Showing results by narrator "Eric Messner" in All Categories

In the Wild-West wilderness of the Frontier, a sheriff has been tasked with escorting the captured servant of the vampire Nobility to the authorities in the Capital. Unfortunately, the stagecoach route they must follow crosses into the territory of the servant’s master, the dread Duke Sinistre!

"My name is Rylee, and I am a Tracker." When children go missing, and the Humans have no leads, I'm the one they call. I am their last hope in bringing home the lost ones. I salvage what they cannot. O’Shea is AWOL, and Tracking him is proving to be harder than I expected. Not to mention the small fact that I have the Beast of Bodmin Moor chasing me across Europe, in a race against the odds, and my life as the prize. But those things are minor compared to the secrets that finally come to light. Secrets I wish had stayed hidden in the darkness....

Frustrated by her pathetically useless powers, Larkspur can only dream of being accepted by true elementals. And as the bastard daughter of the king, she lives under the constant wrath of his jealous wife. When she’s falsely accused of attacking the cruel woman, she must choose between military service or banishment...and both lead to certain death. Seizing her slim chance for survival, Lark embarks on training as a soldier for the unforgiving kingdom. But though she excels in her new role, it may not be enough to stay safe from a queen out for her blood.

Notes from the author: The following is a short story I wrote in the Elantris world back in January of 2006. There were always a few holes in Elantris where I decided not to include viewpoints or sections of explanation in the name of streamlining, particularly at the end. In the back of my mind, I knew what happened. This story talks about one of those holes; it is meant to be heard after you’ve finished the novel and takes place during the events of the climax.

In the early 1990’s, Hellboy, Liz Sherman, and Abe Sapien are drawn into a bizarre case in New York, linked both to Hellboy’s 1980 adventure with Anastasia in Brazil and to The Lobster’s encounter with the Proteus Club in 1933. A strange community of bizarre humans has been living in secret beneath Manhattan for more than sixty years. Now, though, someone is stalking them, murdering them one by one—someone who claims to be the ancient goddess Sem-Karul. With aid from the now elderly Cynthia Tynan, Hellboy and the BPRD must face the Goddess of Manhattan, and the monsters who serve her.

When children go missing, and the Humans have no leads, I’m the one they call. I am their last hope in bringing home the lost ones. I salvage what they cannot. Underestimating demons is a bad idea, and it’s a mistake that may cost me not only my own life but the life of a missing child. If I can swallow my pride, and allow Agent O’Shea to help me find a way to deal with the demon, we might be able to save the child.

Outlaws have again taken Frank Morgan's son and the Drifter is fortunate to get some help from an unexpected source. But just as Morgan gets close to the men he's hunting, he comes upon a ghost town nestled into a Rocky Mountain valley. For Morgan, the mystery of what happened to the town and of a deadly spirit that haunts it, has to take second fiddle to what's brought him this far. Determined to free his son, he'll face his enemies in this godforsaken place, where amidst the ghosts, the gunfighters, and the gunsmoke, he'll make sure the killing is real.

Sweet Apple, Texas is the deadliest town west of the Mississippi - where getting killed is as easy as ordering a beer. Which is why East Coast big shot Cornelius Standish sends his lily-livered nephew, Seymour, to Sweet Apple. With Seymour out of the way, Cornelius will own the company that rightfully belongs to his nephew.

The game’s afoot once more as the long-suffering Dr. John Watson and a partially decomposed Warlock Holmes (though he’s getting better) face off against Moriarty’s gang, the Pinkertons, flesh-eating horses, a parliament of imps, boredom, Surrey, a succubus, an overly Canadian aristocrat, a tricycle-fight to the death and the dreaded Pumpcrow. Oh, and a hell-hound, one assumes.

Sherlock Holmes is an unparalleled genius. Warlock Holmes is an idiot. A font of arcane power, certainly. But he’s brilliantly dim. Frankly, he couldn’t deduce his way out of a paper bag. The only thing he has really got going for him are the might of a thousand demons and his stalwart companion. Thankfully, Dr. Watson is always there to aid him through the treacherous shoals of Victorian propriety...and save him from a gruesome death every now and again.

