Book Promo & GIVEAWAY OF Arrows Flight Series By Casey Hays

archer breeder master casey hays


Breeder (Arrows Flight Book #1) by Casey Hays

Genre: YA Christian Dystopian

Breeder is currently FREE on Amazon! Make sure to pick up your copy today!

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Breeder-Arrows-Flight-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00Q1PHB8M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1453163498&sr=8-1&keywords=casey+hays

The first book, Breeder, is set in a war-torn world where the main character, Kate, has been raised to believe the Village is the only place left on earth
after the Fall. Her people, predominantly made up of women, worship the Moirai, the Three Sisters Fate, and believe the stars hold their destiny. The Archer, Kate’s ruling constellation, has destined her to become a breeder, but she fights this calling, even when she’s dragged to the Pit and thrown into a locked cave with her mate, Ian. Trapped and afraid, he is confused about why he’s there, and he only wants to go home.Their relationship develops into more than friendship, and Kate’s longing to find something better, to make her own choices, and to defy Fate grows stronger.

Breeder Teaser 1


The Archer (Arrows Flight Book #2) by Casey Hays

Genre: YA Christian Dystopian


The Archer takes readers on a journey away from the Village and toward Eden, Ian’s supposed home. By then, Kate has learned that Ian is different, even dangerous, and he is full of secrets that test her trust in him and his friends. Their journey takes them into one dangerous situation after another with no other villages in sight, and Kate begins to question whether she should have believed Ian at all. But her desire to find something to believe in that is greater than the Archer presses down her fear, even when that desire could mean her death.

Archer Teaser 1

Front Cover 002Synopsis:

Master (Arrows Flight Book #3) by Casey Hays

Genre: YA Christian Dystopian

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Master-Arrows-Flight-Casey-Hays-ebook/dp/B01AIK7O5K/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452664707&sr=1-6&keywords=master+kindle+casey

Master, the final book, opens in the middle of a siege. An army from the north has revived technology in ways the world believed impossible, and threatens to destroy everything in their path. Their target? Eden. They believe Eden holds the key to saving the world and returning it to pre-war status. Many will die along the way. Misery and heartache will fall over the land and the people. But so with hope and faith… and love. Especially love. And Ian comes to the conclustion that what Kate has been searching for her entire life is what he needs, too.

Master 3


Excerpt from Master: Arrow’s Flight 3

I take another swig of water from my canteen, and wipe the beads of sweat from my brow. It’s hot. So

damn hot in this forsaken part of the world. I silently scowl at my surroundings and recap the canteen.

I’ve been here for three weeks, and still, I haven’t adjusted to this heat. My black uniform sticks to

my back. I tug once on the collar. It, too, is wet, and it threatens to strangle me. Muggy and stifling and

miserable beyond all things miserable. That’s the best description for this deadbeat town and its pea-
brained people. Seriously, a little air-conditioning couldn’t hurt.

Most of the troops have gone on to Eden. I’d much rather be there, getting a piece of the action. But

nope. I was assigned to this place: Jordan. A small town full of small families, most of them squeezed into

two-room, dilapidated shacks lining dirt streets. No running water, no electricity. They haven’t even

attempted to advance, not a single step since the Fall. In my opinion, refusal to advance equates


The Fall. That’s what they call it in these parts. The single most devastating calamity to ever hit this

world. It brought us to our knees. Not me, per say. I wasn’t born until years after. But thanks to the

preservation of history, we’ve been educated on the gruesome details. Some by word of mouth only.

Either way, we still bow to it.

I suppose it’s not the worst name for what happened—The Fall. In fact, it’s pretty fitting. The problem

is, we’re still falling.

Maybe that’s what we should call it. The Falling. Now that’s more accurate. It indicates an action in

progress rather than an historical event. A never-ending, agonizing, misery-filled action in progress.

The sudden pinging of a blacksmith’s hammer attacks my ears and drags me back into the present. I

cringe. Another aspect of Jordan I loathe.

All day long, every day, we endure it—the hundred or so left behind to make sure Jordan stays in line.

The fires ignite in the heat of the day, adding insult to injury, and the incessant hissing and banging and

clanging and melting doesn’t cease until close to dark.

Granted, these people know how to make quality weapons—archaic as they are. Yeah, I’ll give them

credit. Earlier in the week, I held the black handle of a steel-pointed sword in my grip just before I placed

it in the locked bin. It glistened with a brilliant, silver sheen, and I have to admit, my heart danced a little.

There’s never a bad time to wield a weapon created with such precision. And this Aaron? He’s good. His

handiwork will bring us a more than decent price in the north.

I lean against the trunk of a large, looming willow and prop up a foot. The whole place is covered

with them, their long, wispy branches flowing like a woman’s ragged hair. They hunker over the squat

shacks as if to play the roles of protective mothers. In the middle of the town, the plaza has been cleared

of them, and here is where you’ll find the blacksmiths playing with their fires.

