RELEASE DAY: Nancy S. Brandt "Pigsty Princess"

Blurb:

In a country where Elemental Sensitivities determine a person's place in society, Mariana, fourth child of King Jonathan and Queen Alexandria, was born an Insensitive. She is given the made up title of Progenna, because she can't be in line for the throne and therefore, can't be a Princess. All her life, she is reminded that she isn't quite good enough. When her father decides she is to marry Pir Leo Valentine, an eighty-four year old man with a scar across his face that took his eye and only one hand, she runs away from the palace.

Orlando of Talla is a pig farmer and former soldier who served the King until he watched his Sovereign burn an entire harbor town rather than lose a battle. Now he tries to live a quiet life while leading a band a rebels who steal from the nobility to bring prisoners home from that war.

Orlando is also the bastard son of a nobleman, and therefore, he has a Sensitivity, one of Blood that allows him to feel the Sensitivities of others.

He finds the injured Progenna in the forest and immediately realizes that the stories about Mariana aren't true. Rather than being an Insensitive, Mariana may be the most powerful Sensitive in Valborough.

 

Author:

Nancy S. Brandt is a stay-at-home mother of two children, a daughter, 25, who is an ap-pointment's clerk at an orthopedic clinic and an editor and book reviewer; and a son, 12, who studies karate, and wants to be either an historian or an artist.  Nancy's husband, Ste-ven, is also an author and an adjunct professor of computer science at Louisiana State Uni-versity.

In about sixth grade, an English teacher gave an assignment to write a descriptive essay. Nancy's was all about a wonderful cave filled with diamonds, emeralds and other precious gems. From that experience, she walked into every English class hoping to get to write some-thing, and she learned three things:

            1. The difference between stalactite and stalagmite,

            2. That fantasy was probably the genre she should concentrate on, and

            3. Never end a story with "It was all a dream."

Nancy is a kidney transplant recipient (her husband was her living donor), a thyroid cancer survivor, and an Army veteran. She is currently working on the sequel to Pigsty Princess.

 

 

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Progenna Mariana, fourth child of Queen Alexandria and King Jonathan of Valborough, watched the couples twirling around the dance floor. Beneath their feet, colored mosaics representing the eight magical elements danced as well, the patterns changing in time with the music.

The annual ball in celebration of the Queen’s birthday was in full swing.

Mariana watched in delight as her brother, Cognate Prince Ramone, Heir Presumptive, danced with his wife, who would be delivering their first child within the next month. The white sash draped from Grand Sahdess Victoria’s right shoulder to her left hip indicated Air Sensitivity and explained how she could be so light on her feet even with such an advanced pregnancy.

Mariana idly ran her fingertips along the fold of her own black satin sash, narrower than any the rest of the royal family wore. Traditionally, black was for children whose Sensitivities haven’t manifested yet, or the rare Insensitive Commoner invited to royal celebrations.

The color of her sash shouldn’t have bothered her anymore. Everyone in the kingdom knew Mariana had no Sensitivities. In fact, even her title, “Progenna,” had been created especially for her. The title identified her as a daughter of the King and Queen, but also made it clear she had no magical abilities and, therefore, no place in the line of succession. She was, officially, a royal nobody.

The music from the quartet of stringed instruments stopped, and the couples paired up in two lines in the center of the floor for the next dance, a lively reel.

 Mariana moved along the tapestry-covered walls toward the three sets of double doors that led to the balcony.

She had to find Darius, son and Heir Presumptive of Clarence, the Margrave of Sasoin. As Mariana surveyed the dance floor, she couldn’t see Darius, who was known as the Rieravo of Sasoin, a title he inherited when his father’s landholdings increased and the older man was given the higher title.

As one of the few still-unmarried Heir Presumptives of a high-ranking noble in the court, Darius had a partner for every dance of the evening. Mariana assumed he had to be out on the balcony getting some fresh air after all the dancing he’d done.

 She and Darius had been an unofficial couple for some time now, and one more dance would make it official. Then, her father couldn’t keep them from announcing their intent to wed. After all, a third dance at such an event was practically an engagement announcement all by itself.

As she passed by, guests bowed their heads and muttered greetings. However, she ignored them all, as she was only interested in finding Darius.

