K. Thomas

She Loved Roses

Copyright © 2022 by K. Thomas

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

1. The One in Which We Learn Why Cinnamon Rolls Are More Romantic

2. About the Author

3. Also by K. Thomas

The One in Which We Learn Why Cinnamon Rolls Are More Romantic

The cottage filled with the sound of petals tearing as Hunter assisted stripping the roses. Soft billowing rips, followed by a swish as they fell into the basket steadied in front of him. The pink ones were my favorite. The scent carrying a trace of pears and almonds. These were especially strong, as the buds were in full bloom, on the edge of decay. Most individuals preferred the red, as they held their color better when dried. They assumed the darker pigment translated into stronger scent. This wasn’t true, of course. At least, not for the roses that grew from this dirt. Hunter had tried his hand at nursing the stems from my native home, but the ground here didn’t embrace them.

The sunset splashing through the window offered its last bit of warmth to the baskets of flowers. Hunter’s motions and tension in his wrists made the aesthetic all the prettier as he worked. When his hands went still, I looked up to find his sky-blue eyes sparkling back at me.

“Are you going to leave all the work to me as you watch?” His voice held the same hint of laughter that his eyes couldn’t help but betray.

Clearing my throat, I shifted, focusing on my own basket. “I’m but ensuring a proper extraction. You can be a bit rough.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmmm.” I smiled up at him as he sat the empty stems on the table and turned toward me, running his fingers down my cheek in a gentle caress. He smelled of roses and vanilla. It was shameful how lovely and edible he was.

He leaned down, brushing his lips across my temple, then in a whisper said, “Maybe I’m in need of some practice being gentler.”

The sound of a fist slamming against the door shook the walls. It brought a startled jump from me, and laughter at my expense from Hunter. Whomever had caused it was interrupting what could have been a delightful display of Hunter’s talents. Closing my eyes, I called to the intruder, “Enter at your will.”

A gasping Jonah rushed through the door, slamming it behind him as quickly as he had opened it.

Hunter made a quiet sound of frustration. So quiet, were his hand not still against my skin to feel the vibration, I’d have missed it. I gave him a gentle pat and pressed a soft kiss to his lips to calm him. His spirit swirled against the surface, soothed immediately at my touch. It was warm and familiar, and I struggled to not accept the invitation it offered. But we had company.

Jonah, still struggling to steady his breath, called, “Life or death, and you still insist on flaunting your affections before me.” He moved into the room, an awkward hesitance in his gait.

Laughing, I tore myself from Hunter’s overly willing soul. “Don’t be so dramatic, Jonah. Now what have you brought upon yourself this time?” I asked.

Jonah’s eyes darted between the two of us. Hunter turned, now leaned on his hip against the tabletop. I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, awaiting his friend’s admission. No doubt Jonah had been caught meddling in someone’s affairs. His favorite activity involved supplanting family heirs. He didn’t care with whom. Just so that it disrupted the flow of things.

“I might have caught up with the Baron’s daughter.”

I sucked in a breath as I turned to him. “Jonah.”

“Don’t nag me, Senlis.”

“Well, and what good it would do if I tried. I warned you to let her be.”

“No. You warned she would be trouble.”

Scowling, I crossed my arms, my posture now imitating Hunter’s. “And what, pray tell, did you think I meant by that?”

The sweat on his brow had dried, and his chest finally finished heaving from his run. He now smirked at me, his gray-blue eyes twinkling with a mischievousness that said he knew exactly my words’ intent. “That she would present a challenge.”

“Fibber.” Grabbing a handful of stripped rose stems, I threw them at him.

He laughed as he lifted an elbow to block my weak attack of sticks and thorns.

“And what punishment are you running from?” Hunter asked, interrupting our banter. He ran a hand through his dark curls, frustrated already from anticipation of Jonah’s reply.

“Ah. That.” Jonah rubbed a hand behind his neck, wincing. “I took some whipping, but I rather think they intended more.” Without another word, he grabbed hold of the bottom of his tunic. He then yanked it over his head, baring his bloody back to us.

“Oh, Jonah.” I sighed, eyeing the ruin of his skin. No wonder his movements lacked his normal sauntering grace.

“Don’t show him mercy,” Hunter warned. “He did exactly what you forbade him. I wouldn’t put it past him to have been caught just so he could come to you for aid.”

