Surrender Blog Tour: Spotlight & Excerpt

SURRENDER (The Ferryman and The Flame #1)
Author: Rhiannon Paille

Genre: YA Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

ISBN: 978-1480029859

Number of pages: 402
Word Count: 100k

Cover Artist: Marc Wolfe

 

Book Description:

How far would you go to save everything you ever loved? Kaliel was warned about her love for the Ferryman. One day he will marry the land and leave Avristar forever. She doesn't listen, and because of what she is-- a Flame-- one of nine apocalyptic weapons, she sparks a war. In a desperate attempt to save her home and her love, Kaliel tries to awaken Avred, not knowing she may have to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

“Sorry I scared you,” he said.
Kaliel pressed her lips to her knees, hoping she could hold in her emotions. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Silence hung between them for awhile. He shifted on the cloak, the black tunic he wore shifting with him. He stretched his legs out, and Kaliel looked at his shin-high boots and breeches. He stole a glance at her turtle shell. “What are you afraid of?”
Kaliel stood. “Happy endings.” She didn’t know how else to explain it. She had contemplated the parable so many times it was exhausting. It didn’t matter which path she took—neither of them seemed very appealing. She let the mist soak her sleeves and stick to her skin. She heard Krishani behind her before he ran his hand down her back making shivers run up her spine. He stayed there, a foot away, and she wished he would move closer, envelope her in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her. This had to be wrong. What would the brotherhood think?
“Happy endings?” he whispered. He sounded both unsure and nervous. “What do you mean?”
“What if someone comes?” She was worried Lord Istar would burst through the trees and find them in this compromising awkwardness. It seemed more taboo than practically drowning in the lake.
Krishani let out a breath. “Nobody ever comes here.”
Kaliel closed her eyes. “You come here.”
Krishani took a step forward and she could feel the heat radiating off him. “All the time.”
She didn’t answer, instead listening to the sound of the falls. Moonlight glinted off the flecks of water. She thought about the orb of ice he created for her. She hadn’t been able to do anything close to that awesome.
“What are you thinking?” he asked again.
She closed her eyes and felt her energy shift; like it had the day she went to the Great Oak. Heat rushed through her as she leaned back, trying to feel him, but not trying to force it if it wasn’t what he wanted. It was clear to her he cared, but she was so worried about whether or not she should let him.
“My parable,” she whispered.
He went rigid, his hand sliding down her upper forearm. “What did the Oak say to you?”
She shook her head. “Never mind, I have to figure it out. Both paths seem so dreary.” “You seem too sweet to have a bad parable.”
She didn’t want to talk about the nightmares of the Flames, the parable, the fact the Brotherhood would disapprove of him touching her. It felt so natural; the last few moons had been lonely without him. She couldn’t explain what she felt, but she couldn’t watch him marry the land and leave the island.
“But I do,” she said. She drew her hands instinctively to her chest, her elbows digging into her ribs. He dropped his hand as she turned, and buried her face in his chest. He reluctantly ran his hands through her hair, letting them rest on the small of her back.
“I thought about you every day,” he said as she pressed her cheek into his tunic.
She smiled against his shirt. “And I thought about you.”
“Promise me something?” He wasn’t holding her, not really, their bodies weren’t pressed together and the inches between them made Kaliel feel cold.
“What?”
“You’ll find a happy ending.”
“What if I can’t?”
He pulled back and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Promise me you will.” His eyes met hers and his jaw dropped. His hand paused, cupping her face in his palm. He held her gaze, her heart beating hard. Before she had time to answer, he pressed his lips against hers. She didn’t expect him to do that and it was better than she imagined. She came to life under him, kissing him back with unyielding passion that made him pull away to seemingly catch his breath.
Kaliel’s sadness drained away as he broke from her lips and then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again, pressing the length of his body against her. His kisses made her feel light and giddy, like she could float into the sky. She slid her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. There was swimming in the lake and losing her breath and then there was this. Being out of breath with him was like drowning in a sea of happiness. He could keep her prisoner forever and she’d never complain. He pulled away again, and wound his arms around her waist, trapping her against him. His lips found hers again, rough and inexperienced, but strong and satisfying.
She opened her mouth and his tongue grazed hers, warmth spreading from her heart to the rest of her body, making her tingle. She smiled against his lips.
“I missed you.” She tried to steady her breathing.
Krishani shook his head and put his hands on either side of her face. “This is all I want. This and nothing else, ever.” His mouth covered hers again. He pressed himself against her and she sighed. It felt like she had known him her entire life and even longer, if longer even existed.
Images appeared behind her eyelids—the shape of a boy and a girl wearing gaudy crowns on their heads. They were painted into parchment, but they were blurry. She was too elated by Krishani and his lips on hers to record the images, but they seemed familiar.
And then everything changed. Krishani pushed his lips against hers one last time and she felt the shift in her energy dissipate. It was as though all the joy evaporated, replaced by intense fear. She pushed him away and tried to understand the pounding in her heart that made her want to break in half.
Bloom the weed of temptation.
He looked confused and shocked. Without a word, she turned and fled towards the Elmare Castle.

