Salty Dog: Phantom Queen Book 7

Book 7: The Phantom Queen Diaries

by Shayne Silvers

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

Abductions rarely go as planned...but this is just ridiculous.

Torn from the Faeling Games on the beaches of Scotland, Quinn MacKenna suddenly finds herself doggie-paddling in a turbulent sea of blood with no land in sight.

And that's the highlight of her day so far, because her abductors seem perfectly content to simply leave her in this strange Otherworld. Quinn must fight tooth and nail to unearth answers about herself and her place in the worlds of both Man and Fae...even if that means losing herself, first.

Luckily, it seems teeth and nails are all the rage as Quinn teams up with an unlikely guide as a god's consolation prize. Unfortunately, it turns out man's best friend can be one damn salty dog.

Debts come due and masks are torn away, and Quinn learns that nothing and no one is as they seemed. That her entire life has been a setup for a much more nefarious game. And the only way to even have a chance at winning is to fetch those broken remnants of her soul.

It's a dog eat dog world out there...

And this black magic arms dealer likes to bite—when the mood is right.

If you like Jim Butcher, Kevin Hearne, Steve McHugh, Michael Anderle, Ilona Andrews, Patricia Briggs, Shannon Mayer, or K.F. Breene, you won't be able to put down the highly addictive Phantom Queen Diaries or anything else in the Temple Verse.

“Shayne Silvers, Jim Butcher, and Kevin Hearne are easily my favorite Urban Fantasy Authors. In that order.” — Michael Anderle, Amazon Top 25 Bestselling Author

More than 1m copies downloaded and thousands of five-star reviews. Available in digital, print, and audiobook formats.

What Amazon readers are saying:

★★★★★ ‘His foul-mouthed unicorn murders rainbows!'

★★★★★ ‘Move over Dresden!'

★★★★★ ‘The Temple Verse HAS to be picked up by Netflix soon.'

★★★★★ ‘Silvers could write a grocery list on a dirty napkin and make it an international bestseller.'

★★★★★ ‘I went from crying my eyes out to laughing uncontrollably, repeatedly.'

★★★★★ ‘It's like the characters walked off the page, joined me at the bar, and bought me a drink.'

★★★★★ ‘I am astounded as to how the author keeps the story fresh and exciting.'

★★★★★ ‘I usually see plot twists a mile away. Shayne has proven me wrong. Every time.'

★★★★★ ‘Best books I've read in thirty years.'

★★★★★ ‘His intense actions scenes let you see the fangs and claws, hear the gunshots, feel the magic, and smell the fear.'

★★★★★ ‘Everything you thought you knew about vampires, shifters, dragons, wizards, fairies and gods is flat wrong.'

★★★★★ ‘Publishers who didn't snap up this series are missing out on a gold mine.'

Silvers has pleasured over one million readers with the Temple Universe. Now it's your turn for a little pleasuring...

Release date: March 28, 2019

Publisher: Argento Publishing, LLC

Print pages: 270

Sample

Chapter 1

 

When I was a little girl, my aunt used to have to drag me out of bed. I don’t mean that metaphorically, either. She’d holler at me a couple times from the kitchen most mornings before clomping up the stairs, flipping on the lights, snatching me by the ankles, and yanking me out of bed. I’d spit and hiss like a cat, try and kick free, but no matter how hard I fought I’d end up standing in front of the bathroom mirror, glaring at my reflection, bleary-eyed, my red hair a tousled, tangled mess. I wasn’t a morning person, back then.

 

And I sure as hell wasn’t one, now.

 

“Where on God’s green earth are we goin’?” I asked, rubbing my arms to generate heat. My breath fogged up the air, barely visible in the faint light of dawn. On either side loomed Boston’s pitch-black skyline, buildings rising up like dark monoliths against a twilight sky. The streets themselves were largely deserted at this hour, aside from a few clinically insane morning joggers. One bustled past us as I spoke, pumping her arms so fast her neon-colored attire could have given seizures to an epileptic.

