Renee King
Bio
Native Texan, working on the first of many novels:
The Seawolf vol1: Stormborn (YA/Fiction/Fantasy/Adventure)
HOWL - Part 1: Hunter's Moon (YA/Fiction/Horror/Mystery)
Stories (4/0)
HOWL - Hunter's Moon
UNNAMED ROAD NEAR GOLF COURSE FLATWOODS, KENTUCKY - PRESENT DAY Dove sighed as she checked the time on her phone, before turning flipping the keys in the ignition and removing them, casually tossing both objects into the seat beside her. After the conversation with Dr. Thomas, she was pretty damn sure she had a case on her hands, but she wanted to be absolutely sure the girl was worth saving. The recording she’d been sent was...strange. The girl claimed to see what could be described as hellhounds, but what she was seeing was...well...their shadows, was the easiest way to put it. The outlines she described were more akin to what one could see through some blessed eyewear.
By Renee King3 years ago in Fiction
HOWL - Hunter's Moon
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, SYRIA - 2010 It was hot that day. Had been hot yesterday. And it was probably going to be hot tomorrow. That was the nature of things in the middle of the Syrian desert. Haylee didn’t mind, she’d long ago adjusted to the dry climate, the frequent dust storms, and lost hope they’d ever see rain, much less the target they’d been tracking for a little over a year, now. But her superiors would promise her otherwise (both rain and traction), and she knew better than to speak against their word. She was, after all, only a lowly Comm Tech...it simply wasn’t her place to say anything, be it about rain in the desert...or whether or not their target was even still alive.
By Renee King3 years ago in Fiction
Mementos
I found the locket hanging on the neck of a woman long deceased. Though she was nothing more than a collection of bones when I found her, she still wore a faded paisley dress, cinched at her forgotten waist with a simple belt that may or may not have been brown leather at some point. Faint wisps of copper and rust red strands still clung to her dusty skull and her hand clenched tightly in her husband’s. He wasn’t much better off, his remains having long deteriorated to skeletal aspects, though he still wore a faded tweed suit and his dancing loafers. The couple were draped in Death’s wedding veil of cobwebs as they sat haphazardly together in the ruins of what was once their family home.
By Renee King3 years ago in Fiction
