Books with title The Damned

Antonio would do anything for his beloved fighting partner, Jenn. He protects her, even suppresses his vampire cravings to be with her. Together, they defend humanity against the Cursed Ones. But tensions threaten to fracture their hunting team, and his loyalty — his love — is called into question. Jenn, the newly appointed Hunter, aches for revenge against the Cursed One who converted her sister. And with an even more sinister power on the rise, she must overcome her personal vendettas to lead her team into battle. Antonio and Jenn need each other to survive, but evil lurks at every turn. With humanity's fate hanging in the balance, they must face down the darkness...or die trying. The hunters of Salamanca need a victory. Something that can make everyone feel like there's hope. My fighting partner, Antonio de la Cruz, says that I need to have faith. I wish I could have faith. But in this world, faith — like hope — is in very short supply. —from the diary of Jenn Leitner, discovered in the ashes

Antonio would do anything for his beloved fighting partner, Jenn. He protects her, even suppresses his vampire cravings to be with her. Together, they defend humanity against the Cursed Ones. But tensions threaten to fracture their hunting team, and his loyalty—his love—is called into question.Jenn, the newly appointed Hunter, aches for revenge against the Cursed One who converted her sister. And with an even more sinister power on the rise, she must overcome her personal vendettas to lead her team into battle.Antonio and Jenn need each other to survive, but evil lurks at every turn. With humanity’s fate hanging in the balance, they must face down the darkness...or die trying.The hunters of Salamanca need a victory. Something that can make everyone feel like there’s hope. My fighting partner, Antonio de la Cruz, says that I need to have faith. I wish I could have faith. But in this world, faith—like hope—is in very short supply.—from the diary of Jenn Leitner, discovered in the ashes

Two paranormal investigative teams have one night to rid a haunted mansion of whatever lurks in its halls to claim a $1 million prize. When her psychic friends offer her a chance to join their investigative unit to remove ghosts from a haunted mansion, Jocelyn takes the gig without a second thought. After all, she's got no job, a ton of school debt, and the mortgage is past due, so she really has nothing to lose. After Jocelyn enters the mansion, she discovers why the building has been on the market for over a decade. The lights flicker or go out when a chill hits the air. The in-ground pool smells like decay. And some of the dead are desperate to communicate their secrets, while others are determined to conceal them. Jocelyn soon realizes this is not an ordinary haunting. Something inhuman stalks these corridors. And when people begin dying under mysterious circumstances, she realizes she has a lot more to lose than she thought. Author Note: All of my novels stand-alone, but characters from one book often cross into the others, culminating in a climactic battle of good versus evil in book seven. Listeners will get extra satisfaction from listening to Phase One of my Haunted Universe in the following order: The Presence The Possessed The Damned The Descendants The Malevolent

"And, look here, Fanny," I said, putting a hand upon her shoulder as I crossed the room, "it would be the very thing for you. You're worn out with catering and housekeeping. Mabel is your oldest friend, besides, and you've hardly seen her since he died—" "She's been abroad for a year, Bill, and only just came back," my sister interposed. "She came back rather unexpectedly, though I never thought she would go there to live—" She stopped abruptly. Clearly, she was only speaking half her mind. "Probably," she went on, "Mabel wants to pick up old links again." "Naturally," I put in, "yourself chief among them." The veiled reference to the house I let pass. It involved discussing the dead man for one thing. "I feel I ought to go anyhow," she resumed, "and of course it would be jollier if you came too. You'd get in such a muddle here by yourself, and eat wrong things, and forget to air the rooms, and—oh, everything!" She looked up laughing.

"You shrug your shoulders, but tell me, how much has naturalism done to clear up life's really troublesome mysteries? When an ulcer of the soul—or indeed the most benign little pimple—is to be probed, naturalism can do nothing. 'Appetite and instinct' seem to be its sole motivation and rut and brainstorm its chronic states. The field of naturalism is the region below the umbilicus. Oh, it's a hernia clinic and it offers the soul a truss! "I tell you, Durtal, it's superficial quackery, and that isn't all. This fetid naturalism eulogizes the atrocities of modern life and flatters our positively American ways. It ecstasizes over brute force and apotheosizes the cash register. With amazing humility it defers to the nauseating taste of the mob. It repudiates style, it rejects every ideal, every aspiration towards the supernatural and the beyond. It is so perfectly representative of bourgeois thought that it might be sired by Homais and dammed by Lisa, the butcher girl in Ventre de Paris."

ILLUSTRATED WITH UNIQUE PICTURES"I'm over forty, Frances, and rather set in my ways," I said good-naturedly, ready to yield if she insisted that our going together on the visit involved her happiness. "My work is rather heavy just now too, as you know. The question is, could I work there--with a lot of unassorted people in the house?""Mabel doesn't mention any other people, Bill," was my sister's rejoinder. "I gather she's alone--as well as lonely."By the way she looked sideways out of the window at nothing, it was obvious she was disappointed, but to my surprise she did not urge the point; and as I glanced at Mrs. Franklyn's invitation lying upon her sloping lap, the neat, childish handwriting conjured up a mental picture of the banker's widow, with her timid, insignificant personality, her pale grey eyes and her expression as of a backward child. I thought, too, of the roomy country mansion her late husband had altered to suit his particular needs, and of my visit to it a few years ago when its barren spaciousness suggested a wing of Kensington Museum fitted up temporarily as a place to eat and sleep in. Comparing it mentally with the poky Chelsea flat where I and my sister kept impecunious house, I realized other points as well. Unworthy details flashed across me to entice: the fine library, the organ, the quiet work-room I should have, perfect service, the delicious cup of early tea, and hot baths at any moment of the day--without a geyser!