The Fractured Arcana Universe

 

 

Two series, one shattered universe: 

an ancient war that forged magic, 

and the modern invasion that it made possible.

Mother of Trees

Thaumatropic Roots Book 1

Part of the Fractured Arcana Universe

by Steven J. Morris

Genre: Epic Fantasy

A dying goddess. A fractured prophecy. A magicless elf who shouldn't exist.

Elliah has spent her entire life being told what she is—bereft, wrong, a mistake the world would prefer to correct. Drifting from town to town with a mother who won't explain why they keep running, she has no magic, no place, and no future. Then a single misstep draws the attention of those who've been looking for her, and everything her mother was hiding comes apart.

She isn't ready for what she learns. But ready was never an option.

Mother of Trees is the thrilling first book in the Thaumatropic Roots epic fantasy series. Enter a world of dangerous magic, ancient powers, and one impossible girl who refuses to stay down.

 

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Elliah ~ 1

My mother told me many times that all adolescents feel like they don't belong, but… I really didn't. So I spent my free time away from other elves, on my own but for the animals… they didn't understand how broken I was. And I was quite pleased with my current find, so I snarled when a noise behind me scared away the drakeling that had settled in my hands. Black with a pattern of red scales along its spine, its body the thickness of my finger, it took flight with a flurry of thin leathery wings and disappeared behind a massive brown trunk.

"The real ones are much more intimidating," said an unfamiliar voice.

Time slowed as I tensed to run, shocked that I'd let my guard down so much that anyone had gotten that close. How many lurked behind me? On the outskirts of town, in the thick of the woods near the river, I had expected solitude.

"Stay, Bereft. I am not afraid," said the voice. His words provoked me.

"No one's afraid of me," I blurted. Bitterness stained my words as surely as the pollen of the bloodcups had stained my ragged clothes.

I turned away from the vanished drakeling to focus on the intruder who'd scared it away. A man. No, I corrected myself, someone my age. Someone not quite old enough for adults to consider one of their own, but too old to call a child.

But not Bereft. No other elf shared that with me.

The newcomer was slightly taller than me with a thin frame, his light hair hanging long, wild, and tangled. He was new to the village—I would have noticed an elf with skin so light. I'd heard whispers of him at school. Kethryllia had called him Salt-kissed, and I'd wondered what that meant, but his light skin answered that question. He'd undoubtedly caught whispers about me, heard of my… condition. Bereft. Yet at that moment, I thought only of the hours of coaxing I'd spent to draw the little drakeling into my grasp, and that the stupid elf had scared it away. I wanted to punch him.

"Maybe they should be," he said, taking a step back, though it would have taken me two leaps to get to him, and he'd have me pinned in one, if he had any skill with magic at all. But I'd prepared a leap already, only not in his direction. As I sprung away, he continued, raising his voice, "And you're right, they're not afraid of you."

I landed with a tree between us. His magic wouldn't be able to snag me there. Unless he was very good at it.

"They're afraid of what you represent."

Continue the Thaumatropic Roots Series

Magic is as natural as breathing in Elliah's world — except to her. Born without a single spark in a war that runs on it, she has nothing but her will and her refusal to accept the limits everyone else has already decided for her. This is what happens when the world writes you out of the story, and you refuse to leave.

 

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Mother of Trees

Bones of Cenaedth

Secrets of Deara

Shepherds of Truth

The Guardian of the Palace

The Guardian League Book 1

Part of the Fractured Arcana Universe

by Steven J. Morris

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Magic isn’t real.
Red Hernandez is very sure of that.

She wants a quiet life after Special Forces—just a steady security job at a half-finished Manhattan skyscraper.

But then a sister tower implodes in a way physics can’t explain.
Witnesses report creatures in the smoke.
And something hunts her in the tunnels beneath.

Red wants answers. What she gets instead is an elf with a sword, a troll with a wry sense of humor, and a dwarf who believes every battle requires an audience. They insist an ancient enemy has crossed into our world—and Red becomes an accidental gatekeeper simply because she’s standing on the fault line when it cracks open.

As a hidden war erupts in the shadows of New York City, Red must decide: run from the past that nearly destroyed her… or fight for a world she’s only just beginning to believe in.

A veteran with nothing left to lose.
A threat born of magic and shadow.
A team she never saw coming.

