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Young Adult Dark Urban Fantasy Author ~

Books

Spring Fling Scavenger Hunt @NightOwlReviews #Books #Giveaway

Hi guys,

I am a contributing author in Night Owl Reviews Spring Fling Scavenger Hunt happening March 10-31. It’s a great way to win some prizes and discover some new books/authors.

 

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Here’s how it works:

Find some awesome books (including Crystallum by me).

Read some blurbs.

Fill in some missing words,

and get entered to win some awesome prizes. 🙂

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There are 107 Prizes

1 – $100 Amazon Gift Card – Grand Prize
2 – $50 Amazon Gift Cards
6 – $25 Amazon Gift Cards
27 – $10 Amazon Gift Cards
71 – $5 Amazon Gift Cards

Interested?

 Enter at: https://www.nightowlreviews.com/v5/Blog/Articles/Spring-Fling-2016

 

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#NewRelease ~ HERO ENGINE by Alexander Nader

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Welcome, you guys.

Today, I am excited to share Alexander Nader’s newest release,

HERO ENGINE

hero engine

 

 

About the Book

Age: Adult

Genre: fantasy, detective, super hero

 

BLURB:

‘Cool’ Jim Quig has one love : his job. And he likes it that way. While Jim protects the streets, the heroes take all the credit. He’s fine with that, all cops are. Sort of. So when the director of the Super Hero Initiative (SHI) asks Jim to help solve a mystery plaguing SHI headquarters, he’s not interested. Who cares if an ancient artifact known as the Hero Engine has been destroyed? Or if every super hero in existence was altered into their superhuman state by the device? It’s not Jim’s problem. The ‘capes’ can solve their own mystery.

The director doesn’t take no for answer and Jim’s task is to not only find out who destroyed the Engine, but why one hero has gone AWOL. For the last fifty-two years, SHI has protected the world, but with the destruction of the Engine, and a rogue killing super humans, the golden era of heroes has ended. Cool Jim Quig is about to find out what happens when a cape goes nutso.

If only he had just said no to the guy in the flashy suit.

****

Check this book out, guys. It’s quick-witted, fast paced, and well written.  Worth a read, along with Alex’s other books as well.

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BUY NOW:

Get the book
Amazon – Barnes & Noble – iTunes – The Book Depository

 

alexanderAbout the Author
Alex lives in the tourist infested hills of east Tennessee with his amazing wife/muse and three superb children. He would tell you more about how awesome they are, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. When he’s not hanging out with them he’s making pizzas. When he’s not doing that he’s working at a bookstore and occasionally he jots a few words down. He’s a big fan of good music, good storytelling, and mixed martial arts.

He once wrote a short story about pirates to his wife via text message that blossomed into a full length novel and never stopped after that.

Visit Alexander Online


CRYSTALLUM (Primordial Principles 1) has a cover! #YA #UF

CRYSTALLUM,

the first installment of the Primordial Principals series,

has a cover! 🙂

 

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If you’d like to share, please do!

The reveal will be on September 10th.

Details and sign-ups can be found here:

 CRYSTALLUM Fall 2015

CRYSTALLUM Fall 2015


COVER REVEAL ~ The Surrogate Sea (Wilderhark #6) by Danielle E. Shipley

Today I am happy to share Danielle E. Shipley’s reveal of

The Surrogate Sea

Book six of The Wilderhark Tales

Surrogate Sea cover, front
Release date: March 24,
Genre: Young-Adult Fairytale / Fantasy / Romance
BLURB:

The Sea’s storm brought them together, and the Sea’s rules will keep them apart, unless the mute but melodious Muirigan can find another to take her place, freeing her to pursue the human man she loves. But when her plan collides with the schemes of the sly South Wind, a princess’s agenda to look for love in all the most fantastic places, and a prince whose head and heart have been long years at war, the result is a tragedy of errors from which the world might never recover.

The Surrogate Sea (Book Six of The Wilderhark Tales)

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An enchantress’s curse turns a spoiled royal into a beast; a princess’s pricked finger places her under a hundred-year spell; bales of straw are spun as golden as the singing harp whisked down a giant beanstalk – all within sight of Wilderhark, the forest that’s seen it all.

You’ve heard the stories – of young men scaling rope-like braids to assist the tower-bound damsel; of gorgeous gowns appearing just in time for a midnight ball; of frog princes, and swan princes, and princes saved from drowning by maidens of the sea. Tales of magic. Tales of adventure. Most of all, tales of true love.

Once upon a time, you knew them as fairytales. Know them now as Wilderhark’s.

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Author Bio:
Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. …Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof.

When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble.

When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing, publishing, and all that authorial jazz, she’s probably blogging about it at EverOnWord.wordpress.com.

Surrogate Sea, Cover Reveal Promo


Read Chapter Two of TIED (FireBorn1) by @LaneyMcMann @JTaylorPub #YA

To celebrate the holiday season, I’ll be sharing the first few chapters of TIED, book 1 in the Fire Born Novels trilogy, over the next few days.

ENJOY!

 

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YA Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Here is chapter one if you missed it: TIED 

CHAPTER TWO

I tiptoed up the steps to my house, the wooden planks on the deck creaking under my feet. Easing the backdoor open, careful to keep the hinges from squeaking, I brushed the sand off, and ducked in time to miss the new wind chime hanging from the ceiling. My mom wouldn’t be understanding if she found me sneaking in again, and I’d never been able to explain what kept happening to me.

Creeping down the dark hallway, I dodged the night-light’s glow and crawled into bed. Five A.M. pulsed on my alarm clock, turning the white ceiling a fluorescent shade of orange. I stared at the light until my eyes watered, the weight of exhaustion blanketing me in a continual haze. I didn’t sleep. Not much, anyway. Staying awake kept most of the visions at bay—the ones I didn’t invite in, visions that used to wake me in the middle of the night in a cold, terrified sweat.