I looked at Jonah, who only smiled and shrugged at me. Shaking my head, I walked to the basin to wet a rag. As I wrung the excess water, I heard rustling and scraping from Jonah dragging a stool to the fire to sit. That he didn’t just lift it was telling of the injury to his body. When I returned to him, he sat poised on the seat, facing the fire. I shook my head in amazement over how he ran all this way, losing as much blood as he had.

“You’re lucky they didn’t end your turn, Jonah,” I whispered. I didn’t waste words to warn him it would hurt. He knew. He went rigidly still under my hands as I wiped the bloody stains away. Running the tips of my fingers gently over each wound, I summoned my spirit. With cautious, delicate movements, I willed it over his skin and into the marred flesh. It flowed like a warm liquid, wielding to my motions. While comfortable for me, Jonah’s experience was not so kind. As the cuts and welts knitted and healed, he hissed.

Instructing through gritted teeth, Jonah said, “You could make it more pleasant.”

“I could. But that would make it the reward you seek. Let this be a lesson, friend.”

As the last of the wounds began to close, the small space once again echoed with the sound of the wooden door thrusting open and crashing against the brick. I looked up to discover three men halted in the doorway, mouths open as their eyes traveled down Jonah’s back. And landing on me, hovering over his shirtless form.

Once recovered from his shock, the tallest of the three men called, “He spoke truth. What witchcraft is this?”

My throat went dry at the words. Not witchcraft, but the power of my spirit. My Nephilim blood channeling my own energy to heal Jonah.

It mattered not.

What they witnessed would be my death, and Jonah had brought them down on me. Hunter was right. I should have left him bleeding.

The words of their associate snapping them to attention; two of the men stepped forward. The group were night guards based on the look of their attire. They were gasping for breath, and by the feel of their energy, angry for the chase Jonah had taken them on. At their movement, Hunter rushed forward, attempting to reach me first. But he was not practiced enough in this lifetime to take on three guards. Without summoning his powers, he would unquestionably take damage in an altercation.

The first guard grabbed hold of my wrist, yanking me from Jonah’s side, and twisting both my arms behind my back.

Hunter’s fist connecting with the face of the second man made a wet, cracking sound. It was enough to cause the entire room to turn attention to him.

“Hunter,” I called. He tilted his head to me, one hand gripping the jacket of the man he had just punched, the other fist aimed for another blow. I shook my head. I could feel the anger roll through him as I pleaded with my eyes that he not hurt the human in his arms.

“Listen to the little witch, boy.” The third man had remained in the doorway. His shoulders relaxed, as if he expected immediate obedience. His assumption was that Hunter followed his command, none the wiser that it was my voice that ceased his actions.

Hunter’s eyes darted to me as he released his victim. Rough enough, the man stumbled back, reaching for the tabletop for support.

“I’m no witch,” I stated, keeping my voice neutral. The emotion in the room was high. Any addition from me would send all three men overboard.

The guard with the misfortune of reaching Hunter’s fist spit blood on the floor at my feet. “Hold your tongue. Your craft is laid out for all to see.” He gestured at the cut flowers strewn about and baskets full of neatly tied pouches. Their contents an array of petals and berries.

“They’re bath sachets. They scent water and linens. There’s nothing unnatural about them,” I replied.

The guard waved at me. “I said, hold your tongue.”

Hunter’s temper whirled about him again, the energy of his spirit ready to lash out at the man. “Why don’t you try holding yours.”

“Hunter,” I whispered. Instinctively, I tried to reach for him, causing my captor to tighten his grip about my arms. I cried out from the quick pain shooting up my arm from the pressure. Hunter whirled at the sound, but as he charged toward me, the two guards stepped forward. The one from the door unsheathed a sword and pointed it toward the floor at Hunter’s feet.

“Once I raise my hand, boy, I won’t hesitate.”

“Hunter, please.” I pleaded with him, searching his face for agreement. “They have only one life.” These humans wouldn’t reincarnate. They had only one chance. Taking it from them was cruel.

Knowing my thoughts, he argued, “Look what they do with it!” Yet, I could tell from the tone he would listen. They were in no danger from Hunter.

“They don’t understand,” I said.