Honestly, it’s a little unsettling to see what they can create. Pistols and rifles, as well as ammunition.

We found the weapons when we arrived, just lurking inside the warehouse at one end of town, waiting for

the right pair of hands to take them up and realize they were the perfect fit. We’d heard this was a smithing

town, but never had we imagined what we’d find. Swords, arrows, spears of all lengths and weights.

Truly magnificent work. A soldier’s dream come true.

The warehouse is locked for now, the key dangling from a silver chain which is safely tucked in the

collar of Lieutenant General Ross’s uniform. Ross isn’t letting anyone near that place, but I toss my eyes

across the plaza, scanning for any activity. Our squadron isn’t the most welcome sight, and Jordan’s

citizens maintain a quiet resistance that makes me wary.

Personally, I despise these people for supporting Eden. I’m disgusted by it, in fact. How can anybody

give their allegiance to those monsters? Jordan’s leaders deserved what they got for their insubordination.

They couldn’t deny it. We caught their little messenger. It’s unfortunate the poor soul had to die, but he

wasn’t the first casualty, and he won’t be the last. I still remember his eyes, though. How bright they were

just before the end. I could have sworn he was smiling, the young fool. As if the assassin had given him a

gift by killing him. Those who witnessed it say every one of those Board members were smiling at the

end, too. But to see it for myself? It was eerie. I have to admit, it left me with an ugly taste in my mouth.

The boy was commissioned to run ahead, but we stopped him forever from warning Eden that we were

coming for them. Coming for the glorious concoction that would be our salvation. Save our children from

this pestilence that plagues us. None of us are untouched by its hands. Everyone I know, including myself,

has watched a little one cough out a last breath in an oozing anthem of black blood as they stare at us

through blind and feverish eyes. We see the helpless agony written there . . . begging us to fix them. To

save them.

My son was only three months old. I bite the inside of my cheek, hold back the bitter threat of tears. He

would be ten if he had lived. If Eden hadn’t been so stingy with their precious cure. My heart grows cold

when I think of it. They’ve done well keeping their secret, but secrets only last so long before someone

with a big mouth and an agenda shares it. A spilled secret spreads like fire.

I tug on my sweat-drenched collar. I hate Eden. I’m not afraid of them.

I wish I was there . . . to watch it fall.

Jordan has settled in for the night. The plaza is quiet and empty but for the low glowing coals in the

bottom of the blacksmiths’ barrels. This, and the splintered wooden cross that stands ten feet high and

dead center. It’s an ugly eye sore if you ask me. But I’ve been here long enough not to underestimate the

importance it holds to these people. Ugly or not, that cross isn’t going anywhere if they have a say.

Funny thing is they don’t say much. They smile when we take their beds; they offer extra helpings of

food at dinner. Their eyes tell us what they think of us, but still, they don’t retaliate. They don’t resist.

It’s odd.

I don’t know whether this should make us nervous or not, but I’m not turning my back anytime soon.

I make one round through the plaza, double-checking the area for any stragglers. Not that I expect to

find any, but protocol must be followed. The deaths of their leaders sent a strong message—the death of

that courier, even stronger. He was just a kid, and they get it now. If we’re willing to kill a kid, we’re

willing to do much more.

I inspect a couple of the barrels, even take a stab at heating the very end of a long leftover piece of

metal in the dying embers—a soon to be sword, I imagine. It glows red hot, and it makes me sickly

excited to see it. Hot steel could do some damage in a torture situation. I hold it out at arm’s length,

imagine the steel point penetrating the flesh of one of those Edenmonsters. I smirk. Now that would be


I return to my station at the tree. Pete will be here in a few minutes to relieve my post. As uneventful as

the day has been, I’ll be glad to call it a night. I’m exhausted. I yawn, watch as the few lights flickering in

the windows of nearby homes fade into darkness. It’s been a long, hot day of nothing much. Too long.

And then . . .

The boy crashes onto the scene. I jerk upright, instantly alert, and reach for my sidearm.

“Penelope!” The boy screeches the name, fear laced into each syllable. “Penelope!”

Lights flit back to life one by one. Someone opens a door. I step away from the tree.

“Get back into your home,” I say calmly, and the woman dips inside.

The boy spots me then, and before I can blink he’s towering over me. He’s huge—six foot five at least.

Full of muscle. His frightened eyes are intense, burning into me, but his breathing? It flows out of him in

even, regular intervals despite his panicked state.

My jaw tightens. I know where this boy is from. There is no doubt.

A slow anger begins to boil in my gut, and my gun leaps into my hand of its own volition. I take aim,

straight at his chest. It doesn’t even ruffle him. I frown. What good does it do to point a gun at one of them

if it has no effect?

