Runebinder | Alex R. Kahler

Runebinder by Alex R Kahler published 14 November 2017
When magic returned to the world, it could have saved humanity. But greed and thirst for power instead caused mankind’s downfall. Now, once-human monsters called Howls prowl abandoned streets, their hunger guided by corrupt necromancers and the all-powerful Kin. Only Hunters have the power to fight back in the unending war, using the same magic that ended civilization in the first place.
They are losing.
Tenn is a Hunter, resigned to fight even though hope is nearly lost. When he is singled out by a seductive Kin named Tomás and the enigmatic Hunter Jarrett, Tenn realizes he’s become a pawn in a bigger game. One that could turn the tides of war. But if his mutinous magic and wayward heart get in the way, his power might not be used in favor of mankind.
If Tenn fails to play his part, it could cost him his friends, his life…and the entire world.

How was it?

I was looking for something to start the year with and I chose this one. The first thing I immediately liked about the book was the unapologetic way some characters were introduced and treated. It’s not justified, they are who they are, and do what they do, it’s refreshing. What happens to the main characters doesn’t necessarily raise the stakes right away but does give you a healthy fear for the ones you start to like. It also makes the story feel realistic while stirring away from the archetype/ stereotypical characters in a group dynamic.

Tenn, the main protagonist, is a little winny and a bit of a reluctant hero but he never gets annoying. The more time I spent with him the more I liked him. He was smart, daring, and cared for the people around him. Runebinder is entertaining and worth the read, but I doubt that the story will have a lasting impression on me, anyone else feels this way?

Rating: 3 out of 5.

My year in books (2018)

Some of the books I read in 2018

Why am I looking back at my year in books now?

Because when I looked at my year in movies, I was shocked at the number of times I went to the movie theaters last year. It was much lower than previous years and much lower than what I thought. What changed? The number of books I read last year. I read 217 books last year, yup this number is for real, and I feel into a romance novel pit.

I had planned on supporting LGBT+ movies by trying to watch any of them that played in theaters but then I thought why not books. So with a help of a few friends and a serious hit on my wallet I discovered an array of original, fun, and…sexy stories. I have new favorite stories and book series but mostly I found new favorite authors. So on this Valentine’s day I want to thank them for entertaining me. 😘

Creative Writing | The ripper

My piercing screams were resonating in the room. I was disoriented. Pearls of sweat were covering my skin. The slow pain and agony that I was in was like none other. I had never felt so much pain. I was broken. My torturer was ripping through me and he took his sweet time. Blood was pouring from me and there were no drugs to dull out the pain just the strict minimum to keep me alive. My whole body ached, not just my abdomen, where he was doing his bidding, but down to my toes.

My eyes were stinging from the stream of tears that ran down my cheeks and damped my gown. Sometimes I could hardly feel my legs now. It was a murder in the making but I was far from death. I was suffering too much for that.

“Please, please,” I begged but he didn’t stop. The pain was blinding and I felt every bit of it. I could feel my insides being torn apart. The pain came in waves as the ripper hack his way through me. The smell of blood and bowels saturated the spotless room. I could only imagine how it looked. I felt my flesh tear and looked around for a helping hand and there he was, Francis, the man who led me to this inevitable suffering. He was standing there with a beaming grin. He was enjoying all of this. He looked exited, ecstatic even and was capturing every bit of my agony on film. As if my pain and suffering was the peak of his happiness. I never would have thought that such a sweet and loving man would have led me to this ripper. I didn’t understand how such a kind hearted man could take part in such a bloody and painful act.

There were three of them, Francis the procurer, Boutier – as I heard the others call him – the helper and the ripper. François had done is job, he brought me here to the helper within minutes after the ripper had let his need known. Boutier was helping the ripper, showing him what to do, making sure that I didn’t give in to the sweet relief death would give me. Francis was circling them, soaking in Boutier’s teaching.

I remember when I first met Francis, I was visiting Paris when my bag had just been stolen near a metro station and on top of that I had broken a high heel chasing after the thief. I was sitting on a bench my broken heel in one hand and rubbing my sprained ankle with the other. Francis approached me with my bag in his hand. He lived up the street where my bag was snatched from me. He saw everything from his balcony and ran out of his apartment and caught my assailant around the corner. He came with me to the police and gave a detailed description of my assailant and served as a translator.

I spent the next two weeks of my stay in Paris with him. This good looking thirty something Frenchman became my personal tour guide. I quickly fell in love with his piercing grey eyes, his salt and pepper hair and his cute French accent. Little that I know that Francis would be marveling, like a mad man at each of my cries of pain, that he would passively watch the ripper like a proud father.

Another wave of pain shot through me, it was a big one and it took me to a groggy state. My screams stopped, the pain dulled and the room started spinning. I was sleeping away, the damages and the exertion left me raw. I could finally rest in peace. I was longing for this moment I just didn’t expect that it would happen like this. The hollering kept me awake. It helped me to cling to my consciousness. Francis approached me as a pudgy, covered in blood ripper landed on my chest. It was a little boy. He had his father’s grey eyes and his mother’s lips, my lips. He calmed down the minute I took him in my arms. He was resting on my chest grabbing my hospital gown with his little hands. My eight hours of rulling labor were hard but he’s here now, my little ripper named Ryan.