Revolution: The Juice Chronicles - Book Two
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REVOLUTION: THE JUICE CHRONICLES
Book Two
Control Juice — Control the World. That's Power Worth Dying For.
Dak Kent thought his biggest problems were an annoying mother and a girlfriend who bites. Kya thought her biggest problem was a boyfriend who passed out when she bit him.
Now, they've got a product dubbed Juice and a civil war to keep them busy. It’s a revolution no human should know about. And without Juice, it’s doomed to failure.
Murphy, North Carolina once again becomes the epicenter of terror. As danger closes in and the bodies pile up, Dak and Kya must make a stand. With old friends and new enemies, they must survive shifting alliances and deadly secrets.
Whether you're new to the series or a returning fan, this story stands on its own.
It’s a power struggle over a million human years in the making. But who’s counting?
SAMPLE
Dak's pulse quickened, not just from the approaching danger but from the silent certainty that Kya would do whatever it took to protect him. The feeling should have been humiliating—depending on someone else to fight his battles—but with her, it wasn't. It was simply … right. She was his strength in ways he couldn't fully explain.
Kya didn't react visibly, but he could sense the shift in her energy, the subtle tightening of her grip on his arm. A second later, shadows moved ahead of them—figures emerging from behind parked cars. Five men, maybe more, their postures aggressive, blocking the way out.
One of them, a burly guy with a bat slung over his shoulder, stepped forward.
"Hand over the cash," he growled, his tone dripping with arrogance. His eyes fixed on Dak, ignoring Kya as if she weren't there.
Dak felt his pulse quicken, but not out of fear. He'd seen this kind of situation before. He had the cash, sure, but he wasn't about to roll over. Still, he wasn't stupid. Five men were too many for him to handle alone.
But he wasn't alone.
"You really don't want to do this," Dak said calmly, his voice steady. His hand shifted toward his pocket, more a reflex than anything else, though he knew it wouldn't help him now.
The thug laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "You think she's gonna save you, old man?"
Dak glanced at Kya. Her expression hadn't changed, but there was a glint in her eyes now—a dark, lethal promise. He almost pitied the men who stood in front of them.
"Old man?" Dak raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. "Forty's the new thirty, right?"
But before he could say more, Kya moved. Her grip on his arm loosened, and in an instant, she stepped forward, positioning herself between him and the group of thugs. She was small, but the way she carried herself—controlled, composed, deadly—made the men hesitate.
Dak had seen this side of her before, but it never failed to make him shiver. Kya wasn't just a woman. She was a force of nature. She didn't say a word, but the message was clear: No one touches him.
The thug with the bat sneered, his gaze sliding over Kya as if she were only a piece of furniture. "Step aside, sweetheart. This ain't your fight."
His arrogance oozed from every word, the others chuckling like they'd already won.
Kya's reacted with blistering speed—silent, swift, and deadly. One moment she was beside Dak, the next, her hand had snapped around the thug's wrist, twisting it with a crack that echoed through the alley. His scream was cut short as she drove her elbow into his chest, sending him crumpling like a rag doll.
The other men froze, unsure of what they had just witnessed. Dak stayed back, watching as Kya's eyes darted from one thug to the next. The playful glint in her gaze was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.
"I protect what is mine," Kya said softly, her voice like a razor's edge.
SAMPLE
Twilight arrived, stars pierced the sky, and Dak felt a shiver. His hand instinctively reached for the pendant around his neck, the one Caleb had given him. Beyond jewelry, it represented a tie to the Westlands, a world he could never abandon. Yet it also reminded him of the lurking dangers, hidden from view.
Lost in thought, Dak felt it—an unmistakable presence behind him. His sixth sense—the one he called Trigger—snapped him to attention, like a jolt of electricity up the back of his neck. He turned slowly, heart hammering in his chest, to see the Pyth stalking him.
Typically, humans never knew when they were being hunted. Pyths wiped their memories clean, leaving behind only faint puncture wounds that looked like bug bites. The victims moved on, blissfully unaware of their contribution to the predator's survival.
Typically, that's how it went.
But Dak wasn't typical. For one, he knew hyper-evolved beings existed. And for another, they could neither read his mind nor erase it. Many had tried, and each time, they'd met with frustration. Dak was an anomaly.
Without rising from the bench, he knew the woman approaching him was a threat. He'd seen the predatory gleam in her eyes before.
This wasn't just a human encounter. It was a brutal reality he couldn't escape.
"Are you from around here?" The voice vibrated with overt sensuality. Tall and slender in skin-tight jeans and a skimpy top, she suddenly hovered over him on platform shoes. Jet-black hair framed a potentially cute face hidden beneath layers of makeup
Dak fought to stay calm while his pulse was jumping to conclusions. "Yes. I live nearby."
"Cool," she murmured in a silky voice, and Trigger jolted him like a live power cable when she leaned over and said, "Sit still for a moment."
He pulled back instinctively, his surging pulse rate now flooded with adrenaline—a combination that left him stammering. "What … w-whadaya want?"
"I said sit still!" she repeated more sternly. And then it was her turn to look puzzled. "What's that smell?"
Without warning, a slender hand reached inside his shirt collar, tugging at the talisman he wore, and he huffed at her. "What the hell you doing? Hey … get off me, lady!"
Dak thought he heard a low growl. She straightened and gave him an unfriendly stare. "Where'd you get that thing around your neck?"
"It was a gift."
"Take it off."
"No! It's mine. What do you think you're doing?"
"I can do anything I damn well please, mister. You won't remember it anyway. Take it off!"
"Wait! Let me explain." He knew she could kill him with a single move, and he had to think fast. The talisman was something Caleb had given him. According to him, the concealed herbs had a scent that might slow down an unknowing Pyth.
But he also emphasized there was no guarantee.
"I'm not a normal Pok!" he blurted out, trying to rise from the bench.
Dak's words made her head rock back. When it came forward, her fangs were exposed in a sinister snarl, and she leaned in close enough for him to feel her hot breath
SAMPLE
The leaves rustled again as the figure shifted, trying to get a better angle. Every detail was important—who Dak met with, what he did, where he went. There were patterns to his movements, and the watcher was close to deciphering them. Close to confirming what Sybil had suspected: this fester was more than he appeared.
Failure wasn't an option.
That thought ran through the watcher's mind, a mantra as constant as its heartbeat. They were too close now, too invested to turn back.
Sybil didn't tolerate failure.
The cartel had a reputation, and it was the watcher's job to ensure it stayed intact. They thought of Sybil, her eyes like shards of glass, her voice cold as the grave. Failure definitely wasn't an option.
It was a death sentence.
Kaleena had claimed this fester was involved with Pyths—or somehow connected. The watcher had laughed at first. But the more they observed him, the more they realized the truth behind her allegations.
The watcher's eyes narrowed, following Dak's movements through the window. He stopped, turning to speak to someone out of view.
"Probably that Kya bitch," the watcher mumbled to no one. The thought of her made the rogue tense. She was dangerous, unpredictable. More than once, the watcher had felt her eyes on them, sensing her awareness.
But Kya was a problem for later. Right now, the focus was on the fester.
Camera clicked, capturing Dak's half-shadowed face at the window. The watcher's heart quickened. They needed proof, something concrete to take back to Sybil.
Something that would cement their place in the cartel, secure their future.
Dak turned away, disappearing deeper into the office. The watcher waited, muscles coiled, ready to move. The night was silent, save for the distant crackle of a campfire and the murmur of the cicadas.
They had time.
Because, in the shadows, patience was a weapon.
Failure wasn't an option.
And neither was mercy.