In the spirit of giving, here is a taste from my new series, The Rise of the Stria, and the first book, To Discover a Divine, set to hit the shelves in March 2017. Come and join the Chandar Stria as they battle against the villainous Rimmarian Thrall in the far off Seventh Quadrant.

Happy Holidays and happy reading!!!


Evainne Wagner woke at her normal time on a standard Tuesday. After following her usual morning routine of feeding her fish, checking emails for any answer from the latest round of resumes sent to various law firms hoping for a bite, and finishing her habitual two cups of coffee, she opened the boring front door of her typical New England brownstone apartment to take her predictable training run around Boston Common.

She wondered exactly when that process went horribly wrong.

The sounds of blaring alarms instead of crosstown traffic assaulted her ears as she left her home. A long white corridor with openings cut into the walls, but no discernible doorways met her questioning gaze. Gone was the tree-lined avenue and ivy-covered brick houses across the street from her on Union Park. What she found this morning were people running around in weird-looking motorcycle gear through the mounting smoke.

She wasn’t sure if she was completely awake, in the middle of a cheap pizza-induced nightmare or the recipient of a really bad prank. She turned to find nothing but a white wall at her back, her front door only a memory. Someone yanked on her shoulder, spinning her about to face her own image in the fish-eyed reflective lens of a helmeted asshat.

“What the hell? Look, I think you might have the wrong—”

A surprising explosion of pain slammed into her jaw as a padded fist drove away the possibilities of anything other than harsh reality. She shook her head, eager to dismiss the stars splintering her vision. Her mind might be locked, but her body ran on automatic pilot. She drew back her leg, pistoning out and catching one of the looming shapes in the groin, hoping she nailed the sensitive spot. The ensuing grunt as the goliath dropped to his knees was a good indication, not the mention the responding blow from his beefy twin that knocked her down to the floor.

She stared in shock as a gun was pointed in her face, angry voices yelling gibberish above her, and her survival instincts snapped into overdrive. Covering his head as her panic-gripped brain spun like a hamster on steroids, she prayed for this freak show to end.

The answer appeared as another leather-clad biker, the dark blue jumpsuit that clung to his frame stood out in sharp contrast to the overly bright white around her. His legs pumped in powerful strides as blinding flashes lit up the muzzle of his gun, and one of the goons exploded in a shower of gore. The second followed in short order as the new player skidded to a halt on his knees next to her. His hand was touching the side of his helmet and more of that same nonsensical language spilled out. But these tones were more musical, not harsh and guttural as the earlier two.

The mirrored visor reflected her terrified appearance back to her. Still dressed in her running gear, sporting what was soon to be a nice shiner, she blinked in an attempt to unravel his kind-sounding words. Movement from behind her timely savior launched her reflexes. Using her left hand, she snatched up the cast-off weapon by her foot and fired over his shoulder. The gun had no kick. Only a slight click, and the man at his back flying off his feet told her she hit her target.

In her mind, she continued to call the fighter across from her a him. The build was right, broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong and muscular legs, and not to mention the absence of boobs. Her savior spun back to face her, the blacked out glass hiding his response. Was he impressed? Surprised? Thankful? Pissed that a girl took the shot? The lack of any eyes killed any chance for a true read. As he reached for her, she twisted the lightweight gun in her palm and offered him the non-business end.

Her mysterious companion shook his head back and forth and gently pushed the weapon back toward her, closing his fingers around hers as he uncoiled from his crouched position. She joined him, but he seemed to keep standing up, and then up some more. She was no midget at her five-foot-six, but he had to top out at a clean seven feet easily. Her breath quickened as she imagined climbing up all that mountain of muscles.

But what did he look like underneath that shiny helmet and skin-tight leather? Would he be hideous? Did he have three eyes? Or worse, what if he was gay? Or married?

Really? Can’t you get your head out of his pants long enough to survive this?