D.C. Grace's Blog

Out with the old, in with the new, as they say! If you own one of the original t-shirts for The Sacred Oath, you now own a collector's item! That's right! They've been discontinued. But fear not - since the book is being rereleased in May, we have created new shirts to go along with the new look and feel of the book! Follow the link below... merchandise for Season of Destruction coming soon!
http://www.cafepress.com/TheSacredOath

Here's an exciting contest that costs you nothing to enter, and the prize is sweet! Win an advance copy of The Sacred Oath (3rd ed.) AND Season of Destruction! Be the first to own a copy of each before they're out in stores! For full details, visit The Guardians series page on Facebook, or go to http://theguardiansseries.com/2011/03...
Good luck!

For those of you who have read The Sacred Oath, I thought I would post an excerpt from the follow up, Season of Destruction. In honor of the new book's release, and the rerelease of The Sacred Oath in May, here's a taste of what's to come for Angelina and the Guardians...

PROLOGUE
It had taken Breton a couple of months to make the decision. His fascination with the
girl had only increased in measure over that period of time. As he sat at the finely carved
dining table in the London flat, he looked out the window at the dreary, misty morning.
He tapped his pinky ring absently against the fine china tea cup before him, letting his
mind wander back to the story he’d heard his mother tell. She’d told it only once, but her
words were burned on Breton’s mind.
He was usually indifferent to her tales of capture and defeat. After all, that is how he
came to be her son in the first place. But this time, on his visit to the darkest corners of
the earth, he’d been spellbound. She’d talked of a deal struck years ago, between a young
would-be mother and the heavenly bastions. As a result, a child was born and transformed
to resemble the human mate of the woman, but secretly the spawn of the Archangel
Michael. In repayment, the mother knew some day someone’s life, possibly her own,
would be taken in exchange. And so it came that Lilith arrived one night to claim that
life.
Breton recalled the way his mother had smiled wickedly, as she talked of the human
father’s interference. She had only come for the youngest child, the only son of the two
mortals. The man knew nothing of this arrangement his wife had made. And so in his
fight to wrench the boy from Lilith’s clutches, his own life was ended as well. Breton’s
mother had laughed as she recalled the look of shock and dismay on the man’s face when
she told him the truth of his oldest child’s existence, the child he’d always believed to be
his. But in the end, Lilith had been impressed by the man’s fortitude as he stood boldly
before her. He had declared: “She may be of Michael’s blood, but she’s my little girl. And
if it is true what you say, Angel of Death, she will come for you someday. And when she
does, justice will truly be served.”
Breton had played those words over and over in his head for weeks. He tried to
imagine what such a girl must be like. Born a Nephilim, with no idea of her origins, and
the power she would surely one day discover—the power inherited from Michael,
heaven’s highest soldier. Such a girl would have to be beautiful, strong, intelligent, and
inherently good.
Breton understood nothing of good. He’d been born the bastard child of a once
powerful Necromancer, turned prostitute, some two hundred years before. As a young
man, he’d been a thief, a gambler, a lover of many women, had known nothing of his
Necromancer heritage. Until one cold night on the cobblestone streets of jolly old
England. In his drunken stupor, he’d seen—actually seen—Lilith stealing a desperately
sick child away. He had shouted at her to stop, and surprisingly, she had. Upon learning
who she was, he had begged to go with her, begged for eternal life and something,
anything better than his own lot in life. Lilith had been intrigued, and granted his wish.
Little had he known this would make him Lilith’s minion. However, it was still a far cry
better than life before, as far as he was concerned.
Breton had spent the last two hundred years embroiled in even greater deeds of
mayhem than he’d known in his mortal life. Despite his granted immortality, he still
carried his mortal trait of Necromancing, reanimating the dead. And it was indeed, more
powerful than ever. Still, in all this time, Breton had never lost his fascination with those
who’d been born to possess nothing but goodness. He would see them sometimes, doing
someone a good turn, risking their lives even, to help another, and he wondered how that
felt.
And here was this young woman, somewhere in America, who possibly possessed
the epitome of goodness—and it fascinated him. Breton knew, of course, that she would
still have flaws. Her mortal half would surely make it so. But still, the thought of such a
person, being so revered, even by a man learning she was not his own child, must truly
hold a strong ability to enchant. And Breton had known no one else, save for himself,
with such charisma. He had to see her.
Rising from his chair, Breton called to his man servant, who appeared quickly. With
a distracted air, Breton waved his hand at the man.
“I must leave for America right away,” he said. “Book my flight, and make haste.”
The man servant nodded and spun on his heel to leave the room. Breton sat down
across the room on a lavish, overstuffed couch. Grabbing his laptop from the end table, he
grinned devilishly to himself, double-clicking the Internet Explorer icon.
“So,” he said to himself. “How is it the American teenager speaks these days?”D.C. Grace

