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Tales of the Executioners

Joleene Naylor is the author of the glitter-less Amaranthine vampire universe, a world where vampires aren't for children. Comprised of a main series, a standalone prequel, and several short story collections, she has plans to continue expanding with a trilogy and standalone novels. In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs, full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. In what little time is left, she watches anime, plays PokemonGo, and works on her crooked Victorian house in Villisca, Iowa. Between her husband, family, and pets, she is never lonely, in fact, quite the opposite. Should she disappear, one might look for her on a beach in Tahiti, sipping a tropical drink and wearing a disguise. Twenty-nine short stories of love, death, heartbreak, and blood. Meet the Executioners, elite enforcers of the vampires’ laws. Walk with them through origin stories, follow them across the sea to the colonies, and run with them through the wilds, as they try to bring civilization to a land ruled by “day sleeper” clans. Fifteen interwoven stories tell the beginning of The Guild, set under the watchful - and sometimes malevolent - gaze of the ancient Malick, whose heavy shadow stretches even across the sea. Meet his favorite son, his willful daughter, his child-like pet, and many more whose jealousies, hatreds, and loves twist together to create consequences they can’t foresee.

Joleene Naylor · Horror
Not enough ratings
186 Chs

Chapter 102: Fallon - Taste in Men, Part 8

Laura jerked free from her brother and spun back. "What in the hell?"

A second swing of the umbrella knocked her off her feet. She hit the floor with a cry, skidding through the doorway into the next room. Warren waved the broken umbrella menacingly, then threw it aside with a snarl and lunged for the book in Belle's hands. "I don't know where the hell you came from, but you better give me that."

She deftly hopped aside, the volume held above her head like a game of keep-away. "I don't think so, buddy."

Fallon hesitated between helping Belle or his sister, finally settling on the latter. He plunged through the doorway to find her seated on the floor. Her hands covered her nose, trying to stem the flow of crimson that ran between her fingers onto her dress. The sobs that shook her shoulders only added to the picture of misery.

The TV was still playing a late night talk show, but the couch was empty. Teresa had hightailed it. Not that Fallon blamed her.