Tag Archives: biblical


An Unholy Alliance

Deb Sanders


Genre: Paranormal Thriller with Romantic Elements

Date of Publication: January 25, 2014



Book Description:

What would you do if the future of mankind depended on whether you lived or died?Reyna Blair has learned two things from life – she can tolerate a lot of pain and wounds aren’t always visible. After a stint in the army, she’s ready to drop off the grid and heal. A job as Peace Officer in the small community of Purgatory, Texas sounds like the perfect solution – until the town is rocked by a gruesome murder.When sexy Texas Ranger, Ty Carter, steps in to help with the investigation, Reyna is both thrilled and annoyed. He’s nice to look at and a definite boost to her sagging ego but his aggressive ambition might push her right out of a job. To make matters worse, she’s being stalked by a mysterious stranger with a sword that can burst into flames on command.Reyna soon learns her problems are just beginning. The stranger is an angel of God . . . an Enforcer . . . sent to eliminate a Nephilim woman that prophecy states will give birth to the Antichrist. Realizing she’s the target, Reyna must flee or be killed. Along the way, she discovers dark secrets which will change her world forever, and force her to choose between life and death.*** This story is based on a biblical theme but includes scenes with graphic violence and strong language.


The stench of decaying flesh filled the air like day old road kill on a hot August night. Reyna Blair folded a handkerchief, covered her nose and choked back the urge to gag.

“How long?”

The medical examiner pushed wire framed glasses further along his nose and looked up. “Hard to say, Officer Blair. This damn heat’s accelerated the breakdown of tissue.”

“Then how ’bout a guess?”

The older man squinted, twisted his mouth to one side, and arched bushy brows over pale blue eyes. “Well, the blowfly larvae are at third instar so I’d say your vic has been dead four, maybe five days. Once I get him to the lab and run some tests, I can give you a better estimate.”

Reyna nodded as her eyes riveted to the gaping wound in the dead man’s chest. Someone split his sternum from throat to abdomen, leaving an open cavity that now hosted an infestation of slithering maggots.

Great. Just fucking great.

Rubbing her temples, Reyna glanced away. The mid-morning sun penetrated her dark blonde hair, raising sweat bubbles on her scalp and provoking an already short temper. She glared at the uniformed Rangers swarming her crime scene like an army of pissed off ants.

Crime scene. The words sounded odd when paired with Purgatory, Texas – a small retirement community cradled in the rolling hills between San Antonio and Austin. So much for living the quiet life of a small town cop.

Reyna had accepted the position of Peace Officer six months ago after an old army buddy told her about the opening. It wasn’t a seamless hire. The mayor didn’t like her and protested publicly when the town council extended an employment contract. Some said he opposed women in law enforcement. Reyna suspected it had more to do with her contempt for his inflated ego.

In spite of Mayor Townsend’s disapproval, and Reyna’s exasperation with the slower moving senior citizens, she’d been thankful for the job. Purgatory was a much needed antidote for her frayed nerves. A place to hide – and heal. A refuge from the murder and mayhem plaguing her adult life. She’d wished for such a place after being discharged from the army.

But as her drill sergeant used to say, “Wish in one hand and shit in the other, soldier. See which one fills up fastest.” Today was a perfect example of what Reyna had come to expect in life – a handful of shit.

“Where’s the law in this town?”

A teasing voice drifted over her shoulder, eliciting a grudging smile from her tightly sealed lips. Ty Carter. Texas Ranger and eye candy extraordinaire. She turned to greet the detective walking toward her. His crisp khaki shirt and creased slacks appeared immune to the heat and humidity. No man should look that good in uniform.

Ty let out a long, low whistle as he stared at the corpse. “What a way to start the day.”

“You talkin’ to him or me?”

He snickered. “From the look of things, I’d say his day ended long before yours started. Who found him?”

She leaned toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. “Agnes Gaines, who graciously served as tour guide for family and friends before deciding to notify me.”

“That explains the golf carts parked on the side of the road. Looks like a damn old folk’s convention.” A lopsided grin lit up his face as he thrust a cup of coffee into her hand. “Iced Mocha Grande. Figured you could use it.”

