Striking Out is an adult Australian contemporary. The dialogue and and characterizations are distinctly Australian. Check out the tour page for more information.
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Monday, August 24, 2015
{Excerpt with Giveaway!} STRIKING OUT by Scarlet Bennett
Striking Out is an adult Australian contemporary. The dialogue and and characterizations are distinctly Australian. Check out the tour page for more information.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
{Spotlight} NEW WORLD: RISING by Jennifer Wilson
Author: Jennifer Wilson
Series: New World (Book 1)
Genre: YA/Dystopian
Publisher: Self Published
Release Date: Aug 14 2014
Edition/Format Available In: eBook
Blurb/Synopsis:
Since witnessing her parents’ murders at the age of eleven, Phoenix’s only purpose in life has been to uphold her mother’s dying words- to be strong and survive. But surviving outside of The Walls- outside of The Sanctuary- is more like a drawn-out death sentence. A cruel and ruthless city, Tartarus is run by the Tribes whose motto is simple, “Join or die.”
Refusing to join and determined to live, Phoenix fights to survive in this savage world. Trusting no one, she lives as a rogue, fending only for herself. Then in a moment of rash judgment, she breaks all of her rules to save a child, and in that moment her life is turned upside down. When the rescue mission goes awry, Phoenix is captured by an underground group who claims no allegiance with neither the Tribes nor The Sanctuary. She finds herself in the most dangerous game of survival she has ever played.
In her captivity, only one person- the handsome and oddly sympathetic Triven- shows Phoenix something she has never before experienced: kindness. While warring with unfamiliar emotions and still skeptical of her captors' motives, Phoenix quickly realizes that these people may just hold the key to her lost memories. But who can she trust, when no one can be trusted? Not even herself.
It was not until in her mid-teens, when a persistent friend convinced her to read the Harry Potter series, that Jennifer found her love for the written word. J.K. Rowling’s books opened doors not only to the fascinating world of a young wizard, but to a life filled with a multitude of literary friends and fantastical worlds. Once a timid reader, Jennifer now devours books and loves getting lost in a new series.
Jennifer had wanted to write her own novel since her early twenties, but unfortunately inspiration doesn’t always strike on command. Her first book, The Chosen, was completed in 2013. But as most first attempts go, it was a flop. While looking through a multitude of rejection letters, inspiration struck again, putting Grace’s story got on hold as Phoenix’s began.
New World: Rising began to fill Jennifer’s brain, flowing like a fully opened valve from her fingertips. What was once such a struggle in her early years suddenly became a passion.
When Jennifer is not writing, she is enjoying life in Colorado, rock climbing, camping, exploring new foods, playing with her golden retriever, Duke, and sharing her life with her handsome and wonderful husband.
Author Links
Author’s Other Works
New World Series
New World: Ashes Coming Soon
The Chosen Series
The Chosen Coming Soon
The Lost Coming Soon
I awoke with a start, my arms flailing outward, as the
scream caught in my throat. It only took seconds to recognize my surroundings,
to calm my racing heart. This was how I awoke every morning, every morning
since my parents died. After years I managed to restrain the scream, awakening
before it escaped my lips. Screaming in the night could get you found,
screaming during the daytime would get you killed.
I checked my father’s watch in the green light. It was
nearly three in the afternoon. There were still hours until dark. I knew I
would have to stock up more food before I left for my next refuge, but
scavenging during the daytime wasn’t an option.
Thumbing through my book collections, I felt uninspired and
bored, having already read them so many times. I thought about trying to sleep
longer but my mind was too awake. After eating a breakfast of dried apples, I
made a plan to grow my personal library. Aside from needing something else to
distract my mind, books always proved a good source of trade. Those few of us
who defied the Tribes kept to ourselves and stayed quiet. We never gathered,
nor really ever trusted one another. But when goods ran scarce, trades were not
uncommon. It was finding the right recluses to trade with that was key.
One wrong choice and you could easily find yourself with empty hands and a
knife in your back. A select few of my merchants knew how to read and those
that didn’t, never turned down good kindling.
Rifling through my few belongings, I decided to leave my
larger backpack behind. It was too heavy and often cumbersome while crawling
through the vents. I would only need a small tote big enough to carry books. My
revolver lay on the mattress in its holster. I eyed it, speculating if it was
needed. I always took it with me outside or to hunt for food, but no one ever
came in the library anymore. I had seen a few rats and the occasional wild dogs
on the floors below, but none of them ever bothered me. Instead I slid my knife
into my hip sheath and climbed up the shelves to the vent.
As always, I moved with great caution, careful to never make
a sound and always listening for others. But like usual, the building was empty.
After nearly ten minutes of crawling, I saw light shining up through the
galvanized steel. Cautiously I pressed my ear to the vent while holding my
breath.
Nothing.
I smiled and pushed open the grate before sliding out onto
the top of a bookshelf. Before descending I scanned the rows, my keen eyes
looking for any trace of movement, foreign color or moved shelving. Nothing had
changed since I was here last. Several of the books I had discarded still lay
on the floor where I had dumped them, uninterested.
Relaxing a bit, I took a deep breath. The room was massive,
filled with rows upon rows of abandoned books. It smelled like aged paper, and
earth from the destroyed floors below. I loved that smell. Soundlessly, I
climbed down the metal shelf I had perched on and headed for my favorite
sections.
First I stopped by the romance section— business first, then
pleasure. These were my least favorite kind of book. People fell into whirlwind
romance, swept up with sex and passion. I didn’t believe in love, it was a wasted
emotion that could get you killed. People did foolish things in the name of
love. While I detested these books, they were generally thick and most of my
allies didn’t care about the content as long as they burned.
I never made friends, not even with my allies. There were
those I could barter with safely, and those I couldn't, I stole from. I never
stole from the dead. Rationally it made more sense to take from the dead; after
all it wasn’t like they would be using anything anymore. But the thought made
me nauseous, reminding me too much of watching my parents’ murders. Instead I
traded with a few recluses and targeted the Tribes’ storage facilities for the
rest. I never felt guilty stealing from them.
Blindly grabbing a few thick books, I tossed them into my
bag and moved on to the educational section. I browsed the titles looking for
books on survival and warfare. After skimming their backs I took two of the
most promising titles before moving on to the fiction section. I loved this
section the most. The books here provided an escape, a place to let my mind
wander free and find friends. Not real friends, but friends I could care about
without having to commit to. Once I had opened a book and read its pages, those
characters could never be taken away from me. Even if the books were burned,
they would still live on in my mind. They couldn’t die or betray you, friends
on paper proved much more lucrative than real ones.