The Guardian of the Palace launches the action-packed Guardian League series—perfect for fans of urban fantasy, modern-world magic, found family, and heroines who refuse to back down.

 

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Prologue

Corpses patterned the ground as far as my eye could see, a patchwork quilt of death.

I stood atop a skeletal tower, overlooking the broken ruins of an ancient civilization, so very far from home. I envisioned the beauty that the soaring arches once held, the bridges between the constructs reaching out with broken arms, buildings leaning against one another like ancient lovers in a final embrace. Crumbled remains powdered the bases of former statues, and, everywhere, all of it was littered with the dead.

Like a phoenix, I stood, bathed in fire. An Angel of Death. Not the Angel of Death—he was an ass.

A part of me wanted to go down and see for myself. Maybe just to make sure… to make sure I had done my job… and killed everyone that used to inhabit that world. The magic I was wielding should have destroyed them all—something inside of me could feel that it had—but I wanted to see it.

Yet I knew that was unrealistic. I didn't have the time. There were other worlds that needed my infection, and Earth was on my shortlist.

  

Chapter 1

Red - Day 20, Sunday, the day after the attack

"Ms. Hernandez?" a muffled voice called from a distance, accompanied by a gentle rapping on a door. My consciousness registered the interruption as a nuisance and pulled me back under.

What seemed like seconds later, the rapping came again, more insistent. "Ms. Hernandez."

Ms. Hernandez was my mom… why were they bothering me?

Then a scraping sound, and an alarmed voice. "Ms. Hernandez! Are you okay?"

Some scrambling, some grunts, more scraping… shit, I was going to have to wake up. Why couldn't they just let me sleep?

I tried to answer, but my throat was dry and nothing came out. Coughing, I attempted to sit up, not wholly returned from my trip to dreamland. "I'm here. I'm okay." Was I though? I wasn't sure.

I was in my flat. Not the desert. My door was partway open, and a slightly overweight man had paused in the act of pushing his way in. I recognized him, but his name escaped me. Swinging my legs off my cot, I did a quick modesty check. I was fully dressed, though rather tragically, in some semblance of civilian fatigues—muddied, disheveled, and a little bloody.

The reason came screaming back to me. There had been creatures, unearthly monsters, in The Palace. They'd done things I could not explain by any of the rules I knew. And they'd beaten the hell out of me and then patched me back up in a matter of seconds. I'd blown the head clean off of one of them and fled the scene.

Not my smartest move.

Continue The Guardian League Series!

Earth, through its technological advances, supports nearly eight billion souls; from a cosmic perspective, that makes it ripe for the picking. 'Red' Hernandez, trying to put a questionable military life behind her, finds herself caught in the middle of stopping an apocalyptic invasion of Earth. But to do that, she has to figure out who the good guys are, and how she can combat forces in which she does not believe.

 

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The Guardian of the Palace

Stars in the Sand

We’re Going On An Elf Hunt

The Song Unsung

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Steven J. Morris writes fantasy where magic runs deep and the consequences run deeper. By day he's an engineer and father of three in Austin, Texas. He's the author of eight novels across two completed series — the epic Thaumatropic Roots and the urban Guardian League — both set in the shared Fractured Arcana universe. Find him at sjmorriswrites.com.

 

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Echoes of Fortune: Knights of the Golden Circle Blitz

 

Historical Thriller, Conspiracy Thriller, Political Thriller, Action Thriller

Date Published: August 18, 2026

What if the Civil War never truly ended, and no one noticed who is now winning?

A standalone thriller. New readers can start right here.

When Professor Jack Sullivan is asked to decode a cipher from the war's final days, he expects a historical curiosity. Instead, he uncovers a thread Jefferson Davis died protecting, a secret never meant to resurface.

Jack, his fiancée Emma Wilson, and former SEAL Steve Johnson are pulled into a hunt more dangerous than any battlefield. From Washington's archives to the back alleys of New Orleans, from the coast of Mexico to the shadowed ridges of Arkansas, every trail leads deeper into the world of the Knights of the Golden Circle, a brotherhood long believed defunct.

But the Knights didn't disappear. They became patient.

For 160 years they studied what force could never win. They embedded themselves in the institutions Americans trust, and waited for the moment when they wouldn't need to seize power. They would be invited to take it.

Now their heirs have risen. A cartel is running weapons north while a cyberattack probes the power grid, and a senator climbs toward power on the fear both create. Jack begins to realize he was never hunting the treasure. He was being led to it.