Cute. Ty Carter was definitely cute. Ever since the tautly muscled detective first sauntered into her office issuing a cocky introduction and a list of services available through the Texas Rangers, she’d joined the ranks of secret . . . and some not so secret . . . admirers. Logic told her he was way too young, or at least he looked it with boyish dimples aligned perfectly on either side of a too kissable mouth.

Five years separated their ages, but Reyna felt decades older. The war had stolen her innocence. War – and working as a beat cop in one of the toughest, most drug infested neighborhoods of Tulsa, Oklahoma. She’d witnessed horrors most people couldn’t imagine and would never want to see – which left Reyna even more confused about why a bunch of retirees would rush to view a decomposing body.

She took one more look at the stiff carcass and turned away. For once, it was a blessing to detach emotionally, even though her army shrink considered it a debilitating personality trait. Admittedly, Reyna had sandbagged the counseling sessions but only because the good doc displayed a superiority complex the size of Antarctica. Reyna had no use for know-it-alls or prima donas, and the psychiatrist demonstrated a proclivity for both.

Scowling with the memory, she lifted the cup of coffee to her lips and took a sip. The lid loosened, flooding the front of her shirt with a dark, icy stain. Reyna gasped, quickly brushed away what she could of the beverage and launched a mortified glance at the bystanders hovering near the yellow crime scene ribbon. God, I hope nobody saw that.

It was the most people gathered in the city park she could recall since starting her job, proof of what she’d suspected all along – Agnes Gaines was a natural instigator. Political lobbyists would pay big bucks for someone with her skills.

Her gaze settled on a tall stranger standing apart from the crowd. Black hair spiked across his forehead as he stared at her with unnerving intensity. Shark eyes. Dead eyes. Reyna pushed her aviator sunglasses further up her nose, camouflaging her scrutiny with the reflective lens.

Whatcha lookin’ at, mister? You know something I don’t? The hair rose on the back of her neck as he continued to watch her. It was as though he could see right through the sunglasses and into her mind.

Massive shoulders filled his long coat, suggesting he wasn’t from the area – or else a complete idiot. What native Texan would wear a heavy duster in the middle of July? He tilted his head to one side, reinforcing her perception he was a telepath.

You’re one strange son of a bitch. The side of her mouth shifted upwards as he flinched. Damn, maybe he really can read my thoughts. The possibility left her more uncomfortable than ever.

Reyna whirled around and nervously kicked up a cloud of dust with the toe of her boot. Instinct told her the guy was involved in John Doe’s murder and her natural senses seldom steered her wrong. So why was she reluctant to ask the big Neanderthal a few questions? She glanced at Ty flirting with a cute reporter from the Austin Statesman.

Because it’s always better to send a Texas Ranger.

“Hey, Carter, I need some help over here.” He looked up, arched a brow as if to say “your timing sucks” and reluctantly joined her. “Can your team handle the crowd interviews?” He nodded slowly. “Good. Be sure to check out the  . . .” She started to say “creep” but stopped so as not to influence the detective’s opinion. “See if the big guy has an alibi.”

“What big guy?” Ty scanned the faces over her shoulder before donning a quizzical frown.

“The man in the long coat.” She kept her voice low before shifting sideways to raise her arm and point. “He’s gone. Damn it! The guy’s involved in John Doe’s murder. I know it.”

Ty’s mouth twitched. “I’d sure like to enroll in the Reyna Blair Course on Intuitive Crime Scene Investigation. It’d make the process go a lot faster. By the way, Officer, how do you suggest I word my report to say I know someone is a suspect without substantial proof?”

“Shut up.” Her insides jumped at his teasing, sending a splash of color across her cheeks. Reyna quickly hid behind the edge of her cup, praying the lid stayed in place this time.

“I’m done.” The medical examiner stood up, grumbling as his stiff limbs popped and cracked. Removing his gloves, he wiped his hands on a small rag before speaking. “It looks like our man was killed somewhere else and dumped here. No blood around the body. No papers. I found bruising on his wrists which indicates he was restrained before death. Terrible way to go.”

Reyna frowned. Doc’s assessment validated her suspicion it was a ritualistic murder. The weirdo in the long coat looked like he belonged to a Satanic cult so it all fit. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate your coming out. Purgatory doesn’t have the equipment or manpower to investigate something like this.”

“No problem. The Texas Rangers are always available for helping out. Do you want to be present for the autopsy?”

