returned. Although Devin is a “Deathwalker,” Susan soon discovers that he is not the monster she has feared for so long.
Leaving her old life behind, she joins Devin on his run from a crazed vampire hunter. Unwilling to let his love disappear, Michael soon follows.
Can Michael save Susan? Does she even need or want to be saved?
Darklands: A Vampire’s Tale is a violent tale of survival, bloodlust, and two people trying to hang on to the last shreds of their humanity, while teetering on the edge of immortality.
Darklands: A Vampire’s Tale is the first volume in the Darklands Vampire series.
Book Excerpt from Darklands: A Vampire's Tale:
Michael passed the mouth of an alley and thought he saw something flash across the pale spray of his headlights. He slowed and looked through the rear-view mirror at the road behind him as the shapes sank into hollow, black doorways and entrances to buildings long abandoned by normal people.
Probably a stray dog. His eyes were playing tricks on him—he needed to rest.
He needed a fucking drink.
He pushed the gas pedal and brought the car back up to speed. Then, he saw it again. Still ahead, but how? He jammed on the brakes, his foot crushing the pedal to the mat. The Beemer skidded to a halt, and his foot slipped off the clutch. The car choked and died.
Silence, all but the soft ticking of the engine.
What kind of city was so quiet? Still, it seemed the very shadows were alive, writhing. The moon slid behind a cloud again, and the road became as dark as a cave, the crumbling buildings seeming to close in, to lean over. His headlights cut grooves in the darkness. He reached over and picked up the Glock, his breath and heartbeat the only sounds in his world.
He wet his lips and clutched the gun in his fist. Squinting into the darkness, he searched for any kind of movement.
Everything was still.
Like a tease, the moon emerged once again from the cover of clouds, brightening the night enough for him to see ahead. What he saw caused his stomach to flip-flop. Silhouetted in the yellow-blue halogen glow of his headlights were possibly a half-dozen slumping human-shaped figures.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered.
He twisted the ignition, and the engine reluctantly fired. He threw the car into gear, and then gunned it, causing the tires to screech like a banshee’s screams. The slumping, lurking shapes leapt, heading straight for him.
Michael could see the faces now—ghost-white smears, blurred with speed, mouths like gashes, eyes glowing hot yellow, reflecting the light. He tore through the darkness, gripping the wheel with one hand and changing gears with the other, all the time holding onto the gun.
The shapes jumped away just before he could plow through them. The little convertible skidded sideways and then tipped crazily onto two wheels. When it dropped back down, Michael’s foot fell off the clutch again, and the engine coughed and died again.
Frantically, he cranked the ignition and it whined back to life, but it didn’t matter. The car shook as if it had been struck, but from the top, not the side. Someone or something had landed on the roof, and the ragtop sagged with the weight like an overfilled sack.
Michael took the gun in both of his hands, wincing with anticipation of the report, and fired upward at the bulge in the canvas.
A howl of pain or of delight—he couldn’t decide which—pierced the night. The cloth ripped as though it was made of old newspaper, and a clawed hand plunged through, dirty nails, grime ground into the palms and creases of the knuckles.
“Get the hell away,” Michael shouted. He fired again, unsure if he had hit anything. Either way, the bullets were not slowing this thing down.
Another figure appeared, standing on the hood of the car. He wore a long black coat that billowed out behind him like a cape. The figure brought a heavy boot up high and then down onto the windshield, shattering it and spraying Michael with diamond shards.
Michael fired a third time, straight ahead, and the bullet tore into the thing’s shoulder, causing him to snap back a half step. The creature then knelt down on the hood and thrust its fist through the spider-webbed windshield to grab at Michael.
At that same moment, Michael reached between his knees and yanked the lever beneath the seat. The seat flew backward a foot, but that wasn’t nearly enough. The thing on the hood growled, exposing an incredible set of teeth, and then rammed its arm deeper into the car. It snagged Michael’s jacket and pulled him upward through the broken windshield.
Fortunately, Michael was still wearing his seatbelt. He fought the pale, snatching fist as his shirt and jacket ripped under the pointed nails. Those jagged nails gouged the skin of his chest, his neck and then his face, drawing thin lines of blood.
Michael raised the gun again, but this time something tore it from his hand and sent it clattering to the floorboard. The crazed figure then grabbed Michael’s shirt again, gaining a better grasp this time. He slammed Michael against the restraint and then the steering wheel, making the airbag deploy like a minor explosion. The airbag inflation rocked Michael backward, throwing him hard against the seat. The creature finally released Michael from his brutal hold.
Michael sat there a moment, gasping, his heart lurching along like he had just completed the forty meters. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached down, groping around for the gun. Relief washed over him when his fingers brushed across the muzzle. He snatched the gun from the floor.
That gave the creature on the hood of the Beemer enough time to regain its footing. It stretched an arm through the windshield again, and then plunged his face through, as well, showing his formidable incisors. Rank, rotting breath whiffed down into Michael’s face as the creature’s jaws snapped closed, searching to sink teeth into anything he could.
Screaming, Michael leaned forward and pressed the Glock’s barrel against the thing’s forehead. He closed his eyes and fired.
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