Blurb     Rom, Wick, and Glys have come to Earth on a mission: one that will soon have them at each other's throats...literally.     Their roles are written in blood, and their actions compelled by long-forgotten oaths...oaths which they would no longer consider either honourable or ethical to fulfil. For the people they've become, in the personas they've fought so hard to establish, there is no place for a bloody battle between duty and destiny.     Only by coming to terms with their present, and the deadly bloodlust which threatens their futures, will they discover whether they can live long enough to challenge the past.

Reviews:

    "Hansen-Hill has enough talent and skill she could have opted to write a terrific but more traditional novel. That she was gutsy enough to write a book about relationships within the framework of an already unique story? Right on!
    As an independent author who tries to read as many self-published or micro-published authors as I can, I've run into books that make me shake my head. THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM.I encourage you to buy a copy of Gilded Folly and take the time to really read it."

Clayton Bye,
gottawritenetwork.com reviewer

*

    "N. D. Hanson-Hill is a talented author. Within the first few pages of the story, I had been immediately drawn into the action. The author then toyed with me as the story slowed down just enough so I could be brought up to speed on who everyone was, their purposes, and what was really going on.
    There were also a couple of really interesting twists and touches that I felt added something extra special to this story. The characters were fully three dimensional with their roles and decisions not being cut and dried and their evolution being fluid throughout. These characters didn't know it all, even though at times they think they have it all figured out. I also thought that the tie in between Micts and vampires was particularly brilliant and that the background story on the Folly was inspired."

TCM Reviews

            He was falling now, dimly aware of pine needles jabbing his skin. Awareness faded quickly, displaced by the lassitude which was filling him. He knew he should fight the feeling; knew what it signified, but all he wanted to do was sleep.

            It was the Hambre Muerte, the Death Gorge.

            No!

            Tradition demanded he lie here and die now, grateful for the mercy of last-moment oblivion. It was the way these things were done...

            No! Not here! Wick's fingers were already growing numb. He gritted his teeth, forcing the digits to close on a pointed branch. Then he jabbed it, into the bony head. There was a satisfying crunch and thud.

            The Mictlampa ripped back, with an audible slurp, its jagged teeth torn away from Wick's muscle. Its moment was past, and instead of a wily predator, it was confused and disoriented - flailing and blind.

            Tastes of a leech, and eating habits to match...

            Wick lay there limply, worried about the demon's reputation for persistence, and worrying more about its companions. Was it alone?

            He recalled another sorry fact from his past. Micts never travel alone...

            He wriggled his fingers, clenched his fists, bent his toes, and jiggled his limbs - determined to lose the lassitude. The blood scent would bring the others in.

            No way! He crunched the bloodsucker with his foot, right in the face. The creature flopped back, writhing in agony, all the while making a low-pitched grunting sound.

            Wick pushed himself up to a sitting position, grabbed another branch, and whopped the thing again.

            The beast was knocked back, onto the pine needle carpet. Silent now, it did what tradition claimed: melted away, into the undergrowth. At least, Wick was sure that was what it had intended. Its actual disappearance looked a lot more like a wobbling retreat.