Hey everyone! Today I have an awesome cover reveal and chapter sneak peek to share with you! As some of you may know by reading my blog, I am a HUGE fan of the Violet Eden Chapters series by Jessica Shirvington. In May 2014, the fifth and final book in the series will be released. I am both ridiculously excited and incredibly sad at the same time. I can't wait to see what will finally happen with the series and a couple of important relationships, but I really hate that the series will be done. Bittersweet, I guess. Anways, check out the gorgeous cover for the book and then read on for a great sneak peek chapter!
Empower (The Violet Eden Chapters #5)
Author: Jessica Shirvington
Genre: YA Fantasy/Paranormal
Release Date: May 6, 2014
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire
Description:
It has been two years
since Violet Eden walked away from the city, her friends, her future and
- most importantly - her soulmate, Lincoln. Part angel, part human,
Violet is determined to stand by the promises she made to save the one
she loves.
Living in the perpetual coldness of a broken soul she survives day to day as a Rogue Grigori in London.
But
when an unexpected visitor shows up at her door, the news he bears
about someone she swore to protect leaves Violet with no choice.
Even
worse, she fears that this might all lead back to the night she tries
hardest to forget. And what was taken without her permission.
Violet is going back to New York ... and she knows exactly who is going to be there.
With Phoenix in her dreams and Lincoln in her heart she knows it is only a matter of time before the final choice must be made.
Chapter One
“But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
- ROBERT FROST
My
sweater was coated in a layer of mist—-again—-a by--product of life in
London. I barely noticed the constant drizzle anymore. It’s not as if
the cold bothered me, not when I was the very definition of cold.
What
was bothering me was the smell. There is something rank about a meat
market at night—-especially when you’re wedged into the eaves wondering
what, over the years, has been sprayed about and never cleaned away. I
shuddered.
The Smithfield Market was currently in vogue, but a
gritty sense of history thickened the air, giving it a density that made
me sure this wasn’t the first time the site had been used for wicked
intent. And right now, it was hunting hour.
At least I was the hunter.
I
watched quietly as the exiles came into the center of the massive
terminal--style space, vaguely interested to note that there were six of
them, instead of the four I’d expected. No bother, I suppose. I still
had the element of surprise on my side.
The past two years had
taught me not to let the everyday hiccups get to me. Sure, the
additional muscle would hurt, but only in the physical sense, and I
could cope with that. Rolling with the punches is necessary when you are
a Grigori—-a human--angel hybrid—-a weapon against the ever--increasing
numbers of exiled angels on earth. For me even more so, since they gave
me such a colorful nickname. I’m the Keshet—-the rainbow. I didn’t ask
to be, but I made my choices and I stand by them.
So, there I
was. Although I was still trying to figure out exactly what being the
rainbow meant, mostly I found that the desire to know conflicted with my
continuing need not to think about it at all. One thing I did know was
that somehow I could create space with the angels—-an unknown place
where we were able to take form and communicate. My angel maker—-whose
name I still didn’t know—-said it was a place of new possibilities. For
what, I was not sure.
But I know this is what I am. It is what I will be.
The
final two exiles sauntered up to the four already waiting. It used to
be impossible for me to be this close to exiles without them going into a
frenzy, sensing my presence. But I’d learned many lessons over the past
year, the most useful of which had been how to keep my guards up and
locked so tight that even exiles couldn’t sense me when I was truly
concentrating.
Which—-judging by the thin film of sweat on my forehead—-is now.
The
exiles dumped the huge calico sack they had been dragging along the
floor and pulled it open, revealing three mutilated bodies to join the
two maimed ones already on display.
From my position it was
difficult to tell how old the corpses were, and if the smell was able to
give a clue, I wouldn’t have known, the stink of death and flesh being
an overall theme of the place.
It was no wonder the exiles liked it so much.
Normally,
exiles wouldn’t bother with the cleanup—-leaving evidence was of no
concern. Normally, the exiles enjoyed the mess and despair they left
behind. But not these exiles. These dark exiles were working for someone
else. They’d been following a plan, using a hit list, and it was all
too well constructed for any one of them to mastermind. Our intel told
us they’d been hired. Such behavior would usually be considered beneath
them, but apparently this group of exiles had decided the job was
thrilling enough to suffer the humiliation of working for the highest
bidder—-even if that was a human.
