Insta-Prophecy Hotline Chapter 1

Here’s Chapter 1 of my Urban Fantasy, Insta-Prophecy Hotline!

Chapter 1

Updates!

First, I would like to announce the free release of the prologue of my paranormal romance novel, Insta-Prophecy Hotline.

Second, I’ll be releasing a chapter a week until the book’s completion. Bear in mind there are 47 chapters (including the prologue and epilogue).

However, if you’re like me and you like to binge read, below are the links to purchase my book in both ebook and print.

Finally, I should tell you that you’re reading a romance novel. It’s geared towards the over 18 crowd and while not all chapters contain adult situations, there are some. I’ll include this warning at the beginning of every chapter post just as a friendly reminder for those who might end up surprised there are bow-chika-bow-wow scenes in a romance novel (note the sarcasm).

So, if you’re over 18, enjoy the ride. If you’re younger, ask your parent’s permission (though I seriously doubt you’ll do it, but hey, I tried). I did my due diligence to not scar the youth.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Updates!

First, I would like to announce the free release of the prologue of my paranormal romance novel, Insta-Prophecy Hotline.

Second, I’ll be releasing a chapter a week until the book’s completion. Bear in mind there are 47 chapters (including the prologue and epilogue).

However, if you’re like me and you like to binge read, below are the links to purchase my book in both ebook and print.

Finally, I should tell you that you’re reading a romance novel. It’s geared towards the over 18 crowd and while not all chapters contain adult situations, there are some. I’ll include this warning at the beginning of every chapter post just as a friendly reminder for those who might end up surprised there are bow-chika-bow-wow scenes in a romance novel (note the sarcasm).

So, if you’re over 18, enjoy the ride. If you’re younger, ask your parent’s permission (though I seriously doubt you’ll do it, but hey, I tried). I did my due diligence to not scar the youth.

Enjoy!

On Sale Now!

Paperback Available exclusively with Amazon:
Amazon
Amazon UK
IndieBound

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

On Sale Now!

Paperback Available exclusively with Amazon:
Amazon
Amazon UK
IndieBound

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

IT TAKES A KNIGHT TO SAVE THE DAMSEL

Darius, an immortal knight working for Insta-Prophecy Hotline, spent the last seven hundred years hunting down thirteen ancient obsidian skulls. A seemingly easy enough task, but one particular skull can possess hapless victims and has a penchant for ending civilizations. When he discovers that a Seer has kept him in the dark about an apocalyptic prophecy centered around the skulls, he nearly resigns. That is until the prophecy leads him straight to a fiery redhead who sparks a need in him that goes far beyond duty.

IT TAKES A DAMSEL TO REWRITE DESTINY

Mackenzie is a down-to-earth girl who has better things to deal with than to figure out why Insta-Prophecy Hotline sent her an obsidian skull. When a Seer tells her she’s destined to end the world, she thinks it’s a prank. When she winds up in Scotland with no memory of how she got there, she finds she’s in over her head. But as her destiny becomes tied to Darius, a knight in brooding armor, she gets on board and has to appreciate the irony that the world has to end for her to meet Mr. Right.

IT TAKES A KNIGHT TO SAVE THE DAMSEL

Darius, an immortal knight working for Insta-Prophecy Hotline, spent the last seven hundred years hunting down thirteen ancient obsidian skulls. A seemingly easy enough task, but one particular skull can possess hapless victims and has a penchant for ending civilizations. When he discovers that a Seer has kept him in the dark about an apocalyptic prophecy centered around the skulls, he nearly resigns. That is until the prophecy leads him straight to a fiery redhead who sparks a need in him that goes far beyond duty.

IT TAKES A DAMSEL TO REWRITE DESTINY

Mackenzie is a down-to-earth girl who has better things to deal with than to figure out why Insta-Prophecy Hotline sent her an obsidian skull. When a Seer tells her she’s destined to end the world, she thinks it’s a prank. When she winds up in Scotland with no memory of how she got there, she finds she’s in over her head. But as her destiny becomes tied to Darius, a knight in brooding armor, she gets on board and has to appreciate the irony that the world has to end for her to meet Mr. Right.

Chapter 1

Present Day

The sun crested over the hills, lighting up the sky in a soothing blend of oranges, reds and pinks. The birds trilled their morning song and the air was heavy with the smell of ocean brine.

Darius stood in black, silk boxers with one arm braced against the window frame in his bedroom and tried to appreciate the view from the house he no doubt paid good money for. How much, he didn’t know since his sister-in-law, Allyanora, took it upon herself to purchase the home for him. It was the result of a one-sided conversation on her part about the downside of living out of a suitcase and hotel rooms. That was two years ago.

