The Dark Storm (A Dark Storm Novel Series #1)

The Dark Storm (A Dark Storm Novel Series #1)

3.6 14
by Kris Greene

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Gabriel is a New York City college kid who loves to bury his nose in books, looking up stories of long-dead cultures, lost languages, and forgotten legends. He never imagined one of those legends would come looking for him—until a tough-talking girl named De Mona Sanchez thrusts an ancient weapon

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Gabriel is a New York City college kid who loves to bury his nose in books, looking up stories of long-dead cultures, lost languages, and forgotten legends. He never imagined one of those legends would come looking for him—until a tough-talking girl named De Mona Sanchez thrusts an ancient weapon into his hands...and recruits Gabriel in a dark epic war he was born to fight.



Banished centuries ago by warrior knights, a demonic army is storming through a dimensional rift into our world. Stalkers are prowling the streets. Corpses are rising up to fight. And Gabriel—a descendant of one of the original warriors—has no choice but to drop his textbooks and start kicking demon butt alongside his new friend De Mona…who has a few secrets of her own. If Gabriel fails, humanity loses. If war is hell, this is hell on earth…

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Editorial Reviews

Library Journal
New York City is under siege—demons are taking over, causing mayhem and destruction. When mild-mannered college student Gabriel Redfeather comes into possession of an ancient artifact, rumored to be a biblical weapon of great power, his life is changed. Gabriel teams up with warrior woman De Mona Sanchez and mysterious ex-cop Rouge to help clean up the streets. VERDICT In this gritty and dark debut, Gabriel's Clark Kent-ish story line is intriguing, but it's obscured by too many characters and a muddy, difficult-to-follow plot—both of which would have been better suited to a lengthier novel. If future titles in this series are more focused, this could develop into an interesting story.
From the Publisher
"Breathtaking paranormal adventure with many interesting conflicts and characters." —Fresh Fiction


"Greene's a fantastical tale is a book perfect for men and women alike." —Romantic Times

Product Details

St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
Dark Storm Series , #1
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Run, the thought exploded so loud in her head that her temples ached. She turned to shout a warning to her cousin Michal, but his rib bones had pierced the soft flesh of his stomach. The second shot separated his shoulder from his collar bone. Michel fell over, lifeless eyes staring up at her cousin. Her heart cried for him to get up, but she knew that he was too weak in the blood to heal the wound.

The sirens in the distance snapped her head around. She could see the flashing lights in the distance, but there would be no salvation from the law. Another bullet shattered the window of the car she was standing next to, causing her to drop. Her back rested against the car with her package hugged tightly to her breasts. She could not see her cousin’s murderer, but she knew he was out there and she would be next on his list unless she made her move.

De Mona darted across the street, holding the hemp bound package close. The sharp scent of fresh cloves singed her nose, but it was necessary evil. When she hit the street she was blinded by lights as a speeding car plowed towards her. The driver slammed on his breaks but couldn’t stop in time. The impact sent De Mona flying through the air and skidding down the street, before she finally slammed into the fender of a parked car.

“Dear God!” the driver shouted, jumping from the late model Ford. When he took in the prone form of the girl he prayed that she was still alive, but at the speed he’d been going when he hit her it didn’t look good. In the distance, police sirens sounded and they were getting closer by the minute. The man had barely checked her for a pulse when the girl’s eyes popped open. In swift motion she was back on her feet and scanning the block for danger. She didn’t see her cousin’s murderer, but she knew he was out there waiting for her. Picking up the burlap sack she began backing away cautiously.

“Jesus, are you okay? I didn’t even see you,” the driver approached her. “Listen,” he looked off and saw the flashing police lights in the distance, “help should be here any minute. If you’re okay I’m just gonna…” that was as far as he got before a bullet struck him in the right cheek and sprayed De Mona with his blood. Eerily, the darkness rolled forward and swallowed the driver’s body.

A tendril of darkness latched on to De Mona’s ankle, spilling her to the ground. The more she fought, the tighter the darkness wound itself around her legs. The darkness encircled her waist and continued upward, but when it reached the parcel she clutched to her chest it recoiled as if in pain. Using all her strength De Mona was able to kick free of her shadowy band and scramble clumsily to her feet. The darkness made a second attempt, but De Mona was already across the street. When she reached the corner she took a minute to look over her shoulder which proved to be a bad move. The darkness itself opened up, spilling three men out. The one bringing up the rear was the shooter. His face and uniform were splotched with blood, but he didn’t seem to notice as he tried to draw a bead on her with his service revolver. She was too quick for him to catch her in a flat out foot race, but the two leading the charge were closing the distance at an alarming rate. They looked like dime store versions of Siegfried and Roy, but the patches of rotted flesh on their faces revealed the truth of what they were…Stalkers.

De Mona willed every ounce of her strength to her legs and got out ahead of her pursuers. She had them by about a half block and was gaining distance, but eventually she would tire and they wouldn’t and then it would be on unless she came up with a plan. As if in answer to her prayers she spotted an alley a few yards down. Increasing her speed she grabbed a street light, doing a one-eighty, and propelled her self into the alley. When she crossed the threshold of cool darkness she realized it had been a mistake.

The street light on the curb still shone, but its beam stopped in a perfect line at the mouth of the alley. It was as if something had come through and swallowed the light. It was a set up and she ran right into it.

“Don’t look so grim, child,” the darkness directly in front of her spoke. From it stepped a man dressed in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Along his arms De Mona could see tattoos that she knew to be symbols of dark magic. Though his face was pleasant, the unnatural shine to his eyes said trouble. “Give it to me, and I’ll keep you as my whore instead of letting Titus have his way with you.”