Her stomach clenched as Reyna shook her head. “Just fax the report. I’ll call if I have questions.”

He nodded then turned to Ty. “You want to examine the body before we transport?”

“Yeah, Doc. Thanks.”

Reyna clamped her mouth shut as a sharp retort rose to her lips. It was her crime scene, damn it, not Ty Carter’s. Rangers always stuck together. If Purgatory had been better prepared to process the crime scene, she’d never have called him. And after seeing the small platoon he brought as an investigative team, she sure as hell wouldn’t do it again.

While Ty searched the victim’s pockets, Reyna wandered to a nearby hedgerow, kicking under the shrubs with her boot. A faded cigarette package, empty beer container, plastic Wal-Mart bag . . . normal trash.

Something glinted in the grass as she turned away. Removing her sunglasses, Reyna knelt for a closer look, parting the Bermuda grass with the tip of her ballpoint pen. A small iridescent ball lay under a low hanging bough. It was larger than a marble, about two inches in diameter with a glassy appearance. The surface was still shiny so it must not have been there long. Probably a kid’s toy, she mused, scooping the object into an evidence bag. If nothing else, she’d keep it on her desk as a gazing ball.

Reyna shoved the bag into her pocket before turning her attention to the attendants unrolling a body bag. She’d witnessed the same procedure with fallen comrades in Iraq. Biting the inside of her lip to block the memories, Reyna averted her gaze. Friendships were usually short lived during the war, but it didn’t make the final goodbye any easier.

Ty nudged her arm. “That man is staring at you. He doesn’t look very happy.”

She whirled around, immediately recognizing the portly figure of Mayor Townsend. With arms crossed petulantly over a round chest, he glared disapproval. His scowl deepened when she refused to acknowledge his presence by looking away.

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do but Reyna figured the shit was already on the fan. She’d not taken time to consult the town council before requesting a forensic investigation. What was I supposed to do? Sweep the whole thing under a rug and pretend it never happened? It all boiled down to one thing – money. And this investigation would cost the town plenty.

Reyna watched the hearse drive away, wiping a trickle of sweat from her face. The vic didn’t look like a local but it was hard to say. Putrefaction had morphed his features into a grotesque, bloated mask. Hopefully, the autopsy and dental records would produce a name. It was up to her to find a motive.

A sharp pain shot through Reyna’s temple as her vision erupted with bright pinpoints of light. Another migraine. She needed to go . . . now . . . even if it meant leaving Ty in charge.

Pinning a stiff smile to her face, she struggled to conceal her pain. “Let’s finish up and get outta here.”

He nodded. “I’m with you. We’ll meet up later and write the report together.”

“Sure.” Reyna silently vowed to keep Ty Carter away from her notes. Just because he was cute, didn’t mean she trusted him.

Reyna directed her steps toward the parking lot, inwardly groaning as reporters pressed against the yellow ribbon. They jockeyed for position, barking questions as she moved within earshot. This was the part she hated – dealing with the press. It was like running a gauntlet.

Reyna held up a hand, blocking their frantic efforts to elicit information as she pushed through the microphones. “No comment.”

Damn vultures. She clenched her teeth, staring straight ahead while wishing the tables were turned. Would they impose the same pervasive questions if the victim had been a friend or family member?

Reyna hurried to her vehicle, slid across the seat, and slammed the door to silence their shouts. How did they get here so fast? Purgatory was in the middle of nowhere. Surely there was enough crime in their own towns to keep them busy.

“Oh, crap . . .”

She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. If John Doe hailed from someplace other than Purgatory, she would have to coordinate efforts with another police department. She didn’t play well with others. Not even Ty. What he lacked in typical Texas Ranger arrogance, he made up for with ambition – which meant he’d do everything in his power to take over the highly publicized murder investigation.

Well, it’s not going to happen. As soon as Doc sends over the autopsy report, I’ll get rid of the good detective . . . and his damn dimples.

Expelling a pent up breath, Reyna sat back and inserted her key into the ignition. She brought the powerful engine to life and backed out of the parking space, carefully maneuvering the SUV around news vans and satellite trucks.

I can’t go back to town.

Her head reverberated with each heartbeat. The thought of reporters camped outside her office left her nauseated. Turning left at the next corner, Reyna guided the vehicle out of town and away from the madness.