Joined by Homeland cyber analyst Priya Patel and hunted by enemies he cannot see, Jack has four days to break a design older than anyone imagined before the trap closes around everyone he loves.

 

"The high-stakes, of-the-moment, infiltrated-America suspense simply does not let up." 

— BookLife by Publishers Weekly

 

Some secrets don't stay buried. They grow roots.

Great for fans of Steve Berry and Clive Cussler.

 

Praise for Echoes of Fortune: Knights of the Golden Circle

 

"One part Jack Reacher, one part Indiana Jones... an impressively entertaining action thriller." 

— Kirkus Reviews ("GET IT")

"Leng lets history press against the present, sometimes like a warning and sometimes like a buried fuse." — Literary Titan

 

About the Author

 

 David R Leng is the award-winning author of the Echoes of Fortune historical conspiracy thriller series, winner of three PenCraft Awards, including Thriller of the Year and back-to-back Best Thriller honors, two Literary Titan Gold Awards, and a Kirkus Reviews "GET IT" selection.

A lifelong resident of Southwestern Pennsylvania, David grew up in the shadow of the same battlefields his characters explore. He spent summers near the Shades of Death wilderness in western Maryland and has kayaked the Youghiogheny River, where a chance encounter with a stranger carrying a metal detector and asking about Braddock's gold planted the seed for the series.

His debut novel, The Search for Braddock's Lost Gold, follows historian Jack Sullivan into the unsolved mystery of General Braddock's vanished army payroll from the 1755 Battle of the Monongahela. The series has since expanded to the sunken Confederate secrets of Cozumel and the shadowed world of the Knights of the Golden Circle.

When he is not unraveling centuries-old conspiracies, David can be found scuba diving, boating, or in his woodshop. He lives in Pennsylvania with his wife and family.

 

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The Weight of Cold Things

 

 

While searching for her missing boss, a Wyoming Deputy Sheriff accidentally discovers a secret facility and conspiracy of silence surrounding a series of mysterious deaths in Deadhorse, Alaska. 

The Weight of Cold Things

by Lisa Towles

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Arctic Noir

Wyoming Deputy Sheriff Gree Gooding has one mission: find her missing boss. The trail leads four thousand miles north—to Deadhorse, Alaska, an oil-drilling outpost clinging to the edge of the Arctic Circle. A place where daylight is rationed, where the cold can kill in minutes, and where her husband AJ, a petroleum geologist, vanished six months ago.

The clues don't just point to her boss's disappearance. They reach back into Gree's own past— to the Wyoming ranch she left behind, to the family secrets buried in its soil, and to the grief frozen like permafrost inside her.

When the investigation cinches around a decades-long cover-up — a black ops program called Arc Dominion — Gree realizes someone's been waiting for her. Someone knew she'd follow the thread. This was never about a missing sheriff. It's about the conspiracy AJ died trying to expose — and whether she can finish what he started.

The cold doesn't forgive.
It doesn't forget.
And it's about to give up its dead.

For fans of Yellowstone and The X-Files — where neo-Western grit meets a decades-long government conspiracy buried beneath the Arctic ice.

 

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Prologue

Winter, 1974 - Prudhoe Bay, Northwest Alaska

 

They gutted an iceberg with two sticks of dynamite, forty years ago when the shabby construction camps rose on the iconic Dalton Highway. Oil was struck in Prudhoe Bay in 1968, setting off an irreversible string of events: an ecological nightmare, an eight-billion-dollar pipeline transporting crude oil 800 miles south from the North Slope to Valdez, and passage for seventy thousand oil workers to the most menacing outpost on earth: Deadhorse.

A stolen scrap of bread. Chronic insomnia. Drug abuse. One worker snapped, nicking dynamite from the munitions depot, flailing his arms, all the while forgetting how fast the detonating cord burns to the quick. The shock wave bulleted shards of ice in every direction, thrusting the assailant twelve feet in the air in a whirl of fire and black smoke. He became the first prize, the Number One. His victim, the second man, escaped.

It took two days for the particles to clear the air, finally revealing an exquisite, dome-like crevasse in the ice the depth of five residential garages — one after the other in a long, hollow train. Except this garage had no yard outside because nothing grew in this place but resentment. No gas grill on a redwood deck, no family huddled in the adjacent house. Only the unrelenting cold and ice: on the floor, walls, ceiling. He loved it that way, the Caretaker, the exclusivity of his access and the singularity of his dark secret.

