The Shape of Things to Come

Description

For countless ages a war has raged on, a war most could not see. Two races have battled for their very existences. In the year 2015, the world is changed. World War III is long over, but its effects remain. Humans have nearly destroyed the earth; global warming has reached a critical point. The sea is rising, and the land is shrinking. Those left of the human race now live side by side with beings long thought to be nonexistent. Vampires control the cities, ruling regions from one point: Washington, DC. Shapeshifters inhabit the wilds. Soon, their war will spill into the rest of the world.

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EXCERPT:

“These are trying times.”

Devon Hart managed to suppress a yawn and flashed the audience a calculated smile. He wasn’t here by choice, but his position decreed that he attend the agonizing meetings of the Council. Devon caught his reflection in the gleam of the polished table. The pale blue of his irises reflected the smile on his lips — a smile he certainly didn’t feel. Some say the eyes give away one’s emotions; Devon had learned a long time ago to hide his successfully.

“Prince Hart, what do you propose?”

Devon shook his head as the question brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He looked from one stoic face to another and realized he had no idea where the discussion had ended up. His silent curse gained him a knowing, annoyed glance from his chief vicar, Jareth Benedict. Devon swallowed a chuckle when he noticed the beads of sweat glistening around the top of the priest’s collar.

“The Council Elders are not ones to be trifled with.”

Devon responded to the priest’s silent warning with a broad smile. The priest quickly turned away. Devon sat up straight in his chair and brought his hands up to his face as if in thought or prayer.

“Perhaps the lords should be allowed to deal with these matters directly as they pertain to their own areas of rule.”

“With all due respect, my Prince, to leave the lords with such powers would result in nothing but more war.”

“And your point is, General?” Devon studied the old man’s face for signs of possible rebellion. A single flicker of anger in the general’s dark eyes told Devon enough. He leaned forward and cast a warning glare on the general.

“Imagine, if you will, General Sterling: a wild animal held in a cage with barely enough room to turn and piss.” An audible groan from the vicinity of Vicar Benedict was heard and Devon continued. “Over time the animal will grow restless and weary. Fear merges with anger, anger leads to rebellion.” He stood, walked over to the general’s seat, and spun it around. With a hand on each arm, Devon leaned close to the general’s face.

“If another law is imposed on the lords and the people, if they are not given the freedom to govern themselves, they will take that freedom — by force, if necessary. Do you want that on your hands, General Sterling?” Devon growled. “Or would you lead it yourself?”