Twenty minutes later, she turned off the main road and followed a gravel lane to a small, wood framed farmhouse. It was a rental but came with ten acres of open pasture and no meddling neighbors. After moving in, Reyna considered adopting a dog but quickly changed her mind. Ownership would require full time care, as well as taking responsibility for another life besides her own. She wasn’t up to that kind of commitment yet.

Pushing through the front door, Reyna charted a course toward the bathroom and extracted an orange prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet. The mirrored door swung shut, leaving her to stare at the hollow-eyed woman in the glass. Her thirtieth birthday was less than two weeks away yet she looked much older. Dark blonde hair dangled at the nape of her neck in an unkempt ponytail.  Deep purple circles rimmed her eyes, the result of too many sleepless nights. Too many nightmares.

She shook a couple of pills into the palm of her hand before tossing them to the back of her mouth. Turning her head sideways under the faucet, she washed them down with a gulp of water.

The new prescription seemed to work better than the last one although oddly, she’d been experiencing stomach aches. Still, it was easier to deal with the cramps than a debilitating migraine.

Reyna walked across the hall to her bedroom and fell across the bed. “Five minutes, that’s all I need,” she muttered aloud. “Just five minutes and I’ll be fine.” Consciousness was already fading by the time she closed her eyes.

It was a fitful sleep, filled with images of menacing forms beckoning to her from the shadows. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? A dim orb floated in her peripheral vision, hovering. Watching. It began to move toward her, casting a warm circle of light that banished the shadows farther into the darkness. She reached out to touch it . . .


Oh, God . . . the voices again. No amount of sleep-aid seemed to get rid of them. She moaned and pulled a pillow over her head.


Her eyes flew open in a rush of awareness. She jumped from the bed, her hand instinctively reaching for the pistol strapped to her side. Withdrawing it from the holster, she pointed it at the figure in the doorway. Ty leaned against the frame, a broad grin creasing his face.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You scared the shit out of me, Carter. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. You didn’t answer your cell phone.”

Guilt washed over her as she rolled her eyes and holstered her weapon. “I’m sorry. I left it in my car.” She frowned. “How do you know where I live?”

“I’m a Texas Ranger. I know a lot of things.”

“Yeah, like how to bullshit.” She forced a half smile to her lips before rubbing her temples.

“Another migraine?”

Reyna nodded before quickly adding, “But the new meds are great.” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Geez! I didn’t mean to sleep so long. What’s happening with the investigation?”

“Not much. You were right. Mrs. Gaines played havoc with the crime scene when she escorted her friends around the body. Too many footprints, cigarette butts . . .  I’m sure most of it will track back to your local residents. You should cite her for interfering with a police investigation so she doesn’t do it again.”

Reyna gave a short laugh. “Again? I hope this is Purgatory’s first and last murder. Besides, Agnes is Mayor Townsend’s sister in law. He’s already looking for a way to get rid of me. I don’t want to escalate his efforts.”

“Point taken.” Ty dug his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “I’d like to bring in a consultant from Austin, Jasper Holliday. He’s retired from the Texas Rangers but has worked some cult cases. I think it’d be worth our while.”

Reyna jutted her chin defensively. “It’s still my investigation, Detective Carter.”

“I know that, Officer Blair.”

Her heart skipped a beat as Ty stepped closer, tilting her chin with one finger. It was odd staring upward into the deep blue pools studying her face. She was tall. But Ty was taller.  “Don’t mock me,” she sputtered uncomfortably.

“I’m not.” Ty looked as if he wanted to add something but after a long few seconds, diverted the conversation to another topic. “Look, I’m already involved in the investigation and my bosses want answers. Why don’t we work on this together and keep everyone happy?”

“No . . .”

“Care to negotiate over lunch?”

Lunch? Reyna steeled herself against the urge to say “yes” as she pushed past him. “Not today, Ty. I need to check in at the office. Maybe another time.”

“I’ll take a rain check on the lunch but it’s in everyone’s best interest if we present a united front during the investigation. At least for now,” he added as she stiffened.

Reyna ushered him out the door with non-committal small talk and waved goodbye from the porch, not relaxing until she saw his vehicle disappear on the main highway. The effect he had on her was unnerving.

