Wednesday 29 May 2024

History of the Dragans #1: Rise of the Dragans

Mark your calendars for Friday, May 31st, 2024 because that's when I'm releasing the first book in the 'History of the Dragans' series. It's part of the ongoing 'Vampire Formula' series.

The first book is called 'The Rise of the Dragans'.

This is meant to be read after you finish the four main books in the 'Vampire Formula' series.
'The Birth of Vengeance', 'The Truth of Vengeance', 'The Enemies of Vengeance', 'The War of Vengeance'.

Thorn writes the history of the Dragans to explain herself to V and leave a record for future generations. Check out the tale of the original four Dragans: Raven, Darius, Qiulong, and Giovanni.

The book is a series of short stories depicting key scenes in their evolution.

Each month, we have the next part of the trilogy, 'History of the Dragans'.
The Fall of the Dragans

Don't read this book before the 'Vampire Formula' series or you'll ruin the surprise. It's a prequel that fills in the gaps. It picks up where book four, 'The War of Vengeance', left off.

Sample: Prologue

Thorn sat at a computer in the basement of her house. Her raven tousled hair tied back to keep it off her face while she typed. On her nose, she had perched a pair of glasses with no lenses. Somehow, wearing the frames set her in the mood, like putting on the alter ego of a writer.

She kept cool by wearing a white vest top and shorts. Normally, she never wore white against her snowy pale skin, as it made her looked washed out. But now her skin had some colour, it created a contrast, which she liked.

The basement was bare brick walls, exposed wooden beam ceilings and an array of metal pipes for water and heating. She pretended it was on purpose, post-urban chic. The foundations of the urban setting on full display. The truth of the house exposed; just as she exposed the truth of her life onto paper. It seemed poetic to write in such surroundings. A constant reminder of her literary mission to expose all.

Really, she had wanted the basement fully decorated, the walls and ceilings plastered and painted, but there hadn’t been time. She needed the shelter it offered for visitors on the sunniest days.

However, they had time to put down a thick grey carpet to allow Rose to crawl upon. A double bed in the centre of the room, TV on the cupboards, fridge to the side, a small en-suite toilet, and her computer desk on wheels. The small windows had been painted black to block out the sun, and bare wooden stairs led up to the kitchen. The room unheated to suit a dragan’s high body heat. A perfect hide away from the sunlight and a quiet space to work.

She pressed save on the document file and took a sip of red wine. She enjoyed writing about her history. It was therapy to get it all down and recorded somewhere. The act of retelling her history had helped make sense of it all. Even writing her mistakes felt good. It was a purge of her sins and part of her redemption. A chance to tell it in her own words without interference. To recognise her past mistakes and moments of glory.

Hopefully, others would understand upon reading it. Why she did; what she did. The full history and explanation of her actions. There was too much to retell verbally, as too much that could be missed. By setting it to paper, she ensured nothing was left out, and the reader wouldn’t miss anything when they read the words and brought them to life in their imagination.

In her extended lifetime, she had met many writers. Most notably, Bram Stoker. She wasn’t claiming any inspiration over their writing. She had gone to visit them after they had written their famous stories. Upon her visit, she gave them a little surprise of a Dragan's features and told them of Dragans, vampires, and werewolves, but wiped their memory afterwards. She had tried to learn from them, as she always had it in mind to scribe her own story one day. She knew her story would not meet the same standard, but she hoped at least to educate.

The door at the top of the basement creaked open and feet stamped down the wooden stairs. Thorn span around in her chair and stood up to greet her visitors. “Hi, Annabel. Hi, Rose.”

Annabel stepped off the bottom step and around the concealing wall. She held a baby dressed in a white grow in her arms. The baby reached out to Thorn and struggled to be set free. Annabel put the Rose on the floor, and she crawled across the grey carpet, past the double bed and up to Thorn.

“Sorry, I know you were working, but she was looking for you,” Annabel said and pulled her hoodie tight, flicking the hood over her long blonde hair, tucking her hair inside, and then wrapped her arms around herself.

“I know. I sensed her thoughts and heard the basement door rattling.”

“She knew where you were. I took her away and tried to distract her, but she kept crawling back to the door, trying to open it.”

Thorn leaned down and scooped the baby into her arms. “It’s fine. I have just finished the first part.”

“Excellent. I would love to read it.”

“Of course, I need someone to check it. And it would be useful for you to understand our history while helping us settle in America.”

“Send it over and I will read it. I would love to understand more about the Dragans,” Annabel said, and stroked Rose's hair while the baby pulled at Thorn’s vest top straps.

“That is a good idea. It will be useful for you to understand our history and therefore our future. This first part covers the creation and rise of the Dragans. My parents used to tell me their history as a bed-time story. I want it documented for Rose,” Thorn said, and looked down at her baby. Rose looked up with her ice-blue eyes, and Thorn stroked her thin curly raven hair. Rose smiled, her eyes crinkling in delight. Thorn saw V’s face, Rose’s father, in that smile and red tears welled up.

“Do you still want a copy sent to V?”

Thorn nodded, not taking her eyes off her baby and the smile of V beaming back. “He needs to understand his history. I planned to tell him everything after the battle and then at the Chateau after his escape from MI5, but it wasn’t meant to be. I must find another way now in America, but I have to keep our location a secret. We can’t afford direct contact with him else MI5 will find out I am still alive. I will have to settle for sending him these histories instead.”

“No problem. We will deliver these stories into his hands. Then he can understand what and why it happened. Why you had to lie to him about who you really were and your true mission. I am sure he will come back after reading them and seeing the bigger picture.”

“Maybe,” she said, smiled and wiped her red tears away.

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