I lay, staring blurry-eyed into nothing. The face I knew so well came into focus, and I smiled in spite of myself, knowing I should push the thoughts away—knowing I made myself crazy by thinking about him.

I missed Max more than I’d ever missed anyone in my life. For years, I’d tried to will him to return. He never did. Max didn’t exist. Somehow, I’d created an imaginary life, and my heart ached for it. For him.

I wiped the tears from my face, got out of bed and pinned down my mass of scraggly hair. The sound of my mother banging around in the kitchen reached my room, her percolating coffee permeating the air. The aroma, I loved; the drink, I didn’t.

Bare feet peeked under the refrigerator door as I rounded the corner into the kitchen from the stairs, our cat meowing hungrily at the hem of my mother’s pink bathrobe.

“Aw, Teine. Look at you.” She reached for my cheeks over the top of the door, but I dodged her hands. “Your eyes are so dark. I think you’re overdoing it.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“You’re continually trying to convince me of that, but …” She shook her head, eyes cast down toward my clothes.

I glanced at my worn-out pink ballet tights with only a few holes, and my black faded leotard, partially covered by a too large, and beat up, grey sweatshirt. “What?”

She shook her head again. “Teine . . .” She sighed. “Benny is outside. Can you feed Kaevnor before you leave, please? She’s been pestering me all morning.”

“Why is Benny here?” Kaevnor ran to my side as I poured her food. “I’m supposed to pick her up.”

“She didn’t say. I asked her to come in.” My mom shrugged and began unloading the dishwasher.

I pulled on my old, low-top Converse shoes and grabbed my dance bag from beside the front door. “Bye, Mom.”

“Take it easy today, Teine.”

I opened the front door, but before I could leave, my mom rushed up behind me, breathless. “You forgot your juice.” She held it out, tucking stray hairs behind my ears and smoothing out my bun before shaking her head.

My shoulders slumped. I hadn’t forgotten, but I’d hoped she had. “Mom . . .” I groaned. “I hate that stuff.”

“It’s good for you. Drink up.”

I held my nose and gulped it in one swallow before breathing again. “Ugh. It tastes like freshly mown grass.”

“Old family recipe. Keeps you strong and focused.”

“Yeah, right. More like weak and nauseous.”

Thick early morning air hung on my clothes as I walked outside and found Benny dancing in the driveway next to my car with her iPod blaring.

“I was supposed to pick you up,” I said.

She pulled her ear buds out. “What? Oh, yeah, I know.” She smiled and slid into the passenger seat of my nineteen seventy-seven AMC Gremlin—rated nineteenth out of fifty of the worst cars of all time.

I slung my dance bag into the back seat and climbed in after her. The car stalled twice before it started, the engine screaming like a cat caught in the fan belt. I gunned it out of the driveway, afraid it would cut off again, spinning my tires and throwing gravel everywhere.

“In a hurry?” Benny clipped her seatbelt, eyebrows raised.

“No.” I avoided her gaze and turned out onto the road.

“Why so grumpy?” She tilted her head.

“Why so cheerful?” I rubbed my eyes.

“What’s up with you, Layla? You’re like the walking dead these days. I don’t see one speck of green through all the red in your eyes. Your clothes are all random, too. Did you roll out of bed and get dressed in the dark?” Her eyes made an up and down movement as if scanning my entire body.

Next to me, Benny resembled a walking ad for Capezio with her perfect pink tights and her hair tucked into a flawless bun.

I leaned over and cranked the portable satellite radio—the only decent feature about my car—in an attempt to drown out any further conversation she might try to start.

Benny gave me the sideways glare as M83 blared through the speakers. I took the warning as, ‘You better be taking care of yourself, or I’ll take care of you’, as she turned the volume down.

“I’m fine. Drop it.” I turned the music back up. I didn’t need to hear how awful I looked. I knew.

“Your hair’s a mess. Did you sleep?” She shouted loud enough that I could actually hear her. I groaned, trying to block her out. “Who doesn’t brush their hair before they leave the house? Have you even washed it?”

“Benny. Stop.”

She eyed me again and scrolled through the songs on her iPod before shoving her ear buds back in and hitting play.

We drove down US-1, along the coast to school, crawling at thirty-five miles per hour due to tourist season. The blustery weather from the night before had all but vanished, leaving a calm gleam across the surface of the ocean. Devon flew past us, music blaring, and waved out his open window.

We only had a couple weeks until summer break. After that, our senior year would begin, and the sizzle in the air was like a live wire.

“Your boyfriend is going to get pulled over one of these days.” Benny mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

I ignored her, focusing instead on reaching my goal— Historia Performing Arts School. The only one of its kind within a hundred mile radius, it was the reason we lived in Historia. I’d been dancing as long as I could remember, and my mother made sure it was a part of my everyday curriculum. Not that I minded. Dancing had become my life, but more than that, it had become my escape.

Our high school appeared to be as old as the city itself, which was founded sometime in the late sixteenth century. The building resembled a crumbling stone castle—which I supposed it was in its original state. Although beautiful in its own way, the deep cracks snaking through the walls made it eerily decrepit. Beyond the football field were endless views of the ocean, but unfortunately, those views didn’t extend to many of the classrooms, most of which had oddly high windows and drafty undercurrents. I imagined them as dungeons hundreds of years ago.

Live oaks dotted the massive campus lawn, and every year, at least one tree would inflict some sort of damage on the school during hurricane season. A thousand pound limb might crush the side of a building or an entire tree might fall on an old artifact. It was always the same, but they never cut those trees; they were as important as the buildings themselves.

My mother even sat on the historic preservation board for the city, which had control over the school. I never understood why she got involved, considering she didn’t attend any of the meetings. She just insisted the school be maintained in its near original state, which meant it was in constant need of some kind of repair. Why the school heeded her rules, I had no idea. The student parking lot filled as the warning bell rang.