Hello, book fans! This is my first blog on Good Reads - my first blog ever, actually! I want to get the ball rolling by letting everyone know the exciting events on the horizon. First, The Sacred Oath, book one of The Guardians series, will be rereleased in May of this year! It will be accompanied by the release of book two, Season of Destruction! For those of you who have read The Sacred Oath, may I say welcome back! I have a treat for you at the end of this blog: A sneak peek at the Preface of Season of Destruction! For those newcomers, we're glad to have you! I'll post a sneak peek at The Sacred Oath for you soon - promise!
So to get the ball rolling, here is a look at what lies ahead for Angelina and the Guardians in Season of Destruction:
PROLOGUE
It had taken Breton a couple of months to make the decision. His fascination with the
girl had only increased in measure over that period of time. As he sat at the finely carved
dining table in the London flat, he looked out the window at the dreary, misty morning.
He tapped his pinky ring absently against the fine china tea cup before him, letting his
mind wander back to the story he’d heard his mother tell. She’d told it only once, but her
words were burned on Breton’s mind.
He was usually indifferent to her tales of capture and defeat. After all, that is how he
came to be her son in the first place. But this time, on his visit to the darkest corners of
the earth, he’d been spellbound. She’d talked of a deal struck years ago, between a young
would-be mother and the heavenly bastions. As a result, a child was born and transformed
to resemble the human mate of the woman, but secretly the spawn of the Archangel
Michael. In repayment, the mother knew some day someone’s life, possibly her own,
would be taken in exchange. And so it came that Lilith arrived one night to claim that
life.
Breton recalled the way his mother had smiled wickedly, as she talked of the human
father’s interference. She had only come for the youngest child, the only son of the two
mortals. The man knew nothing of this arrangement his wife had made. And so in his
fight to wrench the boy from Lilith’s clutches, his own life was ended as well. Breton’s
mother had laughed as she recalled the look of shock and dismay on the man’s face when
she told him the truth of his oldest child’s existence, the child he’d always believed to be
his. But in the end, Lilith had been impressed by the man’s fortitude as he stood boldly
before her. He had declared: “She may be of Michael’s blood, but she’s my little girl. And
if it is true what you say, Angel of Death, she will come for you someday. And when she
does, justice will truly be served.”
Breton had played those words over and over in his head for weeks. He tried to
imagine what such a girl must be like. Born a Nephilim, with no idea of her origins, and
the power she would surely one day discover—the power inherited from Michael,
heaven’s highest soldier. Such a girl would have to be beautiful, strong, intelligent, and
inherently good.
Breton understood nothing of good. He’d been born the bastard child of a once
powerful Necromancer, turned prostitute, some two hundred years before. As a young
man, he’d been a thief, a gambler, a lover of many women, had known nothing of his
Necromancer heritage. Until one cold night on the cobblestone streets of jolly old
England. In his drunken stupor, he’d seen—actually seen—Lilith stealing a desperately
sick child away. He had shouted at her to stop, and surprisingly, she had. Upon learning
who she was, he had begged to go with her, begged for eternal life and something,
anything better than his own lot in life. Lilith had been intrigued, and granted his wish.
Little had he known this would make him Lilith’s minion. However, it was still a far cry
better than life before, as far as he was concerned.
Breton had spent the last two hundred years embroiled in even greater deeds of
mayhem than he’d known in his mortal life. Despite his granted immortality, he still
carried his mortal trait of Necromancing, reanimating the dead. And it was indeed, more
powerful than ever. Still, in all this time, Breton had never lost his fascination with those
who’d been born to possess nothing but goodness. He would see them sometimes, doing
someone a good turn, risking their lives even, to help another, and he wondered how that
felt.
And here was this young woman, somewhere in America, who possibly possessed
the epitome of goodness—and it fascinated him. Breton knew, of course, that she would
still have flaws. Her mortal half would surely make it so. But still, the thought of such a
person, being so revered, even by a man learning she was not his own child, must truly
hold a strong ability to enchant. And Breton had known no one else, save for himself,
with such charisma. He had to see her.
Rising from his chair, Breton called to his man servant, who appeared quickly. With
a distracted air, Breton waved his hand at the man.
“I must leave for America right away,” he said. “Book my flight, and make haste.”
The man servant nodded and spun on his heel to leave the room. Breton sat down
across the room on a lavish, overstuffed couch. Grabbing his laptop from the end table, he
grinned devilishly to himself, double-clicking the Internet Explorer icon.
“So,” he said to himself. “How is it the American teenager speaks these days?”