"Estevan Vega packs subtle power and menace in every sentence. Prepare to lose sleep when you enter Vega's dark literary landscape." - Scott Nicholson, The Red Church"Estevan Vega is flat-out amazing!"-Aaron Patterson, Bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS and AIREL"In The Forsaken, Estevan Vega sticks primarily to what he does best: dark, twisted, and utterly fantastic.An edgy, psychological thriller. Pick this one up."-Josh Olds, LifeIsStory.com"For fans of Dean Koontz, Blake Crouch, Scott Nicholson, Stephen King, and Ted Dekker."DON'T LET IT IN.The first victim has no natural wounds. No prints left behind. No lacerations. But the life has been gruesomely drained from the corpse, and a broken cross is now imprinted inside the skin.Left for dead a year ago by his former partner, reckless and medicated Detective Jude Foster now endures mindless therapy sessions in order to be given another chance at his life.When the chief of police discovers the first victim strangely killed in this sadistic fashion, Jude enters a dark world all-too-familiar. He knows he’s seen this method of murder before, but he never caught the killer.Could this be a copycat, or is it the one that got away?Forced to take on a new partner for the case, Jude must come to terms with the fractured memories of his past, attempt to keep his younger brother safe, and chase down a ghost killer who is collecting human souls. But time is against him. How many more victims will there be before the killer is satisfied? And will Jude Foster be able to survive this new hell or in the chaos, will he risk becoming something else entirely?Excerpt:It was like being born. Each movement his body made was a first footstep. Every breath became a midnight cry. He looked down at her with pleasure and wiped her lips with a cloth. Her soft, milky skin was now a frosty glow reflecting the dim light of the apartment. Just moments ago she was taking him in, pressing her mouth into his, moaning rough melodies where his name became the chorus. But now, she was so quiet.Slowly, his hands lingered above hers, kissing at last. He glanced down at his fingertips. He didn’t see any prints. It had become so much easier. Maybe he really was dead. The hands he lavished hung limply over the edge of the mattress where he had stolen her last aching moments. Cracked fingernails and a broken wrist were all that was left. Her blood dripped from her wombless center. The crimson blemishes soaked deeply through the fabric and the sheets, and soon the red drips wandered off the bed and onto the floor.“You sleep so silently now,” he said, grinning. What should have been loss or grief forming tears in his eyes instead was traded for heartbeats of satisfaction. This dose of pleasure was his test subject, and, though lifeless, she would be studied by him one last time. Her skin was perfect, even dead. This tainted city flower still seemed to have some of its petals. Her two eyes were turquoise gems that in this moment knew only one direction. They were trapped, staring horrified at the ceiling. He imagined such pretty things often getting her what she desired.He breathed. She didn’t.He moved his violent instruments over her breasts and neck. A satisfied breath escaped his mouth and drifted over her. It was a well-done goodbye. The kind she always deserved. Outside there was a world, but it could not see what he’d done. It could not see his mutilated masterpiece or how he salivated at the sight of the portrait he had created. It would only be a short while before the confused audience found her, as he wanted.He let go of the blade, her blood almost dry on the tip. It felt so pure.His body suddenly began to fade, breaking apart into tiny particles that were easier to move, easier to remain hidden. It wasn’t happening to him, something strange and without his control. He caused his body to splinter. Pieces of his flesh and skeleton disintegrated into dust.