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A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1

A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1

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A Short Trip To Hell: Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1

5/5 (1 Bewertung)
54 Seiten
53 Minuten
Dec 15, 2014


A collection of never-been-told-before short stories that will give you exclusive insight into some of the more enigmatic characters from the Hellcat Series by revealing the most significant events in their early lives. Delve into the events that shaped these individuals into the characters you know and love.
Be warned these are not cheerful stories; most often strong characters are forged in the flames of fire and torment. Some will have their happy ending, while others never expect redemption.
While you can, of course, read this collection at any point, the author suggests that to get the most out of it, it should be read after Book 4 in the Hellcat Series. She feels that is when the reader will most appreciate and understand the effects these background stories have on the characters and those around them.
She also says Hellions RULE!

Dec 15, 2014

Über den Autor

I have been calling myself a writer since I was 8 yrs old, and wrote my first auto-biography at age 10. As a teenager I was teased about being a witch, because I wore mainly black and walked around with my black cat sitting on my shoulder. I never disagreed too loudly; it was more fun to keep everyone guessing. Born and raised in South Africa I have been living in New Zealand since 2008 with my husband and young son. I have had many jobs over the years, but have finally been able to fulfill my life-long ambition of being an almost full-time writer of Urban Fantasy (housewife, mother and cat slave are my other job titles). I am an avid reader as well as compulsive writer, and love to fill up my Kindle with fantasy, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. I am a passionate animal person, and my life is always filled with animals of all shapes and sizes. I have owned cats, dogs, mice, rabbits, hamsters, guinea pigs, horses, miniature horses, pigs, cows and sheep. I have worked on farms and petting zoos and have handled everything from porcupines and warthogs, to ferrets and hedgehogs. I have hand-raised kittens, lambs and an eagle owl. If I ever give up writing I think I'll study animal behaviour or open my own menagerie.

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A Short Trip To Hell - Sharon Hannaford

A Short Trip to Hell

(Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1)


Sharon Hannaford


A Short Trip to Hell (Hellcat Series Origins Volume 1)

Sharon Hannaford

Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Hannaford

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and occurrences are fictitious and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the copyright holder.

For my readers.



(Early 18th century, Scottish Highlands)

They came at night, as Fergus had known they would. They came in great numbers, as he’d thought they would. McDougal, coward that he was, didn’t come himself, as Fergus had suspected. But they brought one thing he hadn’t counted on; one thing he couldn’t even have imagined. One too fast, too strong, too indestructible. One who bared fangs and laughed darkly. One that looked like a man; of slight build, a little too thin, with a pasty complexion, an untidy beard and long hair. One that spoke like a man, with a supercilious sneer and an accent he’d never heard before. One that even bled like a man when you were fast enough to cut it. But one that wasn’t a man. Not a man at all, but a legend, a folk tale, a monster to scare children into their beds.

A Vampire.

The men, not even McDougal’s clan but hired mercenaries, toyed with him, jeering scornfully as they set upon him all at once. And so he fought in the silver-white light of the full moon, in his courtyard, not prepared to allow their filth to defile his residence. He spun and parried, struck and defended, his great sword glinting as it sliced through the crisp night air, cutting and blocking. Within minutes several of the men lay dead or wounded, the others backing down, beginning to doubt that their pay was worth their lives.

And then the Vampire stepped from the shadows, nonchalantly knocking several of the men aside with a twitch of its arm. It yanked a sword from one of the fallen, and began circling Fergus with knowing eyes and a hideous grin.

Scotsman, you fight well, it said. While its accent was thick its English was perfect. You won’t beat me, but even a small challenge will be a welcome distraction. With a lightning fast feint and a casual flick of the sword it broke through Fergus’s defences and sliced a bloody wound across the Scotsman’s right bicep. Fergus didn’t feel the laceration, only the simmering anger. It beggared belief that McDougal, a man almost family, would send one such as this against him, to exact revenge. The animosity had been simmering for months, and the past few weeks had ignited into outright war over the disputed territory. The tit for tat had escalated until only a fight to the death would satisfy, but McDougal had taken it too far by sending this supernatural assassin instead of coming himself. He was a disgrace to name and to Scotland. The outrage spurred Fergus on.

He’d heard the legends, not even a monster like this could survive without a head. He’d take that head if it was the last thing he did. And so he watched as the creature circled and feinted, taking its measure, looking for weaknesses. And then he truly began to fight, knowing it was to the death, and determined to see McDougal rot in Hell for his transgressions.

It could have been hours later that his knees met the hard-packed ground, the squat buildings of his deserted estate blurring before his eyes as the remaining mercenaries hollered and jeered like cavorting demons. His right arm hung limply at his side, a hundred wounds, some shallow, some deep, scored his body. Blood seeped into his kilt, sticking the coarse fabric to his skin and sweat trickled to join the red rivulets trailing down his face, chest and back. With his head dropping

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