Suddenly, she was halted by a black wooden cane thrust horizontally in front of her. Its bearer was a short bald man with one eye, who smiled so wide at her his yellow chipped teeth were visible.

“Pir Leo,” Mariana said, making a small curtsy of respect to the Sahdeer of Valentine, advisor to the King. “How nice to see you this evening.”

“My dear Progenna Mariana, I have been hoping to dance with you.” He grabbed her gloved hand and kissed it. As always, he lingered longer than was appropriate before releasing her. Marianna suppressed a shudder.

Pir Leo had been a figure in her life since she was a child. Because he was an expert in diplomacy and foreign relations, he was a frequent visitor to the palace and even at family gatherings. He had always frightened her.

RELEASE DAY: Stephy Smith "Magical Love"

Blurb:

Captured within the mind of Cleo Little by the disgraceful dark mist of Madonna, Greta Smith was taken on a wild, wicked journey she fought to escape. Greta presented the problem to the Shuvihani and Thad to vanquish the evilness of her childhood friend.

Against Thaddeus Porter’s better judgment and by the order of the clan’s witch, Thad entered the minds of the dark coven out to destroy the clan. The only way to save his people was to join forces with Greta to defeat the evilness prevailing around them. Their energy was strong, the clan’s Shuvihani was missing, and dark evil was out to steal the souls of the caravan.

Could Greta and Thad’s Magical Love be sufficient to conquer the jealousy, betrayal and dark magic to save their people?

Author:

Stephy Smith was born and raised in the Northwest Texas Panhandle. She owns and operates her own ranch. Most of her inspiration comes from the weather, wildlife, and imagination from country living. When she not spending time with her three sons, she loves to read, ride horses, watch rodeo’s and paint. Stephy is a member of Panhandle Professional Writers, American Quarter Horse Association, and Foundation Quarter Horse Association. Stephy is an award-winning author of Shining Moon Rises. You can find her books at www.barnesandnoble.com www.amazon.com www.audible.com www.smashwords.com and www.kobo.com

RELEASE DAY: Sara Burr "Underground Rose"

Blurb:

After her surprise discovery of a mystical gift, fourteen-year-old Rose Wilson thinks her life is ruined. It turns out she comes from a long line of gifted women, and despite her protests, Rose’s mom ships her off to her grandmother’s house to spend the summer learning about her family’s well-hidden secrets. To make matters worse, Rose is expected to carry out this tradition alongside her mousy, bookworm cousin, Megan. What a waste of a summer.

With some effort, Rose and Megan manage to find common ground and by the time they get home, they’re working together to adjust to their new life. But everything is turned upside down again when their families are exposed by witch hunters who call themselves The Witches’ Hammer. With killers on the loose, their tiny town isn’t safe anymore. Rose’s entire family is fragmented and forced to flee through a network of hiding places, dubbed The Witches’ Underground Railroad.

As she journeys to the sea, Rose learns more and more about who she really is. The closer she gets to her destination, the more danger she encounters, until she is forced to make the ultimate decision: follow her family’s edict of non-violence and become an orphan, or save her mom’s life.

 

 

Author:

Sara has been entranced by the written word for as long as she can remember. The daughter of a school teacher, she fell in love with books as soon as she could read them. She wrote her very first story, about a girl who ran away and hid in her cousin’s lilac bush, when she was just eleven. Although her stories have grown more complicated and less petulant since then, Sara still loves to entertain kids with her words.

When she isn’t writing, Sara has a big family to keep her busy: a husband who is her other half, and four children who are wonderfully individual. They live next to a beautiful lake in a tiny town with no street lights. Sara spends lots of time taking care of little superheroes. She likes to camp with her family, enjoys traveling, and hopes to see the Northern Lights someday.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Prologue

Staring into the shadowy woods through the wooden bars of her cage, the girl vaguely wondered if they would burn her at the stake, or if they would sink her into the lake with stones in her pockets. That’s how they had killed her cousin, Catherine.

The girl had been declared a witch and there was nothing she could do about it now. They were going to kill her. She had panicked and wept for days when the realization of this had sunk in, but now she was empty, all emotion gone from her.

The awful priest came back and poked his stick through the bars to make her move back. He got her right between two ribs, and the pain of it made her cry out.

“Shut up, evil girl!” he screamed at her, spittle flying from the corners of his cracked lips. “Your horrible spells and incantations must not be uttered again.”