 

Rhi was never a normal girl. Her life was an urban fantasy wrapped in a paranormal romance and served with a side of horror. To escape her everyday weirdness she began writing fantasy. She studied at U of Sedona and MIMT, obtaining a PhD in Metaphysical Science and Parapsychology. She’s married to a chef/comic book shop owner and she has a fondness for architecture. She frequents twitter and facebook, but if you really want to get to know her you should visit her site: www.yafantasyauthor.com

Author Links: 

http://www.yafantasyauthor.com
http://www.twitter.com/rhiannonpaille
http://www.facebook.com/rhiannonpaille
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4653530.Rhiannon_Paille

The Hallowed Ones Book Spotlight

THE HALLOWED ONES
Author: Laura Bickle
Genre: YA Dystopian/Paranormal
Release Date: September 25, 2012
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Graphia
Paperback: 320 pages
ISBN-10: 0547859260
ISBN-13: 978-0547859262

Description:

If your home was the last safe place on earth, would you let a stranger in?
In this captivating thriller, an Amish settlement is the last safe haven in a world plagued by an unspeakable horror…
Katie is on the verge of her Rumspringa, the time in Amish life when teenag-ers are free to experience non-Amish culture before officially joining the church. But before Rumspringa arrives, Katie’s safe world starts to crumble. It begins with a fiery helicopter crash in the cornfields, followed by rumors of massive unrest and the disappearance of huge numbers of people all over the world. Something is out there...and it is making a killing.
Unsure why they haven’t yet been attacked, the Amish Elders make a de-cree: No one goes outside their community, and no one is allowed in. But when Katie finds a gravely injured young man lying just outside the bounda-ry of their land, she can’t leave him to die. She refuses to submit to the Elder’s rule and secretly brings the stranger into her community—but what else is she bringing in with him?

Advance Praise for THE HALLOWED ONES:

 
"This is a book to make you fear the shadows--a horrifying and gruesome tale of faith, and things that blink red eyes in the night. I began reading in the daylight, and read on into the late hours, leaning close, biting my lip. I could not look away; I was ob-sessed. Katie is an unbreakable soul."
--Lauren DeStefano, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of the Chemical Garden Trilogy


Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1 

After the end of the Outside world, the Plain folk survived.

At the time, I didn’t know that the end of Outside had happened. None of us really did. We knew that something was wrong, of course. That knowledge trickled in slowly, like a leak in a roof. The signs accumulated, and then there was no denying the dark stain spreading over the pale ceiling of our world.

My first inkling was on a day in late September under a cloudless blue sky. The ravens had begun picking at the corn that was drying in the fields, black specks in the gold. I leaned on the wooden fence post, watching the birds scratch and listening to them caw to one another in their inscrutable hoarse language. The wire fence was pierced here by a wooden gate, to move farm equipment and cattle. This was a remote part of our little settlement of Plain people, but it made a good place to get away from chores and parents.

Beside me, Elijah had picked up a rock to scare the birds away.

“Don’t throw that,” I said, automatically. “It’s mean.”

Elijah looked at the stone, shrugged, put it down. He was a year older than me, but he would do anything I asked. Tall and lanky and sunburned from working outdoors, he cut a handsome figure: dark hair and hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that yet. We had grown up together. But things were changing. We both could feel it.

He leaned against the fence beside me, staring out at the field. I knew what he was looking at, the same thing I was . . . at what lay beyond the field. At the black ribbon of road just beyond the corn that carried the English to and from their business Outside. They drove their shiny cars down the two-lane highway, intent on going home or to work or school. At this distance, we could barely make out the drivers. Sometimes men or women drove boxy sedans in pressed suits and blouses. Often they would be couples with children strapped into harnesses in the back seat. Other times the drivers would be people around our age, talking on their phones or chatting with friends in the passenger seat. We were too far away to see their expressions. But during the summer, with the windows down, we could sometimes hear snippets of their laughter.

Since the time we were children, Elijah and I had made up stories about the people in the cars. We imagined that they were driving to the movies or going to parties. Once, we spied a sleek black limousine and fancied that it contained men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses. Maybe a group going to prom. It was as far away from our everyday world as we could envision.

“Someday that’s going to be us out there,” Elijah said, gesturing with his chin toward the road.

“Soon. Three more weeks.” I’d been daydreaming about Outside for so long. And it was almost time for Rumspringa. Literally, it meant “running around.” It was the time for young Amish men and women to go beyond the gate and taste the Outside world. After years of begging and pleading, my parents had finally relented and let me go Outside this year, on two conditions: that I wait until the harvest was completed, and that Elijah go with me. We wouldn’t be formally living together, of course. I intended to room with one of the girls I’d grown up with, Hannah Bachman. And one of Elijah’s friends, Sam Vergler, would go too. Sam and Hannah had been courting since Hannah had turned sixteen. We’d have a girls’ apartment
and a boys’ apartment. Proper. But for all practical intents, Elijah and I would be going on Rumspringa together.

