where all mystical creatures reside, lies an orphanage for seemingly cast-off
children, known as the Abbey. Children who are born from two or more factions.
There they learn both who and what they truly are, and what powers they have
lying within. What these children do not know is they were put there for their
own good, for their protection, not because they were unwanted or unloved. In
fact, the very opposite is true. Many would kill to get their hands on these
hard way to what lengths one such being is willing to go.
of the Abbey for as long as she has been alive. She has also never known what she
is, besides being part witch. At the age of twenty-five, she will learn just
what types of blood run through her veins. She will also find out much
more—that she is also the long-lost princess almost no one even knew existed.
child away for her own protection. Before she can tell Jelissa the truth,
Jelissa is kidnapped. All Tialanna’s greatest fears unfold before her very
eyes, and her past comes back to haunt her in more ways than one.
age, Jelissa will learn the hard way that adult life isn’t all it’s cracked up
to be. And Tialanna learns the hard way that if you don’t learn from your past,
it will come back and bite you on the ass.
unmerry misfits are in a race against the clock to rescue Jelissa. Will they
find her in time? And if they do, will they be able to save her from a danger
they hadn’t anticipated: herself?
“What the fuck, D?” was all Genie could think to say as they made their way over towards the motley-looking crew. Right about now royal wasn’t exactly what came to mind when looking at everyone before them. They looked more like a militia crew straight from Hel’s domain. A pale-faced vampire with platinum hair on one side, jet black on the other, one of the decaying ones, which Deelah could tell only by her sensitive sense of smell, stood with his legs in a fighter’s stance by the fireplace in a pair of shit-kicker boots, jeans that hugged his ass just right, and a black tee, arms crossed over his chest, giving off a menacing presence.
A handsome yet meek-looking male witch stood next to him, curly brown hair shaping a deadly beautiful olive-toned face that was chiseled to perfection, giving off a calm they knew to be fake seeing as how Genie had seen him in all his demon glory. On the long half-circular couch they used to sit and gossip on with their lost best friend, sat two identical but completely different-looking women. Both exotically beautiful, seeming to be mirror images but exact opposites at the same time. One with shocking-white hair, the other a blazing red that would put any fire to shame; one’s skin the color of the most succulent caramel, the other a chalkier shade of that same caramel, but just as fine.
Genie and Deelah both instinctively looked away. One had a hulk of a woman at her side, one utterly beautiful, for all her masculinity. Even though her muscles had muscles, she still gave off an air of grace, and also a dark presence that dared them to mess with the woman beside her. In front of the other sat an enormous grey wolf, who quickly shifted into an equally enormous dark-chocolate-colored male who had the two girls almost salivating at the sight of his shirtless body. The only piece of clothing he bothered to flash into was a pair of ragged sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination, his dreads hanging loosely behind his back. This group looked like it was ready to kill, not rule.
“Tell me every damn thing you can think of that happened last night. I want my daughter back, and I want to peel back the skin of whoever took her and flay them alive.” She threw her head back and laughed at the frightened look on their faces. “And I’m the nice one. No telling what the rest will do.” As if to drive the point home, Grimm rumbled a full-on wolf growl from his humanoid throat.
When you become a Mom, you begin to put yourself last, and your
combat boots begin to collect dust. Going to your child’s PTA meetings in full
Gothic, especially industrial, regalia is pretty much frowned upon. Especially
by your own children, and your teens would die of a heart attack. But, one
should not have to completely stop being themselves, uniqueness is greatness. All
of that darkness is put into the words in her books, and designs in her jewelry
sold in her GothicMoms DarkCharms shop.
far more than just that. T. A. Moorman is an artist, a former violinist, a
seamstress, a crafter, a writer, a blogger, a reviewer, a dark confidant and a
darkly dangerous, fiercely protective friend. And currently broke, so go buy
something of hers. Lol.