That spring, the suited men came in droves sporting fine clothing and city shoes to explain the gravity of their problem, which later evolved into their pitch. Well, their problem had just solved itself, hadn’t it? No one knew about this place and nobody but him would ever find it. Some secrets were just not for sale.

 

 

Chapter 1

Present Day December 18 - Inglewood Ranch, Cody, WY

 

I could feel it in my bones, this unspeakable energy of change. Not a buzz, it was more like a low hum I could almost hear when I closed my eyes and got real still. I’d woken with it today, of all days, this visceral knowing that despite the regularity of my errand, it would have a disruptive impact on my life, such as it was. My work in Jackson, a five hour drive from our family ranch in Cody, was an odd arrangement to begin with, and the two-bedroom condo I rented near the Teton County Sheriff’s Office was uninhabitable without AJ. Even still, there was something else in the air today. Cholo, our ranch hand and my lifelong friend, sensed something too, though it wasn’t his way to articulate his thoughts. Instead, he put cinnamon in the coffee, his quiet way of offering comfort. I could smell it the whole way in from the barn.

I’d gone out before first light, watching the fluff of gray dawn cover my beloved Inglewood, hoping to shake the image of a recurring dream and to brush AJ’s quarter horse, Rain. At first, it was to console him, knowing horses had unique and profound ways of grieving. Lately, though, the cold vigil seemed more about me. Rogue, the word had been coming to me since AJ’s death — a blurry dream-hand opening to a tiny piece of paper on which a single word was written. Was it him reaching out from his watery grave? What did it mean?

Cholo passed me a cup when I reached the kitchen, shutting out the ten-degree wind chill behind me. I unzipped my coat and sipped quietly just inside the door, letting the hot coffee slide down my throat, waiting for whatever his face was preparing.

“Been three weeks now.”

I nodded, three weeks since Sheriff Peter Barrett disappeared — my boss, mentor, now another silent ache in my heart.

“I heard about the fire,” he added. “How many is that now?”

“Does it matter?” I asked him. “Seven.”

“You think they’re connected. Don’t you?”

I shrugged, pretending. But any sane person would. “I’m not an arson investigator. Bryce at the State Fire Marshal’s Office is looking into it.”

“Really?”

 I laughed. “Come on. Bryce has a good team working for him. I know two of those guys.”

“They haven’t been out here since Thanksgiving.” Cholo stared back, thick brows angled over large, black eyes.

“I know, okay? What do you want me to do? I’m not the sheriff.” The words caught in my throat.

“You never know about people,” he said with that quiet wisdom I’d never seen in anyone else, like he understood the longings in my heart for answers that hadn’t yet come. Peter Barrett, Jackson’s most beloved sheriff, vanished three weeks ago today.

 Cholo was right about Bryce, too. Interagency politics aside, I’d need to call and follow up on the arson investigation they said they were running. Add it to the growing list.

He took a long sip, still watching me.

“Well, spit it out already,” I said.

“I can’t take you to the airport.”

“It’s alright, I’ll get an Uber.”

 Cholo’s jaw was set tight but his eyes were uncertain, like he was trying to think of an excuse but couldn’t do it.

“What’s the big deal?”

“Woody’s gonna take you.”

“Woody!” My voice cracked like a whip. I set the cup on the counter with a clunk and rezipped my coat. Ah…the cinnamon. Son of a bitch.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Does he now?” I grabbed the warm mug for reinforcement and sucked down the last three gulps. “Does he want to talk about how he stole two of our horses, stole money from me? He robbed us, Cholo, all of us. And by doing so, he broke something precious.” I didn’t like the sound of that word, precious. Made it seem like Woody was important to me, and despite the intrusive logic of that truth, there was no place for Woody here anymore.

“He says he’s sorry.”

“Not to me he didn’t. Besides, sorry’s just a word.” Already mad at seven in the morning, great. I zipped my coat and turned my back to him, facing the door. “A real apology is a change in behavior.” My eyes were wide as I waited for him to take my challenge. To come to Woody’s rescue, explain how the drugs made him do it or the excuse-of-the-day.

Still fuming, I left via Uber at 7:30 a.m. without another word to either Cholo or my dad. Woody could kiss my ass as far as I was concerned. I’d have to pay for my cold heart, of course. The world has a quiet way of keeping score.

