Buried in Blood: The Legend of Bloodtrail Harper
Micah’s world ended under a collapsing wall.
Shot, beaten, and left for dead by outlaws after a robbery gone wrong, he lay buried beneath stone and dust. Each breath burned like fire in his chest, every shift of earth threatened to crush what little life remained in him. But even as the darkness closed in, something inside him refused to die.
He clawed his way out of the rubble, blood mixing with dust, and staggered into the heart of the Arizona desert. For forty miles he wandered—starved, broken, and half-mad. He survived on raw roots and what water he could find, guided only by rage and the faint glimmer of revenge. By night, he moved through the shadows; by day, he hid from the merciless sun. His only companion was the horse he had stolen from the men who tried to bury him.
When he finally reached a small settlement, he was a ghost wearing human skin — hollow-eyed, sun-scorched, and driven by one purpose. Years passed before he returned to Tombstone, but when he did, it was not as Micah. The man who had died under that wall was gone.
In his place rode Bloodtrail Harper, a legend born from dust and vengeance. One by one, he hunted those who had left him to die, each act of justice as cold and deliberate as the desert night. Towns whispered his name with fear, his shadow stretching across the frontier like a curse.
And in the end, no one remembered the robbery or the men who caused it — only the ghost who rose from the grave and painted the desert red.