This section was also the largest, and after years of
perusing its shelves I had only just scratched the surface. Leisurely, I moved
through the rows looking for authors I recognized or titles that called to me.
Upon finding one of interest I would pull it from the shelf and read the back
cover or the first few pages. Anything of interest was added to my collection.
Everything else got added to the growing pile on the floor. I was so immersed
in the pages of a potential gem that I almost didn’t hear them.
Two voices were making their way toward me, speaking in
hushed tones.
“Shut up. I swear I heard something up here.”
“If I scaled that damn rope for nothing, I swear I will slit
your throat myself.”
Every muscle in my body tensed as the distinctly male voices
drifted through the aisles. Careful not to make a sound, I slipped the book
into my bag and peeked through a gap in the books. Their backs were turned to
me, the black leather of their coats splattered in red. Both men were hulking
in size, my head probably even with their chests. The taller one had a red
mohawk with feathers dangling from it. The other was bald with deep scars that
covered the entire left side of his head like angry red fissures. Both of them
had an obscene amount of metal piercings protruding from their skin. My hair
rose on end.
Ravagers.
What the hell were they doing here? Panic prickled in the
pit of my stomach. The vent leading to safety was nearly five rows over across
the aisle; there was no way to make it there without being seen. Why hadn’t I
brought my gun? I cursed myself as their eyes scanned the empty rows.
“I smell fear.” One of them taunted, his gruff voice
no longer whispering.
They cackled with delight.
I swallowed hard. Even if it was just a farce to scare me,
it was working, my pulse accelerating. Punching the other in the shoulder, the
one with the mohawk motioned for them to spilt off. My ears began to ring as
they moved to either side of my row and progressed towards me. I was trapped.
My eyes instantly searched for another route of escape or a place to hide. As
their footsteps moved closer, I began to silently climb.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Monday, October 6, 2014
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Monday, September 15, 2014
{Guest Post & Spotlight} AUTHOR STORMY SMITH
Today I have the honor of shining the spotlight on author Stormy Smith and her novel BOUND BY DUTY. Not only do I get to tell you all about the book, but I also had the chance to toss her a few This or That! Questions and ask her about her characters! Without further ado, awaaaaaaaaay we go!
Monday, August 25, 2014
{Spotlight} LUCKY CATCH by Deborah Coonts -- with giveaway and excerpt!
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Author: Deborah Coonts
Publisher: Cool Gus Publishing
Publishing Date: August 26, 2014
Length: 230 pages
Book Five in the Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series by National Bestselling Author DEBORAH COONTS
Trouble always comes in threes.
At least that’s what Lucky O’Toole, the VP of Customer Relations for Las Vegas’ primo Strip casino/hotel, the Babylon, has heard for years from her mother. So, tonight, when Teddie, her former lover shows up at her office unannounced and very unexpected, her father offers Teddie a job at the Babylon, she is called to deal with a pig in residence at one of the hotels most exclusive and opulent suites, and Lucky’s current lover, Jean-Charles Bouclet stops answering his phone leaving Lucky to handle his five-year-old son, Lucky figures she has tonight’s compliment of chaos covered.
As usual, she is a tad optimistic.
With a cadre of celebrity chefs with the maturity of teenagers in Vegas for a televised cook-off, a prized Alba truffle in the Babylon’s care, and her mother’s pregnancy racing toward the inevitable, what could go wrong?
When the truffle is stolen from the walk-in in Jean-Charles’ gourmet burger joint at the Babylon and a young chef apparently killed with a smoking gun is found in Jean-Charles’ food truck on the back lot, trouble takes a sinister turn.
And Jean-Charles still isn’t answering his phone.
Another body is discovered. This one stuffed in an oven at Jean-Charles’ eponymous restaurant and set to broil.
Desperate to put a lid on the body count and more than frantic over her AWOL lover, Lucky uses her Vegas contacts to search in places and in ways the police wouldn’t or couldn’t. Teddie insists on riding shotgun. Lucky hasn’t the time nor the resolve to say no. She’s never been able to resist Teddie … not really. With danger dogging their heels, Lucky finds herself falling once again under his spell as they traverse Vegas, being drawn deeper and deeper into the highly competitive world of high-end eateries and the battle for the very rare, most highly prized gourmet foodstuffs.
Would somebody really kill for a truffle?
In a heartbeat.
And when Lucky’s path crosses the killer’s… will her goose be cooked?
My mother tells me I was born in Texas a very long time ago, but I’m not so sure—my mother can’t be trusted. These things I do know: I was raised in Texas on barbeque, Mexican food and beer. I’ve lived in every time zone in the U.S.; the most memorable stint being the time spent in Las Vegas, where I currently reside and where family and friends tell me I can't get into too much trouble...silly people.
The only constant in my life (besides my family, who deserves hazardous duty pay for sticking with me) has been change (my mother is still waiting for me to grow up). Silly woman.
But all of this career ADD made me incredibly unemployable. Hence the whole writing thing.
Actually, I’ve known from a young age that somehow stories would be a large part of my life, but my path to telling lies for a living (okay, not lies per se, but variations of the truth, for sure) has been circuitous. If someone had just told me when I was a kid that I could actually be paid to daydream for a living, life would have been soooo much easier. But they didn’t. And I never saw a ‘daydreaming’ booth at all those Career Days I attended.
So, initially discouraged when unable to locate anyone willing to pay me to read books, go to the movies, or attend the theatre, and in need of providing for the best child in the world, my son Tyler, I spent years being someone else—an accountant (blech), a business owner (pretty fun), a lawyer (loved law school, hated practicing law), a pilot (giddy and terrifying at the same time). But through it all, I wrote. Along the way I wrote the world’s worst novel, a slightly more well-crafted but equally as poorly plotted novel, several non-fiction feature articles (my first sales!), multiple humor columns for a national magazine (more sales!), and, finally, the novel that sold, Wanna Get Lucky?, the first in a series to be published by Forge Books. The series is a Sex and the City meets Elmore Leonard in Vegas kind of thing, if you can imagine that. Okay, have several glasses of wine, then think about it…makes imagining easier. Anyway, the books are sexy, wry, romantic, and slightly naughty mixed with a little murder and mayhem—shaken, not stirred—then illuminated by the bright lights of Las Vegas—one of the truly magical cities in the world.
Many of my friends have asked me how in the world I came up with the Lucky series. The way they asked led me to believe they thought mind-altering substances might have been involved even though they knew the worst I do is a glass of fine Pinot-Noir. The answer to their question is actually very simple: let your fifteen-year-old male child pick where you live, follow his dream to Vegas, then keep your eyes open.