 

***

 

By 3:00 p.m., I was standing on the corner of Wave and McClellan Streets in Monterey, California. Eleven hundred miles away in historic Cannery Row, a sliver of sea was visible between the brownstones on Lighthouse Avenue. The sun felt warm on my face and bare arms. Mid December in California, I’ll be damned. A premonition, I couldn’t put my finger on it, made me take notice, warning me to be careful. Something bad was coming.

Ash was right, I was loath to admit. There were holiday decorations and tacky music everywhere, but it just didn’t feel like Christmas in a hilltop penthouse overlooking the ocean, waves beneath me reflecting a cloudy sky. The beauty of California’s coast was unmistakable, but in my heart, Christmas was indelibly marked by snow.

“Is that you?” Cholo asked me later, answeringhis mobile on the third ring.

“I guess. Some version of me, anyway.”

“What are you doing out there, Gree? You hate California.”

He knew, of course; we’d discussed it back and forth for weeks. Why go now, why go at all? After being on and off the market for ten years, my mother’s condo had finally found a buyer. I came here to sign papers, to once again acknowledge the sting of her death and bring my feet one step closer to the present. But that wasn’t what he was asking. Like all Cholo’s questions, they were part real world and part spirit world. I knew what he meant. I just wasn’t sure I was willing to answer yet.

“How’s Dad?” I deflected.

“He’s concerned about how it will look to the community, you leaving town after Peter’s disappearance.”

“I don’t recall asking his opinion.” He was right, though. It was too sudden, but it would be a short trip. Besides, everything was broken right now anyway.

“No, but he’s always willing to share it, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I laughed.

“He’s splitting wood right now,” Cholo said.

“Great idea for a man who just had a heart attack.”

“Come on, it was a mild one. He didn’t even know he was having it. Besides, it’s gonna be zero tonight. We’ll be using that wood.”

I guess I shouldn’t complain. The fact that they were staying in the same house, after such a long standoff, was nothing short of miraculous and I had nothing to do with it. Maybe the rock of resentment got too heavy to haul around anymore. I was dying to know who thawed first, but I’d never ask. You didn’t do things that way out here. Not in Wyoming, not in this family.

 

“Could you make sure he’s got a jacket on? For God’s sake keep an eye on him. If left to his own devices he’d chop wood in a—”

“Gretchen.”

It was my dad’s voice now, Ash Gooding, former Sheriff of Park County, who to this day insists on calling me by my birth name instead of the nickname my mother gave me.

“How’s sunny California?”

It was meant as an insult. Everyone in town got lots of mileage from the fact that I wasn’t a native of Wyoming, even though I’d lived there since I was five.

“It’s midnight, Wyoming time. What are you doing up this late? Do you miss me that much?” I joked to an awkward silence. I rambled on for a while, telling him about the dark orange sunset I’d seen from the balcony after signing a four-inch stack of papers. Hadn’t they ever heard of digital copies? Apparently, this mortgage company insisted on paper-everything. Ash listened. I heard the clinking of ice in his glass. Would this be his third or fourth by now? I decided not to mention the wood chopping.

“You didn’t tell her?” he mumbled to Cholo. “Mmm.”

“Tell me what?”

A murmur of conversation in the background. Maybe his hand was covering the phone. And maybe this was what Cholo was hiding from me this morning.

“Dad, what is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t. Gotta show you. Guess we’ll have to wait till you get back.”

 

 

Sonofabitch. I knew my dad, and that meant no manipulation or psychology would wriggle out of him whatever he was keeping from me. After signing over ownership of what had been my mother’s dream home, I left the key with the bankers and took with me a cedar box of my mother’s mementos, which I would undoubtedly squirrel away somewhere and forget about for the next decade. All the better, right? Avoidance, since AJ’s death six months ago, had become a sort of new religion. Didn’t avoidance almost always turn to cancer somewhere down the road?

When I got back, I didn’t bother going home first before looking for Ash. He’d planted an evil seed of dread and apprehension, and he knew it too. Maybe punishing me for something; he’s a Gemini after all. I flew into Cody from San Francisco instead of Jackson, where I’d worked for the past twelve years as deputy sheriff under Peter Barrett, one of the kindest men I’d ever met. Why did I feel like Ash’s secret had something to do with him? The buzzing in my bones this morning...maybe that was the warning. Jesus, no. Not that. The vague comfort of the word missing was too hard to give up.

