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Book 2 of the Father of Contention series
Science Fiction and Fantasy, Paranormal
Publisher: Tellwell Talent
Date Published: July 29, 2019
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When evil finds a way, man becomes beast.
In the small town of Thunder Bay, 2002, Angelika Juris becomes unexpectedly linked to her guardian angel, Gavin, after a suspicious near-death experience. While trying to figure out the complicated nature of their connection, they uncover a plot so disturbing, it threatens to shift the delicate balance between life and death and eradicate the precious human gift of free will.
When her sister goes missing, Angelika must search the unforgiving terrain of the Rocky Mountains, with her guardian angel as her guide. But they find more than just her sister—a   familiar face, Renner Scholz—and a secret lab teeming with his ongoing, unhindered experiments, including the most powerful of his offspring—the triplets.
Now, Angelika must find a way to free her sister from her evil captors, along with a newfound love interest—Anthony—Renner’s only normal son. Will they be able to thwart Renner’s malevolent schemes and escape with their lives, or will they suffer the same fate as so many of his previous victims?
Chapter 1
Tomas – 1984
Tomas Scholz sits upon a throne beside his father above the stones
of fire. Surrounded by splendour, he bursts with pride as all bow
down and honour them, bestowing gifts of great riches: precious
gems and stones—sardius, topaz, diamond and onyx—silver and
gold, and the rarest of artifacts collected from all over the many
realms. This destiny, although not yet achieved, awaits him after
this world has passed away, or so the shadow has promised.
In time. He must be patient.
A three-toed woodpecker, normally a quiet, shy, little bird,
hammers out a tune on a nearby dead spruce, redirecting Tomas’
thoughts away from his daydreams and back to the matter at hand.
Carrying the device with painstaking care, he reaches a clearing
in the mountains. This flat fold of land has been carefully selected
for the job, unchartered territory, a place no man has previously
travelled. The device is light despite its enormous potential for
destruction, light enough for his nine-year-old hands to carry.
The wind swells in unpredictable gusts sending uprooted weeds
and debris to tumble across the dry landscape. It is not ideal
weather to test out his experiment, on the contrary, but he is
impatient, insistent. If it were anyone else attempting this feat
they would be prudently dissuaded, encouraged to wait for more
opportune conditions. The summer had been a dry one, and the
arid conditions mixed with the gales of wind are a recipe for
disaster.
But Tomas is not like other children. His abilities are powerful
enough to defy even the wind.
Besides, Tomas is too excited to see how it finally works, unable
to wait a moment longer. Adrenaline almost palpable as he flits and
floats across the glade despite his clubbed foot, preparing for the
initial trial of the weapon he has designed and built all by himself.
He is a genius. Wisdom doesn’t grow on trees; it is inherited.
Or prepared in a lab. Both methods are responsible in Tomas’ case.
Born of Renner’s sperm, he has inherited the genes for brilliance,
but his earthly father further manipulated Tomas’ genetic structure
to enhance his potential for genius. In this Renner has been
successful.
Just a child, Tomas is already capable of recombinant DNA
technology and minor medical procedures. Always the perfect
pupil. Always eager to learn more. Technology and inventing
advanced weaponry are his preferred hobbies, skills that come
to him naturally, and had he been allowed to go out in public to
submit these innovations for patenting, he would earn millions,
perhaps billions. But they are billionaires and have no need for
more money. And he is not ready to go out in public, to be exposed
to the world—the world not ready for him yet. For Tomas’ talents
don’t stop there.
Surpassing his higher level of intelligence are his supernatural
abilities, having both fathers to thank for this gift. By the shadow
entering Renner’s body that fateful night in the abandoned chapel,
his DNA changed, which was then passed on to his offspring.
These changes increased the development of DMT produced by
the pineal gland and the subsequent presentation of supernatural
abilities, the like of which have never been seen in humans.
Renner had also manipulated Tomas’ genes, splicing them with
favourable animalistic traits to increase his special abilities. The
final product is a boy who has powers that are both profound and
intense. Unrestrained. In this Renner has also been successful.
Tomas is a telepath, able to read other people’s thoughts
and desires with great ease. Most impressive are his telekinetic
capabilities, able to teleport any object, from the size of a grain of
sand all the way up to a massive Gothic castle to any location he
so desires. Able to transport his own body.
But impressive though this is, Tomas is not perfect. None of