“Took you long enough.” Devon opened my car door, a mocking grin on his face.

“You okay?”

“She’s … tired.” Benny answered before I did. She’d been my best friend all my life, and she was fiercely protective of me. The same way my mom was. It was annoying.

Rolling my eyes at her, I grabbed my stuff from the back seat and started the walk towards the dance wing, sick of all the remarks, her questioning glances, and Devon’s constant worrying. They climbed the hill after me. Whispering. Surely discussing their newest concern.

“Lock the Grim, Layla.”

“For what?” I shouted and turned around to find Benny with her arms on her hips. “No one’s going to steal it. Look at it.” I pointed to where my car, the Grim as Benny liked to call it, sat parked. It was the color of mud and looked like a semi-truck had smashed into the tail end of it at about ninety miles an hour. It had bug-eye headlights and a thick faded orange stripe running up each side toward the hatch-back where it flared out in three smaller stripes. The makeshift convertible top the previous owner had attempted to rig himself was so loose it barely kept the rain out. No one in their right mind would steal it.

I turned my back on both of them and continued the climb across campus, sighing as they continued to whisper. I knew my behavior was upsetting them—my angry outbursts—my temper spikes, especially since I’d stopped trying to control them all the time.

No one, though, was aware of my visions, or whatever they were. The more I tried to understand them, the more confused I became. The angrier I became. I’d tried to block the thoughts, to push them away and ignore them all, but years had passed since my last cherished memory, or what I’d hoped with all my heart was a memory. For six years—since I was eleven—I’d seen strange, unexplainable things.

After bringing up Max’s name so many times that my mother threatened to send me to a psychologist, I’d stopped asking about him—stopped talking about him altogether.

Even worse, I could only remember pieces of my past. While other kids recalled skinned knees and sleepovers, I conjured up snippets of voices and muddled colors. Besides my mom, Benny was the only constant in my life, and even memories I knew I had to have had with her were sometimes impossible to call up. I didn’t understand it. Who doesn’t remember the majority of their life?

“Layla, wait.” Devon jogged up to me and reached for my arm. His golden eyes implored concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

My shoulders relaxed. “I’m tired. Benny was telling the truth.” It’s only a small lie.

He bowed his head, peering up at me. “Okay, well, as long as that’s all.”

I nodded, giving him a half-smile. “Meet you at lunch.” He kissed me on the cheek and ran off as the second bell sounded. As sweet as Devon was, he would never understand me, and sometimes, knowing that, made everything worse.

~~~

All the other dancers sat in huddled groups on the scuffed wood floor of the studio as I walked in. The morning light reflected off the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, casting tiny rainbow prisms along the walls, as the stench of sweat hung in the still, thick air.

“Shh! She’s right there.” Dena, my understudy for the spring show of Sleeping Beauty, sat across the room. She dropped her stare when my gaze met hers. We’d been through the same dancing drill together for years. Same classes. Same performances. Her disdain for me was known. She twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, obviously pretending I hadn’t busted her running her mouth again.Between dancing as my understudy, and me dating Devon—the only boy she ever ‘truly’ liked—her hate was ingrained. Not that I cared.

“Places along the barre. Quiet down. First position please.” Ms. Trudy clapped her hands together. “And one, and two, and three. Chins up, heads high, shoulders down,” she said in time with the classical music.The steady repetitive rhythm, the music I’d known all my life, the same low droning chant of Ms. Trudy’s voice, all of it fell over me.

Ms. Trudy made her rounds, checking everyone’s form, making corrections. Sunlight shone through the high windows in cascading sheets, its warmth touching my face. I closed my eyes, raising my head to meet its heat, my grand plies repeating in perfect unison, and let the slow music take over. “Nice, Layla. Very nice.” Ms. Trudy’s voice rang out right before it faded.

@

The sun blazes through the tree line, and Max paces in the underbrush, halfway hidden by thickets and shadows.

“Where have you been?” He rushes forward.

“Benny was on alert all morning. She’s been setting traps to catch me,” I say.

“What?” His eyes widen. I shrug, picking beggars’ lice off my shirt. “She doesn’t like you.”

“Maybe you should go back.” He drags a hand through his hair.

“Go back?” My arm drops, leaving my shirt covered in little green specs.

“What are you talking about?”

“I . . . I don’t want you to get in trouble.” He averts his gaze.

“Since when are you worried about me getting in trouble?” I ask.

“Never mind, it’s nothing.” His smile is fake. I’m not buying the mock reassurance.

“Max, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He bites his bottom lip, his gaze skirting the trees. “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Uh-huh. What’s up?”

“I told you. Nothing.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Max …”

Lifting an eyebrow, he grins. “Race you to the falls.” He crouches forward like a cat ready to pounce, hands resting on his knees.

“Distractions won’t work.”

“No?” He takes off running.

I catch his hand as he turns and catapult myself past him.

“Hey, no cheating!”

I laugh, as he runs up behind me, his breathing steady. Our pounding feet sink in the thick wet grass of the open field. Max is taller than me, with longer legs, but I’m faster, and he hates it. The rush of crashing water leads us to the ledge, each of us pushing harder to stay in the lead.

“Don’t jump, Layla!” He reaches out.

I catch it in mine and pull us both off the ledge in a blind leap.

We plummet into the depths of the waterfall, Max‘s hand gripping mine. As our heads break free of the churning froth, he lets go, splashing me in the face.

“Hey.” I push water back at him. “What was that for?”

“For getting here first.” As he shakes his sandy brown hair out of his face, droplets of water run down his golden skin, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin.

I splash him again and swim to the edge of the pool, climbing onto the bank in dripping wet clothes.

He follows, and sits next to me, wiping the water from his grey eyes. “Lay, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Yeah.” I lean back against a gardenia bush covered in pure white blooms, their rich sweetness intoxicating the air.

“You’re my best friend.”

“I know that. You’re acting so weird today.” I nudge his shoulder, and say, “Beat you to the ledge again,” and spring to my feet, leaving him sitting on the bank.

“Layla!” He races after me. ”Wait!” Grabbing me around the waist, he sends us both over the ledge in a tangle.

“What are you doing?” I shove him as our heads rise above the surface.

“Be quiet.” Putting his finger to his lips, he drags me behind the falls onto the rock shelf. “Someone’s coming.”

Distant footsteps approach, crunching through the crisp leaves on the forest floor. Voices reach us.

“Stay still. It’s Lorelei.”

My mother walks through the forest, her sister at her side.

“They are here. You must find them.” She paces through the trees. “This is not safe.”

“Sister, please. There is no need for your concern. They are in no danger here.”

“No danger? My daughter is to be nowhere near the boy. I warned him to stay away.”

I try to shift my position, but Max pushes me back. “Stop moving.”

“Warned him?” my aunt asks.

“Yes.” My mother’s gaze sweeps past our hiding place. “The bond grows stronger by the day. Their connection, their energy. Teine must be kept hidden. Away from this world, away from the boy. They must be separated.”

“That isn’t necessary. No one knows they exist.”

“We know! Others might know as well.”

My aunt gathers her cloak around her shoulders. “It wasn’t I who placed the curse. That untimely deed falls on your shoulders, sister.”

“Once the truth of the children’s existence is revealed, my simple curse will no longer matter. I will be hard pressed to keep our enemies at bay.” My mother wrings her hands.

“Your attempt to sway the children must end. As long as the light shines, we will remain safe.”

“You presume too much, and do not speak to me in that tone. I am still the eldest.”

“Tone? I speak with understanding, but my patience wears thin. You renounced your position here. You are a fool to think you can keep the children apart. Let them be, or I am afraid you will regret it.”

Max turns to me. “You have to go.”

“No.”

“Your mother is trying to separate us. You have to go.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong.” I start to rise, but he grabs me by the shoulder, eyes staring into mine. “You heard your mother. She believes you’re not safe here. She thinks it’s dangerous for us to be together.”

I stare back into his face, confusion welling up. “Then I’ll explain it to her.”

“Layla, please. For me. Go back now. Stay safe.” He pulls me into a hug before standing.

“But . . . wait.” I reach for his hand.

He wrenches it free, his gaze roving over my face. “I’m sorry.”

“Max!”

I sit alone with only the sound of water splashing against the cliff.

“Max!”