Though he could have gone sooner Elijah had declared that he wouldn’t participate in Rumspringa without me. He’d been saving money, apprenticing to a master carpenter and helping out with his father’s farm. He seemed content, though, with his day-to-day life, content with the waiting. And I knew that my parents hoped that Elijah and I would someday be married. Indeed, I couldn’t picture myself being married to anyone else . . . though I admitted that it would be strange to see him with a beard like the ones worn by all married Amish men, rather than his handsome, clean-shaven face. It was the destiny I’d accepted. I was Amish. I didn’t dislike my life and accepted the inevitabilities cheerfully. Still, I wanted the experience of Outside. To know that I’d made the right choice. To be absolutely certain.

There was a difference, I had decided, between knowing and believing. And I wanted both.

“What’s the first thing we’re going to do Outside, Katie?” Elijah asked, grinning. “Eat sushi?”

“Ugh. No.” I wrinkled my nose. This was a game we played often: When we are Outside . . . “I am going to buy a pair of britches. Jeans.”

He stood back and looked at me, considering. “You? In britches?”

“Ja,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly. “And I want to go to the movies.”

“The movies?” he echoed. He was still fixated on the jeans; I could tell by how he stared at my rump. “What kind of movie do you want to see?”

“I’m not sure.” I smiled slyly. I’d found a newspaper while Outside with my father earlier that day. He occasionally delivered fresh produce to a convenience store that catered to English tourists. If I picked the produce, I could keep the money. I kept mine squirreled away in a wooden box that Elijah had made for me, with the word Rumspringa carved on the top. After we delivered the produce, I found the page of movies in a trash can outside of the store and had tucked it away in my apron pocket. I pulled it out now and smoothed it over the top beam of the fence. “See. There’s a lot to choose from.”

Elijah leaned over my shoulder, and I could feel his breath disturbing the tie on my bonnet. “Wow.” His finger traced over the listings. There was one that showed an explosion and soldiers in uniform. Another depicted a cartoon dragon with wings wrapped around a castle. I was partial to that one. It seemed magical, dangerous, and compelling. Though he was only printed in black-and-white, I imagined that the dragon was blue — blue as the sky at dusk.

“How about this?” Elijah pointed to an advertisement for a film that showed a female spy in a leather suit. Her breasts strained to be released from the zipper that contained them, and she held a gun longer than her impressive legs.

I peered at the woman in leather. “If you want. As long as I can see the dragon film.”

Elijah laughed. “I would think you’d object to that. But she is wearing britches.”

I shrugged. The woman seemed very unreal, as two-dimensional as the paper she appeared on. I wasn’t threatened by fantasy. “No. I’d be eager to see if she really looks like that in the film, though.”

“So am I.” He lifted his eyebrows. I swatted him playfully.

Our gazes gradually settled back to the horizon, at the black ribbon of road. The whine of an engine echoed in the distance, like a mosquito.

“Ooh, a speeder,” Elijah said. He stepped up on the lowest rail of the fence for a better look. Sometimes the speeders were followed by policemen with lights blazing and siren howling — a special thrill.

I shaded my eyes with my hand and peered at the faraway road. To my surprise, it was not a sports car that zinged along. This was a square sport-utility vehicle, piled high with luggage and boxes lashed to the roof. The driver, a man, was yelling. His wife was turned around in the passenger’s seat, and I could not see her face. Nor could I see the expressions of the children.

But I could hear high-pitched crying.

“They must be in a hurry to go camping,” Elijah murmured.

“I’m glad I’m not going on that vacation,” I said.

The vehicle sped out of sight, and no police car followed it.

I frowned, feeling sorry for the family. That sense of unease was foreign to me. My parents had always given my younger sister and me a happy home. I had never been afraid of my father, nor could I remember him ever having a cross word with my mother. Like Elijah and me, they had grown up together. That familiarity had not bred contempt, and they didn’t concern themselves with what lay beyond the gate.

I did. And I wondered if Elijah and I would ever be like them.

“Katie.”

I jumped, hearing my father’s voice behind me. I whirled, stuffing the newspaper page into my apron pocket.

My father was crossing the meadow to the fence. Under his straw hat and above his gray beard, I could see the glimmer of a smile. Though his voice was stern, he wasn’t angry with me. And I had never given him reason to be, never been disobedient . . . that he knew about. He didn’t know about the time that I’d spent at the county library when I’d been ostensibly studying to be a teacher. He didn’t know that I’d read about dinosaurs and planets and plenty of other things not accepted by the Amish. He may have suspected, but he didn’t know. And he was a fair-enough man not to punish me just for the simple suspicion of wrongdoing.

“Ja, Father?”

He nodded at Elijah. He never chastised me for spending time with Elijah. “Mrs. Parsall is here to see the puppies.”

I smiled, though my stomach churned. “She’s at the kennel?”

“Ja. She stopped by the house first, and I told her to go on to meet you there. She’s wondering how many puppies to expect for her customers.”

“I’ll see to her now.”

“Good girl.”