As for the billionaire
businessman, well, that’s not my department, but someone will pay him a
visit. Right after all the evidence of his wrongdoing—-minus the exile
activity—-is handed over to the authorities and his bank accounts are
heavily siphoned to pay for the futures of his victims’ families. And
our fee, of course.
Which, thanks to certain people, is exorbitant.
Two
of the exiles were dressed impeccably: one in a steel--gray suit and
sporting villain--typical slicked--back hair; the other wore a
slim--collared black suit that hugged his tall figure and set off his
of--the--moment tousled, light brown hair. The remaining four were less
striking in casual wear, though nonetheless picture perfect. All six
looked over the bodies like fishermen comparing the size and quality of
their haul. My hand grazed my dagger, the blade that had been given to
me after I first embraced my powers and became a Grigori warrior three
years ago. I was never without it. I even had a sheath attached to my
bed for a quick draw if needed.
I’d learned the hard way—-through
the death and suffering of people I loved and, strangely enough,
through my own death and suffering—-exiles stop at nothing. Their
insanity and misguided missions know no bounds, and they take pleasure
in causing great pain and suffering to humankind.
At least
tonight I would only face exiles of dark. A couple of years ago, the two
opposing sides, light and dark, had called a truce. Of course, I tried
not to think back to that time.
I tried constantly.
The
discovery of the scripture that could end all Grigori had found its way
into my hands. That in itself was part of the reason the Assembly had
rejected me. They blamed me for trading with the dark exile, Phoenix. My
decision had allowed him to resurrect Lilith—-his mother, the first
dark exile—-from the dead, and she had taken control of the Grigori
Scripture. But at the time, my choice had been a simple one. Phoenix had
Steph, my best friend, and I wasn’t about to take any chances with her
life. I’ve never regretted that choice.
Not like so many others I’ve made.
In
the end, that made it easier to walk away from a place in the Academy
when Josephine decided to change her mind. Of course, that was after I’d
given my life, Lincoln’s soul had shattered, and Phoenix had
died—-proving that not only was he the son of Lilith, but he was also
the human son of the first man, Adam—-all so that I could kill Lilith.
And those reasons weren’t even the ones I tried not to think about.
But I can’t go there right now.
I caught myself. I was working and the last thing I could afford to do was acknowledge that I was thinking about him.
The
six exiles started to shift the remains of the bodies toward the
incinerator, tossing them with supernatural strength and no care. I half
expected them to try and mince the meat and load it onto trays for sale
tomorrow. I wouldn’t put anything past them.
“Make sure you take
the index fingers,” one of the suited exiles instructed. “Mr. George is
expecting me to deliver them to him tonight.”
That’s a shame. Though I’m sure Mr. George will receive a knock at his door nonetheless.
“I still don’t understand why we don’t just kill him too,” another said.
“Are you challenging me?” The exile who had spoken first stepped forward.
His questioner mirrored his actions.
Here we go.
“If I must.”
Exiles
never back down. Their pride and egotism combined with their unique
brand of insanity is just too much to ignore. Angels were not created to
take corporeal forms on earth. Though they have existed for eternity,
in human bodies, they manifest emotions in ways their innate nature can
never process. It makes them unstable. And almost unstoppable.
I wriggled into a better position and waited patiently, knowing that this would work in my favor.
Sure
enough, the exile who had spoken out first also struck out first,
engaging with the suited exile. It didn’t last long. The suit, clearly
the older of the two and a true fighter—-my guess was he had once been
either a Domination or a Power—-overpowered his opponent, snapping his
neck and making quick work of removing his heart.
We had our methods of ending their immortal existence; they had theirs.
Happy days. I now have one less exile to take care of.
I
checked the time and sighed. If I didn’t get this show on the road, I’d
lose my window. And fighting alone was always my preference.
The
drop to the ground was at least two stories high, but I landed behind
the group of exiles lightly, thanks to my angelic enhancements.
Breathing calmly, I let go of the power I was holding tightly within, just enough to lower my shields.