I'm the last surviving member of my pack, and I'm running for my life. As the future pack leader of the Silver Wolves, my life was carefully planned: stay hidden, and learn to fight. In an instant, everything changes. My pack was slaughtered by an unknown enemy. Alone and unsure who to trust, I search for safety. Now, there's a pack leader who offers me something that no one else can—protection. He’s sexy, an absolute jerk, and my fated mate.

The Carnacki institute exists to do something about ghosts. Lay them to rest, send them packing, or kick their nasty ectoplasmic arses with extreme prejudice. The institute’s operatives are the best of the best. JC Chance: sharp, brave, charming, and almost unbearably arrogant; Melody Chambers: science geek, techno-wizard extraordinaire who keeps the antisupernatual equipment running smoothly; and Happy Jack Palmer: the telepath with the gloomy disposition, the last person anyone would want navigating through their head.

Sometimes it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Siberia in April isn't in any tourist guidebook. But that is where Trapp finds himself. It's cold, dark, and the vodka tastes like gasoline. After brawling with half a dozen corrupt Russian cops, he's taken to the infamous penal colony marked on maps as IK-29, but known to inmates as the Black Eagle. The guards are brutes, their prisoners little better than animals. It's hell on earth.

There is one thing every enemy of Bethany Anne finds out: They will be ground under her heels. Now, something is heating up between Bethany Anne and Michael, and it isn’t her anger over him leaving her behind. Well, much. Further, the Patriarch is learning there might be someone worth sticking around for in his future. If she would just stop being so hard-headed.

My name is Hedi Peacock and I have a secret. I'm not human, and I have the pointy Fae ears and Were inner-bitch to prove it. As fairy tales go, my childhood was damn near perfect, all fur and magic until a werewolf killed my father and the Fae executed my mother. I've never forgiven either side. Especially Robson Trowbridge. He was a part-time werewolf, a full-time bastard, and the first and only boy I ever loved. That is, until he became the prime suspect in my father's death....

In the swirling sewers beneath Arkham, excavators uncover a crystalline formation that hints at dark events from the city's past. As the discovery makes headlines, so too does a series of bizarre murders. With no leads, the Arkham police are always one step behind. Acting on a hunch, down-on-his-luck former journalist Andy Van Nortwick reunites with adventurer Jake Williams and struggling filmmaker Maude Brion to unearth the truth. The trio know of the supernatural horrors that lurk beyond this world, and the reality haunts them.

As they blunder towards doom, Warlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson find themselves inconvenienced by a variety of eldritch beings. Christmas brings a goose that doesn't let being cooked slow it down; they meet an electricity demon, discover why being a redhead is even trickier than one might imagine, and Holmes attempts an Irish accent. And, naturally, Moriarty is hanging around...in some form or other.

The sun is setting on humanity. The night now belongs to voracious demons that prey upon a dwindling population forced to cower behind half-forgotten symbols of power. Legends tell of a Deliverer: a general who once bound all mankind into a single force that defeated the demons. But is the return of the Deliverer just another myth? Perhaps not. Out of the desert rides Ahmann Jardir, who has forged the desert tribes into a demon-killing army.

The sun is setting on humanity. The night now belongs to voracious demons that prey upon a dwindling population forced to cower behind half-forgotten symbols of power. Legends tell of a Deliverer: a general who once bound all mankind into a single force that defeated the demons. But is the return of the Deliverer just another myth? Perhaps not. Out of the desert rides Ahmann Jardir, who has forged the desert tribes into a demon-killing army. He has proclaimed himself Shar’Dama Ka, the Deliverer and he carries ancient weapons - a spear and a crown - that give credence to his claim.

Some call it a spirit, a demon. Others, an all-consuming force of nature. According to Cree legend, it goes by the name of Wendigo. For a hundred years it has been sleeping. Resting beneath the earth. Buried in a godless no-man’s-land known as Resurrection Pass....