Hey ,

Sliding into your inbox today with a quick (but hopefully) fun kind of update.

This holiday season I've been focused on editing, cutting out a lot of the telling and pushing for more forward momentum in the showing.

Honestly? I think the work has been paying off.

So this time, instead of talking about it, I figured I’d just show you. At the bottom of this email, you'll find Chapter One in its current form. No snippets, the full section as it stands today.

Before that though, let's give a little love to some fellow indie authors. All the novels below are free with a newsletter sign-up, so if you’re looking for something new to read, this is a great place to start.

How do you win a hopeless fight?

The Norland raiders are at it again. When the Baron of Bodden splits their defensive forces, Sergeant Gerald Matheson thinks that today is a day like any other, but then something is different. At the last moment, Gerald recognizes the warning signs, but they are outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of luck. How can they win this unbeatable battle?

Would you give your life to save the world?

Ludovic Stone was the arms-bearer and right-hand of Archmage Alastor an Ulbrecht and Sorceress Lianna; protecting them throughout the years from political threats and standing by their side through the hardships they faced due to their stature.

A failed assassination attempt against Lianna prompted Alastor to act and perform a grievous ritual to tap onto the power of the Void, the dark forces beyond the universe. Has he betrayed his friends and family to gain power? Can Lianna stop Alastor before it’s too late? Will she and Ludovic be able to save the world from the evil warlock he has become? What if it was all just a lie?

Do you dare to go deeper?

The edge of a forest is often airy, with hints of the darkness found deeper. "Step into Shadow" takes you to this border between night and day, and pushes you in.

And that brings us to our close.

Thanks again, and stay posted. Enjoy the start of the story!

Chapter I - Living Nightmares

It began with a whisper. Sweat poured down her chest, thick as the stench of roadkill. Her eyes shot open, lungs breathless from a dream vivid enough to blur the line between nightmare and reality.

With her lungs empty, she drew a deep breath, fighting to steady the tremors coursing through her body. It wasn’t enough to dispel the chills creeping in, but it had to be enough to move.

That… that thing. That horrible, disgusting thing. How could I have forgotten?

She glanced at her watch. 

No time for excuses. No time for whatever lies she’d let herself believe.

The dream had put an end to that.

Covers off. Pajamas tossed aside. Her eyes darted to the closet. The faint glow of her angel night-light reflected off the lustrous hardwood, displaying an open path within the cramped bedroom. All around, posters from her childhood hung askew on faded lavender walls. The centerpiece, Metallica’s Ride the Lightning, continued to curl with age. On a nearby wooden shelf, her two stuffed animals, Mr. Monkey and Big Bear, still leaned against each other. Their glassy eyes seemed to echo what she already knew: Hurry.

The waxy hardwood clung to the soles of her bare feet as she rushed to the other side of the room. With nothing but her panties and necklace on, she ripped open the door and seized the nearest heavy shirt. The army-green fabric scratched against her skin as she pulled it on, but warmth was all that mattered.

She reached for her largest hoodie next. It was an oversized gray thing with a black panther logo stretched across the front, and as she tugged the sleeves down over her freezing hands, it felt like the sweatshirt might swallow her whole.

This was Daniel’s… I haven’t worn it since…

“Enough!”

She slapped her cheeks hard.

With a deep inhale, she wrapped her white checkered scarf snugly around her neck before yanking free the first pair of denims she saw. The cheap plastic hanger snapped in half as she tore them from the rod, but she paid it little mind as she jumped into them, wrestling the stiff fabric up her legs.

She fought every inch as she struggled to slide them over her hips, but there was no time to correct it by grabbing a different pair. With just enough give in the material, she pinched the button into place.

On top of the closet shelf, she spotted a pair of long black socks and pulled. They kicked up dust as they tumbled over the ledge. She coughed as she slid into them and then headed for the doorway.

At the entrance, she shoved her feet into her boots, watching lightning split the sky as she raced through the hallway toward the front door, rain hammering down outside. 

How much time do I even have before it’s on my tail? Minutes? Hours?

The familiar creak of warped floorboards under her boots echoed the seconds of the grandfather clock in the living room.

When? When can I return?

The pittering and pattering intensified as she passed the archway, pausing at the cherry-wood entrance. At the door, she threw her favorite leather jacket over the hoodie and opened the closet. From the rear, she yanked out a bag she had prayed she’d never need—the kind UFO nuts would call an “oh shit” pack. And yeah, oh shit was right.

The large blue pack felt heavier than she remembered as she slung it on, the compound bow at the back tugging at her shoulders with every sway.