them are. Flaws remain in Renner’s recombinant DNA techniques,
glitches he still struggles to correct with each series of experiments.
There is always an element of trial and error when it comes to
experimenting in new unexplored areas, but he has faith he will
overcome these limitations and the supernatural abilities that all
the offspring display prove he is on the right track.
Tomas is the most handsome of them all if you could call
him handsome. Hair, worn long and unruly. Taller than most
nine-year-olds, he is more muscular as well but not a giant like
some of his brothers. He prefers to wear mostly jogging pants,
jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters for there is no need to dress up here.
No one to impress. His eyes are as black as pitch and empty. Dead
embers.
Born with a cleft palate, Tomas underwent corrective surgery
as a young baby, but Renner being untrained in cosmetic
procedures, the repair didn’t go as well as planned. Tomas can
feed and communicate much better than he would have without
the surgical procedure, but a resultant lisp when speaking words
that contain the letter s has Tomas training extensively to articulate
his words. The lisp now more of an extended, exaggerated s sound.
The speech impediment isn’t as bothersome as the thickened scar
tissue between his nose and upper lip. Tomas plans on visiting
a real cosmetic surgeon who will correct the botched effort his
father performed and eliminate the scar—when he is older, when
he is permitted to venture out into the real world. He also has a
clubbed right foot that gives him a mild limp. These deformities
are considered minor compared to his brothers’. So, he has little
to complain about, this he knows.
His brothers, on the other hand, have not fared as well. The
flaws in Renner’s experiments far more evident. The deformities
more intensive, requiring massive reconstruction, the likes of
which do not yet exist. Tomas is already working diligently on
this limitation, inventing his own brand of prosthetics that will
help the remainder of his triplet brothers—his womb-mates—and
other siblings to help them be more aesthetically pleasing to the
eye or at least less abhorrent while simultaneously helping them
to channel their own gifts. Augment them.
But again, in time.
Tomas’ preparations slowly come to completion. He lopes
across the field through tussock grasses and stunted shrubbery to
the location he has deemed most beneficial for his test. He stops
amidst a patch of denser grasses and wildflowers, adjacent to a
stand of tiny gnarled aspens. Mounds of rhododendron underbrush
proudly display their yellow and white puff ball-shaped flowers
tinged with pink and lavender.
Soon their beauty will be extinguished.
The sound of a river rushing at highs speeds can be detected from
this vantage point, an important proponent for this experiment to
function smoothly.
He looks over to see if the shadow—his other father, the one
that matters most—is watching, desiring his praise. A moment of
insecurity?
But, the moment of weakness is short-lived. As soon as Tomas
senses approval, he commences, extending his right arm towards
the surrounding rhododendron mounds and dry grasses. Clumsily,
he fastens the contraption to his extended right wrist with plastic
straps and buckles. The weapon, a flame thrower, is like no other.
It is controlled by Tomas’ mind alone, lacking buttons or switches,
with nothing to turn it on or off, no dials to increase or decrease
its power, except by his mind’s will.
Abruptly he stops, eyes fastening on the shadow as the sound of
a woman’s scream pierces his mind. The sound is heard through
his gift, although the actual source is not much further than their
location, yet still safely out of harm’s way. Their eyes make contact,
full of mutual understanding. It is Milena, once more in the throes
of labour.
“It will be a boy,” he tells the shadow.
“Yes, yes, I know,” the shadow responds.
They are all boys, so it is a natural conclusion. However, Tomas
knows this on another level, knows it for a fact as the baby’s
thoughts can already be heard, although he is not yet born. “He
is different,” Tomas adds, before returning to his task without
further explanation.
A shiny, black crow bursts out of the shrubbery and furiously
flaps its wings, escaping barely in time, somehow anticipating
the fire that will quickly follow. Tomas telepathically transmits
a message to the weapon to eject a far-reaching rope of flame
from its tip, and the contraption immediately obliges, bathing the
mountain glade in fire. He slowly spins in a circle creating a ring
of fire around him, the flames dancing and rising as if in adoration
and worship. The intense orange from the fire’s light is reflected
in his black eyes as if tiny flames have been sparked from within
the lifeless black embers.
“It works!” he exclaims. “Father, can you see it?”
The flames continue to rise.
And rise. And rise higher still, the flames licking and lapping at
Tomas’ face and body and limbs. Searing, melting, binding. Until
flame and skin become one.
About the Author