I gave Elijah an apologetic smile and hurried across the sloping meadow to the weather-silvered barn in the distance.

My father had given me the responsibility of managing the family dogs three years ago. I’d been very proud to have the job — he even allowed me to set the prices and keep a portion of the money. He’d told me that it would help make a businesswoman of me. I’d made a profit every year, tucked it away in my Rumspringa box. Maybe it should have gone into the sparsely filled hope chest my mother had given me. But Rumspringa was the apple of my eye, my immediate future.

Running the kennel was often a challenge for me — letting go of what I loved. Though we’d always been kind to our dogs, we’d heard stories of others who weren’t so humane. Those tales made me very, very sad. I loved the dogs dearly, and it was hard for me to give them up. Even to Mrs. Parsall, who promised that she found them loving homes and showed me photographs that people had sent her of the puppies as they grew up. She sometimes told me what their new names were, though they were still classified in my head under the nicknames I’d given each and every one.

Mrs. Parsall was waiting for me outside the dilapidated barn, dressed in jeans and a floppy sun hat. She was a plump, middle-aged woman with blond hair and glasses that slid down her nose. I adored her. She extended her arms out for a hug, and her blue eyes crinkled. She often encouraged me to use her first name, Ginger, but that seemed too disrespectful.

“Katie, how are you, dear?”

I grinned against her shoulder. “Good, good. And you?”

Mrs. Parsall smiled. “Wonderful. And how is Sunny? Is she ready to have her babies?”

“Come see for yourself!” I pushed open the creaky sliding door and led her into the barn. “I expect she might go another week, maybe two. But she’s huge.”

Mrs. Parsall grinned. “That’s great. I have a waitlist . . . The more, the merrier.”

The barn was cool in shadow, and it took a moment for my eyesight to adjust from the brilliance of the day. It was an old gray barn, not for any good use for cows and horses anymore, and more than distant from my house. It sat a stone’s throw from the foundations of a house that had once existed decades ago. I’d been told that the house had been struck by lightning. The neighbors who once lived there move east, and their property had fallen into disrepair. But it was my own little kingdom.

The Hexenmeister had painted a hex sign over the barn door years ago, when I’d started breeding dogs. The symbol he’d picked included sheaves of wheat, for fertility. That part was for the dogs. He’d also worked in spokes of purple tulips, signifying faith and chastity. That part was for me. I’d smiled when I saw it, but it felt like the Hexenmeister was giving me a lecture every time I saw the contradictory images.

Sunlight streamed into the barn through chinks in the old slats, and I smelled sweet hay. Though I called this place a kennel and there were wire cages, I rarely used them. The golden retrievers I raised were a
good bunch and had free run of the farm, except when birthing or when the puppies were very small. It wouldn’t do to have one injured or have a bitch give birth in an unknown place.

But Sunny was here, waiting for me. She ran up to me, her bulging body wobbling as she came to greet us. She licked my hands and arms, made an effort to jump on my shoulders, but she was just too heavy with puppies for that kind of horseplay. Mrs. Parsall crouched down at Sunny’s level, and the dog vigorously washed her face with her tongue.

Mrs. Parsall ran her hands over Sunny’s sides. “Oh my. You look about ready to pop, old girl.”

Sunny wagged her tail. This was her third litter. She was a good mama, attentive and loving to her pups.

“Who’s the sire?” Mrs. Parsall asked.

“The papa is Copper. He’s likely to be around somewhere, maybe chasing chickens.”

“Ah. They’ll have beautiful pups.” She rubbed Sunny’s glossy stomach. “Just beautiful.”

“I think so,” I said modestly. “Copper has the broad chest and that dark gold. I’m hoping that the pups will inherit their mother’s desire to stay home, though.”

Mrs. Parsall kissed Sunny behind the ear. “A little wanderlust never hurt anyone.”

I laughed. “You’ve not seen Copper being chased by the rooster. He isn’t fond of the dog harassing his hens.”

Mrs. Parsall looked up at me through her bifocals. “This will be your last litter before you do the Rumspringa thing?”

I nodded. As eager as I was to experience Outside, a pain welled in my throat at the idea of leaving the dogs. “It will be. But I’ve been training my little sister about the dogs. She’ll care for them in the meantime.”

“How long will you be gone?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about how long.” The group of us had talked about going north, to the nearest large city, to rent apartments and find some work. We could be gone a week or a year.

Or . . . a small voice in my head prodded. Or you could be gone for always.

But as much as I wanted to experience Outside, the Plain community was all I’d ever known, and I didn’t know if I had the desire or the fortitude to leave it permanently.

I suppose that was what Rumspringa was for. To test limits and make decisions. Most of the young people in our community came back after only a few weekends Outside, spent at amusement parks or camping. Some made no formal display of leaving. They just wandered to the malls and cities during the day, wearing jeans and makeup and experimenting with cigarettes and fast food in a halfhearted way before being baptized into the Amish faith and giving up those things for good. Very few Amish “jumped the fence” and stayed Outside. But it still seemed possible. Vague, but possible.