Hey, it worked for me!
CHAPTER ONE
Love and lust—two four-letter words men often confuse.
More specifically, a certain man . . . the man standing in my doorway.
Teddie.
My heart tripped, then steadied.
Thinner than I remembered, he still had that tight ass, those broad shoulders, spiky blond hair, soulful baby-blues, and a sippin’-whiskey-smooth voice that could warm me to the core, despite my best efforts to douse the fire.
Teddie.
Despite serious reservations about turning a platonic friendship into something . . . not platonic . . . I had let him lead me into the deep, dark waters of love. And being an all-or-nothing kind of gal, I’d done a half gainer off the high dive and things had not gone swimmingly.
He left.
And now he was back.
As I looked at him and tried to compose myself—it just wouldn’t do to let him see the splash his return made—I wondered how I’d ever get my heart back. The empty hole in my chest echoed with longing, leaving me winded.
My office phone jangled, giving me an excuse to avoid Teddie for a few moments longer. I grabbed the receiver. “Customer relations, Lucky O’Toole speaking. How may I help you?”
“We have a problem.” Detective Romeo with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department started in without preliminaries—not a good sign.
“What’s this we shit, Kemosabe?” I tried to make light. Apparently I failed miserably.
Romeo’s tone hardened. “Dead body. Back lot. Somebody wrapped her head in plastic and killed her with a smoking gun. You’re going to want to see this one.”
“Dang.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I never want to see that kind of thing. You know that.” I looked up and locked eyes with Teddie, who stared at me, his eyes dark and troubled.
“Trust me on this one.” He took an audible breath, then let it out slowly.
“Okay. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ve got to take Christophe Bouclet back to his father.”
“I’ll meet you there. This one’s bad.”
As if they all aren’t bad. “Meet me where?” My only answer was the hollow echo of a disconnected line. Romeo had hung up—he knew how much I hated that little bit of rudeness.
Men.
I narrowed my eyes at the prime example of the Y chromosome set standing in front of me.
Teddie knew me well enough to take a step back. “Romeo?” he asked with a forced lilt to his voice.
I set the receiver back in its cradle, but refused to let Romeo and Teddie get me all worked up. Problems, I could handle—as the vice president of Customer Relations at the Babylon, Las Vegas’s most over-the-top Strip property, problems were my job. And, if I can say anything about myself, I’m good at my job.
Now, to the most immediate problem. “Teddie, why are you here?”
Ignoring my glower, he continued, sounding like an old friend stopping by to reminisce. “Your office door was open,” he began in a casual tone, as if the earth still rotated on the same axis. “I expected to find you in your old office. What are you doing back here in this construction zone? Not VP digs. Congrats. By the way.” Teddie paused when his eyes came to rest on the young boy in my lap who clutched a crayon and concentrated on the drawing in front of him. I saw questions lurking in Teddie’s eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t voice them, choosing instead to give me a tentative grin.
A dagger to the heart.
A frown was the only response I could muster as my pulse pounded in my ears and I struggled to remain outwardly calm.
“This early in the morning I expected to see your staff out front,” he continued, ignoring the fact that this whole situation was fraught with possibilities of homicide. “But the desks were empty. Since you and I are . . . friends . . . I didn’t think you’d mind me wandering back here to find you.”
What was I going to say? “Get the hell out” seemed a bit extreme. And “no, we’re not friends” would have been too hard to admit. Offering to shoot him the next time he wandered in unannounced also seemed a bit aggressive. Maybe. I opted to duck-and-weave. “If I minded, would it matter?”
Teddie’s smile dimmed and he jammed his hands in his pockets as he shifted from one foot to the other, his shoulders hunched around his ears.
I took a deep breath and blew at a strand of hair that tickled my forehead. “To be honest, you were the last person I expected to darken my doorway this morning. Weren’t you just in Prague or Moscow or someplace half a world away?”
“I quit the tour and jumped a plane.”
Taking a step inside the doorway, he was brought up short by the look on my face. His arms wide, pleading, he said, “I had to see you.”
I wasn’t buying it. He always was a bit of a drama queen which, now that I thought about it, went with the whole female impersonator gig—I’d just never noticed it before—or it had never bothered me before.
Ever the performer, he adopted just the right tone—pleading without the whine. “You won’t take my calls. You won’t answer the messages I send you. You haven’t even acknowledged the song. What did you expect me to do?” He let his arms fall to his sides.
“Expect?” My voice was flat, hard, pounded thin by the hammer of his insensitivity. And the song he mentioned? Every time I heard the thing, he bludgeoned me anew. Didn’t he understand that? “Teddie, I expected you to stay gone.”
Hurt flashed across his face as we stared at each other and time slowed to a crawl. He looked like he wanted to explore the subject further, but wisely altered course. “Got a new friend, I see.” He nodded toward the boy.
Christophe squirmed under Teddie’s scrutiny, then leaned back and looked up at me. While I counted to ten and prayed for self-control and a noninflammatory response, I bent down and gave the boy a kiss on the head. He smelled like baby soap, and with good reason—last night we’d used a gallon of the stuff.
That was before I’d spent the night with his father.
“Christophe Bouclet.” My eyes found Teddie’s, then skittered away and back again. Knowing me, I had “guilty as sin” written all over my face. But, Teddie’d been the one to leave. So why did I feel guilty?
Life had just gotten way more than complicated.
I had absolutely no idea where to start or what to do. To be honest, I wasn’t 100 percent sure that, once started, I wouldn’t finish by grabbing Teddie by the neck and squeezing the life out of him. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. My cell phone sang out at my hip, saving me from a long future making license plates at the invitation of the great state of Nevada. Actually it was Teddie doing the singing. In a weak, masochistic moment, I’d installed as my ringtone a snippet of a song he’d written not only for me, but about me as well. Yes, that song . . . the one he’d mentioned and I’d avoided. He’d titled it “Lucky for Me.”
Apparently he loved irony.
At the first few notes, Teddie’s eyebrows shot up. I hastily reached for the device and silenced it with a stroke of my thumb. I gave him a steely stare, challenging the surprise that widened his eyes. Never wavering, I pressed the phone to my ear. “O’Toole,” I barked.
“How do you make a thousand turkeys disappear?”
“What?” I held the phone in front of me and squinted at the display, trying to bring into focus not only the tiny digits, but life as well. The number belonged to Jerry, the voice belonged to Jerry, but the question came out of left field—even from the Babylon’s head of Security. “Jerry, this really isn’t a good time.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “I got turkeys down here—the real things. A thousand of them.” Chaos in the background filtered through the connection. “You know anything about them?”