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Lanie Mores enjoys travelling to alternate realities, often found with her head buried in a book, binge watching Netflix, or playing video games. Although fantasy and science fiction are her obsession, she enjoys most forms of literature, and has been writing poetry since she was a wee bairn.
She has worn many hats throughout her life: cashier, medical records secretary, psychotherapist, hypnotherapist, personal trainer, and most importantly, mom. Her son is the moon of her life, her sun and stars, and she would do anything for him…destroy Terminators sent from a future realm, deflect an Unforgivable curse with her motherly love, and travel through the Upside Down to find him, even if she had to face the Demogorgon himself.
Inspired to write by Stephen King, Diana Gabaldon, Jean M. Auel and Margaret Atwood, she has big shoes to fill, but has always been a huge dreamer and has the determination to aim higher than the stars. GUARDIAN OF ANGEL is the second novel she has written and published, book 2 in the FATHER OF CONTENTION series.
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The Devil & Dayna Dalton Teaser

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Book 9: A Bulwark Anthology
Paranormal Romance
Date Published: September 30, 2019
Publisher: Chelshire, Inc.
Reporter Dayna Dalton’s reputation has been ruined since birth. The daughter of wild child, Becky Dalton, is expected to follow her mother’s footsteps; never given a chance to prove she’s different. Dayna’s been in love with Clay Finnes since she was a teenager. Her unrequited love for Sheriff Finnes leaves her empty.  He’s happily married and unavailable. Instead, Dayna finds herself stuck in the revolving door of bad relationships. But this is Bulwark, Georgia, a town where strange things are always happening.  Dayna is doomed to this loveless life until she can find someone who will appreciate the depth of her character. Can she overcome her fears and look beyond her own perceptions to accept a greater love?
*Contains Sexual Content*
Excerpt
Chapter 4
“The devil is in the details.”
It was a steady beep that woke her. Dayna struggled to open her eyes. Her lids were heavy, as if they had been glued shut. She panicked for a minute, thinking she might have died and they had sealed her eyes. She lifted a hand to rub her face and felt the tug of something tethering her. She pulled, then moaned from the sharp pain near her elbow.
Brisk hands tucked her arm under a sheet next to her side. She turned to find Jenna Finnes adjusting an IV line.
Their eyes met, and Jenna said in a flat tone, “Don’t yank the IV out.” She walked over to a whiteboard, erased someone’s name, and printed her own, her face grim.
Dayna cleared her throat. Before she got any words out, Jenna spoke without turning around. “They brought you in last night. Minor abrasions. Sprained ankle, nothing serious.” She turned around, and her face held no warmth. “Whoever you were rolling around in the woods with left you there.”
“I wasn’t…” Dayna coughed. Her throat hurt when she spoke. Jenna poured her a cup of water.
“Whatever.” Clay’s wife shrugged. “You were out for a long time. There’s a bump on your head, but the CAT scan was negative.”
Dayna took the water with one hand. The other cautiously touched a tender bump on the side of her skull.
“When can I get out of here?” Dayna asked.
“They’re not going to let you drive home, not that your car is here anyway. The doctor will give you more information when he stops by.” Jenna walked toward the door.
“Jenna,” Dayna called after her, “who brought me in?”
“Sherry and Terence found you.” Jenna answered without looking at her.
Dayna could feel hatred emanating from the rigid stance of the nurse’s body and closed face. She could not stop herself from calling her name again. “Jenna?” Jenna turned, her eyes unfriendly. “How’s Clay doing?”
Jenna pulled open the door and left without another word.
Dayna let her head fall back on the pillows. For all that Jenna had a sterling reputation, she was no Florence Nightingale. The pillows were flat and water had spilled, making the coarse sheet both damp and uncomfortable. Jenna hadn’t even asked if she could bring Dayna something for her aching head.
Tears filled Dayna’s eyes and slid down the sides of her face. “Stop that damn self-pity,” she admonished herself.