Putting her head down to avoid eye contact, she peeked at him through her dirty strands of red hair, studying his bulbous nose and thick dark eyebrows. She didn't understand how anyone could think he was honestly a man of God. Nothing about him was good or kind, and the man wasn’t charming or even nice. How had he convinced them all?

When they first captured her, she had cried endlessly and tried to convince them she had not made a pact with the devil. She didn’t understand how this had all happened. It was just a talent of hers, it wasn’t evil – it was more useful than anything she could do. Hurting the boy had been an accident. The fire had just gotten out of control.

She didn’t feel afraid anymore – she didn’t feel anything. It was like she was watching all of this happen to someone else. The sooner they killed her, the sooner she would be out of this miserable, caged existence. Truthfully, she could have burned the cage long ago and escaped, but it would be pointless. They would only hunt her down like an animal. And there was nowhere to run in these woods. There were plenty of stories about people disappearing into them, never to return.

The irony of the whole situation made her laugh, a hollow, emotionless sound, even to her own ears, and the priest poked her with his stick again. Feeling a burst of anger, she looked him in the eyes – a dangerous thing that may earn her another beating – and his stick burst into flame, burning his hand. He cried out and dropped it.

She laughed again. Burning the priest had been an accident, too. She hadn’t even meant to burn his stick. The unpredictable nature of this gift was what had gotten her into trouble to begin with, however this time, it was a happy accident.

Before he could retaliate, the whip cracked in the air and the horse began pulling. The wheels beneath her cage creaked and groaned as if they were dying of the plague, and then they lurched into motion, moving more slowly than a walking pace.

She was being taken to a monastery where the monks could determine her innocence or guilt, but she already knew the outcome. Once a woman was accused of witchcraft, she was always condemned to death. Besides, there was too much evidence against her, especially now that she had burned the priest.

“Do not despair, child,” the priest said, walking in pace with her cage. The horrible smirk on his pockmarked face combined with his yellow teeth made her cringe. “We will make sure you pay for your sins. Each and every one of them. You will do your penance, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul.” He made the sign of the cross from his forehead to his chest and shoulders.

As he moved to walk away, the girl heard a strange noise, like a combination of rattling trees and a pot boiling over into the fire. It was hard to tell from which direction it came.

The priest cocked his head and peered into the trees. “What do you suppose that noise is?” he said to the driver.

The driver just shrugged his skinny shoulders and urged the horse forward.

As the noise grew progressively louder, the priest studied the girl with suspicion. “This better not have something to do with you, witch,” he said, as he stalked towards the trees to investigate.

Just as he reached the tree line, he was swept off his feet by a rushing wave of water as high as his knees. He cried out and reached for the nearest branches, but he was swept away.

Understanding dawned on the girl. The stream they had been traveling alongside had somehow overflowed its banks. It made no sense – there was no rain. She gazed into the beautiful blue sky. There was not a cloud in sight, yet the growing mass of water was angrily searching for a new place to run to.

She thought she was ready to die, but she certainly had not expected it to be like this. Feeling lightheaded from panic, she stared hard at the wooden bar that held the lock to her cage. Concentrating as hard as she could, she hoped to produce a burst of flame, but she only saw a small wisp of smoke. Then, as she thought of the priest and his horrible sharp stick, a lick of flame immediately bloomed, releasing her from her prison.

By now, the noise of the raging water was deafening, and as she jumped from the burning cage, the water came all the way to the middle of her thighs. There was no dry ground in sight. Grabbing a nearby tree to remain upright, she surveyed the scene.

The priest was nowhere to be seen, and the horse was barely holding its footing. It was agitated and ready to bolt. Having lost control of the reigns, the driver balanced precariously on his seat.

The girl felt a hand on hers, and bracing herself for a battle, she tensed.

“Anna!” she heard a familiar voice cry.

Looking more closely, she saw that the person at her side was her sister. “Mary!” she cried, hugging her tightly. “You did this?”

RELEASE DAY: David W. Landrum "The Last Minstrel"

Blurb:

The Goddess Morrigan has cast her evil magic over Brendálynn’s kingdom and taken her mother captive. As she goes into Morrigan’s realm to challenge her and free the woman who bore her, Brendálynn discovers that there is powerful magic in the music she has learned—more than she ever imagined.