The
exiles, who had been preoccupied with their boasting, stiffened
instantly and spun around to face the new threat. It was almost comical,
the look of surprise on their faces. I guess a Grigori had never snuck
up on them before.
Responding quickly, the suited exile stepped forward, shoving two of them to the side, the five of them quickly forming a semicircle around me.
So nice of them to stand in single file.
But
the way he studied me—-with trademark exile insanity and undisguised
raw desire—-made me think that this one recognized me. It happened from
time to time.
I wanted to sit around and chew the fat. Really. I
couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do with my time than hear about
how they intended to rip me limb from limb and how that would make them
as great as gods and me the most pathetic of humans. But when you’ve
heard it all before and always walked away—-or, at the very least, been
carried—-while they were returned for their ultimate judgment, it gets
old. So, I cut to the chase.
“You have a choice. Make it or I
will make it for you,” I said, knowing that of all Grigori, I alone had
the right to put it like that. “Consider wisely,” I reinforced. After
all, I could return them like any other Grigori with one of our blades,
but if I willed it, I could also strip them of their angelic strengths
and leave them human—-a fate exiles considered worse than an eternity in
the pits of Hell. As far as I was aware, I was the only Grigori who
could do this without requiring the exile in question to first choose
such a fate. Which, of course, never happened.
“You brought Lilith to her end,” the suit said, his head tilted to the side, as if confused.
Yeah, that’s right, little ol’ me.
And it only cost me everything that mattered.
I
raised my eyebrows. “Time’s almost up,” I said, refraining from closing
my eyes briefly as I felt a surge of power within, something that had
been happening increasingly. I was getting stronger, and exactly what
that meant and how to harness it wasn’t the kind of knowledge I was
excited to discover.
I could strip them all, make their choice
for them, and be done with it, but I’d only done it twice. Onyx had been
my first, and I’d seen the pain it caused him. I didn’t like knowing I
was the one who took away his choice. Who was I to do such a thing? The
second had been a demonstration, and had resulted in the exile in
question meeting a quick death. I can’t say I regretted it—-he’d been
one of the exiles so happy to see me strapped to a crucifix and tortured
for hours—-but still…
Anyway, tonight was more like training,
and I’d been taught to be thorough. So, when the suit threw the first
exile at me—-knowing he’d be nothing more than a momentary distraction
while I took him down and he lined up the next one—-I got to work.
I
braced, grabbing my dagger and moving into position. By the time the
exile came within range, my dagger had sliced through his heart and he
was no longer there. Simply gone. Where did their physical forms go?
Beats me.
I was already spinning by the time the second one was
sent flying through the air toward me. My foot stopped his momentum and
threw him back. I was on him in an instant, my dagger going straight to
his heart. It didn’t need to be the heart to return them, just a killing
blow inflicted by a Grigori weapon. You could slice into exiles all day
long with your garden--variety knife or shoot them with a gun, but
neither option worked. I’d never seen a Grigori manage to rip out an
exile’s heart
barehanded, and even though the trick worked for
exiles taking out other exiles, something told me that it did not alter
our rules. Permanent results for Grigori over exiles only came via the
blades of angels.
Or my blood.
The third exile went much
the same way, and soon enough I was left being circled by the two suits.
To my surprise, they actually worked together—-exiles aren’t good at
that—-boxing me into a corner. The brown--haired exile in the black suit
moved in on me when the other one feigned a move to my right. I took a
closed fist across the face and a foot to the stomach.
I heard a
crack—-broken rib—-but I didn’t register the pain. That kind of pain was
barely a tickle compared to the agony I carried inside, every moment of
every day.
My pause gave the other exile the chance to take a
swing. His foot collided with my hand so hard that my dagger went flying
across the room. I kept my eyes on my attackers but my ear on my
weapon, listening to the reverberations as it slid along the concrete
floor and eventually hit the far wall with a clang.
The exiles smiled.
I sighed.
Then
I leapt into the air, gaining enough height to grip the brown--haired
exile’s throat between my knees. Twisting my body as I fell through the
air, I dragged the exile down with me, his neck breaking with a loud
crunch.
It wouldn’t keep him down for good, but a broken neck buys time.
The exile in the gray suit grabbed me roughly from behind and threw me into the wall.