~~~

“Layla.” Benny’s terrified voice rang out above me. Her fear-filled eyes came into focus as glaring fluorescent lights radiated down from the ceiling. “Can you see me?”

“Who else would I see? You’re in my face.” I shielded my eyes from the light’s glare, the vision reverberating through my mind. The same vision I’d seen a hundred times before. The one I thought had to be a memory but knew couldn’t be. The vision that made my heart ache as if it were being ripped out. A crowd of dancers hovered around me, all gazes fixed on me as I hastily wiped my damp eyes. What did I do?

“I told you she was crazy,” Dena said.

“Shut your mouth, Dena, or I will.” Benny’s threat came out calm and controlled.

“Let me up,” I said.

“Back away. Back away now.” Ms. Trudy pushed her way through everyone and knelt down. “Layla, are you all right?”

My head throbbed, mind spinning as she rose to her feet, pulling me slowly to mine. As my knees buckled, Benny swooped in and draped my arm over her shoulder. “Let’s get you some water.” Ms. Trudy steered me into the hallway. “I believe you’re overheated. It’s very warm today.”

The chill from the air conditioner, and Ms. Trudy’s jasmine perfume, sent shivers up my spine and made me want to gag.

“Benny, you may go back to rehearsal. I believe I have the situation under control.”

“No, ma’am, I’ll stay.” Benny’s tone was unthreatening but firm and Ms. Trudy didn’t argue.

“I’m okay, Ben, really.” My voice, on the other hand, must have given her the impression I wasn’t because she tightened her grip.

“Sit down for a few minutes until you compose yourself. I’ll get you some water.” Ms. Trudy headed down the hall, wringing her hands.

“What happened?” Benny hissed under her breath after Ms. Trudy rounded the corner.

“I don’t know.” I slid down the wall, to the floor, shaking. “I closed my eyes for a second and then I woke up with you crouching over me.”

Scrutinizing, unbelieving eyes narrowed. “You just passed out?”

“I guess.”

Ms. Trudy rushed back, carrying a glass of water. “Drink this.” She thrust the warm, right-out-of-the-tap water into my hands. Gross. I handed it back. “Perhaps you should see the nurse.”

“No. No nurses. I’m fine, really.”

“Well, if you say so, but no rehearsal for you today. Benny, please help Layla into the dressing room so she can get changed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Benny tugged on me as though I was five years old.

“I can walk on my own.” I pulled my arm out of her grasp.

“What the hell was that, Layla?” She shifted in front of me, blocking my way. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” I pushed past her. “I … blacked out.”

“Blacked out?” She ran up beside me. “Blacked out? You think that’s normal? That’s not normal.”

“I didn’t say it was normal.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t say anything lately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” What does she mean by that?

She stomped passed me. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, I swear.” She ranted along under her breath and disappeared inside the dressing room.

I tried my best to control my trembling limbs. If Benny thought I was in a panicked state, I’d end up at the E.R. with her hovering over me. Hallucinations at school weren’t something that had happened before, and I’d never passed out. Ever. Not that I should have been too surprised. What should I have expected after having become a semi-insomniac?