Mrs. Parsall smiled. “You are always welcome at my house. You know that.” Her home was empty now that her son and daughter had gone away to college across the country. Though she was very proud of them, I could tell that she was lonely. But contemplating Rumspringa at Mrs. Parsall’s house seemed a bit like a sleepover at a favorite aunt’s . . . not the full experience of Outside that I craved.

I gave her a spontaneous hug and a grin. “Thank you.”

She patted my cheek. “You just have to be careful. There are a lot of dangers out there for a young woman.”

“Don’t you mean for a naive young woman?” I didn’t bristle; my tone was teasing.

“For anyone.” Mrs. Parsall’s pretty moon face darkened. “It’s not like it used to be.”

“My parents went Outside for their Rumspringa,” I said. “They told me to be wary of the intentions of strange men. And smoking and drinking and staying out late.” My parents had raised me to be a so-called nice girl; they wanted me to return as one.

“Not only that. Things have become more violent.” She frowned. “There was a mass murder, not too far from here, last week. A whole family slaughtered in their sleep.”

I shuddered, though the idea seemed unreal as the movie advertisements. “I will have Elijah.”

“Just be very, very careful,” the older woman said. “It’s a dangerous world.”

“You sound like my parents.”

“All parents love their children. You should have heard the lecture I gave my kids before they left the house.” She grinned. “Though they were well-armed with cell phones, checking accounts, laundry soap, and condoms, I still worried.”

“Mrs. Parsall!” I could feel the blush spreading beneath my pale cheeks. Though I had seen the dogs breed many times and knew perfectly well what caused children, I was still uncomfortable with the idea of myself having babies. Or experiencing sex, for that matter. And love . . . love was a mysterious thing. I saw a lot of couples marrying out of a sense of acceptance, of duty. That was a kind of love, but not the passionate love that I saw people emphasize Outside.

“These are the facts of life, m’dear.” Mrs. Parsall chuckled. “Love and lust and laundry soap. Just ask Sunny.”

Sunny grinned her inscrutable canine grin, her pink tongue protruding beyond her teeth. She was a dog and already more wise than I was about such things.

I walked Mrs. Parsall outside the barn, through the golden field back to my house. No one but she and I and the dogs ever came back here, and there was no path worn in the grass. The sun had lowered on the horizon, shining through the leaves of sugar maple trees just beginning to yellow with the coming of fall. I could still feel the warmth of the day through the dark brown cotton of my dress. If I didn’t look up at the trees, I could almost convince myself that it was still summer. Almost.

But our community was bustling with the work of autumn and the activities of harvest: younger children gathered apples from a small orchard; men drove horses with carts containing bales of hay to barns; a
group of women was busy gathering grapevines to make wreaths to sell in the English shops for Christmas.

We were a good-size settlement of Plain folk, about seventy families, spread over half a county. We had heard rumors of other Plain communities that were shrinking, owing to the youth and the spell of Rumspringa. And there were tales of other communities that grew so fast, there was no farmland for young families. But not ours. Ours had remained the same size and shape as far back as anyone could remember. There always seemed to be enough land for everyone to have at least forty acres to farm, if they wanted it.

And everyone seemed happy, unaffected by the schisms that seemed so common in other Amish settlements. The Bishop said that was because we stuck to the old ways. Everyone knew what was expected of us. There was no renegotiation of rules every time some new technology flew up a bonnet. The Ordnung was the Ordnung. Period. And we had been rewarded for following the Ordnung: there was always enough work and food and spouses and land for everyone. God provided for his people.

The pumpkin patch that my little sister tended was nearly as ripe as Sunny with distended gourds. There was one particularly large monster of a pumpkin that Sarah had a special fondness for. Twice daily she squatted beside it, whispering to it and petting it. Whatever she was doing seemed to be working — the pumpkin was easily over a hundred pounds, with another month to go before it would be severed from the vine.

Mrs. Parsall leaned against the bumper of her old blue station wagon. She pulled her keys from her pocket, gave me a one-armed hug. “You take care of yourself, kiddo.”

I grinned against her shoulder. But something dark against the blue sky caught my attention. I squinted at it, first thinking it to be a bird. But it wasn’t a bird at all.

I stepped back from Mrs. Parsall, pointing at the sky. “Look!”

A dark dot buzzed overhead, growing larger. It was a helicopter, flying so low that I could hear the whump-whump-whump of its blades. It was painted green with a white cross on the side, seeming to wobble in the blue.

Mrs. Parsall shaded her eyes with her hands, shouting to be heard above the roar. “It’s Life Flight.”

“It’s a what?”

“It’s a medical helicopter. From a hospital.”

“It shouldn’t be doing that, should it?”

“Hell, no. It — ”

The helicopter veered right and left, as if it were a toy buffered by a nonexistent tornado. The breeze today was calm, stirred by the helicopter blades and the roar. I thought I saw people inside, fighting, their silhouettes stark through a flash of window, then lost in the sun. The helicopter made a shrieking sound, the whump-whump-whump plowing through the air as it bumped and bucked. It howled over us, so close that I could have reached out and touched it if I’d been standing on the roof of our house.