He takes a step closer. My fingers tighten around my weapon.

“Please. Can you tell me where Penelope is?”

I whip out my flashlight, pierce him with its sudden brightness. He squints away.

“Please!” he bellows.

I hear the tears in his voice, and in the light of the beam, I see the girl.

She’s cradled in his arms, tiny and limp. A rag doll. Wrapped around her chest are thin, ragged strips

of torn material tied tightly into a knot. But blood seeps through, slowly extracting her life. She’s pale; she

may already be dead.

The boy turns away from me—a wide circle—and screams again, “Penelope!”

“That’s enough,” I say. His eyes find me. His lip is trembling. “What happened here?”

He narrows his eyes. “What—I don’t have time for this. Can’t you see she’s dying? Penelope!”

“I said that’s enough.” I take a closer look at the girl. She’s breathing. Barely. Another beat, and I make

up my mind. “I’ll take you to Penelope. But you have to stop screaming. You’re scaring people.”

“We have to hurry,” he says.

He follows me. I pick up the pace to trudge the two blocks to Penelope’s house. He’s deathly quiet

now, the dual crunching of our feet on the crumbling street the only sound.

Everyone knows Penelope—even those of us who don’t belong here. When you’re on a mission that

could cost you your life, you familiarize yourself very quickly with the medics. And when there are no

medics, you find a doctor.

A curtain or two shifts aside to reveal gawking eyes as we pass, but no one comes out. No one is

curious enough to open the door once they see me: a soldier with the Vortex. We’ve made a name for

ourselves in the short time we’ve been here. We’re in charge, and they know it.

I glance toward a window with hard eyes. The curtain falls back into place.

I walk slightly to the side and one step behind the boy. The moon is bright in the hot night, and I study

him, my weapon trained on his back. I consider how thrilling it is to have the enemy in my sights, and I

wonder if I should just take him out. I want to. I want to suck the life out of this mutant in the same way

Death is gulping up what’s left of the girl he carries. It would serve him right to know with his last dying

breath that he’d failed to save the girl.

Yeah. I should kill him right now. I steady my grip, bend my finger over the trigger.

And then . . . I pause.

He could be more useful alive. A hostage. I contemplate the possibilities. What would the people of

Eden do to rescue one of their own children?

I ease my finger back. What kind of reward could I buy myself by presenting one of Eden’s own to

Commander Berg? In fact, I just might be marked a hero.

It’s my greed, really, that makes up my mind. That... and the rumors that it’s almost impossible to kill

someone from Eden. I’ve never seen someone from Eden. Never been presented with the opportunity to

kill one until now. And what if our mixture doesn’t work? What if all it does is anger him? What does a

monster from Eden do when he’s angry?

No, I won’t kill him. Not yet. He’ll be my little secret.

A shiver of excitement rattles my spine, and my eyes survey my surroundings to insure no other troops

are around. I won’t tell Ross; he’ll only use it for his own gain. In a couple of days, General Berg will

arrive. I’ll turn this boy over myself, and I just might get that promotion I’ve been longing for. A

promotion that might very well get me out of this stinking village.

Pete must be at my post by now, wondering why I left early. I can just see his puzzlement as he

scratches at the fuzz on his face. I’ll have to make up an excuse.

The boy picks up speed; I have to take four steps to his one. We pass one dark house after another until

we come to the very end of the main street—the last house. The road stops here, a dead end marked with a

long fence overgrown with tangled weeds and wildflowers. And more of those incessant willows. A

small light burns in Penelope’s window. I point.

“That’s her place.”

He nods. “Thank you.”

I blink, and he’s standing on the porch, violently knocking. I grip my rifle, astounded. How did he

move so fast?

He’s a mutant, that’s how. Don’t forget.

The answer bumps around in my head.

The door opens, and the house appears to swallow him whole as he lurches through without so much

as an invitation. A sudden burst of light flashes from a front window—and then another and another—until

the little shack glows like a potter’s oven.

I think about the girl. Small, barely breathing. Not much the doctor can do for her.

Then . . . I think about the boy.

I’ll be watching him.

Author Bio:

headshot300pixCasey Hays graduated from Eastern New Mexico University with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and Spanish. She spent eleven years of her career teaching high school before attempting to write her first novel.The Cadence, a YA supernatural romance, debuted in 2012. She is the author of the Christian Dystopian series, Arrow’s Flight, as well as a featured author in the Apocalyptic Anthology, Prep for Doom, a collection of short stories that culminate into one theme. She currently resides in Clovis, NM with her husband and daughter.

Facebook Author page: https://www.facebook.com/Casey-Hays-146047572193782/?fref=ts

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6556056.Casey_Hays?from_search=true&search_version=service

(1 winner) One signed copy of all three books

(2 winners) The Archer T-shirts available that display Ian's tattoo

Archer tee back 
Archer tee

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