Instead of appreciating the peaceful panorama from his home nestled amongst the rolling hills of the exclusive enclave of Carmel, California, he only saw the view for what it was, a restrictive cage meant to lull him into a sense of quiet acquiescence. A punishment for one rash decision made over forty years ago.

He turned away from the view to face his master bedroom. Thanks again to Allyanora, the room was furnished with the bare essentials – a bed, a chair and a dresser with matching nightstands, the surfaces of which remained barren of any photos or mementos he might have acquired during his long, long life.

The only item of his was the battered, black leather suitcase on top of the dresser, its lid haphazardly flipped open to reveal an assortment of his clothes, all in black like his perpetual mood.

He strode towards the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jogging shorts, socks and a t-shirt from the suitcase as he passed. He quickly ran a razor over the night’s worth of stubble on his chin and pulled a comb through his dark brown, wavy hair that fell in a tousle over his forehead.

In less than two minutes he was dressed and pulling on his black running shoes that had been neatly placed on the floor next to his California king-sized bed, its comforter thrown back on only one side. He had already complained to Allyanora the bed was too large to be of any convenient use. He invited no one over.

He locked the front door, jogged down the winding driveway, then turned onto the narrow road that led to the summit of the hill on which his estate-like home was situated.

He steadied his breathing and focused his attention on the monotonous labor of his morning ritual. Maybe this day he would manage to exhaust his energy to the point his brain would stop replaying the events that cost him damn near everything.

Why did he have to hijack that plane?

Had he followed protocol and just shadowed L.G. Man, allowing the plane to land in Seattle as scheduled, he might have caught her and her obsidian skull without drawing the undivided attention of the entire nation.

He knew all too well the hazards of being the center of attention. He was a Templar Knight seven hundred years ago during the height of their power when they were forced to hide their existence in order to survive. Since then, they had one rule above all, ‘Drift through the world, causing no ripple, drawing no notice.’

And he had to go and bugger it all up.

The Templar hierarchy was able to step in and cover up the truth about ‘D.B. Cooper,’ but he was benched as punishment for his actions. They told him it was just until the notoriety died down. More than forty years later though, he was still damaged goods in their eyes, volatile and unpredictable.

And with L.G. Man lying low since then, they had no need to put him back in the field.

He ran for two hours, long enough to mentally list every person who had died at L.G. Man’s hand since he joined the cause. The list might have grown by now, he didn’t know. He tried not to dwell, but he had nothing else to occupy his time.

As the cool, crisp air of dawn burned away, he sprinted back up his sloping driveway lined with Cypress trees. He slowed down to a walk as the driveway flared out to his four-car garage, wiped his brow of sweat and peered at his watch. It was just past nine in the morning.

Christ.

He stepped onto the flagstone walkway that curved around the garage to the front door, then stopped short when he spotted a lone, brown cardboard box on the front stoop.

Double Christ.

If he was a normal man, the innocuous box wouldn’t have been cause for concern. As it was, he didn’t get packages, especially delivered to his front door. He had a post office box in town for that.

He surveyed the towering trees, driveway and manicured bushes that surrounded his home. It was no surprise when he found no one lurking.

His heartbeat sped up a notch from the excitement of danger. It was like being out in the field again and he missed the rush.

He crept up to the package and studied it, looking for any trip wires or sensors that would set off something nasty. When he found nothing, he crouched down and with a feather-light touch ran his fingers over the top of the box. His address was printed across it in bold letters, but there was no return address, company logo or even the telltale markings it had been sent through the mail.

He eased the box off the ground. It weighed almost nothing. He raised it to his ear and listened. No ticking, a good, if outdated, marker of a bomb. Still, old habits die hard.

Holding the box in one hand, he pulled out the knife from the sheath always strapped to his ankle and slit the masking tape. The box flaps perked open. He waited for his face to disintegrate from the deployment of some aerosol acid, but again, nothing ominous was triggered.

He peered inside and saw a folded piece of paper. Beneath the paper was a gaudy, silver cuff bracelet with ancient cuneiform writing etched heavily into the flat surface.

He opened the folded piece of paper and froze.

Printed across the stationary was the most recent logo for Insta-Prophecy Hotline. But it wasn’t the logo that caught his attention, it was the neat, cursive handwriting below it.

D.B. Cooper,

The wait is over. Do you still think you have it in you to stop me?

L.G. Man

Bloody hell. He wasn’t sure what made him more livid, the fact that L.G. was back or that she had used Insta-Prophecy Hotline stationary.

He took the box inside and kicked the door shut behind him. With the note still clutched in his hand, he snatched his phone off the kitchen counter and hit the speed dial.