I glanced up at Teddie—turkeys seemed to abound today. And to think, Thanksgiving was still a few days away.
“Lucky, girl, are you there? We could sure use your help.”
As the Babylon’s chief problem-solver, turkeys like the one standing in my office doorway were my specialty. However, my expertise did not necessarily extend to the feathered variety.
I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m here, but I’m confused. Where are you? And, just for clarification, what kind of turkeys are we talking about?”
Jerry replied in a rushed voice, “The basement, Level Two. Your mother . . .”
The light dawned. “Oh God, she didn’t?”
“She did.” This time he burst out laughing. “Mona, she is some piece of work. Better get that woman down here. And tell her, if she plans on feeding the hungry on Thanksgiving, she’d better bring her double barrel and a shitload of buckshot.”
“Some people are alive solely because it’s illegal to shoot them.”
Jerry laughed. “Your mother . . .”
“. . . is their fearless leader,” I said, finishing his thought. “But, you aren’t seriously considering turning a pregnant woman loose in the basement with a loaded shotgun, are you? Remember what she did to the sheriff?”
“Any other ideas?” Jerry’s voice sobered a bit.
“Fresh out.” I glanced up at Teddie—a frown creased the skin between his eyes as he watched Christophe, who was working intently on his drawing. “And since answers on this end seem to be in short supply, I’m invoking one of my three vice president lifelines and am phoning a friend. That would be you, by the way.”
“But I called you,” Jerry reminded me.
“A mere technicality that is not enough for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Mother is your problem. I’ll get her down there. You figure out what happens next. If you kill her, just let me know where to send flowers.” I flipped the phone shut, terminating the call before he could guilt me into more. My vintage Versace suit and Loubous were hardly turkey-taming attire. And I didn’t really trust myself around Mona right now, especially with a gun within easy reach.
Today was Monday . . . in every way.
My eyes met Teddie’s and my heart tightened. Would I ever be over him? Christophe stilled in my lap.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I gave the boy another hurried peck on the top of his head. “Ignore the man in the doorway. He’s leaving.” With both hands under Christophe’s arms, I lifted him, slithered out from under him, then deposited him back in the chair. “And so are we.”
The boy wiggled his legs underneath him. Kneeling, he bent back over the picture he had been drawing when we’d been so rudely interrupted. “I’m drawing a picture of you and Papa and my happy-face pancakes.” He gave me a look designed to melt my heart. God help womankind in another ten or twelve years. “See?” He pointed to one figure. “ You have Papa’s shirt on.”
I sighed. Like I said, a Monday in every way. “That’s wonderful, dear. It was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Tomorrow we will make pancakes again?” A demand framed as a question—his father had the same habit.
Allergic to authority, real or implied, I don’t know why it didn’t irritate me. Maybe it was the French accent. Who knew? I smiled and ruffled his hair. “Of course. Now, I’ve got to take you to your father.” I rounded up wayward crayons and stuffed them back in the box. Then I eased the paper from his grasp and carefully tucked it into a drawer. “Let’s finish this later, okay?” Turning, I presented my back. “Climb aboard.”
He jumped in exuberance, his legs encircling my waist. Holding a bit too tightly around my neck, he choked off the air. I loosened his arms and settled him on my hips. “Good?”
He nuzzled in, his mouth next to my ear. “Oui!”
“We’re off, then.” My eyes, full of challenge and probably a bit of hurt, met Teddie’s as I moved to brush by him. I could see in his face the warning had registered. He opened his mouth to speak. I put a hand to the center of his chest to move him out of the doorway—the connection hit me like a sucker punch. I struggled to keep my composure. “Don’t.”
Clamping his mouth shut, Teddie did as I asked and stepped aside.
I let my hand drop. Why had I touched him? I knew every curve and angle of his body by heart. Closing my eyes, I could remember the feel of him, as real and immediate as if we’d never stopped. But we had stopped. Well, he had stopped. Apparently my heart, not to mention other parts, hadn’t gotten the memo. Pulling air into my lungs in a vain hope that some would find its way to my head, I opened my eyes and gave a half-smile to the man who had stolen my heart. Then I eased past him, careful not to touch him again.
My old office, which was adjacent to my new one but lacked the whole construction zone motif, was empty, as was the outer office. The bird still slept under the nighttime cage cover. I’d never been so glad to find my staff absent and my foul-mouthed feathered friend muzzled for the moment.
Teddie followed me.
“Go away.” I threw the words over my shoulder as I burst through the outer door, then turned and hurried down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Giddy-up!” Christophe shrieked.
Teddy was hard on my heels. “We need to talk.” He reached for my elbow.
His hand fell away as I stopped. Taking a deep breath, I turned. Christophe fisted a hand in my hair.
“What do you want, Teddie?”
“Is that boy the new French chef’s?”
“His son, yes.”
An emotion, one that didn’t look pleasant, pulled Teddie’s lips into a thin line. “You didn’t waste much time.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know me, never let a warm bed cool.” Turning, I resumed my stalk down the hall. Teddie knew me well enough to know that wasn’t even close to being true. The sad truth was, he probably knew me better than I knew myself, which put me at a distinct disadvantage.
“Lucky, you shut me out.” Teddie dogged my heels. “Would you stop for a minute?”
“Go away, Teddie. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.” I tossed the verbal arrows over my shoulder. “I have nothing to say.” Okay, that was a lie—I had a ton to say, but now was not the time, especially with a five-year-old on my back. Besides, I didn’t like to be ambushed.
Apparently my verbal darts had finally penetrated his thick skull. When Teddie spoke again his voice held a quiet, plaintive tone. “I couldn’t stay away.”
With Teddie I had never known where the act ended and sincerity began. I still didn’t, but I’d built up immunity to the whole show. “Pity.” My phone rang at my hip, but, with both arms full of little boy, and my thoughts gyrating wildly, I had more than I could deal with already, so I ignored it. “Lucky for Me” jangled into the sudden silence. Thank God ringtones were only a few seconds long.
Christophe laid his head on my shoulder, his fingers entwined in my hair. The poor kid had traveled halfway around the world from his grandparents’ farm in Provence, arriving last night, then had been too excited to sleep for long.
“Especially when your father called.” With pitch-perfect comedic timing, Teddie could deliver a punch line better than Jerry Seinfeld.
I threw on the brakes mid-stride—Christophe didn’t move. “What?”