She’d lived a celibate existence for over a year, blaming post-traumatic stress disorder from the war for extinguishing her passion. Not that it was a concern. Reyna had never been keen on intimacy, chalking it up to her troubled teens. One night stands were more her thing. No strings. No commitments.

But then the dreams started. Dark, primal images provoking unwanted longings. Monsters . . . demons . . . formless shadows invading her consciousness and whispering wicked promises in her ear.

Slamming the door, Reyna stalked to the hall table and retrieved her keys. Ty Carter was not the answer to her awakening sexuality. She wasn’t even sure she liked him that much. He could be annoying as hell – like a rambunctious puppy.

But cute. Definitely cute.

October & Horror: A Perfect Blend (MARTUK . . . the HOLY Review)

Martuk … the Holy

Book One


Martuk-ebook-cover-Tim-2-TwitterGenre:  Horror, Literary Horror

ISBN:  978-1480035690


Number of pages:  446

Word Count:  89,000

Cover Artist:  Timothy Burch

Amazon    BN   Smashwords


Win 5 e-copies of Martuk . . . the Holy by clicking this link:


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In a crowded Left Bank cafe, an immortal man sits, the phantoms crawling near, the heat of their whispers stinging his cheek …

and Martuk … The Holy begins.

One thousand years before the birth of Christ, a golden god damns Martuk with a kiss. In a land ruled by a wounded king, life everlasting steals his mortality from the bottom of a golden cup. Finally, generations later, a Messiah who has the power to heal breaks under the weight of Martuk’s demons, stumbling to his death defeated by darkness.

From his home in modern Paris, he writes, his memories lush, his words evocative. Revisiting his impossible life, he vents his rage and shares his loneliness. From bloody battles with a demon he cannot escape to the ghost of a beauty who haunts him still, this is his story.

This is Martuk … The Holy.


If you enjoy books with a new twist on a familiar plot similar to Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code”, then you will most certainly love “Martuk . . . the Holy” by Jonathan Winn.  This intense, gripping tale will keep you turning pages, biting fingernails, and re-evaluating your beliefs until the final sentence.

I’m not sure if Winn’s book can be classified into a single genre . . . or even a sub-genre. It’s multi-faceted and that’s part of the appeal. The fact  Martuk . . . the Holy is a debut novel is impressive beyond words.

Martuk is a tormented immortal with roots in ancient history. Before you start thinking Adrian Paul and the TV series, “Highlander”, let me assure the differences are vast. Martuk . . . the Holy is a dark story filled with demons, angels, beastly abominations, horror, sexuality, violence and a provocative biblical twist. All that adds up to a fascinating, complex read that will thrill most readers and upset a few. Be warned . . . it’s not easy reading.

At times, you might feel confused because there’s a lot going on. The story covers past, present, future and can jump scenes before you’re emotionally ready.  Martuk is written in first person, told in flashbacks and flash forwards because he’s a seer. Winn’s ability to transport the reader to various periods in history as well as build a fantastical world filled with breathtaking detailed imagery is astounding. Even scenes with horrifying violence transmit a beauty that both sickens and beguiles.

At this time, Martuk . . . the Holy averages 5 stars on Amazon. Add my 5 stars to that ranking.

Invest your time in this book. Authors like Jonathan Winn are a rare treat.


His scream brought me back.

The blackness lifted again, those Beyond the Veil disappearing again. I was on the stone again. He was straddling me, his hands on my throat. Again.

I opened my eyes.

Above me, he sat, his mouth open in another loud scream, a roar, the pain of his loss obsessing him, driving him to hurt me.

He bent low, his sweaty face inches from mine, the skin flushed red and dripping with sweat. Shaking his head, he caught his breath, his eyes wide with disbelief as I died and came to life again and again, his mind, still blunted and thick with wine, not comprehending the impossible.

He roared again, the spit rolling from his mouth to stain my lips and run down my cheek to tickle my ears.

I tried to move. Tried to breathe. Tried to escape. But it was useless.

I didn’t have the strength.

Yes, my demons had left me. I suffered, losing life, the Veil so near yet so far, tempting me with its peace, its quiet. Abandoned by my strength, the human in me unable to escape this man’s anger and rage, his brutality.