Three in the afternoon to Ash Gooding meant five o’clock somewhere. There's this ratty bar on the edge of town called Stagecoach, Ash’s favorite. Drafty as hell with dusty floors, swivel stools, and random darts scattered on the floor looking for their board, threatening tetanus. Weird part about it was that the owner isn't a wrinkled prune of a man but someone belonging on the cast of Below Deck, a body intended for board shorts, tanned legs and a white polo shirt hauling up ropes with three-ply triceps. He was trying to be unassuming in a plain brown t-shirt stretched out at the neck, pretending he didn't care about his looks. His artificially whitened smile betrayed the deception - laughing eyes with something sinister behind them, a joke no one knew about but him.

“How’s it going?” the guy asked.

I exhaled. “G&T, please. Been a long day.”

“Coming up.”

When Runway Model set down the glass, I suddenly didn’t feel like talking. The weight of air travel, of the milestone I’d crossed and today’s sad anniversary, burned behind my eyes. They watered as I took the first swallow. I turned on the stool to look around. Ha, I knew it.

“Ash,” I said, walking across the creaking floorboards. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Drinking here alone, that’s what.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“You can come to my house in Jackson and drink with me. Wouldn't that be nicer?”

He laughed. “Not necessarily. Besides, too long a drive.”

“Look, you can stay here and punish yourself for Mom's death all you like. I know what day it is.”

The slap of the men’s room door distracted us from the tension. It was a sad old story with no ending. I smelled Cholo’s Irish Spring soap behind me. I turned, my left arm involuntarily reaching for him, tugging the frayed edge of his Carhartt jacket.

“Well.” I stood back a ways. “You two got real chummy in the one day I left town.” They were looking sideways at each other in some silent communication. Ranchers at a bar in the middle of the afternoon; it didn’t make sense. “What’s the deal?”

Cholo nodded. “You’d better sit down.”

 

Lisa Towles believes stories hold the world together - and the best ones expose what we hide even from ourselves. She builds that belief into her main characters - Mari Ellwyn, Angus Mariner, Kurt Farin - each one drowning in dark secrets, running from unthinkable truths. The award-winning author of 14 mystery thrillers, her books pull readers into worlds of global espionage, fringe technology, and shadow governments. Her titles include Terror Bay (NYC Big Book Award), Codex (BookFest First Place), The Ridders (American Fiction Award), and her E&A Series thrillers Hot House and Salt Island both reached Amazon Kindle #1 Bestseller. Her next thriller, The Weight of Cold Things - described as Yellowstone meets The X-Files - publishes in August 2026. When she's not writing, she interviews authors on her Story Impact Podcast and coaches writers on how to be visible and memorable to readers. Follow her to get notified of new releases.

 

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Aurora Rift: A Man Out of Time Blitz

 

Science Fiction

Date Published: July 18, 2026

Dr. Kyle Richards thought he was chasing wonder.

An Evolutionary Anthropologist, respected lecturer, martial artist, husband, and father, Kyle journeys to Northern Norway in search of the breathtaking Aurora Borealis and the ancient petroglyphs of Alta. But beneath the dancing northern lights, something impossible happens. A violent geomagnetic phenomenon tears Kyle from the modern world and hurls him across the corridors of time.

What begins as scientific fascination quickly becomes a desperate fight for survival.

Thrown into the Stone Age among primitive hunters, Kyle unknowingly leaves behind clues that will survive for thousands of years. He battles Viking warriors, walks beside Silk Road caravans, witnesses the rise of empires, and survives civilizations most people only read about in history books. Along the way, he encounters moments that forever alter him—including an unforgettable friendship with a young boy who will one day become Genghis Khan and a journey east with Marco Polo toward the legendary court of Kublai Khan.

But every jump through time comes at a cost.

As Kyle struggles to survive brutal landscapes, ancient warfare, and the terrifying instability of the auroral corridor itself, the man he once was slowly begins to disappear beneath scars, grief, and centuries of memory. Meanwhile, back in present-day Pennsylvania, his wife Samantha refuses to give up hope. Alongside archaeologists and scientists searching for answers, she uncovers ancient carvings, unexplained historical anomalies, and evidence suggesting Kyle may still be alive somewhere… in another time.

