Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(103)
Raging Light
Last Sanctuary: The Complete Series Box Set
No Safe Haven (A post-apocalyptic stand-alone novel): No Safe Haven
Historical Fantasy:
Labyrinth of Shadows
Contemporary YA:
Beneath the Skin
Before You Break
Audiobooks:
Nuclear Dawn series:
Point of Impact
Fear the Fallout
From the Ashes
Into the Fire
Darkest Night
Edge of Collapse series:
Chaos Rising
Edge of Collapse
Edge of Madness
Edge of Darkness
About the Author
I spend my days writing apocalyptic and dystopian fiction novels, exploring all the different ways the world might end.
I love writing stories exploring how ordinary people cope with extraordinary circumstances, especially situations where the normal comforts, conveniences, and rules are stripped away.
My favorite stories to read and write deal with characters struggling with inner demons who learn to face and overcome their fears, launching their transformation into the strong, brave warrior they were meant to become.
Some of my favorite books include The Road, The Passage, Hunger Games, and Ready Player One. My favorite movies are The Lord of the Rings and Gladiator.
Give me a good story in any form and I’m happy.
Oh, and add in a cool fall evening in front of a crackling fire, nestled on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, a book in one hand and a hot mocha latte in the other (or dark chocolate!): that’s my heaven.
I love to hear from my readers! Find my books and chat with me via any of the channels below:
www.KylaStone.com
www.Facebook.com/KylaStoneAuthor
www.Amazon.com/author/KylaStone
Email me at [email protected]
Nuclear Dawn Preview
Dakota Sloane was no stranger to hardship. A born survivor, she’d spent her life waiting for the next calamity, the next disappointment, the next strike from a world intent on breaking her.
But Dakota didn’t break.
She felt close now, though. Her chest tightened as she scanned the street outside the window of the Beer Shack Bar.
A damp rag in one hand, she froze, bent over a yellow table strewn with crumpled napkins and a greasy, half-eaten lunch of twist fries, burgers, and globs of ketchup.
Her gaze locked on a familiar figure striding through the lunchtime crowd strolling along Front Street in Overtown along the outskirts of downtown Miami.
She knew that confident, purposeful walk, the lean, lanky shape of him, sharp as a knife blade. She’d recognize that thin, angular face anywhere, those grim, fevered eyes—the eyes that haunted her nightmares.
He wasn’t supposed to be there.
Dakota didn’t believe in coincidences.
If Maddox Cage was in Miami—in this part of Miami—it was for one reason.
He was here for her. For her and Eden.
She’d made it two years and thirteen days. She wasn’t ready yet, hadn’t saved enough. Six more months and her plan would be in place, ready for execution.
Five grand and her little sister. That was all she needed to start a brand-new life a thousand miles away.
Miami was loud and colorful and always moving, made up of a jumble of Cubans, Haitians, Asians, South Americans, and Anglos, an exuberant smorgasbord of cultures, music, food, and art.
Miami was an easy city to get lost in.
But she hadn’t gotten lost enough.
Sweat prickled along her hairline. She took a step back from the window, hoping the sunlight’s glare on the glass would shield her presence.
Maybe he only had a general idea of their location. If he was still searching, if he didn’t already know exactly where she was…
But maybe he wasn’t coming for her first. The thought sent a cold fission of dread through her gut.
He was going after Eden.
She held her breath until he passed—never turning his head to the left or right, eyes fixed straight ahead as he weaved between the pedestrians thronging the sidewalk.
He always had been single-minded, like a dog with a bone.
She should’ve known he wouldn’t let go. Would never let go.
She leaned over the table to get a better view of the street. Maddox Cage paused at the corner and waved down a taxi. Dakota didn’t move until he slipped inside, shut the door, and the car pulled away from the curb.
“Excuse me, Miss,” said a heavy, middle-aged Indian guy at the next booth.
She didn’t know him. The usual regulars haunted their favorite bar stools, but this close to downtown and Miami International, the bar always served a steady stream of tourists and traveling business types.
People liked the Beer Shack’s funky vibe. The bar was lined with kitschy shiny yellow tables and elephant palms in huge ceramic planters adorned with fairy lights.
Famous locations throughout Miami—South Beach, Freedom Tower, the Coral Castle Museum—were immortalized in bottle cap art hung on the faux brick walls.
The radio was always playing a vibrant mix of rumba, salsa, timba. The mix of authentic Cuban fare and classic American selections was damn good, too.
With his sweating mug of Sam Adams, the man gestured toward the flat-screen against the far wall. He was in his fifties and nearly bald, a neatly combed circle of white hair ringing his shiny brown scalp. “Can you turn that up?”