He lifted my head and smacked it against the stone, the thwack rippling over my skull, my eyes closing, the burning pain stealing my breath.

I had endured this once, long ago. So long ago. Trapped and held by cruel hands, my head hitting the stone with a crippling thwack while the stars twinkled above.

He tightened his grip around my throat.

Where were you? I silently asked. Oh my God, my demons, where were you?

My chest was on fire, my lungs burning, every bone hurting, every inch of skin screaming for release, for relief, for surrender.

The darkness was coming again.

Help me.

There they stood, Those Beyond the Veil, their faces pressed close, watching me.

Help me, please.

They stood near suddenly, watching. Impassive. Unresponsive.

Having slipped into the Fog to move among them once again, I could see their unfinished forms wandering, their shapes shifting like a delicate fog. There were noses and chins, perhaps eyes, arms and legs and torsos and breasts. There were children and parents. Parents of parents. Some watched closely, the fragile gaze curious and afraid. Others stood in the distance, lost in the dreams of a life once lived. I didn’t know.

But they were shapes. Listless, ineffective shapes.

I thought of the altar lifetimes ago. How they had abandoned me then. The poisoned brew at my lips. The smell of blood. The smell of fear. The warmth on the soles of my feet as the darkness wound its way up my shins, my thighs, whipped itself around my waist and crawled up my chest as I drank and drank and drank.

I gasped, the air filling my lungs as I came back to this world. The world of stone and roaring fires, smoldering bodies, and an angry beast driven by anguish choking the life from me. This horrible reality ripping me from the Fog once again.

He was resting, this beast. Still straddling me, he fell forward, leaning forward, his weight crushing as, his chest on mine, he rested his forehead on the stone as he caught his breath.

He would stir again. I knew this. And the frustrating cycle would begin again. I knew this, too. I would suffer, my chest exploding, tears washing my cheeks, his drool slipping from his lips to slide down my chin, the pain of death endured yet again.

I need my demons. The restless, useless Dead couldn’t help me. I need my demons. I needed my strength. My power. To live, to rise up and seek revenge. To slaughter this man who had killed my angel. Who had brutalized her, leaving her for dead on the side of the road, in the dirt, the leaves, the grass and the trees. I needed that impervious strength I possessed lifetimes ago.

To hurt him the way he had hurt her, I needed my demons.

On the verge of exhaustion, he lifted himself, his eyes heavy, his skin sweating in the glow of the fire. He still sat on me, breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling, his shoulders slack.

Glancing to the side, his eyes focused and saw his dead daughter charred black, her flesh red and raw. And then his wife in the water, her flesh scorched, her skull red and raw, the fine dark hair burned away. His sons, his dead sons, laying peacefully as if in sleep, their heads awkwardly twisted.

The grief returned.

His face crumpled in tears, his chin trembling, the sobs struggling to escape as a shudder of pain rippled through his shoulders. He swallowed, paused, shaking the emotion away. He then turned to me, his eyes no longer heavy, his breath no longer ragged, his chin no longer trembling, his shoulders strong and straight.

He bent low, his lips almost on mine, and roared, his open mouth easily covering my face from the dip in my chin to the top of my nose. And then he sat up, his hands around my neck.

Lifting my head, he brought me close, looking at me for a moment, watching me. Wondering, perhaps, how I, this weak nothing of a boy, of a young man, a beardless, smooth, skinny young man, could possibly have killed so many so quickly.

The tears threatened again. He swallowed before snarling, gritting his teeth. And with my face still so close to his, he screamed again.

Yes …

Just as my own tears came again, just as I lost all hope of this nightmare ending, just as I surrendered to the darkness swallowing me once more, the peace of the Veil taunting me with a quiet I can never claim as my own, they came.

Look …

The Whispers inched near, the heated breath slipping over my skin, the darkness, their darkness, their blessed darkness, the effective, terrifying darkness of my demons, clouding the air as his thumbs tightened around my throat.

We are here.


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Screenwriter, playwright, actor, and now award-winning author, Jonathan Winn was born in Seattle, WA, and currently divides his time between the East and West coasts.  Martuk … The Holy is his first book.

Blog – http://martuktheholy.com

Twitter –  http://twitter.com/Jonathan_Winn

Facebook – http://facebook.com/MartukTheHoly