“Keep your wicked mouth shut!” The bloodied guard was nearly shouting. Hunter had quite ruined the lines of his face and the damage would be lasting. Though it matched his toxic temper better than the fair features he’d been born with. A temper I had no doubt Jonah’s spirit was helping along, very probably intentionally.

At that thought, my eyes darted to Jonah. He was standing calmly, not aiding nor interrupting the attackers. If Jonah’s eyes were a gray sky compared to Hunters, mine were a storm. And it was raging. Feeling my attention on him, Jonah turned to me. His lips mouthed, “Apologies,” as the burlap sack covered my face.

The weasel.

I lie flat on my back, using my skirts as a cushion against the cold stone floor. The guards had brought me to a cell straight away. They’d chosen the space at the end of the empty corridor and stationed the individuals meant to watch me outside, far from speaking distance. Convinced my voice alone could persuade their actions with my magic.

It wasn’t an incorrect notion altogether. I was a Nephilim. A succubus. Siren. That I had no intention of coaxing my way from my temporary holding was knowledge they neither possessed nor would have believed.

Sighing, I counted the drips of water as they hit the ground from a leak in the roof. How long would it take them to deliberate my death this time?

“You’re a dangerously beautiful creature, even wallowing in the mud as you are.”

I didn’t need to see the figure to recognize Jonah’s voice. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I wrapped my arms about my knees and tilted my head toward him. My skirts were wet and covered in filth from being dragged here, but I was thankful for the padding they provided against the cold ground.

Jonah leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and a slouch to his shoulders. The pulse in his neck was the only betrayal that he was not as relaxed as he wished to appear.

“What did you tell them to cause this?” I asked. Remembering the guard’s words as he crossed the threshold into my home, “He spoke truth.”

“I didn’t tell them anything at all. They assumed.”

“And you didn’t think it worthy to correct them?”

“You think they would have listened?”

“You are very persuasive.”

“You underestimate their bias,”—He paused—“We could always share your true nature.”

I scowled at him. “Only if you wish to speed my execution.” If the idea of a witch, a woman dealing with the devil, could set a town on fire. Imagine what they would do with me.

His eyes shone, as he undoubtedly contemplated the reaction the word Nephilim would draw from the mob. “Could prove fun.”

“It would be more fun with you on this side of the bars.”

He moved forward, leaning his head against the iron. “I apologized.”

“You mean as I was sacked? That is hardly an apology.”

“I meant it properly.”

I sighed, sinking my back down to the cold stone floor. If Jonah meant to release me, he’d have done so. He came to taunt. “Where’s Hunter?” I asked.

Jonah hesitated a moment, parting his lips to speak, but shook his head before replying, “I’m on my way to gather him. His incessant demands for your release convinced them all that he’s still under your influence. It’s earned you an immediate pyre come morning and him a visit from the priest with a holy water bath. Truthfully, it’s him you should be angry with.”

“You would think that.” I turned my face back toward him. “How did your little dalliance end up with me being burned and you free?”

A Cheshire grin spread across his face. “In truth, I took your advice to give her a wide berth. But as it turns out, she’s a very jealous sort. I think Hunter would have had more fun with her than I… if he were still willing to play along. You’ve made him very boring.”

It would be like Jonah to bring my household down over a forlorn lover. I didn’t suppose she would listen to my proclamations that I had no machinations for his heart, either.

“What are you waiting for, then? If you truly wish to apologize, call for Everly and get Hunter to safety.”

“And I shall. I simply thought you might want a visit first. Maybe a last meal?” He leaned forward, waving his wrist at me through the bars in a provocative gesture.

“Come close enough for me to sink my teeth into you and I will snap your neck for good measure.”

His laughter echoed in the small cell.

“As you wish,” he said. He stood fully, straitening his tunic. “For what it matters, I do regret the outcome. I was attempting to follow your lead for once.” Before I could scoff at his flippant apology and scold him for not managing eye contact in the process, he laughed again. “Though this may be a blessing. This is rather a terrible time to be a woman. Better that you skip this and awaken in a few years, once this madness has passed.”

When my only response to his nonsense was to glare back, he sighed. “We could escape tonight. If we left Hunter here, I could have you to safety by morning.”

“What could cause you to think I’d leave Hunter, and with you no less?” I asked.