“Insta-Prophecy Hotline warehouse, how may I direct your call?” A pleasant female voice lilted over the phone.

“Are you now storing or have you ever stored an obsidian skull?”

“Excuse me?”

“An obsidian skull, do you have one?”

“I cannot divulge any objects that may pertain to a current or future prophecy.” Her voice took on a guarded edge. “If you have an issue, you can take it up with one of the Seers.”

“I’m with the Templar Knights, you will answer the question.”

“Oh, well, the Knights. That means absolutely nothing.”

“One of your warehouse clerks may already be dead.”

Silence met his words. He wanted to punch something out of sheer frustration. So he did. The drywall crumpled around his fist.

“Hold please.” There was a perceptible click and then canned, crackly and annoying waiting music blasted over the line.

The music cut off and a breathy voice spoke. “Samantha’s dead.”

He didn’t know Samantha, but that didn’t stop her death from weighing down on him as if he had murdered her himself. He might as well have for all his failures.

He mentally added her name to the list of L.G.’s victims he couldn’t save.

Resisting the urge to punch another hole in the wall, he hung up and dialed another number.

“I’m a bit busy.” The deep, British-accented voice of his twin brother, Bastian, burst out without so much as a hello.

“Where are you?”

“San Francisco, remember? My wife’s attending her Seer’s conference. I called you about it last week, informing you we were going to visit you when it was over and, as I recall, you told me to sod off.”

“Which hotel?”

“The Sir Francis Drake, why?”

“Because,” Darius forced the words out through his tightened jaw, “I’m coming there to throttle your wife.”

Chapter 1

Present Day

The sun crested over the hills, lighting up the sky in a soothing blend of oranges, reds and pinks. The birds trilled their morning song and the air was heavy with the smell of ocean brine.

Darius stood in black, silk boxers with one arm braced against the window frame in his bedroom and tried to appreciate the view from the house he no doubt paid good money for. How much, he didn’t know since his sister-in-law, Allyanora, took it upon herself to purchase the home for him. It was the result of a one-sided conversation on her part about the downside of living out of a suitcase and hotel rooms. That was two years ago.

Instead of appreciating the peaceful panorama from his home nestled amongst the rolling hills of the exclusive enclave of Carmel, California, he only saw the view for what it was, a restrictive cage meant to lull him into a sense of quiet acquiescence. A punishment for one rash decision made over forty years ago.

He turned away from the view to face his master bedroom. Thanks again to Allyanora, the room was furnished with the bare essentials – a bed, a chair and a dresser with matching nightstands, the surfaces of which remained barren of any photos or mementos he might have acquired during his long, long life.

The only item of his was the battered, black leather suitcase on top of the dresser, its lid haphazardly flipped open to reveal an assortment of his clothes, all in black like his perpetual mood.

He strode towards the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jogging shorts, socks and a t-shirt from the suitcase as he passed. He quickly ran a razor over the night’s worth of stubble on his chin and pulled a comb through his dark brown, wavy hair that fell in a tousle over his forehead.

In less than two minutes he was dressed and pulling on his black running shoes that had been neatly placed on the floor next to his California king-sized bed, its comforter thrown back on only one side. He had already complained to Allyanora the bed was too large to be of any convenient use. He invited no one over.

He locked the front door, jogged down the winding driveway, then turned onto the narrow road that led to the summit of the hill on which his estate-like home was situated.

He steadied his breathing and focused his attention on the monotonous labor of his morning ritual. Maybe this day he would manage to exhaust his energy to the point his brain would stop replaying the events that cost him damn near everything.

Why did he have to hijack that plane?

Had he followed protocol and just shadowed L.G. Man, allowing the plane to land in Seattle as scheduled, he might have caught her and her obsidian skull without drawing the undivided attention of the entire nation.

He knew all too well the hazards of being the center of attention. He was a Templar Knight seven hundred years ago during the height of their power when they were forced to hide their existence in order to survive. Since then, they had one rule above all, ‘Drift through the world, causing no ripple, drawing no notice.’

And he had to go and bugger it all up.

The Templar hierarchy was able to step in and cover up the truth about ‘D.B. Cooper,’ but he was benched as punishment for his actions. They told him it was just until the notoriety died down. More than forty years later though, he was still damaged goods in their eyes, volatile and unpredictable.

And with L.G. Man lying low since then, they had no need to put him back in the field.

He ran for two hours, long enough to mentally list every person who had died at L.G. Man’s hand since he joined the cause. The list might have grown by now, he didn’t know. He tried not to dwell, but he had nothing else to occupy his time.