Outside, the overcast sky cast a dark shadow over Bulwark. Wind whipped the branches of the trees. It didn’t take a forecaster to know a storm was brewing.
Dayna’s stomach rumbled noisily. The bedside table was just out of her reach. While her clothes and purse were nowhere to be seen, her phone lay on the surface of the table. It buzzed, the noise making Dayna jump, reminding her of every ache and bruise. She stretched, her sore muscles protesting. Her fingers spun the phone in a circle, the momentum forcing it to fall onto the side of the bed.
It was the editor of the paper, Howard Bresen.
“Yes?” Dayna picked up the phone.
“What happened to you?” Howard’s brusque voice demanded.
“Nothing. I saw a wolf and followed—”
“You tie one on again? No wolves in this part of Georgia. Everybody knows that, babe.”
Dayna hated when he called her that. She took a steadying breath and tried to keep the resentment from her voice. “I know what I saw.” Did she? She shivered, thinking of those strange pupils. Dayna opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. She touched the tender spot on her head. She banged her head. That explained it, didn’t it?
“Yeah, you and half the population of Bulwark must be on LSD or something.”
“I don’t use drugs, Howard.”
“No matter, Dayna. I need an obit on JB Straton by tonight. It’s going on the front page. But if you’d rather argue with me, I can find someone else to do it.”
Dayna sat up, her head pounding, but she ignored it. The front page. “No, I want to write it. Can you send someone to pick me up? I have to get home.”
Howard growled that he didn’t have a staff of chauffeurs at his disposal. Then the phone grew quiet.
“Listen, babe, you didn’t see a wolf.”
“Howard, I know what I saw.” She paused, then finished, “I want to write a story about it.”
“I said you didn’t see a wolf. Got it?” Howard’s voice was stern.
If he was this way about the wolf, he’d go nuts if she mentioned the man with the blood-red eyes. For sure, that made no sense. It had to be a hallucination.
Dayna sat mute for a minute. When she opened her mouth, her boss added, “You want that front page or not? I won’t offer it to you again. No wolf. I want a nice tribute to a stand-up guy.” He mumbled something to someone in his office and said loudly, “Okay, I’m sending Lemuel. He’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“I have to get the doctor to release me,” she replied, her mind already forming the opening paragraph about JB Straton.
“You’ve got one hour!” He hung up the phone.
Dr. Kent entered the room as the phone went dead.
“I have a deadline,” she told him, her palm outstretched in an appeal.
Dr. Kent had kind eyes. He was new to the town and had a reputation for being both warm and friendly to everyone he met. He sat on the edge of the bed and patted her hand. “How do you feel?”
“I’d feel better in my own home,” Dayna said with an edge of impatience.
“Uh-huh,” he said, shining a light into her eyes. He rotated her head, asking if anything hurt.
“Just a little sore,” she assured him.
He lifted the covers, then picked up her ankle. He had gentle hands with long, elegant fingers. His touch was cool and efficient. It calmed her.
“It’s not broken. Stay off it for the rest of the day,” Dr. Kent said while he wrote notes on a chart. She noticed he was left-handed and watched his hand curl unnaturally with the pen as he wrote.
“You’re releasing me?” Dayna asked hopefully.
“Are you asking or demanding, Miss Dalton?” He smiled.
Dayna grinned back, and the room was decidedly toastier than when Nurse Jenna Finnes was there.
“I have to write an article about JB Straton.”
Dr. Kent’s face darkened. “He was a nice guy. Helped me out just a few days ago. I ran into some trouble when I was jogging.” Dr. Kent caught himself and changed the subject quickly. “Well, no matter. It’s not exactly a tragedy. He was old.”
“Isn’t all death a tragedy?” Dayna asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not really. When a person is old or infirm, sometimes it’s a blessing.”
“I can understand the age part, but the infirm?”
“When a person can’t be healed or they are incurable, it may be for the best. Sometimes they want to go, as if they’ve finished their use here.”
“I thought your job was about saving lives,” Dayna said.
Dr. Kent looked up, his blue eyes piercing. “I assure you, Miss Dalton, I do everything within my power to save lives. It’s not always up to me.”