Obviously taken by surprise, Teddie skidded to a stop. He stepped in front of me, then, at the look on my face, took a step back. Everyone in my sphere knew, when my eyes got all slitty it usually meant “run.” Foolish man, he stood his ground. He even squared his shoulders. “Your father called.”
“I heard you the first time.” Teddie couldn’t be lying, could he? That would be way too stupid, even for him. “Why did he call you?” I left the last word hanging, poised, like a wrecking ball beginning its arc.
“He offered me my old job back.”
“Really?” I tried not to let him see the effect of that low blow. Betrayed by my own father and blindsided by Teddie—could life get any better today? My father was the owner of the Babylon and, as such, complicated my life immeasurably, but usually not quite this boldly. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “And?”
“We’re working out the terms, but I think we have a deal. He made his offer contingent on your approval.”
“So that’s really why you’re here, to get my blessing.”
Careful not to upset the resting boy, I stepped around Teddie and strode to the elevators. I angrily poked the down button, even though I knew the speed with which the elevator would appear bore an inverse relationship to the fervor with which I punched. Teddie’s perfect reflection eased in beside my rather ordinary one. Light brown hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, angry scowl, a hint of hurt under a layer of homicide—not my best look.
“That’s not why I’m here.” Teddie’s voice held a softer tone, inviting, cajoling.
Reeking of self-serving insincerity, his plea was too little, too late. I cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at his reflection.
He shrugged, apparently deciding that truth might be the salve to soothe the wound—he was wrong. “Okay, it’s part of the reason I’m here. But you are the main reason.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “So, being a rock star wasn’t enough? Now you have to come back here to mess with my magic?”
His voice dropped. “I love you.”
“Low blow.” Thankfully, the elevator doors eased open. I stepped inside, then turned and put a hand out, stopping him from following me. Unwilling to be singed again, I pulled my hand back before it made contact.
“Not now, Teddie. Maybe not ever.”
Maybe? Where the hell had that come from?
The doors slid shut, saving me from further humiliation as tears welled in my eyes.
“Damn!” I shouted, the word echoing in the empty elevator. Christophe’s head popped up and his body jerked in surprise. “Sorry, honey.”
“I don’t like that man. He made you mad.”
I took a deep breath and calmed myself down as I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with the knuckle of my forefinger and sniffed back further emotion. “He’s a nice man and he didn’t make me angry. I had expectations he didn’t live up to—my fault, not his.” Saying the words was easy, believing them, not so much.
The boy’s quizzical look reflected back to me in the polished metal doors. His face peering at me over my shoulder reminded me of an angel whispering in my ear. Stranded in the quicksand of my own confusion and ambivalence, I wished he had words of wisdom, but he was just a boy.
“Maybe he is like a puppy who has been scolded—he bites even though he is the one who has been bad.”
Wow. That stopped me for a moment. My experience with children had been limited, but I guessed that whole out-of-the-mouths-of-babes thing had some truth to it. “You’re probably right.” I hitched him higher on my hips. “Teddie can be quite charming. You’ll like him . . . everybody does.”
“But you don’t?”
“I like him, but with us, it’s a bit more complicated.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Relationships. I totally sucked at them. Pasting on a smile, I contemplated who to kill first—my father, Teddie, Mona—I wasn’t sure the order mattered. Of course, I could line them up and rid myself of the lot of them all at once—a Thanksgiving Day Massacre. Tempting.
“Ms. O’Toole,” a disembodied voice asked—the eye-in-the-sky, our omnipresent security system, “Mr. Jerry asked me to find you. He said you weren’t answering your phone.”
“One can run but one can’t hide?” I asked the voice.
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid you’re screwed,” the voice said, then paused awkwardly. “That probably isn’t how I’m supposed to talk to a vice president, is it?”
“Well, since this vice president just yelled a not-so-nice word to an empty elevator in the presence of a youngster, I’d say you were well within propriety.” The elevator stopped and the doors eased open. A middle-aged couple stood there, waiting to enter.
I stayed where I was. “Now, did you want something?”
At first the couple looked taken aback, as if I were talking to them. Then they leaned forward slightly and glanced around the empty elevator.
“Yes,” came the voice. “Mr. Jerry is apoplectic. He said to tell you that your mother is not answering her phone.”
Stepping to the side and holding the door, I motioned the couple inside. At first they hesitated, but then they moved past, eyeing me as they did so. “What floor?” I asked them.
“Twelve,” the lady responded.
I punched the appropriate button, then answered the voice. “Tell him I’ll be on my way after I make a quick stop in the Bazaar, and I’ll bring Mona if I have to shoot her with a tranquilizer dart and throw her over my shoulder.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Letting loose the doors, I stepped out. As the elevator closed, I overheard the man say, “A tranquilizer dart. I wonder if she would do the same to Irene?”
<#>
I paused for a moment staring at myself in the elevator doors, gathering my wits, or what was left of them. Irene? The man’s comment to his female companion certainly triggered an interesting visual.
Vegas, where two is a date and three is . . . an even better date.
Carefully, I shifted the boy on my back. Once again Christophe’s head had sagged onto my shoulder, his eyes fluttering, then remaining shut. The ability to sleep anywhere—if only I could bottle some of that.
Thanksgiving was three days away—an eternity in my world. The holidays were supposed to bring families together, to let bygones be bygones, giving us a chance to relax in the presence of folks who—short of homicide—couldn’t get rid of us.
I wasn’t feeling the magic.
Apparently I was the lone lump of coal floating in a sea of the milk of human kindness—or I was the only sober one in a sea of well-oiled humanity. Excited voices swirled around me as I turned and strode through the lobby. As they waited for the next check-in clerk, travelers in their Bermuda shorts, sundresses, sandals, and goose bumps rubbed their bare arms, some cuddled against the chill. Most swilled the free champagne passed by cocktail waitresses in their barely there togas with gold braid belts, strappy Gladiator footwear with five-inch heels, pearly smiles, and other Vegas assets properly displayed.
Vegas’s location in the middle of the Mojave Desert fooled most folks into thinking summer was a year-round season. Not true. Winter could be windy and chilly. Today was a perfect example—a cool breeze wafted in each time someone pushed through one of the multiple sets of double-glass doors forming the Babylon’s grand entry, letting in a taste of the out-of-doors. To be honest, I welcomed the change in the weather—while my life kept me teetering on the brink of insanity, twelve months of hundred-degree days would shove me right over.
