Bewitching Book Tours: Now On Tour Morrigan’s Blood by Laura Bickle with Exclusive Excerpt #urbanfantasy #exclusiveexcerpt

As a trauma surgeon, Garnet Conners has seen more than her fair share of blood. But when one of her patients walks off the operating table and disappears into the night, she finds herself caught in a war between legions of vampires and witches in her city.

Garnet has dreamed of bloody battlefields for years – and a mysterious lover who controls a kingdom. In her waking life, Garnet is shocked to meet that man in a club. Merrel knows her from another life, a life in which she was the legendary Morrigan, goddess of death and war.

Garnet rejects the notion of magical incarnations altogether. But she falls in with Sorin, a handsome warlock who’s determined to protect the former bootlegger city of Riverpointe from a secret society of vampires. Haunted by crows and faced with undeniable proof of magic, Garnet scrambles to protect her career and loved ones from magical violence.

Abducted by vampires who seek to turn her into a vampire against her will, can Garnet seize the power of the legendary Morrigan to forge her own path in her embattled city? Or will she be forced to serve as a fearsome weapon in a deadly nocturnal war?

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Exclusive Excerpt:

I walked through twilight into the battlefield. The sun had vanished hours ago, and cold stars now glinted overhead. Fires guttered, and smoke rolled up in columns to the emerging stars. Bodies lay scattered upon the field, blood soaking into the dirt. I could smell it, rich and heady and sinking into the leaf mold, feeding the earth. Imperceptible to human ears, roots rustled underground, reaching for that sweet nourishment.

As I did.

I lifted my head to the sky. A cool autumn breeze brushed my face and tangled my red hair. Crows cawed in the gloom, spiraling out of the dark to light on my shoulders, to walk beside me in the trampled brown grasses. I picked my way over the dead and the almost-dead, pausing to bend and peer into the eyes of those who were slipping away. I could see the flicker of the encroaching Otherworld in their eyes, the horror of realizing that their lives were coming to an end. This place was my garden, and everything in it flowered to serve me.

I was a force of nature, stalking through this field, gazing upon the folly of men fighting over territory and riches. This was my milieu—the song of war and death. That power sang in me, and I was one with sky and land. Heady as this was, I still thought of the wives and children of these dead men cowering at home, their lives dependent upon the rash decisions of whichever nobleman claimed this patch of land over another. There was no justice for them; not even I could create that.

I paused before a banner trampled into the mud, gazing upon a fallen man in armor sprawled beside it. One of my crows hopped to his helmet and rapped on it with his beak, as if to see if the wearer of the suit was still within this world.

The man groaned. I smiled and knelt beside him. Lifting his visor, I stared down upon a blood-spattered face. My fingers trailed his cheek. I knew him; he was a young king, impetuous and not considered in his actions. His blue eyes followed my fingers, dazed.

“You came,” he said.

“My king,” I said. There was nothing else to say. My emotions were mixed: wistfulness, sadness, and hunger. He had once served me, and he still owed me.

“It was as you foretold,” he coughed. “We lost.”

I nodded, pulling the helmet from his head. Blood stuck his blond hair to the interior of the helmet, but I was gentle as I pulled it away. I cradled his head in my hands, exposing his neck to me.

“And you will pay for that prophecy,” I said. My mouth watered, smelling blood and fire. I bared fangs and sank them deep in his flesh. He thrashed, clanking in his armor, but I drank from him. His blood warmed my body, moving under my glasslike flesh and nourishing my cold marrow. I had tasted his blood before. This would be the last time, and I was sad to lose it, and him.

When I drained him dry, I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. One of my crows had disappeared inside his helmet, listening to its own echoing caws.

I savored this moment. There was something special about royal blood, about the warm richness of it, annihilating a celebrated bloodline. But the sorrow still weighed upon me. He was more than his blood. He had been more to me than that.

I stood and stretched, feeling warm and languid. I had taken dessert first, but there was still much more blood for me in the field beyond.

I waded into the remains of the field, listening for last screams and the thundering of terrified hearts. I hoped to forget that sorrow of losing the young king, to drown it in the delights spread before me.

Above me, a crow cawed, over and over into the dark.

About the Author:

Laura Bickle grew up in rural Ohio, reading entirely too many comic books out loud to her favorite Wonder Woman doll. She now dreams up stories about the monsters under the stairs and sometimes reads them to her cats. Her books have earned starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Kirkus. Laura’s work has also been included in the ALA’s Amelia Bloomer Project 2013 reading list and the State Library of Ohio’s Choose to Read Ohio reading list for 2015-2016. The latest updates on her work can be found at authorlaurabickle.com.

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