Today’s stop is for Vincent Bobbe’s Immortals’ Requiem. We will have info about the book and author, a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.
Happy Reading 🙂
They are the dreams and nightmares of humanity, the ancient seeds of
fairy-tale and superstition. These are the Immortals, creatures of
magic that should live forever… and they are fading.
When a horror two thousand years dead returns to contemporary England,
creatures long thought lost to myth and legend collide in a scramble
for survival that could tumble civilisation back into the dark ages
of blood and death.
Immortals’ Requiem is
a Tolkienesque grimdark fantasy based in both a modern day city and
vast supernatural worlds. If you like the idea of a drunken elf with
a shotgun, an ancient warrior with a chainsaw and a whole host of
violent supernatural beings you’ll love this gritty Amazon
Number 1 Bestseller.
Buy Immortals’ Requiem to lose yourself in this epic award
winning dark fantasy adventure today!
For a second, the woman simply stared through the thick, black sunglasses. Then she began to laugh. ‘Kill me?’ she asked through her mirth. ‘Little man, I do not know who put you up to this, but you have made a terrible mistake. Even with your gun, you are defenceless against me.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well I do.’ The sunglasses on her face suddenly cracked. The noise was loud, a sharp contrast to the pattering of rain. Spider webs marred the black surfaces, but these soon lost their lines as the plastic began to bulge outwards. The bulges began to glow a dull red, becoming blisters that bubbled and spat. Red burned to white, and the plastic lenses collapsed and dribbled away. Mark stared at what lay beneath.
Instead of eyes there were only gaping pits, the skin around them black and charred. In those holes, twin balls of flame spun and flared. The fire danced out over the woman’s face to caress her cheeks and nose. The glasses finally succumbed to the inferno and melted, running down her face and dropping in molten globs that hissed angrily when they hit the rain-swept ground. They left a trail of black plastic tears that ran from eyes to chin. The flames blazed brighter; fire spilled out of her eye sockets. Where the fire touched her flesh, the skin blistered and cracked, only to heal again almost instantly.
‘Do you see?’ the woman asked mockingly. ‘I will tear your heart out and eat it.’ She moved as she spoke, a fluid stream of lithe muscle in the curtain of water. Where the rain hit her eyes, it sputtered and steamed. Mark tried to throw his hands up in defence, but he was not fast enough. The woman with the flame eyes was on him in less than a second, and hot, slender fingers wrapped around his throat.
Mark drove a fist up into the woman’s gut. His knuckles popped against her tough, solid body. Up close, he could see deep into her fiery eyes, and it was like staring into the sun. A blinding pain ran through the back of his head as he felt his retinas sear away. The woman was laughing. Fire licked Mark’s face, and he felt his own skin begin to blister. The agony was intense. He screamed. It was a wretched, bestial sound.
Mark was carried to the ground, kicking and punching futilely. He felt something slam into his ribcage, over his heart. There was a tearing sound as the skin parted, and then a sickening cracking noise as the bones beneath splintered. A moment later he felt something scorching, writhing in his chest, and he knew it was the woman’s fingers.
Pain lanced through him, and he screamed again as his attacker began to tug at something deep in Mark’s body. Another scream as the arteries that held his heart in place parted under the assault, and Mark felt the organ ripped from him.
‘Kill me?’ the woman demanded furiously. ‘I, who have lived for centuries, feasting on your kind – you dare to threaten me? I’ll eat your heart and take your soul.’ Mark heard the woman begin to chew. He waited for a few seconds as the awful pain subsided. Then he sat up.
Vision was already returning. The damaged cells in his eyes were regenerating so quickly that he felt the tingle of growth. He felt a new heart growing in his chest, even as the bones fused back together and the skin puckered and healed without a scar.
He fingered the blood-drenched hole in his hooded top and absently thought it a shame that it couldn’t repair itself as well. He forgot about it as he levered himself to his feet and stared down at the woman who had torn out his heart and eaten it.
Her mouth was smeared with blood, her lips peeled back in a rictus of pain; the fires of her eyes began to dim. The woman thrashed around on the ground, clearly in agony. Mark wandered over to her and kicked her as hard as he could in the side. He heard something snap.
‘That’s for breaking my heart, you bitch,’ he said wryly.
Vincent Bobbe is nearly forty years old. When he was about ten, he tripped on
an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel and fell into his own brain. He’s not
quite managed to climb out yet, because the things that found him in
there keep clawing him back in.
He’s happily married with two young children and lives in Manchester,
England. His wife is horrifically allergic to pretty much everything,
so he doesn’t have any pets. This suits him.
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