“Oh, come now. You fancy me at least a little.” Jonah beamed his best smile at me. He wasn’t wrong. He had grown on my affections despite his destructive tendencies, but his affections and mine were not the same. I cared about Jonah as a companion.

Or maybe as an endearing younger sibling, one you ponder if you shouldn’t have just let drown in the lake instead of rescuing. That felt about the way of it.

“Jonah, there is no lifetime in which I choose you over Hunter. Certainly not one where you managed to label me a witch and have me executed in a matter of hours.”

He measured my expression. His own brow furrowed at the sincerity of my response before he smiled wickedly. “Next life then?”

I turned away, nearly angry enough to abandon my duty to keep him contained. I just hoped Everly could control him long enough for me to awaken again and return to my charge.

The silence falling around me let me know he had taken his leave just as sneakily as his arrival. Releasing a breath, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Jonah was more trouble than he was worth. A truth that only seemed to multiply with every lifetime.

“Up with you!” Yelling and the pain of fingers digging against my scalp, yanking me into a sitting position, brought me awake.

“Don’t let her skin touch you. That’s how her sorcery works,” the smaller of the two men warned. Incorrect. Ignorant, and incorrect, but I kept that knowledge to myself. Rope secured my hands together, diligently tied by the guard with gloved hands. Interesting that I was to be tried as a devil-worshiping sorceress, but they only felt it necessary to send two men to wrangle me. It was a true testimony of their arrogance that their fear of me hadn’t outweighed it.

In truth, I could easily escape them. But I had no sense of whether Jonah had rescued Hunter, thus any attempt would likely endanger him more, and the people of the town as a result. I’d asked Hunter to do them no harm, and he would follow the request. Lest they tempt him. I had to trust Jonah to get him freed. I did trust Jonah. At least in this.

Not that I presently had other options.

“Walk!” the guards shoved me through the opening in the bars. The handle of a sword pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward through the damp hall. It would have been painful on its own, but the muscles in my back were achy and bruised from sleeping on the stone without a mat.

The sun was full and bright, blinding as we exited the building that had held me captive. Not a prison, but a church. Colorful stained glass sparkled in the light, beauty against the dark foreboding shadow of the building cast before me. Ironic, really.

“Pick up your steps,” the guard behind me growled. He dug the hilt deeper into my back in emphasis.

“I’m in no hurry,” I said.

“Increase your speed or I’ll drag you there.”

I gazed over my shoulder at his empty threat. “You’re a fair-sized man, to be sure, but that seems a bit of effort. Especially in public.”

He blinked at me. I smiled back as his soul began to falter at my teasing.

He jolted as someone behind him shoved and called, “I warned you not to speak to her.”

I let out a sigh and turned back to concentrate ahead. It was tempting to hold my ground and force them both to have to carry me, kicking and screaming the entire way. Just to be a thorn. Yet, I liked my dignity, and I wasn’t willing to hand it to them in exchange for a few extra moments of their frustration.

It was always exhausting to witness the hordes of people who found their way to spectate in these situations. The baker that made my favorite bread and kept the two best loaves just for me each morning. The mother of the two girls who brought me wildflowers in exchange for sugar rocks. The merchant that begged my assistance to help his storefront.

They all stood, distasteful glares. As we spilled into the center of town, the energy of all those people buzzed against my skin. Hateful. Angry. Fearful, most of all. While that was normal, the levels went beyond what even a “proven” witch should garner. I darted through the faces piled together in front of me, seeking Jonah. I swallowed down my temper as I searched. With this much emotion in the air, he must have been about. I wanted to be angry, but I’d be truly damned before I’d help feed him right now.

The crowd parted, allowing me a clear path ahead. Some threw fistfuls of mud. Others spewed words that by all logic should probably land them in the eternal inferno they so headily believed I was traveling toward. Wholly unaware that if it was real, they were more likely to find themselves there than me. Some faces wore emotionless masks. Those were the hard ones to acknowledge. People that didn’t agree with the terror unfolding in front of them, but too afraid to not be seen supporting it. If I could reassure them, I would. It would only put them in similar danger to imply any connection or empathy. So, I looked away.

A tugging at my skirt pulled my attention down. A small girl had fistfuls of the fabric and stared up at me, large eyes dripping with fear. She was of age enough to know what fate awaited me ahead, but not enough to know why she should hide her tears. I was just the nice lady who made her wreaths of flowers and snuck sachets in her pockets.