“Then who is it up to?” Dayna asked, her chin tilted.
He looked at her as if weighing how to answer. “That’s something I wrestle with all the time. I think that when it’s someone’s time, it’s their time to go.”
The reporter came to life in Dayna’s head. “Where do you think they go?”
“Who knows? The Elysian Fields, Heaven…”
“Hell?” Dayna asked.
“I don’t believe in Hell,” he said, then added, “Sometimes I think hell is here.”
“Well, that’s profound.” Dayna reached for her bag to get a pen, realizing she had neither. She stopped moving and looked up at him. “What makes you say that?”
Dr. Kent looked out the window, his face distant. “Sometimes life is torment. I equate torment with hell.”
“Are you tormented?” Dayna asked softly, not wanting the moment to end.
Dr. Kent stood completely still, as if he was thinking of a way to answer. He shook his head as he looked at her. “No, I never said that.”
Dayna opened her mouth to ask another question, but he silenced her with a response.
“Stay off your foot for a few days.” He resumed writing notes on her chart. “You should be much better by tomorrow. If you have any vision issues or headaches”—he paused and added—” or strange thoughts, come back to the hospital immediately.”
He glanced out the window again, his eyes far away. Dayna looked in the direction of his gaze. He was staring, lost in thought, at the new diner that had opened recently. There was something going on here. She’d give her new Louis Vuitton bag to get to the bottom of that story. Now wasn’t the time, though. She needed that front page and to gain her boss’s trust to give her more leeway.
The blood-red eyes flashed in her mind, and she crushed the thoughts ruthlessly. She needed to get moving.
“Dr. Kent?” she prodded. “Can I leave now?”
He nodded absently. “Weather’s picking up. You know, I moved here because I hated the climate in New England.”
Well, that was strange, she thought. Neat change of subject. He was well skilled at diverting attention from things he didn’t want to discuss.
“Yes,” Dayna agreed, watching him. “We hardly had a summer last year.”
They both muttered, “Global warming,” at the same time. Dayna laughed. The doctor shrugged and moved to the door.
“Dr. Kent?”
He turned around.
“Has anyone said anything about seeing any wolves around town lately?”
“Wolves?” He shook his head.
“They’re extinct here. Why? Are you seeing wolves?” He looked at her closely.
“No, of course not. It’s just that there have been reports from several locals.”
“Bulwark has its share of crazies. I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Dr. Kent said as he left the room.
A different nurse arrived to unhook her IV. She handed Dayna a plastic bag containing her clothing and purse. Dayna dressed as quickly as her bruised body allowed. She opened the door to her room and walked into the hall.
Dayna walked furtively to the intensive care section at the end of the corridor. She waited until an orderly flashed his identification card to open the old wooden swinging doors. Trout Parker turned around and smiled at her when he let her follow him through the entrance.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he told her, his voice low, his eyes raking her body. “Heard you went out with Skippy Benson.” He leered at her. “Maybe you want to go for a drink with me?”
Dayna shook her head. “Sorry, I’m kind of busy right now. I’m visiting an old friend,” Dayna finished with an edge of defensiveness in her reply.
Trout laughed and said slyly, “Sheriff Finnes is in the last room on the left.”
He pointed down the corridor and didn’t move. “You know he’s back with his wife, Dayna, but like I said”—he held his arms open wide, a wolfish grin on his face— “I’m available.”
“Yes, um…thanks, Trout. I’ll remember that.”
She felt his eyes follow her to the end of the corridor. That guy gave her a healthy dose of the creeps.
Dayna walked close to the wall. There was a window outside the room, and she could see Clay in the hospital bed. He was hooked up to machines, a bandage around his head. The bed was elevated, and Dayna could see he was awake. She touched the glass separating them.
The curtain that surrounded the bed twitched. Jenna walked in holding a cup of applesauce in one hand, a spoon in the other. Her cold eyes locked on Dayna, and with a sneer, she pulled the curtains across the window.
About the author:

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Brit Lunden is a prolific author who’s written over 50 books in assorted genres under different pen names. Bulwark was her first effort in adult fiction and was chosen by several of her fellow authors as the basis for a new series, A Bulwark Anthology.  Using her characters, they are creating new denizens in spin-off stories to this bizarre town. Brit Lunden lives on Long Island in a house full of helpful ghosts.
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Werewolf Cinderella by Amanda Milo Blog Tour

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Werewolf Cinderella

by Amanda Milo
Publication Date: September 10, 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Fantasy

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Purchase: Amazon

Every eligible female must attend the ball by decree of the king.

On account of my tendency to suddenly turn from a woman into a wolf, I’d really prefer if I wasn’t being forced into attending.

Anger burns in my throat, making me growl.

Stepmother covers my hand with hers, gently squeezing my fingers.

That’s my stepmother. Grace above all; even under fire… or the threat of a noose. She’s a better woman than I.

What? You thought the rumors were true? That she’s my wicked stepmother, who’s kept me as her indentured servant under the stairs?

Oh my friend, you don’t know the half of this story.

To tell it, I’d best begin at the beginning.

About Amanda Milo

Amanda and her better half enjoy hiking the trails near their home. They take their dogs and leave the ferret–most of the time. The ferret is their ‘poor man’s otter’. Amanda has been researching otters as pets. They’re not going to get one, but she loves to dream.
When she’s not entertaining grand plans to smuggle wildlife into their bathtub, Amanda can be found with the keyboard on her lap and her next story on the screen.

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Securing Her Surrender Release Blitz

 

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She gave him her heart.

Now he will accept nothing less than her total surrender.

Securing Her Surrender

 

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★☆★Release Blitz★☆★

Only available on Amazon

BLURB:

She gave him her heart. Now he will accept nothing less than her total surrender.
Samantha was content to never settle down, but that was before Derrick bossed his way back into her life. Now, all she wants to do is surrender to his control.
Derrick spent his life protecting others, so taking over security at his club was a no brainer. What he didn’t count on was Samantha and his need for her submission.Danger from his past interrupts their present, and Derrick will do anything to keep Samantha safe.
All he has to do is find the enemy in the shadows before it’s too late.

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EXCERPT:

 

“I believe you promised me something.” He stepped forward.

“I don’t remember saying anything, Sir.” This wasn’t a scene. She was flirting with him and enjoying every minute.

“You may not have said anything, but you made promises all the same.” Her mouth watered at the thought of what she was about to do. Right there in the shower, she kneeled down and stared at what she was about to take in her mouth. He was gifted to say the least. A little intimidated by the size of it, she was never one to walk away from a challenge.

She leaned forward and licked a drop of precum from the tip. He tasted salty and a little sweet, kind of like the man himself.

“Oh, Little Red, don’t tease me, you know what I need.” He shifted his hips forward slightly, and she opened her mouth eager to take him in. Samantha felt powerful when he moaned with her first approach. She moved forward inch by inch while swirling her tongue around his shaft. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back as if praying to the heavens.

About the Author

 

Lesley is first and foremost a wife and mother. She has been married for 26 years to a wonderful guy. Not bad for the marriage that nobody thought would last longer than 6 months. She has 2 beautiful daughters in grad school who have both kept her on her toes since entering this world. She has been a RN for the last 12 years and truly enjoys taking care of her patients.

Since learning how to read, Lesley has always had a love affair with words. Through childhood, she wrote short stories and always had a book in her hands. So, now that her nest is empty, she is following my dream, of becoming an author, and dreams do come true! My first novel releases April 19th.

Lesley writes stories with hot alpha men and sexy sassy ladies that will keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish.

Sign up for her newsletter – https://www.subscribepage.com/lesleyclark

Website – www.thelesleyclark.com

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FB Page – www.facebook.com/thelesleyclark

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Email –  thelesleyclark@gmail.com

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Westward Lies the Sun Blitz

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Fiction
Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing
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Greg Sonoda, a Japanese American attorney, embarks on a quest to determine what influence God has in his life. In the back of his mind is the question, first and foremost, of whether God exists at all. God is such an elusive concept to a humanist, who, from his earliest years, was made to question God’s very existence—he suffered in a concentration camp for the duration of WWII—and he doubts his efforts will ever come to fruition.
In Westward Lies the Sun, Greg’s search for truth is given voice during the frequent debates with his poker foursome, although the late-night discussions produce more questions than answers. But they do serve to articulate thoughts and feelings about sundry issues such as the search for Greg’s family heirloom: a samurai sword stolen during Greg’s incarceration in the camps. More significantly, Greg is forced to ponder God’s hand in his family’s survival after being shipwrecked on a small, uninhabited Micronesian island. Greg and his family make several discoveries on the island that lead to financial success and miraculous physical healing. But will the island also heal Greg spiritually?
The family sword—Onimaru—is ultimately used in a showdown on the island with Greg’s quest for God, together with his mental and physical survival, hanging in the balance.
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About the Author

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Born in 1932, the author, Robert H. Kono, is a third generation Japanese American (Sansei) who spent the duration of WWII in several concentration camps in the United States. An only child, he accompanied his father and ailing mother to war-torn Japan in 1946, thus beginning a solitary growing up as a look-alike American outsider. He managed to return to America, the beloved land of his birth, in 1959 to get married and complete his college education. He is the father of two sons. He resides in Beaverton, OR.
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