“Stay the hell away from me,” De Mona growled, backing slowly the way she came. She thought about boating, but that thought died when the three men who had been on her heels blocked the mouth of the alley. She was caught between the frying pan and the fire.

“You know what I’ve come for,” his eyes flicked and the darkness seemed to fill the whites. De Mona felt the hairs on her skin begin to stand and knew she had her hands full with that one.

Where demons were hell’s minions, the Stalkers were the foot soldiers. They were lesser demons and poltergeist that could inhabit the bodies of the dead, provided that it had been murdered or died tragically. Though they often maintained their supernatural strength, their full power couldn’t cross the void. They amounted to little more than half witted slaves, serving Belthon for the promise of chaos.

The more powerful demons were another case. Because their powers were stronger they were able to not only bring more of their full powers across, but also take living hosts. There had been more than one story where a demon had made promises to the weak or sickly, neglecting to mention that the host’s soul would have to take the demon’s place in hell until the body was returned or destroyed. The man in the black t-shirt appeared to be such a case.

“There is no escape,” he said to her, smiling to reveal jagged fangs behind blackened gums. “Alive or dead, you will give it up.”

De Mona tried to control her fear, but found it difficult. Already her fingers were involuntarily curling into hardened spears. Her control was slipping and she couldn’t afford that. Her mission was too important to compromise, but they were leaving her little choice. Slowly she drew her hunting knife from the pocket of her fatigue pants. Looking from the man in the black t-shirt to the Stalkers she whispered, “Let’s do this.”

Following her challenge De Mona heard two very disturbing sounds. The first was a battle cry as a Stalker charged her and the second was a gunshot from the police officer. The Stalker was quick, but so was she. Dropping the sack to the ground, she caught the Stalker by the throat with one hand and let him taste her blade with the other. She had already stabbed him three times before he realized he was getting the short end. She delivered a back hand that snapped the Stalker’s neck back, exposing the soft flesh, which she slashed open with her blade. Without missing a beat she drove the knife into his head and kicked the body away from her.

The second Stalker was on her out of nowhere. She caught it in mid air, by the wrists, but it didn’t stop the thing from trying to clamp its razor-like teeth on her cheek. De Mona wasn’t worried about the bite turning her, but her body would still have to recover from the infection. It garbled something in a tongue she didn’t care to decipher just before yanking one of its arms free and trying to tear her head off. De Mona countered with a straight palm to the chest and released the breath she had been holding. She felt its ribs cave in first then the soft thump as its heart exploded. Though its heart no longer beat, it was the foundation of the demon’s hold on the body, so it served just as well in dispatching them as decapitation.

Duck, she heard in her head just as she spun out of the way of a wayward bullet. “I’m gonna off you, bitch, and write my own ticket!” the crazed cop screamed, firing.

De Mona went in low, with her left arm stretched outward. She connected with the officer’s mid section, doubling him over. She came up behind him and grabbed the man by the back of the neck, shaking him like a rag-doll. Unlike the Stalkers, the mortal wasn’t as sturdy.

“You picked the wrong demon to worship,” she breathed in his face. The officer trembled as he thought he smelt faint traces of sulfur. Yanking his head viciously to one side she snapped his neck and let him crumble to the ground.

With the alley mouth now being clear her mind screamed for her to flee, but the blood lust had her and it needed a new target. She pivoted, snarling like an animal, and turned her rage to the man in the black t-shirt, but to her surprise he was charging her with a very large knife.

“You should’ve just given it over, bitch,” he grinned as he drove the blade into her stomach. The smiled melted from his face as the weapon snapped in half on impact.

The man’s terrified stare went from the broken point on the ground to the face of the girl he had been hunting. His veil of darkness still blanketed the alley, but there was a glint of moonlight in her eyes that shouldn’t have been. It was then that he saw what he had been too arrogant to see earlier.

“You ain’t the only game in town,” She said in a voice that sounded like she had too many teeth in her mouth. “Now,” she moved slowly towards him, with her body seeming to bulk up as she went. “Let’s talk about that whore’s position you offered me earlier.”


Five minutes later De Mona came out of the alley at the end she hadn’t been able to see due to the man’s spell. Her hands were stained with something too black to be considered blood, which soaked into the sack. The item inside momentarily pulsed and then went still again. She shook off the haze that was trying to settle over her brain and cursed her parcel. In the short time she had been in possession of the thing it had cost her everything and everyone she’d known. Redfeather had been the name on her dying father’s lips and she intended to find him at all costs.


The pain in Sam’s gut was so intense that he found it hard to walk straight. His blonde Mohawk was dingy and wilted and there was no luster left in his normally crisp blue eyes. The seemingly endless river of snot running from his nose had begun to cake around his nostrils and just above his top lip, but appearances were the least of his concerns at that moment. If he didn’t get a fix soon he doubted that he’d make it through the night.

Sam had stopped at the mouth of an alley to catch his breath when he heard what sounded like a faint moaning. He tried to peek into the alley, but the darkness was too thick. He was about to keep walking when he heard the voice.

“Help,” it called weakly.

“Who’s there?” Sam called back.

“Please, help me.”

Sam leaned further into the alley to see if he could get a better look and something grabbed hold of his neck. He grabbed at it, but his hands passed right through the tendril of darkness. The grip was so intense that he couldn’t neither scream nor move. All he could do was whimper as the darkness invaded his body.

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