DYLAN J. MORGAN
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Click each book cover to be taken to the Amazon outlet in your region.

OCTOBER RAIN

"a great fast paced science fiction mystery."
~~ David Spell: book reviewer and blogger.




A man was bound to the left-hand support with heavy shackles securing his wrists and ankles. Angry bruises mottled his naked skin, and red needle marks swathed his feeble arms. A metal mask covered his lower face, and tubes extended to what appeared to be oxygen bottles fixed above the pilaster. Flaccid lids hung like leathery curtains over eyeless sockets. The man sniffed the stale air as if my scent, foreign amongst the others in the room, stirred his senses.
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BLOODLINES -- Blood War Trilogy book I

"this is not a paranormal romance, but the raw material for your nightmares."
~~ Carrie Green: horror author of Roses are Red.

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It came from the darkness like a demon rising from hell through the gaps of London’s cobbles. Markus had no time to react. The werewolf issued a deep roar as its palm smashed into his cheek and claws ripped cold flesh from his face.

MONSTERS AND MORTALS -- Blood War Trilogy book II

"a well-woven tale of blood, betrayal, deception, and carnage."
~~ Joe Hart: Amazon best selling author of The Dominion Trilogy



They hunted in pairs yet with a combined effort.

Six vampires pressed down from the north, moving swiftly across the park’s width. Four others waited at the south-western perimeter, ensuring their prey couldn’t escape. Ten vampires tracking two mortals seemed a little overkill, but Markus’s orders had been clear and Anton had never been one to disobey the command of such an honored Elder.

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THE LAST STAND -- Blood War Trilogy book III

"highly recommend this series to lovers of vampires and werewolves"
~~ The Bookie Monster: book review blog
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The nun’s blood tasted good: rich and unpolluted. From that, Trace deduced the slaughtered woman before him wasn’t a hybrid. He lifted his head from her torn corpse—a slab of the woman’s flesh wedged between his teeth—and sniffed the air. The sweet aroma of blood rode the night breeze, telling him his pack had already made a number of kills. A fetid smell tainted the air however, a stench that flushed hatred through his veins. Hybrids remained alive within the monastery walls, and Trace hoped the commanding officer was one of them—he wanted that kill for himself.

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