Sunday, December 15, 2013

Khet Chronicles Blood Ties by Marcus Twyman

Khet Chronicles
Blood Ties
Marcus Twyman

Genre: Urban Fantasy
ISBN:  978-1461108184
Number of pages:  394
Word Count:  76,206
Cover Artist: Marcus Twyman

Book Description:

Kalin Moshire and his stepbrother, Shane, struggle to survive the race of people known as the Nebu Khet, which they also happen to belong to. They are hunted because of Shane's heredity. He's half Homo Sapiens (sape) and Half Nebu Khet (khet). Kalin swore to protect him on the night his mother sacrificed herself to save their lives, but will he keep that promise or will unseen threats destroy them first.

From the cozy suburbs of Montgomery County, Maryland, to the busy streets of New York City, across the desert sands of Egypt, to the rocky cliffs of Ireland. Kalin must unravel the truths that have been hidden to him since childhood and fight for the right to live.


I know my limits have been reached tonight. As I stare at the angry pale face snarling at me from across the darkened room, I can feel the last of my strength dwindling down to nothing. My body keeps bleeding out its life’s blood and I can feel it gathering in pools around the spread fingers of my bruised and battered hands where I'm crouching on the concrete floor. I feel the weight of the power-laced air increase as my assailant hunches down into position for one last lunge and my gut tells me that this cold dark cellar may become my eternal resting place. In this moment there is an overwhelming sense that my life has become forfeit.

In this place where all odds are against me, I

envision her face one last time.  Lifting my head slowly from the floor, I stare through the blood soaked strands of my hair at my opponent. His face is contorted into a mask of rage.  His teeth glisten in the darkness and there is no mistaking the bloodlust in those ancient, glowing, yellow eyes.
I go back to picturing her face again – the image is so vivid I can practically reach out and touch her. I remember her sweet scent and the sound of her voice. I can feel her soft skin as I reach up to place a hand on her cheek.
I can't die here, I can't leave her to fend for herself against my kind.  I must survive this. Focusing on my body, I concentrate

The moment that he decides to attack, I know it. As

if in slow motion, his muscles begin to flex beneath the skin of his forearms and shoulders.  He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet like a cobra ready for the strike.
For a split second all I can register is the sound of my own heart beating...that’s when he launches himself from his side of the room towards me.  I propel myself forward with my own teeth bared and my claws fully extended. A low vibration rocks through my chest and explodes from my mouth. The awesome power of the  roar is like no other on this planet.  It’s the Nebu Khet's cry, and it always means death.

About the Author:

Marcus Twyman has lived most of his life in Montgomery County, Maryland. Since he was a child he's enjoyed writing stories, songs, and poetry - using the power of words as a therapeutic release for his feelings and emotions.

Now living in New York City, Marcus has been slowly adapting to the bustling concrete jungle and is incorporating his new experiences into his writing.

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