I groaned as I slid down the metal piping my back had hit. It was the opposite wall to my dagger.
Damn it.
It
wasn’t an ideal situation. And I wasn’t fool enough to delude myself
into thinking I could make it to my dagger. I was regretting my decision
not to wear any other weapons tonight, but my dagger was the only
weapon that, when sheathed, was invisible to human eyes.
Think, Vi.
I’d
come down behind a wall of old crates. I was considering how I could
use them to my advantage when I spotted a piece of the slim metal piping
I’d broken in my fall. It lay by my foot.
I could hear the exiles moving toward me. They were cackling.
“We should take her body with us to the tournament tonight,” one said.
The other one laughed. “That would definitely put dark in the lead.”
“And everyone would know that we were the ones who killed her.”
Can anyone say “premature victory”?
Without
stopping to think, I pulled off the bracelet from my left wrist, using
the specially designed clasp to cut open the flesh around my silver
marking, currently swirling in the presence of exiles, and let it spill
onto the end of the metal bar.
It took just a few seconds, and as
soon as I palmed the pipe, the exiles started to throw the crates aside
then came into view, their smiles wide with anticipation.
I stood. I didn’t return their smiles. I didn’t bother to do anything other than what needed to be done.
I
lunged, raising my elbow into the face of the black--haired exile as I
spun, the metal pipe striking his companion through the heart. He was
gone. I turned back to the first exile and, hoping that there was still
enough of my blood on the pipe to do the trick and using my supernatural
speed for all it was worth, I jammed the pipe straight into his neck.
His face wore an expression of pure surprise.
I’d seen that look before.
I
sighed and my shoulders slumped forward, unfulfilled. This was my job,
one that I would do for as long as I existed, which could be a
significantly long time. But two years ago, I’d accepted that there was
no longer any satisfaction to be had in my world.
No fairytales.
Only the cold.
Turning toward where I thought my dagger had landed, my surroundings suddenly changed.
I
was no longer seeing the warehouse. There were flashes of white, moving
fast, pounding hooves. Horses. Silver streaked through the air like a
dance. Swords. Slashes of red painted the sky. Something sharp and
deadly ripping through flesh—-wet and gruesome. Claws. Thousands and
thousands of beings as far as I could see fought ruthlessly, with no
sign of tiring. In the center, two warriors battled beneath a blinding
light. I could not make out their faces.
I blinked hard.
The
image was gone, and in its place Gray stood against the wall of
Lincoln’s warehouse, casually flipping my dagger in the air. “Would you
like me to applaud?” he asked.
Leaning against a metal support
pole, he had that midtwenties look I’d come to associate with the older
Grigori—-though I had no idea how old he really was—-and was dressed in
his usual black jeans, black T--shirt, and black leather jacket. Black
really was the only color worth investing in—-blood stains everything
else. He sported about a week’s worth of growth on his face, though his
head was shaved, the scars that ran over the top of his skull telling of
a history both terrible and secret. Grigori did not generally scar, so I
knew that whatever had caused these had occurred before Gray had turned
seventeen.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat and glanced
around as I composed myself. The whole…hallucination…had lasted only a
couple of seconds. I clenched my jaw.
Christ. It was nothing. I’m just imagining things.
I snapped my bracelet back in place over my marking and shot him a dry look. “Should I be charging a spectator fee?”
My voice sounded normal but my ears felt like they were still ringing with the echoes of battle.
“Not if the show is going to be over so fast, princess.”
I glared at him for persisting with the stupid nickname. “You know, you could’ve stepped in and given me a hand.”
“Sure,” he said with a solemn nod. “And you could’ve waited until the meet time we’d all agreed on too.”
I looked away briefly. “So, why are you here early?” I asked, hoping to divert the conversation.
Gray tilted his head. “Because I know you.”
I shrugged off the veiled accusation, even though it was true. To a degree.
“It was easier this way.”
He threw my dagger into the air, and I caught it by the hilt and slipped it back into its sheath.
“Well you can explain that to the others, since they just arrived.”
It has been two years
since Violet Eden walked away from the city, her friends, her future and
- most importantly - her soulmate, Lincoln. Part angel, part human,
Violet is determined to stand by the promises she made to save the one
she loves.