Mrs. Parsall grabbed me and flung me to the ground. I shoved my bonnet back from my brow in enough time to see the helicopter spiral out of control, spinning nose over tail into a field. It vanished above tall tassels of corn.

For a couple of heartbeats, I saw nothing, heard nothing.

Then I felt the impact through my hands and the front of my ribs, bit my tongue so hard I could taste blood. Black smoke rose over the horizon.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Parsall gasped.

I scrambled to my feet, began to run. I heard Mrs. Parsall behind me, the jingle of her purse strap. I dimly registered her voice shouting into her cell phone. I ran toward the fire, across the grass. I swung myself up and over the barbed-wire fence, mindless of the scratching on my hands and in my skirt.

I plunged into the stalks of corn, taller than me, following the smell of smoke and the distant crackle of fire. I was conscious of the brittle yellow stalks tearing at me as I passed and realized that they were too flammable this far into the season. If the fire got loose in the corn, we’d have no way to stop it.

But my immediate concern was the people on the helicopter.

I ripped through the field and shoved aside blackened stalks of corn to view the site of the crash. The heat shimmered in the air, causing my eyes to tear up. I lifted my apron to cover my nose against the smell of oily smoke.

Fire seethed above me in a black and orange plume, curling around the husk of the dead helicopter. The bent and broken tail jutted out from the ground at an odd angle. The cockpit had broken open, flames streaming through the broken glass.

And I swore I saw something moving inside.

Copyright © 2012 by Laura Bickle 

About the Author:

Laura Bickle's professional background is in criminal justice and library science. When she's not patrolling the stacks at the public library, she can be found reaming up stories about the monsters under the stairs. She has written several contemporary fantasy novels for adults, and THE HALLOWED ONES is her first young adult novel. Laura lives in Ohio with her husband and five mostly-reformed feral cats. For more about Laura, please visit her website at: www.laurabickle.com. 

Rouge Blog Tour: Spotlight & Giveaway

Welcome to my stop on the Rouge Blog Tour hosted by YA Bound.  Click HERE to check out the full blog tour schedule!

Rouge (Cheveux Roux, #1)

Author: Leigh Talbert Moore

Genre: YA Light Historical/Theater Romance

Release Date: November 11, 2012

Paperback/e-book

300 pages

Summary from Goodreads:

Trapped in the underground theater world of 1890s New Orleans, Hale Ferrer has only one goal: escape. But not without Teeny, the orphan-girl she rescued from the streets and promised to protect.

Freddie Lovel, Hale's wealthy Parisian suitor, seems to be the easy solution. If only his touch could arouse her interest like Beau's, the penniless stagehand who captures her heart.

Denying her fears, Hale is poised to choose love until an evil lurking in their cabaret-home launches a chain of events that could cost her everything.

Buy Links:  Amazon * Barnes & Noble * Kobo * Smashwords

First Kiss Love

By Leigh Talbert Moore

In my new book Rouge, the main character Hale’s best friend is Roland, who is the musical director at the theater where she secretly lives.

He’s five years older than her, but they grew up together. He was Hale’s first love, and when they were kids, he taught her how to French kiss.

It’s a fun scene, I’m sharing with you here:

“Look at me, Hale,” Roland said. My eyes flickered to his, and in the dim blue light, his pale skin and white teeth seemed to glow. “That was a terrible kiss.”
“Oh!” I jerked my chin away.
He laughed and caught me. “And I was going to say we can’t have our leading lady not knowing how to give a proper kiss.”
I stopped struggling and faced him. “You mean…?”
“I mean let me show you how.”
Nervous excitement filled my middle.
He slowly leaned forward, and I looked directly into his black eyes, anticipation flushing my cheeks.
“When you kiss someone,” he murmured. “It should be soft. Like you’re taking the slightest taste of something very sweet.”
With his thumb, he gently pulled my lower lip down and covered my mouth with his. His lips were warm and his breath whispered across my cheek. Everything seemed to stop except my heart, which beat painfully hard.
Then he lifted his head slightly. His eyes held mine as our noses lightly touched. I couldn’t breathe.
“This is the French way,” he whispered. He slid his hand to my cheek and pushed my lips apart with his. I felt his tongue enter my mouth and tasted the cool mints he always chewed to hide the cigarettes. His tongue moved softly against mine, and my knees melted.
I carefully stepped back.
“Well?” he smiled, stepping toward me. “Did you like it?”
I could barely breathe as I nodded yes.
“Now you try,” he said, crossing his arms and turning to the side. “I’ll be an unsuspecting suitor dying of love for you. Now go.”
My heart pounded, but I stepped forward and slipped my hands up to his cheeks. I gently pulled his face to mine, and our eyes locked. A thrill raced all the way to my toes. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to his, urging his apart and tentatively sliding my tongue across the space.
He embraced me and kissed me back in a way that scorched my mouth. Heat filled my stomach, and for a split second, I thought I might faint.
Then he released me and smiled. “Perfect. That’ll keep the boys coming back for more.”


