REMY (The Brotherhood Files) by Isaiyan Morrison

 
 
Urban Fantasy/Paranormal
Date Published: March 6th, 2018
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For Deamhan, revenge is the best dish of all.
In 1840s Paris, vampires aren’t just at the throats of humans. Split into two warring factions, Dorvo vampires wage war against the Deamhan, their paranormal cousins created by dark magic and who feed on the psychic energy of their human victims. In this strange new world, Remy, a bourgeoisie, is sired as a Deamhan by Julian. But the intoxicating rush of becoming a powerful psychic vampire is soon eclipsed by the presence of Ruby, a beautiful yet elusive Dorvo vampire.
Betrayed by his own, Ruby feeds his undesirable urge to have his revenge against Julian and the rest of the Deamhan. But he doesn’t know if he can trust Ruby. She may have given him his freedom, but she’s still the enemy who has vowed to vanquish the Deamhan, the very same Deamhan that betrayed him. Now it’s up to Remy to decide who to trust — and who to destroy.
In Remy, The Brotherhood Files, author Isaiyan Morrison presents a paranormal urban fantasy about fractured relationships, mistrust, and forgiveness. Here in the City of Love, it’s anything but, as Remy’s caught between two warring sides who both want him gone. Will his desire for revenge cloud his judgment? Or will he figure out who he can trust once and for all? In this wild journey from the graveyard and through the dark alleys and cobblestoned streets of Paris, Remy is both hunter…and prey.

Excerpt

 

Exactly at that moment, a citrus scent swam across the bridge of my nose. My ears perked up and my eyes darkened instantly. “What is that?” The scent made me pick up speed while I tried to find exactly where it was coming from. “It isn’t like anything I’ve smelled before!” Interested, I also scoured the cemetery around us. I stepped over toppled headstones, trampled over graves, some old and some fresh. I even searched the trees, thinking I would find the source up, somewhere high.

“There! Do you see her?” He pointed off into the distance.

I did see the person who caught his eye and whose scent tickled our nostrils. It was a woman with long, wavy, dark hair extending to her waist, dressed in a long dark dress, suitable for those attending funerals. She held a small, black, matching parasol which partially covered her face.

Oh, how bad I wanted her! How bad I wanted to feed from her. She smelled so good, it almost made me lose control of my actions!

“Go!” Pruett whispered. “Take her!”

And so, I did. I ran faster than I ran before at her. I thought I was quick enough and could get to her before she realized what was going on. Instead, she looked over her shoulder. She had big beautiful eyes and thin lips. Distracted by her scent, I failed to notice a brightness emanating from her hand.

A blast of light struck me square in the chest. It tossed me back, in midair, and I landed just a few feet from Pruett, who laughed obnoxiously. I blinked to stop the world from spinning and my chest felt as if it was on fire.

The woman didn’t speak, nor did she follow up on her attack. Instead, she gripped her parasol before yelling, “Stay away from me, Deamhan!” and calmly walked away.

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d actually go after her!” Pruett laughed aloud at my expense.

Feeling like a doltz, I stood and wiped the dirt from my clothing. “What was that?” Annoyed, I gripped my chest in pain. “Did you know she would do that?” I turned back and watched the mysterious woman until the darkness of the cemetery swallowed her outline.

“I wanted to see if she was really one of them,” he replied. “And now, I have my proof.”

“She could’ve killed me!”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And what if she did?” I raised my voice at him. “How would you explain my death to Julian?”

“Don’t be so upset, Remy.”

I glanced at my shirt and noticed the blast had burned the cotton away, revealing my bare chest. “Is she a witch? Is she a demon?”

“Oh, we’re the demons,” he corrected me. “And no, she isn’t a witch. She is just one of many who have access to dark magic, like we do.” He winked at me. “Do you want her?”

 

 

About the Author
A veteran of the Armed Forces, Isaiyan Morrison was born and raised in Minneapolis.
Her passions include writing, reading, and researching historical events.
She also spends her time gardening, playing video games, and hanging out with her three cats and beloved pitt bull.
She’s the author of The Deamhan Chronicles and the novel, Old Farmer’s Road.
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