AURORA RIFT: A Man Out of Time is an epic blend of historical adventure, science, survival, and emotional human drama. Spanning thousands of years of civilization from Stone Age Norway to the Persian Empire of Xerxes, from Viking seas to the vast Mongol world the novel asks a haunting question:

If time itself opened before you… Would you ever truly find your way home again?

 

About the Author

 

 Thomas LeBrun began his martial arts training in the early 1970s, inspired by Bruce Lee and Joe Frazier. He formally studied Judo, Tae Kwon Do, and Okinawan Kenpo, later expanding into Yoshitsune Ju-Jitsu under Sensei Michael DePasquale Sr. and Jr., as well as Aikido, Arnis, pressure-point applications, and boxing. His dedication earned him rank in multiple disciplines.

LeBrun’s path led him to the Close Protection field, where his martial arts knowledge evolved into specialized training in defensive arts, non-traditional weapons, and personal security. He has protected high-profile clients such as Bill Gates, Elton John, and Whitney Houston, working in more than 45 countries. In 2009, he created LeBrun’s American Combatives, a modern system bridging traditional martial arts with real-world application, later authenticated by Grand Master Ron Van Clief and Shidoshi Glen Perry.

A recognized authority in defensive arts, LeBrun earned his 10th dan in Hogoshin-Do in 2022 and has been honored with multiple awards, including Security Expert of the Year (2021) and induction into the Ultimate Warrior Class (2022). He is also a multi-award-winning, #1 international best-selling author of Hiding in Plain Sight and the Cameron Stone series, and was named Best Action & Thriller Author in Alabama, United States of 2025.

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Requite of the Fates

 

 

Controlled by aliens, Nathaniel Wayne can’t resist his attraction to Marlene Broadie.

Requite of the Fates

by Venus Campbell

Genre: Interracial Time Travel Romance, SciFi Adventure

Perfect for fans of The Song of Achilles and A Touch of Darkness, this interracial time-travel romance is a Greek mythology retelling of the Theseus and the Minotaur that follows war photojournalist, Marly Broadie, surviving on grit and grief as she encounters Emissary Nate Wayne, under the control of aliens.

Set in near future New York city, and Los Angelos and 1500's BCE Crete, Nate's body, as Emissary for Earth, can be piloted by the Entity, aliens threatening humanity. Any resistance initiates humanity's annihilation. Marly's photography of the Emissary will ensure her mother's life-saving treatment. Instead, Marly provokes the Entity's interest and Nate's. Alien time-travel tech flings them back to ancient Minoan Crete. Stuck in the past, their desire for each other grows. Every reclaimed memory brings them closer to returning to the present and the Entity who can possess Nate's body. However, the future without them means human extinction. They will escape the past as their love is required to ensure humanity's future.

From award winning author, Venus Campbell, Requite of the Fates is a multicultural mytho-sci time-travel romance for readers ready to adventure into the mythical past.

 

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Nate had never known true agony. He was lucky. She wanted to hold it against him, his “everything will turn out all right” point of view, but she needed a bit of that. She looked up from her hands in her lap and met his gaze. Yes, a bit of fantasy in her life would do her good.

Smiling, she quipped, “You promised food.”

“Did I? Well, I think Stacy should be out in a minute with dinner. I usually get a pot pie. Chicken is one of her specialties.”

Marly nodded. Her stomach growled as she adjusted her bottom in the seat. “I could eat anything at this point.”

“You were rude, Mr. Wayne,” a woman’s voice interrupted from behind her. “And I just wanted you to know that it reflects badly on you to be sleeping with a woman like her.”

Marly turned to stare up at the tall blond who had accosted them in the front hall earlier. It took Marly a minute to absorb what she’d heard, then her face heated.

She didn’t think. She just stood, fury boiling to the surface. She took one step in the woman’s direction and would have let out a nasty response if Nate’s hand on her shoulder hadn’t restrained her. Staring at him, she opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn’t looking at her. He angled in front of her and squeezed her arm reassuringly in one controlled movement, then advanced on the blond with angry intent.

Nate’s voice rang out powerfully in the dining room’s sudden silence. “You better get smart. A mouth like that will get you permanently barred from a career in Hollywood. You’ll certainly never work on a film with me. And just so you know, I wouldn’t sleep with you to save the great race. Let’s go, Marly.”