Thanks for having me here today! I hope you all enjoy Rouge~

About the Author:

Leigh Talbert Moore is a wife and mom by day, a writer by day, a reader by day, a freelance editor when time permits, a chocoholic, a caffeine addict, a lover of YA and new adult romance (really any great love story), a beach bum, and occasionally she sleeps.

Leigh loves hearing from readers! Stop by and say hello:

Blog * Facebook * Amazon Author page * Goodreads * Email

GIVEAWAY:

Signed Print copies of Rouge for US readers, e-book copies for International readers.

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The Harvesting Book Blitz

 

The Harvesting (The Harvesting Series #1)

Author: Melanie Karsak

Genre: Horror

Expected Release Date: September 18, 2012  

"To label this a zombie book would be a false pretense . . . this is so much more than that. What you start out with and what you end up with are very different, and those twists and turns in the middle will make your heart beat faster over and over again."-- Colossal Pop 

Description:

It's all fun and games until someone ends up undead. 

Though Layla reluctantly returns home to rural Hamletville after a desperate call from her psychic grandmother, she could never have anticipated the horror of what Grandma Petrovich has foreseen. The residents of Hamletville will need Layla's help if they are to survive the zombie apocalypse that's upon them. But that is not the only problem. With mankind silenced, it soon becomes apparent that we were never alone. As the beings living on the fringe seek to reclaim power, Layla must find a way to protect the ones she loves or all humanity may be lost. 

Goodreads Link: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16045246-the-harvesting

Author Bio:

Melanie Karsak, steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and caffeine junkie, resides in Florida with her husband and two children. Visit the author at her blog to learn more about upcoming projects, book signings, and other neato things. A Walking Dead fan, check out her blog for recaps!

Author Links:

• Blog: http://melaniekarsak.blogspot.com/
• Twitter: @MelanieKarsak
• Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMelanieKarsak

Buy Links:

Amazon

 

The Perfect Clone Blog Tour: Excerpt

The Perfect Clone
Author: M.L. Stephens
Genre: Fantasy/Paranormal

Description:

*Mature Situations*

Sticking to codes of moral conduct is no longer an option. Laura’s tried that before and failed miserably. With a second chance at life, she’s determined to make society play by her rules for a change.

Richard has secretly cultivated Laura’s talents for years, waiting for the perfect moment to pull her into his tangled web. It’s difficult enough to clone a child using DNA from an ancient shroud, but convincing Laura to help him might prove to be the bigger challenge.

With her own agenda in mind, Laura takes on the cloning project and is plunged into a world filled with secret societies, deception, murder and…apparitions? As her perception on reality shifts, Laura begins to question everything. What if Richard’s quest to create a clone to save humanity, is instead, The Perfect Clone for destruction?

Author's note: The Community I’ve created offers surprises, splashes of humor, action, suspense, and unexpected plot twists. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it. Welcome to the Community!  

 

The tangled hunk of metal resembled macabre art that had been brutally lodged into an oak tree rather than the automobile it had once been. Broken shards of glass sparkled against blue and red flashing police lights.
Lying on the asphalt, covered with a blue sheet, was the body of a man. How she knew that she wasn’t sure, she just knew, but wasn’t interested. Her focus was on someone else.
The EMT’s and police were too busy gaining control of the situation to notice the curious by-stander who’d slid past the barriers. Laura crept over to the paramedics as they rapidly worked to revive the female victim they’d pulled from the wreckage. Despite a deep revulsion to death, Laura was mesmerized.
Blood that once warmly circulated in the woman’s veins had brutally escaped, forming into puddles on the dark pavement.
Hues of death colored the victim’s skin; skin that had once been rosy. Dark red liquid gelled into a glue-like substance on the woman’s face. Hair that had been meticulously fashioned earlier in the evening was caked with hardened sludge. The woman’s crimson evening gown was ripped open in the front, allowing the paramedics to do their work.
Feeling strangely connected to the life-less figure, Laura knelt down. She had to get closer. She had to see the woman’s face. The EMT’s didn’t stop her.
“Clear,” The paramedic shouted to his comrades as the defibrillator came to life. The corpse’s upper body lifted against the assault of the paddles.
Curious fascination turned into raging disbelief. Recognition flooded her senses and slammed hard against her chest. She knew this woman!
What the hell? How was this possible? This was all wrong. The body of the female victim belonged to her! She couldn't be dead. Not yet—not like this. Laura screamed at her lifeless figure, trying to rouse it. The sound was frozen. She wasn’t finished with her life. She had to get back.
“Clear,” the paramedic shouted again as he pressed the paddles into her chest.
“Lady, don’t you dare die! I have a flawless record and I’ll be damned if you break it. Not tonight. Not on my watch. Breathe, damn you, breathe!”

About the Author:

M. L. Stephens I’m just an every day Mrs. Joe, except that I have an unshakable fetish for a good mystery and anything paranormal, along with an insatiable appetite for coffee and travel. When I’m not reading the novels of so many great authors, I’m creating stories of my own. My family keeps me grounded, my pets keep me jumping, my friends keep me focused, and it all happens in Texas! 

