The werewolf, most believe to be folklore or legend. For centuries, the existence of werewolves were kept secret and guarded by a warrior class of lycan descended from a fierce ancient line known as the Guardians. These Guardians, sworn to uphold the peace between the wolf and humans. But, some werewolves not satisfied with living in secrecy start lashing out, hunting and killing all with the ancient gene to push humanity into extinction.
Now, only a few descendants are left with the cursed bloodline, some don’t even know they have…
"I read the book one Saturday afternoon in about 3 1/2 hours straight. While I wanted to take a break, I found myself simply unable to put it down until reaching the end. ALL GOOD! Touché. Excellent story. Excellent plot…” Amazon Review July 4, 2017
"There are a lot of great action sequences throughout the book, and each chapter builds upon the last. The author does a great job with setting the scene and describing the characters in the story, it was like watching a movie in my head…” Amazon Review June 27, 2017
"Walking closer, I noticed her full jet black wavy hair, melding into her shoulders. Her seductive deep blue eyes, wide then fading into a soft point, reminiscent of a wolf looking through you rather than at you. There was the faint edge of a tattoo on her neck just under her left ear, partially covered by the black leather jacket she wore, and a nose ring that I hadn’t noticed before. I never found tattoos or piercings attractive at all, well, really never. It was more of a turn off, but on her, it worked.
The closer I got to her, I could smell this aroma...an aura , so pleasing it took me aback for a few seconds as I enjoyed the feeling of this scent. I’d never experienced that before. Emotions of intense eroticism with shear hormonal lust mixing to confuse me..."
"I had always been fascinated with how pain or pleasure worked. Why and how have humans determined the feelings of one over the other. Pain is bad or it hurts and was something to avoid. Pleasure is good and something sought out. How had humans evolved to distinguished either. Aristotle stated, “We may lay it down that Pleasure is a movement, a movement by which the soul as a whole is consciously brought into its normal state of being; and that Pain is the opposite."
He believed pain and pleasure were a push-pull concept with one opposing the other. As the wolf, pleasure and pain had no meaning, which caused no fear. Rather, I felt the attraction to pain as much as I had the desire for pleasure, there was no separation..."
" Thunder rattled the house. I was dazed with a far-off song dancing in my head that I didn’t recognize. I need to know, Damn! Page. An over powering want, or desire called me. I needed to see her. The confusion replaying in my brain caused a deep unfamiliar instinct. I got out of the bed to answer this calling. Lightning flashed through the window, illuminating Page’s beautiful image and I heard her whispering my name. The unrecognized song, confused my mind.
I grabbed my phone, put on my jeans, grabbed my keys and walked out into the cold dripping rain. Bare foot, no shirt and now freezing. The incertitude in my brain said once I was with Page, everything would be fine. The slight vibrations from the intermittent thunder awakened my senses, a flash of lightning intensified her presence, I could smell her sweat. The storm sounded deadly, but only a slight mist moistened the windshield teasing my urge to hold her..."
"The rain held off until I arrived at the Wilson Ranch. Now, the storm unleashed, pelting me as I stood in Page’s driveway facing the solid rock house. Legs, shoulder width apart, shoulders squared, arms slightly bent hanging by my side. Heavy, slow breaths pushed my chest upward then outward, my head slightly lowered, eyes on Page’s open front door. The tall black Ford diesel truck stood behind me, lightning crashed every so often.
The cold rain drenching my skin, slowly beading then running off onto the ground. The wind made me colder and colder, knowing the only warmth lay within that house. A soft flickering light illuminated a path. Echoes of a Metallica song propelled my emotions forward. Each slow step the earth moved under my feet and between my toes as I crushed the water into the saturated ground..."
"She stopped, but she didn’t have to continue, she had been alone. Page had to figure out the werewolf by herself and she had made a lot of mistakes along the way.
She spoke as though she had read my mind again, “Ya , and I would not go back, ever! I would change a lot of what happened after, but I do not regret being turned.” She reached over to my side and lightly touched were she had bitten me. A mild pain came from her touch. “That’s the problem with the werewolf, it takes away most of the pain and damage, but it leaves the scars.”..."
"I park the mustang, walk to the graves and see the big sky meets the horizon giving grace to the air and a sense of peace, a feeling and appearance of home. An unforgiving drizzle moistens my face with the chill of winter killing the sense of peacefulness reminding me of the recent past, and the guilt pushes me to find the one responsible.
Sara didn’t know the truth in her death; I’m trying to understand the truth in her mother’s death that led to hers. Somehow related yet so far apart, nothing is as it appears, yet stares at you as I blindly believe in the falsehood of control. The beasts that they may be, be that which I have become..."
"I stood and looked at the grave of the one I had loved, yet I hurt and betrayed. Then as though I expected it, a caring crisp tenor voice with unique articulation from behind me said, “You feel close to that song, don’t you?”