 

Scathach, legendary warrior and my sadistic Faerie godmother, admired the industrious woman as she passed, nodding to herself as if it were the most natural thing in the world to wake up at the asscrack of dawn, in the heart of winter, and run. “Come on,” she said, ignoring my question.

 

I followed after the smaller woman, grumbling under my breath. Once, I might have refused to tag along until I knew exactly what Scathach had planned, but lately I’d resolved to have more faith in people and embrace a more positive outlook. Which is perhaps the only reason why, when Scathach woke me an hour before sunrise by banging relentlessly on my door, I’d elected not to shoot her. Although, now that we were wandering the streets of Boston in below-freezing temperatures, I was beginning to regret that decision.

 

Scathach angled us towards the Massachusetts Bay, seemingly unfazed by the frigid weather. Winter had arrived in force this year, leaving the vast majority of Boston’s inhabitants to huddle around their fireplaces and loved ones. Meanwhile here I was, trailing after an immortal, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets and cursing the Fae half of my biology. Sure, I could outrun a car and arm wrestle a gorilla, but apparently my genetics didn’t make me immune to things like hypothermia. Lame. “No, but seriously,” I said, “where are we goin’?”

 

“Cold?”

 

I fought to keep my teeth from chattering as I replied, “Of course.”

 

“Good.”

 

“What?”

 

Scathach paused to look at me, having to crane her neck to fix me with her full glare. Despite the fact that I stood significantly taller than her at six feet even, the woman was remarkably imposing, her features crisp and angular, pale skin a sharp contrast to her hair, which was a shade more orange than my own. She huffed, breath pluming, then continued on. “Remember, this is entirely your fault.”

 

“What’s me fault?” I spluttered, taken aback.

 

She growled under her breath, but never slowed. Guess neither of us were morning people. I sighed but trailed behind as we marched down first one block, then another. At last, Scathach slowed, angling towards Norman B. Leventhal Park, one of those aesthetically pleasing divergences from the hustle and bustle of Boston’s financial district, an area laden with stately banks, sleek condos, and high-rise office buildings. Of course, by this point all the greenery had long since died away, leaving little behind but bare, skeletal branches, wide brick thoroughfares, and a deactivated fountain. Or it would have, if it weren’t for the brief, bright flashes of color peeking between the trees. I frowned and squinted, wondering what could possibly be happening in the middle of the park at this hour.

 

“Jesus, you’re not havin’ us run another half-marathon, are ye?” I asked, glancing down at my attire; I’d dressed in a hurry, throwing on a pair of jeans, fur-lined boots, a long-sleeved thermal, a heavy sweater, and a pea coat.

 

“No.” Scathach resumed her march without further elaboration, casually ignoring the glowing orange hand and any oncoming traffic. I hurried after, cursing as I dodged what few morning commuters there were on the road. By the time I caught up to her, we were in the heart of the park, the trees blocking out what little sky could be seen above. It was somehow even colder here, the breeze more forceful without the windbreaks to shield us. I ducked my head and picked up the pace, letting my long legs cover the short distance between us.

 

“I’m sorry!” I called out. I was forced to jerk to a stop to avoid running into Scathach, who’d halted mid-stride. She stared at me, mouth hanging open. “Whatever it was I did,” I said, panting. “I’m sorry.”

 

Scathach’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying that because you’re cold.”

 

“So?”

 

“Bah.” The legendary warrior waved that away and resumed walking, though she seemed a little less aggravated than she had before, the tension in her shoulders gone. As we neared the spot where I’d seen the flashes of color, she slowed. “Don’t worry. You’ll be warm in a second,” she said.

 

I scoffed, taking in our surroundings, none of which included a fire or, better yet, an Irish coffee. “And how d’ye figure that?”

 

Scathach frowned, turned, and shoved me as hard as she could towards a cluster of trees.

 

Except I didn’t hit them.

 

Instead, I fell, and fell, and kept falling.