He curved around the woman, making sure no part of him touched her, and headed out of the dining room with Marly right behind him. At the double-door hall entrance, a stalwart Stacy sent Nate a questioning look. He stopped, his nostrils flaring, and bit out his words.

“I believe that woman is having difficulty finding her way out.”

Stacy nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets there.” She handed him a key. “I’ll have your dinner brought up.”

Nodding a quick thanks, his expression impenetrable, Nate turned and pulled Marly up dark-carpeted stairs. They made their way silently down a wide hall, the maroon-colored wallpaper casting a forbidding slant to their mutual silence. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. He seemed angry with her, yet he’d defended her. Maybe he regretted his outburst, but she didn’t. Now she understood why every sane person wanted to be with or be Nathaniel Wayne.

They stopped at a door and Nate slipped the key into the lock, turned it with a click, and pushed, then retreated to let Marly enter first. She marched into the room, and after he’d followed and turned to address her, she slammed the door shut and grabbed his sweat coat, her mouth crashing against his as she pulled him down desperately.

He held back a second before grabbing her ass. Yes. Perfect hands.

Then his chest, arms, and nether regions pressed against her, his hard body inching her backward until she was against the wall and he adjusted his grasp on her buttocks. He held her against his erection.

His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth. She tasted mint on his breath. Tilting his head, he raised one hand to frame her face, the callouses on his fingers brushing sensuously on her cheeks. He pulled in her breath, lapping at her tongue, then slanted away to suckle her lips as his blue irises bored into her eyes. A question twinkled there and Marly nodded. This time, yes.

She couldn’t think as she watched him. Her eyes closed in shuddering bliss as his lips touched her neck and he ran his hands down her body again to pull her against him. Want was all she could think. She ached with want.

Then he was pulling away and the contrasting cool to his warmth returned thoughts to her head. Should they be doing this? She stared at him as he stepped back, breathing hard.

His hands, shaking, reached out to straighten her rumpled shirt, then held her face a moment. “I’ve been in enough movies to know that making love to you right now would ruin any chance I have at persuading you into a relationship with me.” He took another deep breath as if to steady himself. “May I draw you a bath?” His question was so innocent, so concerned. Marly’s heart thumped.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Taking her hand, he walked her to the bathroom and flicked on the light switch. Lavender. Marly’s eyes lit in the violet-and--tiled room as the scent of lavender floated into her nostrils. Bath and hand towels in a matching -and-violet scheme lay folded on the marble countertop. A ceramic clawfoot bathtub dominated the room; its classic silver knobs caught Marly’s glance. A pair of complementing knobs shone from the sink. Stacy must have paid for the best interior decorator money could buy.

Nate left her to bend by the tub and turn on the water. After a minute of fiddling, he seemed to have the temperature where he wanted it. Marly was drawn to the water’s relaxing tinkle. Fatigue pushed forth again, as her tense muscles unwound from her earlier confrontation with Nate’s less-than-adoring public and, well, her life. She had to fight to keep her eyelids open as the steam from the tub wrapped itself around her.

Nate appeared before her and lowered her slicker off her shoulders. Then he pulled her shirt gently up and off her body and reached around to unhook her bra. No flicker of desire lit his gaze. Only concern. Her shirt and coat flung across the crook of his elbow, he smiled and rubbed her arms then bent to help her pull off her jeans.

Marly blinked to combat her fatigue. With her clothes in hand, he walked to the door and looked back. She could barely discern his words.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?”

Nodding, she let her gaze slide to the hot bath before her. The door clicked shut. Pulling off her bra and underwear, Marly climbed into the warm water and sank until she was covered up to her neck. The lapping of the water at her chin drew her lids lower until she couldn’t resist sleep anymore. Nathaniel Wayne, desire and concern in his eyes, was the last image in her head. Her last thought: she was falling in love with him.

Venus Campbell is the Principal of the Book of Venus publishing and the Winner of the Kroger Award for Excellence in Creative Writing.  She has finaled in various writing contests such as the Central Ohio Ignite the Flame and the New England Chapter- RWA First Kiss.  Campbell is a member of the Romance Writers of America (RWA) and the Authors Guild.  Campbell has written professionally since 2006 and has completed five single title manuscripts.  To Desire the Stars is her second publication. Campbell focuses on interweaving paranormal elements into romance stories, creating unique worlds which challenge people’s perceptions of self and preconceived notions of human love and relationships. 

 

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