 

Author:

David W. Landrum is the author of The Gallery, The Sorceress of the Northern Seas, Strange Brew, and The Prophetess, all available through Amazon.

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Right after Mother disappeared, my father started beating me a lot, and the day I met the Goddess Ardwinna, he was at it again. The first couple of times he whipped me with his belt after Mother disappeared in one of the dark spells Morrigan brings on our land, I acted like I was in pain. After that I just gave him dirty looks.

"Didn’t hurt," I said when he had finished on that particular day — though it did a little. He raised the belt threateningly. "Go on," I urged. "Hit me all you want. I’m sure Mother would be happy to see you beating her only daughter."

When I spoke of Mother, Father always backed off. He turned and went to the kitchen, the belt dragging on the floor. I heard him pour himself what had to be a cup of whisky, which he usually drank when he was in this kind of mood.

It was hard when she disappeared. I spent time in church, prostrate before the altar, weeping and pleading. I told God I would do anything if He would return Mother to us. I promised I would enter a convent. Whatever He asked of me, I would do if He would return her. Only silence came from heaven — silence and Father’s drinking. Our priest told me to be patient. Months passed. Finally, I went out one snowy morning and walked to Ardwinna’s bower. This called for caution. Our people worshipped Ardwinna, the goddess of the wood, of hunting, and of virginity before our province became Christian. Some still worshipped her, though secretly.

I came to the sacred place beside a stream where two white birch trees towered to the sky. The bare trees creaked in the wind. The stream flowed in the middle, though it had iced at the edges. I walked up and brushed the snow from the two stones, took off my shoes, placed my feet on the two smooth, cold rocks, and reached out to touch the cold, peeling white of the trees.

In the perfect silence of winter — in the cold and purity of blue sky — I asked the goddess to help me. Even though my feet burned with cold, I stood there a long time. Did I feel the goddess near? There is no way to know if we feel such things or if they are simply our own hearts full of emotion making us feel what we hope for. After a while I returned. Ardwinna did not answer my prayer. I had given up on divine intervention to bring Mother back to us.

That had been in winter. Spring came and headed into summer, and still we knew nothing of Mother. We had no idea where she had gone nor whether she was alive or dead.

After Father had beaten me, Miranda came into the room. She brought a glass of light wine from the cellar. Her grey eyes were sad. I sat down, took a sip, and told her to climb into my lap. She was really too big to be sitting in my lap. At eight years, she was a tall, sturdy maiden. Tender-hearted and sensitive, it always hurt her to see Father give me threshing. She sat on my legs and snuggled against me. I put my arms around her.

"Why is Grandfather always beating you?" she asked.

"He doesn’t do it a lot. It just seems a lot, because it’s so upsetting when it happens. He’s full of sorrow about Mother." I kissed her and stroked her hair. "Don’t fret, Miranda. Time will heal him."

 "Will you sing me a song?" Miranda asked.

I got my lute and did a funny song for her. She laughed. We went outside, played tag, and tossed pine cones into a bucket until she got tired of her favorite game.

"I’ve got to do my chores," she said. I helped her feed our goats. She went off to weed the herb garden. I went to my room, washed, and changed into fresh clothing. My lesson was scheduled for that day.

I put my lute in its carrying bag. Roxanne, my servant girl, and Jacques, one of the burly, tough male servants, accompanied me. We were going to the home of Leonel, my teacher, who lived at the edge of the Wood of Ardwinna. In the old days, it was sacred to her.

RELEASE DAY: Seth Z. Herman "The Guardian Lineage"

 

 

Blurb:

Life is about to change for fifteen-year-old Mike Prior. He’s to become a Guardian, a protector of the gargoyle clans. With all the promise of sorcery, kinetic powers, and magical-dueling, the new gig sounds awesome, for sure.

Except for a few minor details.

First, his ex-girlfriend. Seems she's trying to kill him. A shame, considering how well things had been going.

Second, he’s heard a rumor about a spy in the clan, and everyone thinks it’s him. Clearing things up is definitely a priority.

Finally, this war that’s apparently been brewing. Seems like the Black Brethren think Mike’s own power is the best way to touch off an inter-species Armageddon, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Mike’s been dropped into a web of assassins, spies, and necromancers, and no one’s even told him the rules. And as much as he’d like to sit back and hone his flamethrowing, he’s got to figure things out, and quick.

