Warrior Saints - Creator by Carla Thorne
Series: Stonehaven Academy Saints #1
Publication date: April 17th, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
"Hello. My name is Mary Antonia Hunter, and I picked up the snake."
Strange days have come to the halls of Stonehaven Academy.
From brutal fights in the supernatural realm with a demon-like presence, to battling obstacles in the halls at school, Mary knows she's different.
She just doesn't understand why.
Then it gets even weirder.
As her supernatural battles increase, she is drawn into friendships with others who seem to be as confused about their bizarre abilities and encounters as she is.
Now that Mary, Deacon, Scout, and Ivy have found each other, what is their purpose and why?
And who gifted these newly-named Warriors, and how do tehy manage their powers and maneuver the confusing maze of school, family, romance--and the occasional demonic force?
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Excerpt
Mary
I trembled in my bed.
Or so I thought.
Was it me? No. In my haze of half-sleep, I felt my cat, Paisley, sleeping beside me and breathing with a slight vibration in her chest.
But then I was falling, and fighting as I fell.
Darkness swirled around me and sucked the very breath from my lungs. With no air, I couldn't scream, though I used all my energy to try. Help might come if they come hear me.
But who would come?
No one knew how I fought in my dream-sleep-half-awake state. How I left my body to fight on a supernatural plane where rules of gravity didn't exist--until I was spiraling to my death.
Or suffocating.
Or clawing my way to the surface to breathe.
The darkness crushed my chest and pushed harder still. I scratched where I thought its face would be and peeled its skin until the metallic scent of human blood filled my nostrils. But the thing that smothered me wasn't human, was it?
Logic managed to enter my thoughts, though breaths were hard to come by and oxygen was slow to reach my brain.
I wondered how someone got into my room, through the alarm, without detection. If it were a large human, why not finish me off?
But there was not a real human form. It was more of a presence, a blob, a changing force that covered my nose and mouth when it wanted...
But I fought.
I reached the supernatural space between my bed and the atmosphere, because if I'd learned anything through all those battles, it's that there was no true in-between. I was either anchored and stable on the ground, in my earthly bed, and on my earthly feet--or I was not.
And when I was not, I was fighting for my life.
The other side is merely a door we walk through. The supernatural forces of evil exist just past the ends of our noses, across that invisible threshold, waiting...
I knew as much because that dark force fought with me to drag me into some deep space or pull me to an epic, Biblical-like hell and take my life.
I kicked. I flailed. I pushed imaginary hands from my throat.
The sudden stench of death and decay lingered in the air, followed by the sweet earthy smell of fresh dirt, newly mowed grass, earthworms, and spring rain.
That's when I knew I was in trouble. It meant I'd lost my orientation in the battle. Because everyone knows a dead body stinks of rot as it's put six feet under, but life stands by and waits and watches in the very ground that was disturbed to bury the deceased.
So, I fought harder for the earthly scent, the grounded feeling, and the light of life.
I dismissed the stench of death.
In a final push of life-saving strength, I concentrated on the spiritual realm.
Is this when I die again?
Another voice, not from that creature, answered me. No, this is not when you die.
With rage and determination, I twisted out of its grasp.
My heart raced as my breaths steadied.
I was asleep. I was awake. I honestly didn't know what I was.
What I did know was that I fought for my life on a regular basis. What I didn't know was why.
I gasped and bolted upright in the bed. Paisley stretched and rearranged herself against my cold feet.
I was a survivor.
I stayed alive.
I fought.
Because Shanar was determined to kill me.
I trembled in my bed.
Or so I thought.
Was it me? No. In my haze of half-sleep, I felt my cat, Paisley, sleeping beside me and breathing with a slight vibration in her chest.
But then I was falling, and fighting as I fell.
Darkness swirled around me and sucked the very breath from my lungs. With no air, I couldn't scream, though I used all my energy to try. Help might come if they come hear me.
But who would come?
No one knew how I fought in my dream-sleep-half-awake state. How I left my body to fight on a supernatural plane where rules of gravity didn't exist--until I was spiraling to my death.
Or suffocating.
Or clawing my way to the surface to breathe.
The darkness crushed my chest and pushed harder still. I scratched where I thought its face would be and peeled its skin until the metallic scent of human blood filled my nostrils. But the thing that smothered me wasn't human, was it?
Logic managed to enter my thoughts, though breaths were hard to come by and oxygen was slow to reach my brain.
I wondered how someone got into my room, through the alarm, without detection. If it were a large human, why not finish me off?
But there was not a real human form. It was more of a presence, a blob, a changing force that covered my nose and mouth when it wanted...
But I fought.
I reached the supernatural space between my bed and the atmosphere, because if I'd learned anything through all those battles, it's that there was no true in-between. I was either anchored and stable on the ground, in my earthly bed, and on my earthly feet--or I was not.
And when I was not, I was fighting for my life.
The other side is merely a door we walk through. The supernatural forces of evil exist just past the ends of our noses, across that invisible threshold, waiting...
I knew as much because that dark force fought with me to drag me into some deep space or pull me to an epic, Biblical-like hell and take my life.
I kicked. I flailed. I pushed imaginary hands from my throat.
The sudden stench of death and decay lingered in the air, followed by the sweet earthy smell of fresh dirt, newly mowed grass, earthworms, and spring rain.
That's when I knew I was in trouble. It meant I'd lost my orientation in the battle. Because everyone knows a dead body stinks of rot as it's put six feet under, but life stands by and waits and watches in the very ground that was disturbed to bury the deceased.
So, I fought harder for the earthly scent, the grounded feeling, and the light of life.
I dismissed the stench of death.
In a final push of life-saving strength, I concentrated on the spiritual realm.
Is this when I die again?
Another voice, not from that creature, answered me. No, this is not when you die.
With rage and determination, I twisted out of its grasp.
My heart raced as my breaths steadied.
I was asleep. I was awake. I honestly didn't know what I was.
What I did know was that I fought for my life on a regular basis. What I didn't know was why.
I gasped and bolted upright in the bed. Paisley stretched and rearranged herself against my cold feet.
I was a survivor.
I stayed alive.
I fought.
Because Shanar was determined to kill me.
About the Author:
Carla Thorne is the author of the YA Fantasy/Supernatural mystery series, Warrior Saints.
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