Young Adult, Paranormal Romance

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Pay it Forward Friday with Author Anthony Renfro and his new book!

A MUST READ!!!

A Zombie Holiday Trilogy

Zombie 1 - High Resolution (1)

A Zombie Thanksgiving

One woman risks life and limb in a Zombie Apocalypse to prepare a grand Thanksgiving feast.

A Zombie Christmas

In a Zombie Apocalypse, three men risk life and limb to bring happiness to surviving kids on Christmas morning.

A Zombie New Year

Separated in a Zombie Apocalypse, Becky and Joe risk life and limb in order to reunite on New Year’s Eve.

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Anthony has this Holiday Rocking set of books all set up for Pre-Order on the EBook side and it is now available in Print to purchase.

wirbel01TODAY ONLY

Two of these stories in it are FREE

September 19, 2014

A Zombie Thanksgiving and A Zombie Christmas 

The link to the trilogy on Amazon is:

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00N3HM6C2  

published on October 10, 2014

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Author Anthony Renfro, Bio

Anthony likes to keep things short and sweet.  

He lives in Apex, North Carolina.

Anthony is a reader, writer, runner, music lover (heavy metal mostly), husband, father, and stay at home dad – one of the toughest jobs anyone could ever do!


Tabbruis the ultimate loner . . .

When I wrote the first book, Charmeine, I wanted to explain how frustrated and isolated Tabbruis was. He was a introvert. I guess we have all felt reclusive in a way. Maybe it gives our psyche time to recharge?

Lots of love, Emily

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287629_213334552052437_100001276809062_616250_6076118_oFor eight centuries, Tabbruis was a private individual. Solitude was best for him as blood raced in his brain when he was around humans. The scent of blood and the rush it gave him to pierce the jugular was exquisite, but it was always with a price of a severe self-loathing and self-hatred. His determination to abstain was strong, and he vowed not to take another human life for the pleasure of their blood. He drank donated blood only when big game was unavailable to hunt.

“Why am I drawn to the United States? Why the East Coast?” he muttered. Tabbruis had just killed a big stag taking all the life from it and sat back looking at the night sky. Like a star crashing into the Earth, he had an empty and lost feeling. He had been isolated for so long by choice; he was unsure what to think of his recent compulsion to venture out to the United States. He looked at the moon and roared a guttural, “Why?” Desperation, which was an old friend, overtook him again and mumbled, “Where else do you want to go?”

2012-dodge-charger-sxt-v6-photo-473495-s-1280x782Feeling unfocused, Tabbruis wandered until it was close to dawn. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. With speed and accuracy, he found his car parked off US Interstate 80 in northwest New Jersey by the exit for Sparta. He looked around to make sure he was not being watched and walked up to his car. He took out of the passenger side a thin black leather jacket which he promptly put on over his blood-stained shirt. He cleaned his hands and face with a wet-nap, then kicked the mud and leaves from his shoes.

Tabbruis slid behind the wheel of his Dodge Charger SRT8 with a 6.4-liter Hemi V-8 engine. His muscle car roared to life with a push of the ignition button. He enjoyed the luxury and power of 465 horses under his hands driving down the open road. This car was a joy to drive, and he freely admitted to being attached to the Charger. He babied and took care of it. In his mind, European sports cars had nothing over his monster Charger with a Hemi.

1174758_625646457467292_272020049_nThousands of years being on Earth with superpowers and skill made him independently wealthy. He had hidden money around the globe in all sorts of currency and commodities. Determined, if he was going to be alone, he would have stability. Usually, Tabbruis denied himself luxuries and roughed it. Unlike power-hungry men of the Earth, he had to stay out of the spotlight. He needed to be far from suspicion and very much under the radar of governments and media.

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I love this video of HEART!

This song haunts me every time I listen to it . . .


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