Author Links:

Facebook

Website

Goodreads

Buy Links:

Amazon

  

Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush: Excerpt & Giveaway

Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush

Author: T. C. Archer

Genre: Science fiction, Erotica

Publisher: Loose Id

Ebook

Words: 35,000

Purchase:

ARe | Amazon | Fictionwise | B&N (Nook)

Book Description:

"Enforcer Fontana Marks is on vacation undercover until she has to testify against the Track Cartel for crimes against the Galactic Coalition. But the cartel is hiding something, and Fontana intends to find out what--then make them pay for murdering Jenny, the young scientist Fontana failed to protect on a previous assignment.

The last thing Fontana intends to do while vacationing incognito on the fantasy resort Sagitariun is follow the advice of her superior. "Rest, recuperate, and find a man."

But how can a woman resist a blond, blue-eyed, chisel-jawed, great-assed man streaking naked in public when he's obviously running from someone? And why can't she to get rid of the damned trench coat she stole to rescue him?" 

 

**Note - Excerpt is rated PG-13**

 

The man shifted, and the loose-fitting white shirt went taut across his broad shoulders. Memory of his tanned skin and steel muscle hit like a thunderbolt, and Fontana’s stomach did a flip.

He grinned, a sure sign he knew he was being viewed through a one-way door. Desire rippled through her on a slow, sure wave that promised heart-stopping pleasure. She’d known good-looking men. Ray, her last serious relationship five years ago, had been gorgeous. She’d been mad for him, but the man standing outside her door had a quality about him that made her want to snuggle up against him and fall asleep.

Fontana snorted. Her body would disagree. Right now that part of her throbbed with an insistent desire to bed him—hard. Maybe then the flutter in her heart would have a say, and she’d fall asleep wrapped in his arms. That would be a welcome change to the sleepless nights she’d spent since Jenny’s death. It would be a temporary fix, but she could use at least one good night’s rest.

She sighed. First she’d better deal with the damned raincoat and find out how the naked man had escaped the shock troopers. Then there was the little matter of how he’d found out where she was staying.

Fontana rose and smoothed the form-fitting blouse and poly-cotton slacks she wore. “Open door,” she said, and the door dematerialized.

His stare slid down her body, and her nipples tightened to a delicious discomfort—and one he couldn’t miss under the millipore fabric of her top.

“Well, Mr. Long John.”

His blue eyes returned to her face. “Long John?”

She stepped aside and motioned him in. “Last time I saw you, your long johnson was standing at attention.”

He entered, and the door rematerialized behind him. “Give him a minute, and he’ll be at your command again.”

“What are you doing here?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “You said to look you up.”

She spun out of his grasp and backed up. “How did you find me?”

“Spacer Jack’s is brimming with information.”

He was right. She’d figured that out the first time she’d walked in. Even a benign resort like Club Sagitariun had a dark side. Proof stood right in front of her in all its masculine glory. No. All his masculine glory had been long, hard, and ready to go in the alley. Damn shock troopers. Ten more minutes and she would have had a quick hard ride on his steel rod.

He continued to advance.

She retreated. “Where’s my raincoat?”

He grasped her hand. “What do you need with a man’s raincoat?”

“The owner is looking for it.”

“Forget about him.” He stepped closer.

“Can’t.”

“I came to thank you for the coat. Let me buy you breakfast.”

Some offer—and not what she had in mind for jump-starting a morning that had begun four hours ago for her.

“It’s not my coat,” she said.

“We’ll find the owner and thank him—later. We have some unfinished business.”

Heat radiated from his body. Her pulse sped up. The smile at the corners of his mouth deepened. Her calves made contact with the bed. He stepped closer, grasped her hand, and pressed her palm over his heart.

Fontana ignored the warmth spreading through her and locked gazes with him. “What did those shock troopers want?”

He shrugged. “Never found out.”

“They never caught you.”

“I had to elude them so I could be here.”

That had a certain logic she liked.

His fingers gently tightened over the hand still pressed against his heart. “You’ve got my heart beating like crazy.”

She noted the hard muscle of his chest, under which only a regular heartbeat thumped, and pulled her hand away. “It’s not nice to lie.”

“I’m hurt.”

She wanted to laugh. He actually did look hurt.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all that we’ve shared,” he said.

Now she did laugh. Fontana was startled at the unexpected relief she felt. She hadn’t laughed since setting foot on Rigil IV. He cut off her thoughts by pulling her against him. His mouth crashed down onto hers. The hard ridge of his arousal dug into her stomach. She could almost believe she had a special effect on him. Almost. But that erection was just a little too ready—a little too eager—to belong to anyone but a working man. 

About the Author:

T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast.

Evan puts his Ph.D. to good use by writing about alternate realities, and Shawn channels the mythology and philosophy she studied during her wasted youth into writing about exotic places and times. 

Find the Author:

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | 

Don't forget to check out the other stops on the tour! You can find the full tour schedule here or by clicking on the banner at the top of the post.

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