For a moment I let myself absorb some of the crowd’s energy and enthusiasm. Glancing at the ceiling, I smiled at the Chihuly blown-glass hummingbirds and butterflies arcing in flight. A dozen skiers bombed down the indoor ski slope sheltered behind a wall of Lucite on the far side of the lobby. Multicolored cloth tented above reception. Equally colorful mosaics decorated the white marble walls and floors hinting at the Babylon’s Persian motif. Unfortunately I couldn’t find a problem to solve—everything hummed with precision. Darn.
Guess I had to deal with Mona and her turkeys.
Then a dead woman and a smoking gun, which sounded like the perfect recipe for a migraine.
I eased Christophe to one hip as he slumbered, freeing a hand. With a practiced motion, I grabbed my phone from its holster and flipped it open. My thumb found Mona’s button. After the fifth ring, I started to ring off when she answered, her voice breathless.
“Lucky, honey. This isn’t a good time. Your father and I . . .”
“TMI, Mother.” I stifled a shiver of revulsion. No matter how old I got, how worldly I became, there was just something so . . . disturbing about picturing my parents inter-coitus. “And, come to think about it,” I grimaced at the unintentional pun as I once again shifted the boy who clung to my back like a monkey, “are you supposed to be having S-E-X in your condition?”
“S-E-X? Why are you spelling? And what are you talking about? We’re hanging pictures.” She stifled a giggle.
“Right.” I shifted the phone to my other ear, holding it with my shoulder, then put a hand on my hip, nearly taking out a cute Marine as he dodged around me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said as he shot me a grin.
Even though the “ma’am” thing rankled, I allowed myself a moment to admire his ass as he hurried on. “Mother, Jerry needs you downstairs. Basement Level Two.”
“Honey,” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “can’t it wait?”
I tried to picture Jerry, his well-armed staff, and a thousand turkeys. “No, I don’t think so. Jerry needs your help with the turkeys you ordered.”
Mona’s voice turned brusque. “Oh, well, I already had the staff clear enough room in several of the walk-ins. I don’t see what he needs me for.”
“I think he wants to blindfold you and stand you against a wall.” I started laughing; I couldn’t help it. “Seriously, Mother. I know your heart’s in the right place. But couldn’t you at least have ordered the turkeys already dressed?”
“But Chef Omer said he would make the dressing.”
The sea of humanity in the lobby flowed around me as I let my head drop forward. My emotions, ragged and somewhat irrational, burbled up. I didn’t fight them. Instead, I relinquished myself and laughed until I cried. It was the only non-self-destructive antidote to Mona and a day that, with Teddie’s sudden reappearance and Romeo’s little bombshell, had taken a hard turn toward abysmal. And to think, it had started so well. Warmth suffused me as I pictured my chef in his shorts and a smile. “Mother,” I managed to squeeze the words out with what little air was left in my lungs. “‘Dressed’ means plucked, gutted, and ready to stuff.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, which gave me time to compose myself somewhat. I wiped my tears on the shoulder of my blouse—I never did like the color of this one anyway—then I bit my lip as I fought down another burble of laughter.
“You mean they’re . . . alive?” Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Mona apparently still had a bit of an edge.
“Mmmmm.” That was the only sound I trusted myself to make.
“Oh, my!”
I took a deep breath. “Mother, at your behest, the press is coming tomorrow. And you’ve given the go-ahead to Crazy Carl to invite all of his fellow storm drain dwellers for the big feast on Thursday. The staff is ready to go, but I feel pretty sure they’ll mutiny if you expect them to behead, gut, and pluck a thousand turkeys.”
“But what should I do?” Her voice sounded small, imploring . . . like a child’s.
Wise to her game, I refused to play. “You need to get down there ASAP. After that, I haven’t a clue. You wanted to campaign for an appointment to the Paradise Town Council. You wanted to ‘change the world one homeless person at a time,’ which I believe were your exact words. You wanted to run this show. Well, run it.”
“Lucky, you’re not being very helpful,” she harrumphed.
“I know.” As I terminated the call, I couldn’t wipe the gloat off my face.
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Sunday, August 24, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
{Blog Tour} TEMPTED BY A ROGUE PRINCE by Felicity Heaton -- with review, long excerpt, and giveaway!
Tempted by a Rogue Prince, the third book in New York Times best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot new paranormal romance series, Eternal Mates, is now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release, she’s holding a FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY at her website.
Find out how to enter the Tempted by a Rogue Prince international giveaway (ends August 24th) and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website, where you can also download a 6 chapter sample of the novel: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/tempted-by-a-rogue-prince-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Tempted by a Rogue Prince and the Eternal Mates series is set in the same world as the Vampire Erotic Theatre series, so if you’re a fan of that series, you will love Eternal Mates. Throughout this series, you’ll have a chance to catch up with the cast of the Vampire Erotic Theatre series and learn more about their world. In Claimed by a Demon King, you’ll get to visit the theatre, and some of the favourite characters in the Vampire Erotic Theatre series.
Here’s more about Tempted by a Rogue Prince, including an excerpt from this paranormal romance novel.
Tempted by a Rogue Prince (Eternal Mates Romance Series Book 3)
Felicity Heaton
An elf prince on the verge of losing himself to the darkness, Vail is maddened by the forty-two centuries he was under the control of a witch and forced to war with his brother. Now, he roams Hell seeking an escape from his terrible past and the heads of all who bear magic. When demons of the Fifth Realm capture him, he sees a chance to end his existence, but when he wakes in a cell to a beautiful female, he finds not death but his only shot at salvation—his true fated mate.
Felicity Heaton
An elf prince on the verge of losing himself to the darkness, Vail is maddened by the forty-two centuries he was under the control of a witch and forced to war with his brother. Now, he roams Hell seeking an escape from his terrible past and the heads of all who bear magic. When demons of the Fifth Realm capture him, he sees a chance to end his existence, but when he wakes in a cell to a beautiful female, he finds not death but his only shot at salvation—his true fated mate.
Captured by the enemy of the Third Realm when the war ended, Rosalind has spent months in the cells of the Fifth Realm with her magic bound, forced to heal the new king’s demon warriors, and haunted by the lives she has taken. When she’s brought to heal an unconscious man, she discovers her only hope of escape has come in the form of her worst nightmare and the first part of a prediction that might spell her doom—a devastatingly handsome and dangerous dark elf prince.
Unwilling to fall under the control of anyone ever again, Vail must escape before the Fifth King can use him as a pawn in a deadly game of revenge, but he cannot leave without Rosalind, the woman who looks at him with dark desire in her stunning eyes and awakens a fierce hunger in his heart. A witch who drives him mad with need even as the darkness within whispers she will enslave him too.