Because if the Brethren don’t get to him, his closest friends just might.

 

 

Author:

Growing up with a strange combination of Clancy, Crichton, Tolkien, and Rowling probably gave birth to Seth Z. Herman’s YA/fantasy/thriller style of writing. Seth hails from Queens, New York, where he grew up as an (admittedly sheltered) Orthodox Jew. A lifetime of experiences later, he now lives in Jerusalem with his wife and two children, where he poses as a rabbi teaching Judaic studies at an American post-high-school seminary.

 

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

Mike Prior hated it when his girlfriend kicked his butt.

The wind left his lungs as a sharp kick nailed him in the chest. He stumbled backwards, surprised, his bare feet grasping for footing on the carpet. Another roundhouse came, this time aimed at his temple. Mike ducked underneath it. He slipped a hand out of his karategi-sleeve and grabbed Laura’s arm to pin her down, but she was too quick. In one fluid motion, she grasped his arm and flipped him onto his back.

Mike rolled left and handsprang to his feet. Cheering filled his ears. Laura took a shot at his torso, but he knocked it aside and countered with a similar jab. Then, after a few seconds of punch-counterpunch, Mike landed a shot on Laura’s stomach. She lurched forward, eyes squinted and mouth open in a stunned expression of pain.

He hesitated. This was just something she’d goaded him into, so the kids could see some real—

Just like that, he was on the floor. Laura slipped a foot inside Mike’s leg and pushed him backwards, landing Mike right on his back. She crouched down and held a fist-blade at his neck.

“Yield,” she said, breathing heavily.

Mike swore in his head. You filthy, cheating, insanely-gorgeous sleazeball…

The crowd erupted into boisterous applause. Mike glanced at the twenty-odd students who’d stuck around the dojo to watch the fight, all of them clapping and gesturing wildly.

He smirked. There hadn’t been a single eight-year-old pulling for him.

Laura removed her sparring gloves and offered a hand. Mike took it, noticing her sweaty palm, then brushed off his karategi and tightened his green belt. Laura did likewise. The two turned to each other, bowed, then did the same to the kids.

“Okay, everybody,” Laura called with a hint of swagger in her voice. “Same time next week…”

Mike let Laura’s wrapup fade into the background as he made for his gym bag, muttering under his breath. He’d had her… but no, he had to hesitate like that… he shook his head. Four in a row! How could he lose four in a row to her? He was faster, stronger, much better look—okay, not true, but hey, it was close…

“Excuse me, who’s in charge here?”

Mike turned to see a middle-aged man peering at him from behind a pointed nose and thin-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a three-piece suit, which must’ve been brutal in the July heat. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Laura shoot him a playful grin and slide out of the way.

Are you kidding me, woman? Mike thought. I will kill you for this…

Resigned to his fate, Mike turned with hands on his hips, still breathing heavily. “That would be me.”

The guy looked Mike up and down, then raised an eyebrow. “And how old are you?”

“Uh, sorry, Jon Miller’s the sensei around here, he’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Just answer the question, kid.”

Mike blinked. Well. Somebody tied his Brooks Brothers a little too tight.

“I’m fifteen.”

“I see.” The man’s gaze swept the dojo. He looked bored. One of the karate students at the door called for him – Jamison, a sweet kid, if nothing more than a punching bag – but the man didn’t acknowledge. “And what’s your name?” he said to Mike while still looking backwards.

“Mike Prior. Is there anything you need me to—”

The guy snapped to attention. “Wait, what was that? What did you say your name was?”

“Uh, Michael Prior. Do I—”

“No, not at all,” the man said quickly, nodding and staring at Mike like he was a specimen or something. “Nice bout, kid.” And with that, the man turned and headed for the door, taking his son’s hand as he left.

Mike’s first thought was, okay, that was weird. But then something caught his eye. There was someone staring at him, through the window, from across the parking lot. Some dude in a t-shirt and shorts. Eyes squinted, mouth open, phone to his ear. As if he’d just found something he’d been looking for…

Mike froze.