I smiled down at her.

“Don’t touch that filthy thing.” Her mother’s voice scolded as she ripped the small human from me.

“You should shield her eyes,” I said.

“She needs to know what comes of the likes of you.” She spat at my skirt.

Another shove came from behind. “Keep moving.”

I shuffled uninterrupted toward the pyre. The familiar scent of roses—my roses—filled the air. Shoved amongst the many logs I was to burn upon were dozens of little sachets.

Beside the pile stood a tall man in a red robe with gold embroidery and gems adorning his fingers.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“We will send all your evil to hell with you,” he said. His voice was low and dull. I imagined he put pews of townsfolk asleep with that voice.

“You do know, if those sachets held any actual magic, giving me access to them would be very dangerous.”

A ripple of panic wavered through the energy behind me at my words. The man held up his hand and calmly replied, “If that were true, you would not have given us a warning.”

“Perhaps I just believe in giving a fair chance.”

The corner of his mouth ticked. This man did not believe I held any power at all. This was a show of control for him. I knew it. He knew it. We stood, stuck in a staring match over our shared understanding.

Without looking away from me, he said, “Place her at the center.”

This time, I would make it hard on them. I stood completely still, refusing to climb myself up to my death. I watched the two guards who had escorted me from my cell look me up and down, measuring the easiest method to hoist me onto the stack. They were both afraid to touch me, but their fear of the man giving orders was greater still. They were smarter than I had originally credited them.

One took my torso, while the other wrapped his arms around my ankles. As they yanked me into position and struggled their way to the top, I couldn’t suppress the laughter bubbling out of me. We must have looked ridiculous.

“You see,” the man in red called out to the crowd. As he shifted his voice to carry through the crowd, it held a more charismatic appeal than moments before. “She laughs because she has drunk from the darkness.”

Cries of “Witch!” echoed through the crowd.

I did my best to be a dead weight for the men as they tugged and strapped me upright. The calls increased in volume once the two guards finally had me in place, tied to the center pole. It gave a false sense of security to those below. Mud and worse things were flung up at me. The guards took the most of it as they bustled to safety. Luckily for me, my attackers had poor aim thanks to their measured distance. Their fear held at least that benefit.

“Will you renounce the Devil?” the man in red questioned loudly. A question for me, but he spoke it to the crowd. This demonstration was for show. My answer mattered not. However, it did a fine job of quieting the lot.

“Easy enough since I have not embraced him,” I replied.

“So quick to spill your lies,” he said, rushing to add, “Let us not allow her tongue to poison our ears. We cannot save her.”

Searching the crowd again, as they yelled in agreement, my gaze caught the small girl from earlier. Her mother was poised behind her, facing her forward, holding her shoulders tight in place.

I mouthed, “Close your eyes,” shutting my own as a demonstration.

She nodded.

I winked at her, bringing a small smile as she squeezed her eyes tight. Hopefully, curiosity wouldn’t get the better of her once she could hear and smell the flame.

Still not finding Jonah or Hunter anywhere in the crowd, I turned back to the man in red and my two rather sweaty guards.

“I suppose it’s too late to request a last cup of tea then?” I asked.

No one ever has a sense of humor in these situations. The guards stared back at my inquiry, my guess warring between the complexity of the situation and if they should comply. It was the polite thing, after all. Yet however would I hold a teacup with my hands tied? It was almost cruel of me to put them through the internal struggle with my question. I watched as they argued amongst themselves, the man in red lecturing them on kindness being a weakness.

The stacks of wood beneath my feet began to shift, but I felt him even before my mind made sense of the movement. Hunter climbed upon the pyre while my captors were distracted. His tall frame blocked the sun and view of the onlookers. Those beautiful blue eyes hollowed and dark and his shirt stained with blood. He had not only been drenched in holy water, but whipped for good measure. He must have given them whatever words they wished for to be standing here before me. They would not have released him otherwise.

“Why are you still about?” I asked. “You should have sought safety with Jonah.”

“I’m not leaving you to this fate alone.”

I felt the panic rise within me as I caught his intentions. “You must get down.”

Hunter shook his head. Then he pressed his forehead to mine, smiling sweetly. “Since the first moment I laid eyes upon you, I had no desire of living another lifetime without you.”