She adjusted the strap once, then reached for her keys. The little dreamcatcher attached snagged on Dad’s old glasses and pinched her finger. She gazed at them for a moment, then bit her lip as she pulled them free. It was better to feel the pain there, rather than the agony stabbing at her heart.

Steadying herself, she gripped her leather wallet and marched outside.

The cold slap of rain greeted her. She tossed the hood of her sweater over her long hair, wincing at the icy sting of droplets. Her boots squelched against the muddy ground as she stepped further out. The porch light flickered as though it might give out at any moment.

She turned to her watch. Beads of water had already obscured the glass, but she could still make it out. Those glow-in-the-dark hands had helped her more times than she could count.

The time ticked 11:58.

It was two minutes until the witching hour—two minutes until her 19th birthday.

***

The seconds were slipping faster than she could breathe.

She had buried that voice in the recesses of her mind, along with its sickening promise. Until tonight.

The whisper crawled back to life. A low, wispy sound resembling someone with laryngitis invaded her consciousness.

“There is something about you, Ayita,” it rasped, words laced with cruel glee. “Something far greater than anything these worlds should have held. And this time around the wheel, I will not be denied your recognition. I will savor it, my dear—wait until your soul ripens and your mind blossoms beyond time’s fragile construct. We will meet again. On your nineteenth birthday.”

The words echoed in her skull, sending her pulse racing. A sharp crack of lightning fractured the sky, pulling Ayita back to the present. Despite the rain-drenched world, the silver glint of the padlocked garage shone through.

The ground ahead was a slurry of mud, sucking at her boots with every step. She pressed forward with determination, scrubbing her soles against the concrete as she flicked through her keychain.

Finding the correct key, she inserted it into the slot and turned. It opened on the first try.

That’s never happened… Not with this old thing.

For once, Ayita didn’t question her luck. She tore the lock free and shoved it into her pocket.

With a yank, the garage door swung open with a reluctant, humid groan. The stale air inside greeted her with a faint tang of oil that complemented the freshness of the storm. A blend of scents she’d always loved.

Taking a deep breath, she darted to the workbench and grabbed her helmet, custom-painted to imitate the Black Power Ranger. It was her own little slice of nerd pride. Though in that moment, it felt disconnected from her life.

Ayita glanced at her watch. The seconds ticked by: 12… 13… 14… 15.

45 seconds until midnight.

Maybe I’m overreacting. I’m letting my silly paranoia—

A distant scream rumbled across the storm, stalling her mid-step.

“A bear? A cougar? They’re rare around here, but—”

It came again. And then another. 

The closer they got, the more hairs on the back of her neck rose like quills. 

Adrenaline kicked her hesitation aside, and she bolted to the back of the garage, where two bikes sat side-by-side. Her red and black Ducati 400 Junior gleamed under the dim overhead light. It had served her well. But tonight was different. Tonight, she needed more. 

Her gaze shifted to her dad’s untamed, pure-black Ducati 900SS. He’d always said, “When you’re ready. But only then.”

Ayita had spent six months preparing herself, determined she would do him proud. Maybe it wasn’t meant for a stormy night like this, but there was no other choice. She snatched the gloves off the seat of her Junior and slipped into them. From her keyring, she grabbed the spare key, forced the helmet on, and jammed the key into the 900’s ignition.

The pack pulled as she swung her leg over the 900SS. The bike was heavier than anything she’d ridden before, and the extra load only magnified it.

“I’m ready, Dad,” she whispered. Her voice wavered, almost lost in the storm. “I have to be.”

Nearer now, another explosive howl burst from the approaching horde.

It’s morphin’ time!

Her fingers fumbled, shaking as she turned the key. The engine sputtered, hesitated, then roared to life. A deep, visceral hum resonated through her chest. With a flick, the bike’s headlights blazed through the sleet, illuminating a world blurred by rain and shadows.

The potent smell of gas and fumes followed, a slight comfort in the chaos. But this was no time to linger. Ayita booted the stand up and pulled the clutch. The bike shifted under her, heavy and unruly, as if she were mounting a mastodon. A small twist of the throttle elicited a feral growl from the engine; its raw power vibrated through every nerve.

The tires bit into the slick concrete, spinning in place, and as she let go of the clutch, the Ducati exploded ahead. Together with the bike, she cut through the storm and watched the garage vanish in her rearview. Leaning forward, she allowed the machine to take over.

The beasts in the distance clamored like hyenas. Louder. Closer.

And then, she saw them.