 

RELEASE DAY: Ariella Moon "Spell for Sophia"

 

Blurb:

Sophia Perez-Hidalgo’s survival depends upon her mastering magic and the supernatural before her lawless parents and their vengeful boss catch up to her. How far must she flee to escape them forever? Sophia runs until she’s out of stolen money, then…Fate delivers her into the arms of Louisiana teen Shi-loh Breaux Martine, and his grand-mère, a reclusive voodoo priestess living deep in the bayou.

 

Breaux knows Sophia is trouble — but he’ll travel through time, battle zombies, and risk his bright future to protect her. While Ainslie, best friend extraordinaire, will jeopardize her sanity to find and aid Sophia. When friendship, magic, and love are not enough, Sophia will have to save herself. But first, she must believe she’s worth saving.

 

 

Author:

Ariella Moon is the author of the Teen Wytche Saga, a sweet Young Adult paranormal series. Ariella writes about magic, friendship, high school, love and time travel, in Spell Check, Spell Struck, Spell Fire, and Spell For Sophia from Astraea Press.

Ariella spent her childhood searching for a magical wardrobe that would transport her to Narnia. Extreme math anxiety, and taller students who mistook her for a leaning post, marred her youth. Despite these horrors, she graduated summa cum laude from the University of California at Davis. Ariella is a Reiki Master, author, and shaman. She lives a nearly normal life with her extraordinary daughter, two shamelessly spoiled dogs, and an enormous dragon.

 

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Prologue

Two-and-a-half years ago

I'd thought escaping would uncoil the fear and worry squeezing my heart. I figured I'd stop looking over my shoulder once I crossed the California state line, or Arizona's, or New Mexico's, or the border between Texas and Louisiana. But I hadn't. Terror and hunger dogged me. I reeked of desperation. My head throbbed from all the bad decisions I had made since I'd found my bio-parents.

I could still pull out of this; save Christmas. Call Ainslie, the voice inside my head urged. I bet he'll loan you his phone. My gaze zeroed in on the leader of a ragtag group playing basketball on the schoolyard. His short black curls had been coaxed away from his face, revealing warm nutmeg-colored skin and kind, dark eyes. Fifteen years old? I wondered.

He handed the basketball to a young white girl, then glanced my way. His head-to-toe sweep took in my gaunt face, long inky hair, grungy jacket and jeans, scuffed ankle boots, and the school backpack at my feet. He glanced protectively at the little kids who shouted at the girl to pass the ball. Then his gaze migrated back to me. His mouth twisted to one side. I could hear the word tolling inside his head. Trouble.

I hunkered against the side of the school building and tugged my gray knit cap low over my forehead.

"Who's she?" A little kid with Christmas bows stuck on her wooly ponytails wrapped herself around the teen's leg. Her fearful stare gutted me. I'm pretty sure I had worn the same expression the first time I'd entered foster care.

Kick it. I pushed away from the wall. My vision blurred. My hollow stomach whirled and the schoolyard spun like a carousel ride. I braced myself against the cool bricks until the dizziness passed. Pull it together. It will be dark soon. I needed to find a restaurant or fast food joint — any place open on Christmas where I could dumpster dive for food scraps.

I lowered my eyelids and tried to picture the route I had walked from the train station. I hadn't planned on wandering through a lush Louisiana neighborhood. The children's shouts and laughter had lured me to the brick school and its asphalt playground. School had been my favorite place, before…

My thoughts torpedoed back to the barren southern California desert. Some developer had gone bust, and all that remained of his planned subdivision was a paved road dead-ending in sand. "Hide in plain sight," Mamá had said as Papá parked their pink-and-white vintage camper. The vehicle stood out among the sagebrush and creosote like a slash of bubblegum paint.

Hide what? I had wondered. I soon had my answer: a methamphetamine lab.

I rubbed my arms, creating an X over my chest. Embarrassment heated my cheeks. How stupid and naïve I had been. My parents hadn't gone legit. They were trying to evade the local cops and the Drug Enforcement Agency. They had planned to flee northern California without phoning my caseworker or me. If I had waited just one more day to contact them…

"See, the cops would be looking for a couple, not a family," I later overheard Papá boast to his boss.

"Weren't you worried they'd issue an Amber Alert?" one of the boss's henchmen asked, casting a sideways look at me.

"For a foster teen?" Papá scoffed. "They run away all the time."

My heart accelerated. Heat flooded my body. Gasoline fumes seared my nose and throat as if I still held the peanut butter jar full of siphoned petrol.