“I would commend your romanticism, but this is a horrible way for forfeit this one. I do not wish to watch you die,” I replied.

“Then keep your eyes shut.”

Noticing I had company, the man in red yelled, “Boy, get down from there!”

Ignoring him, Hunter took my face gently in his hands and bent down to kiss me. His fingers traced down to my neck, delicate as his lips.

The noise around us erupted in calls for him to abandon me. Save himself. His soul.

How little they knew.

Sickened by our display, and likely the delay it had caused my punishment, the man finally shouted, “Let him burn with her! Let him be a lesson to all the dangers of being under the spell of one of her kind.”

There wasn’t much to argue against with that statement. I brought this fate upon us most lifetimes. Or, rather, Jonah did. But it would be a lie to claim I wasn’t front and center as well. It was the very nature of my spirit to lessen the inhibitions of those around me. While Jonah did enjoy the chaos that helped bring, I’d done little to dissuade him of it, as long as the damage was mostly to us in the end.

The guards hesitated. In their minds, Hunter was an innocent. It was one thing to set me alight; it was another entirely to murder a person. No one present had even an inkling that Hunter was a Nephilim. Which meant he must have listened and not used his spirit against them, even amidst everything he endured.

I smiled at him. “You are a good soul, Hunter.”

“Any good I feign is thanks to you. Don’t force me to stay among them. I don’t know what I might do without you.” He kissed me again.

Furious now with his weak stomached companions, the man in red yanked the torch from one, shoving it into the pyre. The sachets helped the flame take hold, filling the air with the sweet scent of roses and blazing hearth. At least they hadn’t chosen to drown me. That was my least favorite death, though this method did not fall far behind.

Trying to distract me, Hunter pressed lips softly against mine at first, then curled his fingers into my hair, pressing himself to me. The electricity of his body bore down the length of mine as he poured his spirit into that kiss. Numbing the surrounding fire, I wrapped us in his energy and mine. So that the pain was but a dull ache behind his passions.

And then I drank him down. The warm heat of his soul coiling inside me and fueling the barrier to protect him. By the time he caught my intention, it was too late. I had swallowed most of his energy—enough to weaken his body but not damage his soul—and he sank. His body tumbling from the stack of branches and out of the fire. As I heard the weight of him hit the dirt, I knew he would not survive this lifetime long, but it would be painless.

Had I let him live, eventually the energy we shared would run out. He would have felt his body waste away in the fire with me. I couldn’t have that.

I looked out, finally spotting Jonah in the alley near the tanner. He had a small smile on his face as he took pleasure in seeing Hunter’s weakness a moment before. He didn’t get to enjoy his triumph, however. Though the heat was burning and wavering my vision, the last thing I witnessed was Everly snatching his ear and yanking him down to her height. His face scrunched in pain as her animated frame lectured him, dragging him back through the darkness of the alley.

Good.

The weasel.

As I closed my eyes, my nostrils filled with smell of my own flesh charring black, laced with the soft scent of pink rose petals. I wouldn’t scream. The pain couldn’t be stopped, but I had enough will. I would not give them my voice.

Though they may have already stolen my love for roses.

About the Author

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Also by K. Thomas

Time to Wake

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08WLYGY7V?tag=

Senlis is your typical artist. Empath, hater of mornings, and the bearer of a strange name passed down from her grandmother. With a penchant for caffeine and a pet ghost, she’s just trying to live her best life.

Did she mention she also happens to devour souls? No? Well, it’s a bit of a conversation killer… no pun intended.

“K. Thomas’s TIME TO WAKE delivers an amusing adventure that readers, young and old, will find exciting and intriguing, especially considering its quirky characters and witty dialogues. Full of dark humor, snarky comebacks, teen culture, and lessons on friendship and trust, volume one of the TIME TO WAKE SERIES is a solid page-turning paranormal fiction.” IndieReader

Not Right Now

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09HSVW794?tag=

Book two of the Time to Wake series unravels the deep history between the characters while taking readers further into the lore and world of the Nephilim, with our favorite snarky caffeine-addict leading the way.

“K. Thomas’s paranormal romance NOT RIGHT NOW shows a skillful and intriguing return to the world of Time to Wake, pairing well-imagined character relationships and excellent world-building with a dramatic, engaging story.” IndieReader