I pushed the vision into the depths of my brain, shook off the eerie chills that accompanied it, and made Benny promise not to tell Devon what happened.

~~~

Devon tracked me down in the outside courtyard during study hall.

“I went to the nurse’s office.” He hugged his chest. “To the dance studio and the girls’ bathroom.” He gripped his side, leaning over the picnic table, trying to catch his breath. “Are you all right?”

Benny, unable to keep her mouth shut, had spilled the truth.

“I’m fine. Benny’s overreacting.” I glowered at her where she sat with me at a table.

“Scoot over.” He nudged my shoulder and slumped down. “Don’t scare me like that again.” He huffed, his breath still ragged.

“I told Benny not to tell you.” He stopped breathing altogether and glared at me.

I didn’t say anything else.

~~~

During lunch, Devon asked the cafeteria lady to create an ice pack out of zip-locks and paper towels, after I’d refused again to go to the nurse. He held it on my head himself. Between him and Benny, I was lucky not to have been admitted to the hospital.

I poked around at my pizza—usually my favorite, but my appetite seemed to be lying on the floor in the dance studio. The cafeteria, my least favorite place in school, made my stomach turn. Not to mention the inescapable deafening high school drama prattle. I’d never been that girl who attended every football game, and cried on the last day of school because summer break meant three whole months away from the cheerleading squad. I wanted out of high school.

I squinted through the cafeteria window, bringing the ocean into view in the far distance, and pretended to listen to the sound of crashing water, to block out all the lunchroom noise.

“You should eat something.” Devon dismantled my lunch tray, one item at a time. His mouth overflowed with my pizza, as I glanced over and down at my emptied plate. “Oh . . . sorry.”

“I’m not hungry, anyway.” I shrugged, looking up at him. Dark brown hair framed his golden eyes, a sheepish grin playing at his lips.

“Listen, don’t worry about helping at the shop later.” He raised the ice pack to my head again, and I swatted it away, while Dena, across the cafeteria, sat glaring in our direction. The little clan of cliquey chatterboxes at her side followed her lead and turned toward us.

The sight of Devon doting over me had to be too much for her.

I smiled to myself.

She tossed her long dark hair behind her shoulder, her black painted nails glimmering under the fluorescent lights. It seemed like only yesterday that she ran barefoot and played baseball better than anyone. Then again, I remembered so little, maybe she’d always been that way, and my deluded brain had it all backwards.

“I said I would help. I’m helping.” I spoke to Devon, not breaking my eye contact with the one who had nothing better to do than stare at me.

Dena’s lips moved, and they all turned their heads away. “Layla, seriously,” Devon said. “I. Am. Helping.”

“Layla!” Benny rushed across the cafeteria, waving a fluorescent yellow piece of paper, her dance bag swinging wildly on her shoulder. “Oh, good, you ate.” Her breath came out in a huff. “Here.” She thrust the paper at me. “I got the nurse to sign you out early. You can go home.”

I shook my head, sure she had run from the nurses office. “I don’t need to leave early.”

“You passed out.” She kept her voice low, head turning as if searching for something.

“So?” Truthfully, I would rather have gone home, but giving Benny a reason, any reason, to believe something was actually wrong was a bad idea. I’d rather suffer than have her pamper me. Devon was already taking care of that.

“So? So . . . you will be the death of me, Layla LaBelle, I swear.” She stomped off, throwing the note in the trash as she went.

The rest of the school day, I spent in a dazed stupor. The custodian had to cut the lock off my locker because I couldn’t remember the combination, and I laughed out loud when Mr.Jones, the Algebra teacher, asked me to solve a quadratic equation on the white board for the class. Algebra. What a waste. Who, ever, uses algebra after high school? If my school didn’t have a Performing Arts program, I probably would have ditched every class.

My head pounded by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the shop where Devon worked. A giant sign above the door read: ‘TOURISTS WELCOME’ in bright blue letters, reminding me of Bike Week in Daytona, Florida, where all the businesses felt compelled to remind everyone that ‘Bikers are welcome’, as if, for some reason, they wouldn’t know without the signs. Tourist season was the money maker in Historia. With the colleges, beaches, and historical sights, the city had a natural pull.

The owner of the shop stood in the doorway, smiling and waving at random passersby, unable, or unwilling, to hide his smile. “Good afternoon, Layla. Thanks for giving us a hand today.”

I stifled a yawn. “You’re welcome. It’s no problem at all.” I wasn’t the best person to help at a retail store, due to my lack of interest in customer service, but I said I would, so I did.

“Yes, good afternoon, Layla. How are you today?” Devon strolled up one of the aisles with a sarcastic grin. “Tired, I see.”

“Tired.” I nodded. “But here.”

He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “I think you should go home.” He glanced at the owner, his voice low. “I can handle it.”

I put my car keys behind the counter. “It’s almost the summer season. You need my help.” “Don’t start with that. You hate how busy it is this time of year. Seriously, listen, I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Starting?” I walked away before he could continue.

He shook his head and wandered off toward the display cases.

I squatted down behind the counter, digging around for a magazine to read, and rested my throbbing head in my hands. The entrance bell chimed on the front door, and I popped back up, wobbling slightly.

Afternoon sun flooded through the shop’s front windows in sheets, creating a back lit silhouette in the doorway. Dust particles floated past my scope of vision like miniature ghosts, and the clear grey eyes glancing at me made my breath end in my throat.

The room spun and slowed to a time-warped crawl, and the spicy sweetness of gardenias wafted through the air. Visions rushed up to the surface, flooding my brain, blowing the circuits. My magazine dropped to the floor, and I swayed, grabbing the counter for support, forcing myself to blink.

“Layla?” Thudding feet echoed in the distance.

Blood sped through my veins as I gripped the edge of the counter, gazing into the face I knew so well. A shadow of confusion crossed his expression as he stared back at me before the corner of his mouth drew up in a slight grin, and my face flushed with a burning heat. Goosebumps shivered down my arms, the air seeming to quiver with a faint breeze.

“Layla, are you okay?” Someone shook me by the shoulder. “Layla?” Devon’s voice rang from far away.

