Son of Dragons

Release date: 28 April 2014
Son of DragonsIn a time of false peace, the dead rise as soldiers for the Warloc’s scheme. For thousands of years he has stood ready for the final battle. Though the witch and her cursed Elvin have destroyed his physical body, now with his protégé, he has honed a new way to wage war.

Shunned by her own people and weary-hearted from centuries of lost loves, Elvin warrior Mirhana scours the land to silence the undead. Her heart has turned as cold as the sword she wields, until a prince seeks her aid.

Never has Prince Landon met a woman like Mirhana. Both beautiful and deadly, she haunts his dreams. The battle at hand becomes more enchanting than fighting to remain true to his unseen betrothed.

When a traitor emerges, new alliances are tested and the only remaining hope is to follow the prophecy and find the … Son of Dragons.

by Andrea R. Cooper

BUY NOW“Elves and witches and magic, oh my! Fans of Tolkien will be smitten with Cooper’s debut novel, which lures us in to fantasy worlds filled with an array of color, imagination, and thoughtful creativity. Readers will take pleasure in the continuous emotions they will experience during this literary quest of adventure, danger, and romance.” —InDTale Magazine

Paranormal
Sensuality Level: Sensual

Author Bio:
Andrea R. Cooper lives in Texas and when not dancing under the moonlight, has always journeyed to fantasy and historical worlds with her characters. Find Andrea at www.AndreaRCooper.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @AndreaRCooper.

 

An excerpt from Son of Dragons:

Mirhana stood over the body, shaking her head. Even with her poisoned-tipped arrows embedded in the creature, and pus dripping from his wounds, the corpse did not stop trying to flee.

For all of Mirhana’s life, the witches had trained her against the undead: deadwalkers, vampyres, wraiths, and more. She knew their sound. Their voices rasped like the wings of beetles. They killed anyone in their path.

She glanced over her shoulder. The man she’d saved from this deadwalker’s clutches lay unmoving beneath the base of a nearby tree, his slain horse beside him.

Her gaze narrowed on the corpse once more. His hands clawed the dirt as he dragged his mangled body away from her.

She unsheathed her sword and stomped her boot down on the back of his neck. “Tell me, demon.” She dug the tip of her blade into his tattered tunic. “What is your purpose here?”

“To do the will of my master and none other,” he choked out.

Mirhana sneered. If the creature saw her, he would no doubt tremble at the sight. “Who is your master? Who has summoned you out of your slumber?”

When he did not answer her, she dug the blade into his back.

“Careful, or I’ll sever your spine with another twist. Would your master appreciate the delay of your crawling? Or will his wrath do more damage than mine?”

The deadwalker’s feeble attempts at escape stopped.

“Good. Now, tell me who sent you.”

His silence brought her blade deeper into his decaying flesh. Mirhana wrinkled her nose. The creature reeked of fish guts and sickly sweet rotting meat.

“W-Warloc,” it finally spat.

She frowned.

“The land heals,” she said. “All signs show the Warloc’s dead.”

Then a woman’s voice rose out of the creature. “For every one of my followers you kill, I will infect three times the number of innocents.”

“And you are?”

“Sorceress, progeny of the Warloc, successor to his kingdom. And I will claim my inheritance.”

“Then come and fight. Why send your ghouls here?” Mirhana shuddered from the gooseflesh that danced along her skin. Even if she did not have magic strong enough to reanimate the dead—nor did she wish for it—she recognized the taint of evil curling up from within this deadwalker. A movement caught the corner of her eye near the dead horse, but when she glanced back the fallen human lay still. It must have been the wind.

“I seek Landon of Fafniron. Give him a message for me.”

Suddenly Mirhana’s arm jerked of its own accord, ripping her sword out of the creature and turning, propelled by the Sorceress’s power until the blade pressed against her own throat. Mirhana clasped her other hand over the hilt, straining to keep the edge from sinking too deeply into her skin. The tingle of her blood oozing from the cut stung.