Born with fire-like hands, Thanatos can’t touch anyone without causing immense pain. Loathing himself and his horrid family, he runs away to NYC. The best place to hide is in a sea of strangers, isn’t it?
Lonely and vying for connection, he befriends an ordinary girl. But if he thinks his beastly family will relinquish easily, he’s wrong. Dead wrong. Thanatos must be careful, or the darkness he’s hiding from will find him.
Touch of Darkness is a short-story prequel to Scythe of Darkness. If you like sexy heroes, mythical twists, and throbbing suspense, you’ll love Dawn Husted’s riveting, urban fantasy.
Read Touch of Darkness today for a book you can’t put down!
*A #1 Amazon Kindle Best Seller for Kindle Short Reads Teen & Young Adult
Targeted Age Group:: teen
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I really wanted to write a book that was a twist to the normal paranormal genre. After much thinking, I chose to personify the angel of death and give him attributes that make him hate who he is and where he came from. This short-story is a glimpse into the male character from the novel, giving the reader an inside view into his life prior to finding love.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
After doing some research about the history of the angel of death, or the grim reaper as he's also known, it helped me create a world from which he came from, including his two sisters. But unlike his sisters, he doesn't enjoy being "death."
“MOST PEOPLE TAKE TAXIS,” Molly says as I open the passenger door.
I had parked a couple of blocks away from Bamboo Sushi. Parking closer wasn’t a choice, the spots either filled with cars or signs warning against parking.
Times Square is only three blocks away.
“You don’t like taxis,” I murmur, realizing I know more about my new friend than I thought. I’d only known her for three weeks.
Her eighteen-year-old body is frail, arms too skinny and legs lacking muscle. The breeze whips through her spiky red hair as she steps out of my Impala.
“And neither do you, Thanatos.”
“No, I just like my car better.” Fleeing home, I bought it with cash when I reached New York and had the horrid exterior re-painted.
Molly’s legs lack definition but they don’t wobble as she stands. Dozens of people traipse up and down the sidewalk. The city noise bounces off skyscrapers, trapped between stone buildings blanketed with windows. There’s more air-flow from exhaust fumes than actual oxygen.
I lock my doors.
Thick clouds loom overhead, threatening to burst any moment, but neither of us brought an umbrella. Who cares about a little rain?
A group of girls jogs down the sidewalk, and a shoulder brushes against my back. I flinch, eyeing one who’s wearing short shorts, smiling at me. My shoulders relax. I smile back casually, because that’s what people are supposed to do.
“Oh, bugger off.” Molly rolls her eyes at no girl in particular.
“Gawd, it’s like you’re Clark Kent without glasses.”
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