I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t form. I remembered his face, the waterfall, the forest. The warmth of his hand in mine. Droplets of water cascading down his golden skin. His eyes reflecting the sunlight like crystals. The rush of wind as he ran beside me. His laughter. The sound of his voice when he called my name.

“Max …” I strangled an inaudible whisper, unable to breathe, consumed by the light in his eyes.

“Lay.” He stared back at me, seeming unable to move.

He couldn’t be real. I swayed, my eyes rolling upward, and dropped to the floor.

(end of chapter 2)

Stay tuned for chapter three and Thank You for reading! 😉

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Read Chapter One of TIED (FireBorn1) by @LaneyMcMann @JTaylorPub #YA

 

To celebrate the holiday season, I’ll be sharing the first few chapters of TIED, book 1 in the Fire Born Novels trilogy, over the next few days.

ENJOY!

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YA Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

CHAPTER ONE

My window opened easily. The same way it had so many times before. Climbing out on the ledge, I found the ground empty and dropped from the second floor—a jump I’d made a hundred times. In another life.

My feet sunk into the sand, and I followed the well-worn pathway through the dunes. Even the strong evening winds hadn’t misshaped the deep gully. The ocean’s breeze lashed at my hair as the moonlight glinted off the water’s surface. Seagulls flew up from their nesting grounds. They should have recognized me, since I’d been wandering at night for so long. Wrapping my arms around my knees to block the slight chill, I settled in the sand, and the birds quieted in a tight huddle, the wind blowing their feathers in awkward angles.

My gaze fell on a figure standing beyond the dunes edge, a shadow hidden within the darkness. My pulse quickened, but I didn’t move. Another trick—an illusion. Weary of the games my mind continued to play, I bit back tears and the catch in my throat. I should have been immune to them—the hallucinations—the way they haunted me and followed me, but I wasn’t.

Forcing myself to blink, I turned my head away. The visions had grown worse as I’d become older. I’d tried to convince myself they were nightmares—or weird dreams. Hoped for years
they were, but only people who sleep dream.

Unable, or unwilling to stop myself, I glanced back over my shoulder, thoughts flooding my brain. Memories I knew couldn’t be memories but I cherished all the same. For years I’d tried to shake them away. To make myself forget. I couldn’t.

@

 

A stone raps against my bedroom window. I creep over and peer through the blinds. “You’re late.” I lean out over the sill, grinning at the boy staring up at me.

“Come on, let’s go before she comes,” he says.

I climb onto the window ledge. “Be nice. She’s my friend.”

“Okay. Jump.” He waves at me to go faster.

“Move, and I will.” He takes one casual step to the side.

The jump isn’t too high; I make it all the time.

He grabs my hand when I land beside him in the soft sand.

“Ready?”

I nod.

“One, two …”

“I’m going to tell!” Benny runs across my yard toward me, her blonde pigtails flapping in the wind. “You’re not allowed to talk to that boy, Layla! Your mom said!”

Max tightens his grip on my hand. “Shut up, Benny! I’m old enough.”

“You’re only nine. Don’t go! “

“Three!” Max and I leave the ground.

“You’re going to get in so much trouble.” Benny’s yell rings in the distance.

Our feet touch down in the wet grass of the Otherworld, icy sea air whipping at my face.

“Hopefully, she won’t follow us again.” Max lets go of my hand.

“She won’t. I told her not to.” I lead the way down the cliff face to the ocean.

“She never listens to you.” I glare at him and keep walking.

“Wait.” He scrambles down the path after me, losing his footing on the rocks for a moment before he catches himself.

I reach for his hand, my fingers brushing over the leather bracelet wrapping his wrist—the one that matches my own. “Let’s go see if the water spirits are out.” Pulling him beside me, I run through the last stretch of pebbles to the sand.

“The Merrows don’t like to be gawked at. Let’s do something else.” He tries to yank his hand away, but I tighten my grip and hold it in place.

“We could play skip the stone.” His voice rises above the wind in my ears. “I’ll let you win this time.”

“I’m the youngest, so I get to choose what we do.”

“You chose last time. And who said you were the youngest? Anyway, the Merrows hate us. Let’s do something else.” He trudges along behind me, pouting.

