*PREORDER FOR FERAL VENGEANCE, SYDNEY RYE MYSTERIES BOOK 19. 

Feral Vengeance is due to deliver the end of January of 2026, but we hope to move up the date. Information will be shared as the year progresses.

The paperback and hardcover preorders will ship after the ebook releases. Paperbacks take approximately 3 weeks to arrive, and hardcovers may be 4 weeks.

***The audiobook will NOT be available for preorder.*** We won’t have a release date until we know Sonja’s recording schedule. Make sure you’re subscribed to the newsletter to stay up to date. You can sign up here: emilykimelman.com/News

Feral Vengeance

Declan will die if he kills me. The community I belong to—my tribe—is strong and ruthless. Vengeful.

Consuela or Declan could kill me right now. I don't have a gun. Either of them could raise their weapons, aim, fire. They could soak this carpet with my blood, spatter it across their shirts, mist droplets in their hair.

But they don’t want to and not just because they don’t want to die. They like me and, honestly, I like them.

Consuela’s so f****** grounded. She knows who she is and what she cares about. Declan’s grim determination to not be a total piece of s*** is kind of adorable. And makes him somewhat easy to manipulate—which is useful.

“Remember the first time we met?” Declan asks, surprising me. I reach back in my memories to sparkling turquoise eyes—a mounted police officer. Declan’s partner. “You were sitting on a curb holding a dog’s leash with blood caked on your shins." He reminds me.

The heat of the sun basks my cheeks, the stench of the dead body clings to my nose. The drying blood, whipped across my legs by a grotesque toupee locked in a Golden Retriever’s mouth, itches.

“What’s your point?” I ask.

Behind me, one of the drugged police officer’s radio crackles. I hold up a hand, silencing Declan’s response but I can’t make out the words.

Mulberry speaks into my ear. “They’re asking if one of the men can come down and assist. Apparently, the disturbance has turned into a bit of a brawl. You need to leave now. Plan B.”

The original plan, A, was for me to just stroll out of the hotel, walk to the helipad on the East River, where Robert Maxim offered to give me a ride over to New Jersey, dropping me off so I can board a trawler and head north up the Hudson.

Plan B means I’m taking the stairs to the service exit. That’s fine. But I need to go before someone comes to check on this situation.

“We’ve known each other a long time,” Declan says. He's still not making a point. Is Declan buying time?

“That doesn’t mean anything, trust isn’t linear, Declan.”

His lips press together, Declan does not like that truth. “We won’t hurt you.”

I laugh again. “Declan, if there is one thing I trust, it’s that you won’t hurt me.” I give him one more grin before turning away into the shadowed living room. Blue’s nose taps my hip. 

My long, warm overcoat with its big hood drapes across an over stuffed chair. My gaze tracks briefly to the police officers passed out on the couch. They each lean against an armrest, their legs spread wide, knees almost touching. 

I swing my coat on, adjust my backpack over it, tightening the straps. Then I get the f*** out of there.

***

Dried blood—brown and innocuous looking—streaks the molding of the door across the hall. It dapples the silvery grey carpet and stains the sage green silk walls. It could almost be mistaken for dirt…if everything else wasn’t so clean.

I had to beat the crap out of the police officers and threaten worse before they agreed to drug themselves. 

Blue inhales deeply before following me down the hall. 

My hands are still gloved, the blue latex garish in the elegant lighting—wall sconces shaped like ornate candle holders and gold chandeliers draped in crystals. 

Blue growls low at the swoosh of a door opening behind us. I turn back as Declan steps out into the hall, Consuela following. His hands are empty.

Declan re-holstered his weapon—good to know the man isn't suicidal. 

Did they take vitals of the two drugged officers? Gather any evidence? They don't stop to scrap blood from the molding, instead turning toward me.

My fingers curl into fists, the sound of latex against latex almost a threat.

Consuela’s casual blazer and jeans contrast with Declan’s tailored suit. Did they do this last minute? Did Robert call them? Or did Dan send them? Too many questions and not enough time to answer them.

Declan starts to jog. I don't wait for him, continuing toward the elevators. 

“I’m assuming you’ll wipe the cameras," Declan says as he falls into step with us.  

“When did you start depending on me to cover your illegal activity?” I ask. 

Declan shakes his head, annoyance tightening his features like I’m the asshole in this conversation. 

“Can you two f*** off?” I ask as we reach the elevators.

Consuela chuckles. Declan, in a completely unsurprising turn of events looks…wait for it…disappointed.

 “We’re headed in the same direction.” Declan says gruffly.

“I’m taking the stairs. Don’t follow me. Seriously. Or I’ll rig the cameras so that it looks like you’re the killer.” 

Personally, I can’t do that, but I’d bet it’s possible…