I wasn’t frightened, it was a friend. I looked behind me where the voice had come from but there was nothing but the vast Kansas landscape, and Hoss. Confused and not wanting it to leave I responded, “What did you say?”
A healing firm hand touched my left shoulder and filled me with peace, a pure childhood emotion, the voice said “House of the Rising Sun, you seem to feel close to it for some reason.”
I faced the grave with no need to see who had spoken. “I do, I think because I feel as though my life is the same as the one in the song.”
The voice said, “Yes, I can understand that... for it was only yesterday I sat curiously watching the writer, write the song and I was thinking of you.”..."
Nollen Bradley is a pen name for Bradley Noll an American author residing near Leavenworth Kansas. The married, father of two grown children is new to the published author scene even though he has been writing song lyrics, poems and short stories all of his life.
Brad grew up on a farm outside of Winchester Kansas learning the value of hard work. Following college, Brad spent twelve years as a Paramedic until his second back surgery ending his successful career where he received several letters of commendation.
Brad spent time farming in his off days feeling the everyday pressures of the weather, markets and juggling the debt that is associated with large business. All the while, continuing to write songs and preform at local venues. Following a music CD he produced named “Make Believe” with eleven of his original songs and while in the process of producing his second Album he realized his talent was more suited for writing then music.
One day it snapped and with Brad’s influences like Merle Haggard, Chris Kristofferson, Hank Jr., Metallica and most of all “The Man in Black” Johnny Cash. Brad’s mentors show as in the words from the poem 'Looking Down'
“I pulled my cowboy hat down low, Drank down my last swallow,
Of Kentucky Bourbon and coke,
As the World was spinning round, I knew I have to slow it down,
Cause I’m going nowhere fast, staring at the bottom of this glass…” Nollen Bradley 2010
Embracing the concept to ask the question “Why so many lose and so few win?” Rooting for the underdog’s the longshot’s just like himself. The ones that are not supposed to make it but push and fight with everything they have and despite the odds, they still try.
Don’t let the rough exterior fool you, for inside Brad is the heart of a poet. Sometimes a tortured soul haunted by memories or questions. A helpless romantic as seen in the poem 'When We Flew'
“…Guess now, I can look back to then, How I can’t help but smile,
Through these tears that hide the pain, I think of you… every memory remains,
But, when we flew Girl we were something to see,
Higher than one life could ever be,
we flew so high we no longer believed… so we lost those dreams,
It saddens me, until I think about, when we flew Girl, cause we were something to see…” Nollen Bradley 2011
Brad takes the experience from the sweat stinging his eyes from the heat on a hot July day in Kansas. The heartache from having to tell a parent or a child that their loved one has died and there was nothing he could do, to the struggles of trying to pursue a dream and watching it crumble in front of him. Brad has developed a style that draws on real life experiences to provide exciting yet believable story lines that captivate readers. Writing unbelievable tales with the realism of the struggles from everyday life in the painful cookie cutter suburban age.
I get a laugh when I see the expression from some when they first here that I wrote a book. It usually starts with the puzzled look of confusion followed by a raised eye brow as they squint look me in the eye and say “You wrote a book?”
I usually say “Ya” or just nod my head yes as they ask the typical follow up questions which are as followed.
“Is it any good?” Or the other question I prefer is “What’s it about?” I guess you could say I would rather give a non-bias Opinion. So, if they just ask a question about the book then I have inside knowledge and can answer each question in
Trying to answer the question about the quality of the work is easy as well, but it will be extremely one sided. I tell them “it is the best book you’ll ever read.”
As our conversation continues and they hear I wrote a book about werewolves the puzzled expression expands to wide eyes and a quick startled motion as they say “Werewolves, what the hell gave you that idea?”
This again, is another simple question. If you have ever been by yourself out in a hay field about dark and several miles from the nearest person. I know you would understand. After all, all you are doing for hours is going around and round a field listening to the air conditioner blower, the radio and occasionally getting out of the cab to adjust, repair the machine or move a rock. Needless to say, you have a lot of time to think.
Especially when you are in a field surrounded by gigantic over grown trees circling the open field and the only way out is through a timber access road lined with overgrown brush, weeds, limbs or anything else that goes bump in the night.
To assist in my inspiration this same timber road passes an old cemetery from a spur off of the old Fort Leavenworth Road that use to run on the land back in the eighteen hundred’s. This cemetery has several settlers buried in it.
But wait, there’s more… The same overgrown dirt path that is dark even in daylight runs next to the neighbor’s fence and of course on the neighbor’s property you can see an old yellow rock house with the roof caved. This old abandoned house plays a key role in this because as a child my father told me ghost stories with this same house as one of the main characters as we would drive by it. This is where the idea of my book started.