My laughter rings on the wind.

~~~

 

The sting of loss reverberated in my chest as the chill of night air seeped into my bones. I opened my eyes to the darkened shoreline and glanced again toward the dunes. No shadow remained. No one stood watching me. I had lost my mind.

(end of chapter)

 

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Stay tuned for chapter two and thank you for reading! 😉

 


Author Spotlight and New Release ~ Burdin of Choice by Alexander Nader

Today I’m happy to be hosting my friend, and fellow author, Alex Nader, whose sequel to Beasts of Burdin, Burdin of Choice has launched.

Check it out!

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Title:  Burdin of Choice (Beasts of Burdin #2)

Author:  Alexander Nader

Publisher:  J. Taylor Publishing

Release Date:  November 10, 2014

Keywords:  ADULT Urban Fantasy

Blurb: 

Ty Burdin is back. Back to drinking and back to avoiding demons. He is, of course, the leading expert in his field. In both subjects.

That’s probably why, when a customer offers him way too much money just to locate a missing car and some mysterious cargo, he readily agrees. The dude is human after all—Ty’s prime target client base.

Along with the money comes a slew of disappearances which Ty tries to ignore while tracking down that car, because, of course, those missing people might be demon related, and as he’s said before, that’s agency business. Not his. Period.

Until today.

Ty Burdin is to back drinking as well as everything he vowed never to get involved with again.

Question is, which one will kill him first? The booze, the demons, or the Agency?

**********

If you follow my blog, you’ll know I’m a fan of this series. Love, love Ty Burdin. Here’s my review on Amazon and Goodreads:

Once again Ty Burdin has me wrapped up and unable to close the book on his badass, smart witted, completely endearing nature. There is something so basic and pure about the way Alexander Nader breathes life into this character that it almost takes me back a step, and make me pause while I’m reading, just to take in what Ty has said. The simple, yet eloquent, while being utterly sarcastic, and also funny, way Nader portrays Ty is a skill I have yet to see done in the way Nader does it and makes this story hard to put down.

At the end of Beasts of Burdin, book #1 in the trilogy, I wasn’t sure where the second installment in the series would go, or how it would get there, but Burdin of Choice picks up at a run, and keeps running. The book has meat. It has emotion. It has heart. Ty is someone you want to know. Well done.

Can’t wait for book 3.

You can check it out on Goodreads

***********

For his blog tour stop, Alex agreed to answer some questions for me,

so let’s hear what he has to say:

LM: Burdin of Choice continues Ty Burdin’s story, and is the second book in the Beasts of Burdin Trilogy, how hard was it for you to get back into character, or did you go straight from Beasts of Burdin into Burdin of Choice?

 AN: I had originally planned for Beasts of Burdin to be a standalone novel. So when J. Taylor Publishing asked if I would write it as a trilogy, I kind of freaked out. I was super nervous (I had never written a sequel at the time) so I jumped right in to Burdin of Choice (BOC). Getting back in to character wasn’t as big a deal, but writing the story was. I think a lot of sequels just tell the original story over again to build on the success and I didn’t want that for Burdin. I took BOC in a new direction and that was scary for me.

 LM: Well, I really liked Beasts of Burdin and I loved Burdin of Choice even more, so I’m glad they pushed you to write a trilogy. 🙂 Ty, the MC in the story, (who is awesome) has quite a few issues bewteen fighting demons in the real world as well as in his own head, and that carries into the second book. One of my favorite scenes introduces new demons into the mix, as well as new characters. Do you plan which twists and turns each story will make before hand, or do you let the story and the characters lead you?

 AN: A little bit of both. I start with a rough outline. I’m talking rough. I mean like ‘getting fired on your first day of work’ rough. So I start with a plan, but there’s lots of room for adjustments as the story sees fit. I pretty much just plan on spending 170 pages ruining Ty’s life. I’m kind of a jerk like that.

 LM: It’s kind of our jobs to be jerks to our characters. 😉 Speaking of jerks, Ty might be considered as being a jerk sometimes, but he also has a sweet and endearing side, any inspirations behind the creation of his character?

AN: Ty has a bit out a mouth on him. It may, or may not, get him in to trouble at times.:) Ty started from your average noir character. There’s something about the honesty in those old novels and movies that strikes me. The characters all say how they feel and it’s funny and honest and a little hurtful all at the same time. Ty was born from that.

 LM: Any particular music you listen to when you write? Something that inspires your stories? Or do you write in silence?

AN: If I’m writing a really intricate scene, I usually write in silence. In general, I listen to instrumental stuff while I write too. Then again, here recently I’ve been listening to a lot of metal while I write. It really just depends. I have a hard time listening to music I know while I write because I think the lyrics instead of my words.

 LM: I almost always listen to music while I write, but sometimes I realize I’m singing … so I have to change the song. 😉 Anything special things you need nearby when you write? Favorite pen? Coffee?

 AN: A comfy chair, usually. I like to keep the wife close too. I make her listen to all the lines I’m proud of as I go along.

 LM: Good answer. Think that’s a wrap. 😉

**************

To celebrate the launch Alex is having a Giveaway!

Rafflecopter

AND …

You can find Burdin of Choice here:

Amazon-BuyNowBN-BuyNow

 AND as another way to celebrate the launch, Beasts of Burdin, book #1, is on sale now for .99!

Amazon-BuyNow
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****************

alex author picAbout the author:

Alex lives in the tourist infested hills of east Tennessee with his amazing wife/muse and three superb children. He would tell you more about how awesome they are, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. When he’s not hanging out with them he’s making pizzas and occasionally he jots a few words down. He’s a big fan of good music, good storytelling, and fun, lots of fun.

He once wrote a short story about pirates to his wife via text message that blossomed into a full length novel and never stopped after that.

Goodreads   Twitter  Facebook  Website   Blog


COVER REVEAL ~ Burdin of Choice by Alexander Nader

Today, I am happy to share fellow author, and friend, Alexander Nader’s new cover for

Burdin of Choice,

the 2nd book in the Beasts of Burdin series.

Check it out:

 Burdin of Choice

Beasts of Burdin

by Alexander Nader

Release Date: November 10, 2014

Target Reader: Adult

Keywords: Urban Fantasy

Back of the Book

Ty Burdin is back. Back to drinking and back to avoiding demons. He is, of course, the leading expert in his field. In both subjects.

That’s probably why, when a customer offers him way too much money just to locate a missing car and some mysterious cargo, he readily agrees. The dude is human after all—Ty’s prime target client base.

Along with the money comes a slew of disappearances which Ty tries to ignore while tracking down that car, because, of course, those missing people might be demon related, and as he’s said before, that’s agency business. Not his. Period.