Can Rosalind escape her fate as they embark on a journey fraught with danger and resist the temptation of her rogue elf prince? And can Vail overcome the memories that madden him in order to seize his chance for salvation and the heart of his fated female forever?
Tempted by a Rogue Prince is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback. Find the links to your preferred retailer at: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/tempted-by-a-rogue-prince-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Tempted by a Rogue Prince is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback.
Find all the links, a fantastic 6 chapter downloadable sample of the book, and also how to enter the giveaway and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/tempted-by-a-rogue-prince-paranormal-romance-novel.php
Books in the Eternal Mates paranormal romance series:
Book 4: Hunted by a Jaguar – coming in 2015
Given that this book is about Vail, it is considerably darker and more emotional than the first two books in the series. And yet, Felicity Heaton manages to keep it from going too dark, keeping it sexy and just as hot as the other two. Vail obviously suffers from severe PTSD thanks to thousands of years of mental, emotional, and sexual abuse at the hands of a b_*ch witch. Rosalind, captured at the end of the skirmish in Claimed by a Demon King, is at the mercy of demons in another realm. She is prevented from using her magic to heal herself, but forced to heal others. When Vail ends up in the same dungeon, he is of course not going to be held in any small room. But he knows that when he makes a break for it, for some reason, he must save that little rose.
This is a romance story filled with bravery. The worst demons to confront are the ones that eat you alive inside. Vail is convinced he is pure evil and yet he keeps saving Rosalind and being sure to protect her. He also threatens her repeatedly and is walking a fine line between madness and sanity. Rosalind, fully knowledgeable about a prophecy regarding herself and if she happens to cross paths with an elf prince, is just as brave for embracing her destiny and reaching out to love someone who so obviously needs it and yet is quite dangerous. This paranormal romance kept me on my toes; you just didn't know at points if Vail was going to lose it or not. Rosalind was a really wonderful character who recognizes the problem and goes about resolving it and helping Vail in a lovely way. I cheered these two on and was quite pleased with this novel. It was emotional, yes, and dark, yes, but also filled with love and hope and some seriously steamy scenes.
About Felicity Heaton:
Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.
If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.
If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/felicityheaton
Twitter: http://twitter.com/felicityheaton
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/felicityheaton
Tempted by a Rogue Prince – Excerpt
They entered a cavernous hall lit by torches mounted on the great gleaming obsidian pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. Ahead of Vail, at the end of a long wide aisle, stood a black throne on a raised stone platform.
On that throne sat a huge demon male, his grey horns curling from beneath his jagged green helm, their painted white tips bright in the low light. They were extended, curling around themselves and flaring forwards into dangerous points, a sign of the anger that flowed from him.
His broad bare chest bore the scars of war, both recent and centuries past, and a thick braid of black hair lay down one side of it, curling over his shoulder from under his green helm. As Vail approached, his dark eyebrows drew down, narrowing his green eyes and lending a grim edge to his expression.
“King Bruan, we have brought the elf prisoner as instructed.” The biggest male pushed Vail forwards with such force he almost lost his balance again and he had to fight to stop himself from turning on the inferior wretch.
He kept his focus locked on the male several metres in front of him. King Bruan.
The demon king shifted in his seat, his left arm remaining dangling over the edge of his obsidian throne.
In it was a green and black thick metal torc.
The male had lost a loved one?
Vail knew of the demon tradition of wearing a torc to signify the loss of a mate.
King Bruan lifted it, drawing Vail’s gaze up with it, and stared at it with a faraway look in his eyes.
“My brother wore this,” he murmured in the demon tongue, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “He lost his female centuries ago, and honoured her for all that time, upholding his vow to make the Fifth Realm the most powerful all Hell had seen.”
The immense male rose fluidly to his booted feet and glared at Vail, pinning him with green eyes blazing with fury and pain.
“Frayne would have succeeded in carrying out that vow had it not been for your prince and his part in the war.” The demon king lifted the torc and tightened his grip on it, his knuckles burning with the force. “Now this is all I have of him. This…”
He tossed the twisted curved piece of metal at Vail. It clattered across the stone flags, the sound loud and jarring in the cavernous room, and stopped a few inches short of his bare feet.
“And the oath I swore to my warriors when their king fell.” The male prowled down the steps towards Vail, his powerful body shifting with each step, making Vail aware of the vast difference in their strength. In his current condition, he was no match for this king of demons.
Bruan stopped in front of Vail, grasped his metal collar, catching his neck with his claws at the same time, and hauled him off his feet by it, bringing Vail’s face closer to his. The sweet scent of mead rolled off his breath.
“I will avenge him,” Bruan snarled down at him, flashing emerging fangs. “You will tell me all you know of the locations of the elf army along their borders.”
Vail held his gaze as calmly as he could manage when what he really wanted to do was claw the demon’s eyes out and then dig a hole in his chest to extract his black, still-beating heart. A heart he would crush before his eyes so he could see the fear and the light of life drain out of them.
“I know nothing of troop movements,” Vail stated, sure that the king wouldn’t believe him even though he was speaking the truth.
Demons were thick-headed. He had learned that the moment he and his brother had set foot in Hell to build their new kingdom. Vail had wanted to take three legions of their army to teach the First and Second Realms of the demons to respect the elves. Loren had suggested a more diplomatic approach of venturing into those kingdoms and speaking directly with their kings. It had almost got him killed. His older brother had always been painfully obstinate and irritatingly diplomatic, wanting to see the good in everyone, even those who held only darkness in their hearts.
Like him.
Vail closed his eyes.
Loren.
He didn’t understand why his brother fought so hard for him. Could Loren love him still, after everything he had done to his kingdom and his people?
His strength faltered, his fight leaving him for a heartbeat of time before he dragged himself back to his present location and away from the past and his brother.
Bruan was studying his face with a shrewd eye, one that Vail didn’t like and that set him on edge. He had underestimated the intelligence of this particular demon and had to tread carefully if he was to convince the male he was of no use to him.
The demon king lowered him to his feet but retained his hold on Vail’s collar. “You are not a soldier?”
Vail shook his head. The king eyed him closely, looking him over from head to toe and back again.
“I admit you are scrawny and weak, but you do not look like a civilian. There is a little too much pride in those eyes and a little too much courage.” The demon released his collar and stepped back, as if needing to view all of him in one go in order to make a decision about his profession and whether he believed him. He eventually shook his head. “You fought well against my men. You are a soldier.”