As the cool, crisp air of dawn burned away, he sprinted back up his sloping driveway lined with Cypress trees. He slowed down to a walk as the driveway flared out to his four-car garage, wiped his brow of sweat and peered at his watch. It was just past nine in the morning.

Christ.

He stepped onto the flagstone walkway that curved around the garage to the front door, then stopped short when he spotted a lone, brown cardboard box on the front stoop.

Double Christ.

If he was a normal man, the innocuous box wouldn’t have been cause for concern. As it was, he didn’t get packages, especially delivered to his front door. He had a post office box in town for that.

He surveyed the towering trees, driveway and manicured bushes that surrounded his home. It was no surprise when he found no one lurking.

His heartbeat sped up a notch from the excitement of danger. It was like being out in the field again and he missed the rush.

He crept up to the package and studied it, looking for any trip wires or sensors that would set off something nasty. When he found nothing, he crouched down and with a feather-light touch ran his fingers over the top of the box. His address was printed across it in bold letters, but there was no return address, company logo or even the telltale markings it had been sent through the mail.

He eased the box off the ground. It weighed almost nothing. He raised it to his ear and listened. No ticking, a good, if outdated, marker of a bomb. Still, old habits die hard.

Holding the box in one hand, he pulled out the knife from the sheath always strapped to his ankle and slit the masking tape. The box flaps perked open. He waited for his face to disintegrate from the deployment of some aerosol acid, but again, nothing ominous was triggered.

He peered inside and saw a folded piece of paper. Beneath the paper was a gaudy, silver cuff bracelet with ancient cuneiform writing etched heavily into the flat surface.

He opened the folded piece of paper and froze.

Printed across the stationary was the most recent logo for Insta-Prophecy Hotline. But it wasn’t the logo that caught his attention, it was the neat, cursive handwriting below it.

D.B. Cooper,

The wait is over. Do you still think you have it in you to stop me?

L.G. Man

Bloody hell. He wasn’t sure what made him more livid, the fact that L.G. was back or that she had used Insta-Prophecy Hotline stationary.

He took the box inside and kicked the door shut behind him. With the note still clutched in his hand, he snatched his phone off the kitchen counter and hit the speed dial.

“Insta-Prophecy Hotline warehouse, how may I direct your call?” A pleasant female voice lilted over the phone.

“Are you now storing or have you ever stored an obsidian skull?”

“Excuse me?”

“An obsidian skull, do you have one?”

“I cannot divulge any objects that may pertain to a current or future prophecy.” Her voice took on a guarded edge. “If you have an issue, you can take it up with one of the Seers.”

“I’m with the Templar Knights, you will answer the question.”

“Oh, well, the Knights. That means absolutely nothing.”

“One of your warehouse clerks may already be dead.”

Silence met his words. He wanted to punch something out of sheer frustration. So he did. The drywall crumpled around his fist.

“Hold please.” There was a perceptible click and then canned, crackly and annoying waiting music blasted over the line.

The music cut off and a breathy voice spoke. “Samantha’s dead.”

He didn’t know Samantha, but that didn’t stop her death from weighing down on him as if he had murdered her himself. He might as well have for all his failures.

He mentally added her name to the list of L.G.’s victims he couldn’t save.

Resisting the urge to punch another hole in the wall, he hung up and dialed another number.

“I’m a bit busy.” The deep, British-accented voice of his twin brother, Bastian, burst out without so much as a hello.

“Where are you?”

“San Francisco, remember? My wife’s attending her Seer’s conference. I called you about it last week, informing you we were going to visit you when it was over and, as I recall, you told me to sod off.”

“Which hotel?”

“The Sir Francis Drake, why?”

“Because,” Darius forced the words out through his tightened jaw, “I’m coming there to throttle your wife.”

Recent Releases

Book 2 of the Insta-Prophecy Hotline Series is now available in eBook and Print.

Paperback Available exclusively with:
Amazon
Amazon UK

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

Posts

Edinburgh Castle

A castle built on top of a stone plug of an extinct volcano. A perfect defensive for the home of the Scottish Royal family.

Read More »

D.B. Cooper

The man who hijacked a plane and escaped with a parachute and 200,000 dollars of the FBI’s money… Who was this man and did he live to tell the tale?

Read More »

Recent Releases

Book 2 of the Insta-Prophecy Hotline Series is now available in eBook and Print.

Paperback Available exclusively with:
Amazon
Amazon UK

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

Recent Releases

Edinburgh Castle

A castle built on top of a stone plug of an extinct volcano. A perfect defensive for the home of the Scottish Royal family.

Read More »

D.B. Cooper

The man who hijacked a plane and escaped with a parachute and 200,000 dollars of the FBI’s money… Who was this man and did he live to tell the tale?

Read More »