Until today.

Ty Burdin is to back drinking as well as everything he vowed never to get involved with again.

Question is, which one will kill him first? The booze, the demons, or the Agency?

************

** I gave the first book in this series 4 Stars. Here’s my review on Goodreads:

Still grinning. I could say that the plot was tight, the story moved at the speed of light, and I liked the new approach on demons versus the world, and that would all be true, but even more than that— what kept me turning the pages was Ty. His voice is fresh and witty and sarcastic, and I found myself getting wrapped up in his words, the way he talked, the way he saw life. Really a great book that pulled me out of my own head and put me in someone else’s. For me, that’s the benchmark of a good story. Can’t wait to see what Ty gets into in Burdin 2.

**********

For more info: J. Taylor Publishing


TORN (Fire Born #2) Playlist Countdown

CollagesTHIS IS THE ONE

Continuing on with the TORN playlist this week.

I am compiling all of the songs for the book and will be posting them up until the launch in September.

So, for the second track, here’s:

QUIET

by

This Will Destroy You.


Author Spotlight & Book Release ~ INSPIRED by Danielle E. Shipley

I have a special treat on the blog today. I’m sharing Danielle E. Shipley’s just released, INSPIRED

And we have a giveaway plus an interview with the author. 😉

Here’s a peek:

inspired coverInspired

by Danielle E. Shipley

Release Date: March 17, 2014

Target Reader: Adult

Keywords: Fiction

Description

For a muse like Lucianíel, one story’s end is another’s beginning.

In the wake of his author’s sudden death, Luc takes ownership of her surviving creations—four fantastical characters with tales yet to be told—saving them from unwritten lives crumbling around them and giving them a second chance at a literary future.

Luc finds that chance in the unsuspecting mind of Annabelle Iole Gray, a quirky teen with her head in the clouds, nose in a book, and imagination ripe for a brilliant muse’s inspiration.

Or so he hopes.

Neither Luc nor Annabelle, however, realize all they’ve undertaken. Even with a to-write list including accounts of a shape-shifting cat creature, gentle knight-in-training, vigilante skater girl, and a mystery boy smothering in unspoken fear, the most remarkable saga created between author and muse just may turn out to be one stranger than fiction.

Their own.

Let’s talk to Danielle about the book:

LM: How long have you been writing?

DS: Pretty much since I realized books didn’t just show up in Mommy’s hands for her to read to me – they’re made, and anyone with a grasp of words can make them! So I started grasping around age 5 or 6, and never let go.

LM: Did you always aspire to be an author?

DS: An author just for fun? Yes, always. A professional author? Not ‘til the realization in my late teens that authorhood is the only career I’ve got a heart for. So since then, I’ve followed the passion with everything I’ve got.

LM: Can you tell us what inspired you to write the story? 😉

DS: My favorite gang of muses: My characters! Most of the people I make up either don’t like me much or just don’t care, but a handful of them and I get along…well, as much as we get along with anybody. XD So I wanted to show what our crazy relationship is like, just with a little bit more of an actual plot. Trust me, no reader wants to wade through an accurate transcript of our nonsensical interactions.

LM: Who is your favorite character and why?

DS: Aw, that’s tough! Even assuming we’re narrowing it down to just the “Inspired” cast, I stand most in awe of Luc, but Wilbur’s the sweetest, while it’s so much fun to let my attitude out in Uri. If all the characters were about to fall off a mental cliff or something, though, I’d probably grab for Yves. I guess I feel the most maternal about him, since he looks like the character most desperately in need of a mother’s hug!

LM: Are you working on any new projects you’d like to share with us?

DS: April is Camp NaNoWriMo (the non-November version of National Novel Writing Month), and one of my other favorite muses (hi, Mom!) recently sparked some big plans for a book which just may involve some faces made familiar through “Inspired”. I’m excited to zoom through the first draft and see what the fictional folk do on the page!

LM: Plotter or Pantser?

DS: Plotter. Hard core. If I don’t have my 20-plus pages of chapter-by-chapter outline, I don’t feel half ready.

LM: What books are you currently reading, if any?

DS: It’s been a Book Two kind of reading scene, these days. Just finished Maggie Stiefvater’s “Dream Thieves (The Raven Cycle #2)” and Rachel Bach’s “Honor’s Knight (The Paradox Trilogy #2)”; currently a few pages into A.G. Howard’s “Unhinged” (sequel to “Splintered”); and I’ve been working my way through a leisurely re-read of Stephen Lawhead’s “Scarlet (King Raven Trilogy #2)” for months, ‘cause it’s always pleasant to have a Robin Hood retelling chillin’ out in the background.

LM: Twitter or Facebook?

DS: Lately, Twitter. Technologically speaking, it tends to frustrate me less.

LM: Fantasy or Paranormal?

DS: Both! A wizard and a vampire time travel into a bar… I will read about that bar. I love a good genre-mash.

LM: Any tips you’d like to give aspiring writers hoping to be published one day?

DS: Write whatever the heck you want! Don’t be too hard on your work, but always push yourself to make it better. Don’t worry about what everybody else is writing; you do you. Know that reaching your goals may well take longer than the building of Rome, but hey, every little brick helps to keep the dream alive. And only let life make you bitter if you’re confident you can channel that vitriol into a smashing story.

LM: When you’re not writing, you are?

DS: Twitchy over the fact that I’m not writing. Working on production prep for my self-pubbed projects. Wasting time online. Squealing over BBC’s “Sherlock” with my cross-country BFF. Weeping my characters’ tears as they weather some out-of-book storm. Talking out the blues with my mom. Seriously wishing I were writing.

LM: Tea or Coffee?

DS: Tea! A friend got me hooked on a site that lets you create customs blends. I’ve got two character-inspired teas I’m drinking by the pot already, and there shall be more.

LM: Summer or Winter?

DS: Summer. I despise the cold and early darkness of winter. It kills my soul. …though it’s hoodies and tea season, so there’s that.

LM: I despise the cold too! Early bird or Night Owl?

DS: Night owl. I mean, I’d love to start my day early, but not if it means I have to consistently be in bed before midnight. Besides, my muse enjoys poking me between 1 and 2am.

LM: Favorite time to write?

DS: I like to get started first thing, otherwise distractions will push the start time back ‘til I’ve lost the morning. (I guess my brain really does see 1am as the magical genesis hour, because by the time we cross into the afternoon, my day feels half over – never mind that there are way more waking hours ahead of me than behind.) On the other hand, once I’ve started, I don’t want to stop, so the pm hours become my favorite, too. So I guess the short answer would have been “when I’m awake”. X)

Thanks so much, Danielle. 😉

Danielle is also having a GIVEAWAY!

ENTER HERE!

Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. …Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who homeschooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble. When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing young adult novels, she’s probably blogging about it.

Website

Facebook

Twitter: @DESHIPLEY