“I am no soldier, although I have done my share of fighting and killing as one of them. I left that life behind long ago. If you see pride and courage, it is born of that period of my life and nothing else. I have wandered the earth since leaving my homeland and have not set foot in it in many centuries.” Vail straightened his spine, standing as tall as he could manage while the demons behind him held his neck and waist under their control. “I have no allegiance to the elves or Prince Loren.”
“An elf with no allegiance to his kind, who has done his share of killing…” The king moved a step closer again, a glimmer in his eyes that Vail recognised. Madness. The loss of his brother had driven him mad, crazed by a need for vengeance. The male narrowed his green eyes on him and smirked. “I thought you a soldier we could question for intelligence on the prince and perhaps the Third King.”
Bruan moved so quickly Vail wouldn’t have had a chance to shift backwards to evade him even if he hadn’t been held by two guards. He grabbed Vail’s jaw, his fingers pressing into the left side while his thumb dug into the right, and shoved his head back. He stared down into Vail’s eyes, his smile growing.
“Forgive me… your highness… I did not recognise you at first.”
Vail tensed and barely bit back the growl that curled up his throat. He hadn’t expected the demon to know him. He had never seen this male in his life, had never ventured this deep into the interior of the Fifth Realm, and the male was young. It wasn’t possible that they had met.
The king’s smile held. “You are thinking in there… calculating… you do not hide it well, Mad Elf Prince. You wonder how I know you.”
Vail did growl now. The demon didn’t flinch.
Vail knew of his nickname, of the things whispered about him in all the realms, the horror stories people told of him and the threats they used on their offspring. Go to bed or the mad elf prince will come for you. He knew of what they called him and he despised them all for it.
If he were mad, it was not by choice, and it was not something he wanted. He wanted… something far beyond his reach. He wanted the impossible, and that made him weak. Vulnerable. Forgiveness would never be his, and neither would salvation, but no matter how many times he had tried to purge the tiny fragment of light that remained in his soul, the small seed of hope, it had refused to die.
“You see… I got a good look at the man who helped King Thorne kill my brother,” Bruan said over Vail’s rumbling growl. “I was fighting Prince Loren at the time the Third King took Frayne’s head… and you look too much like him to be anyone else. So your charade ends here, and I have devised a new plan. I will ransom you to your brother in exchange for the assistance of the elves in my new war.”
Vail laughed at him, wiping the smile off his ugly face and replacing it with confusion. “My brother will not pay for my return… he despises me. Did you not know that I have been at war with him since long before you were born? The prince you desire to gain assistance from would sooner see me dead than align his army with yours.”
Bruan’s expression turned flat and unreadable, his green eyes impassive and giving nothing away.
“It is not so.” The demon king bent and picked up the discarded green and black metal torc, rolling it over in his hands. “I have heard your brother is searching for you. Do you not know your brother hunts for you even now?”
“To kill me.”
Bruan laughed, the booming sound echoing around the hall. “Foolish male. If I have learned anything about the older brothers of this realm, it is that they would never kill a younger sibling, one which they would have sworn to protect from the day of their birth. If your brother hunts you, then it is for no other purpose than reuniting with you.”
Vail shook his head.
“You forget, we are not born of this realm.” He narrowed his eyes on the demon king and smiled, gathering every ounce of his anger and pain into a tempest within him, one that the demon would see in his gaze. One that would tell this fool that his plot would end in ruin.
Vail would never play the role assigned to him. His brother would never set foot in this kingdom and he would somehow make sure of it. He would keep his brother safe, even if he had to take his own life to achieve it. Loren would feel the connection between them die. He would know what had happened to him and he would not be fooled by this mad demon king.
“Loren would see me dead, and the feeling is mutual,” Vail spat at the male and snarled, flashing the tips of his fangs as his ears grew more pointed, a physical sign of the aggression surging through him, the darkness that coaxed him into goading the demon into killing him. He would ensure his brother’s safety and deliver himself into death’s embrace. “I would see my brother dead before he could raise a hand to harm me. I would act to defend myself and then what alliance would you have? If you even so much as send word to my brother of my location… if you interfere in our war… in my fight… I will kill every single warrior in this castle and then I will kill you.”
King Bruan growled at him, his powerful body rippling as his eyes blazed green fire and his enormous black dragon-like wings burst from his bare back.
“You dare to order me? You dare to threaten me?” The huge demon male grasped Vail’s collar and dragged him off his feet, leaving them dangling above the dark flagstones. He was growing, his muscles expanding as his true form emerged, turning his visage dark and demonic. “A male such as you needs to be taught humility with an iron fist. You will learn to hold your forked tongue. You will learn your place. I will have submission beaten into you and then we shall speak again.”
Darkness welled up inside Vail, thick and inky, violent like a tempest swirling through his blood and igniting his fury. He snarled at the demon king, the thought of being taken back to the torture chamber shoving him over the edge into the abyss.
The beast within him rose to the fore, baring his fangs at the male who dared to threaten him, who sought to control him just as Kordula had done—with pain and punishment, stripping him of his pride and his strength. He would not let this male do such a thing to him. He would not submit to anyone.
Never again.
Vail roared and fought to lift his arms, his broken nails becoming claws as his muscles strained against the bonds that held him. The demon king dropped him and shifted back a step, signalling to the guards at the same time. One struck him across the side of his head but it didn’t stop him. He arched backwards, using every drop of his strength on the cuffs, and unleashed a victorious snarl as the chain snapped free.
He turned hard, throwing one guard off balance, sending him toppling to the ground, and lashed out at the second one. The larger male struck him again, the blow coming faster than he could evade while the magic in his restraints dampened his powers.
Vail growled, baring his bloodied fangs, clasped his hands together and swung them up in a brutal diagonal arc. They smashed into the side of the male’s face and he staggered sideways, towards the other demon now back on his feet.
He prepared himself to attack him.
Pain splintered across his knees, the force and speed of the thick pole slamming into them shattering his kneecaps and fracturing the joints of his femurs. An inferno blazed up his bones and he cried out his agony as he dropped to his knees on the flagstones. He bent over, his face buried in his cuffed hands as he fought the pain, struggling to catch his breath as it overwhelmed him, threatening to shut his body down and send him tumbling into unconsciousness. He had to remain awake.
He had to fight.
Not only for his sake, but for his brother’s.
He needed to kill the demon king.
Felicity has a HUGE giveaway going on at her page, however she has allowed me to offer up one ebook copy of either KISSED BY A DARK PRINCE or CLAIMED BY A DEMON KING, winner's choice! Open internationally! See GiveawayTools widget below!
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