I forced my eyes open. The skin grafts on my throat and arm tightened like a noose and tourniquet. I managed a shaky step. The basketball thudding against the pavement stilled.

"You okay?" the boy called out.

My brain hunted for an answer and came up empty. When did I eat last?

Footsteps, rapid and rhythmic, raced toward me, growing louder with each footfall. My stomach whooshed. My eyes rolled back inside my head. The schoolyard went black and blinding starbursts flashed before my unseeing eyes. My legs floated away and I freefell backward.

The earthy scent of musk cologne and male sweat jolted me awake. Minutes must have passed. Sinewy arms carried me against a damp, solid chest.

"She's waking up," the white girl reported.

"Good." The boy's voice enveloped me like a fleece-lined blanket. "Everyone hold hands. We're going to cross after this truck."

My eyelids refused to open. I registered the rattle of a slow-moving pickup as it drove past. The boy's arms tensed. He tightened his hold on me, then stepped down off a curb.

"I can walk," I mumbled, pretty sure I felt like dead weight in his arms.

The boy chuckled. "Sure you can." He crossed the street without breaking stride, tensing again before he stepped up on the far curb. His heart drummed steadily against my ear. My eyes wedged open a slit.

"I'll fetch Miss Wanda," the younger of the two white girls said. She had the same heart-shaped face and blond braids as the older girl. She raced up the steps of a two-story house with pearl-colored siding. "Miss Wanda!" she shouted. Her sister followed, stooped beneath the weight of my backpack. She held two small children by the hand — Christmas Bow Girl and a boy who appeared to be about four.

RELEASE DAY: Riana Lucas "Awake"

Blurb:

After being nearly killed at the hands of Damien, Poppy slowly regains consciousness as a prisoner of the Seelie Court. At least that’s what Poppy believes at first. She cannot help but to wonder why she is being treated so well. She has a luxurious bedroom instead of a cell in the dungeon and a hand maid by the name of Willow who is assigned only to her. To anyone else this would seem to be a perfect arrangement, but it becomes quite clear that the Queen and the entire Seelie Court has a secret. Unfortunately this is not the only problem. Poppy wakes up every morning from horrible dreams that she just cannot seem to remember. They leave her with a sense of urgency to see her friends Reed and Rho, who she now believes are in trouble over at the Unseelie Court. Will the Queen let Poppy in on the secrets of her Court? Will she ever be allowed to return home? And will she reunite with Reed and Rho to finally discover what is happening with them?

 

Author:

Riana Lucas is actually a duo of writers who are best friends who go by the names Nichole and Angela in the real world.  Realizing that gobbling books like hungry caterpillars and then discussing them for hours at a time wasn’t fulfilling enough, the team decided to write their first book together.  The Deadly Flowers Series was born out of a kernel of an idea and has grown into a four book series.  The two have realized their true calling in life and plan to make a career out of writing books with strong characters who evoke true emotion.

 

 

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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

"Poppy! We need you! Please help us. I’m not sure what to do."

"Reed? Reed, is that you? Where are you?"

"I’m here, Poppy."

"Where? I cannot see you. It is too dark."

"I’m at the unseelie court, but things aren’t right."

"I do not understand."

"Rho and I have been put into the dungeons."

"Why?"

"I don’t know! This isn’t right. You said I would be safe!"

"I do not know how to get to you. I cannot leave. The queen will not allow it."

"Please, Poppy! We need you…"

I awake with a start, my hand reaching under the pillow for my dagger. Stretching my fingers in hopes it has only shifted in my sleep, I continue to search but am unable to find it. Even more anxious now, I jerk up in the bed and throw the pillow aside. My dagger is missing. Unarmed but still alert, I turn my attention to my surroundings. My eyes scan the room, my gaze bouncing off elegant tables, colorful flower arrangements, and exquisite paintings as my eyes frantically try to locate what woke me. As my vision adjusts to the darkness, I can see there is no one else here with me. My body, however, does not seem to understand. Sweat is dripping down my back, my heart is racing, and my head is tingling as my brain works to remember what woke me.

As I scan the room one last time, I am forced to believe it was a dream—a dream I have been having ever since I woke up in the seelie queen’s court, my enemy court, two days ago. I struggle to remember some of it, but I cannot. The only thing I am able to recall is a vision of Reed and Rho as well as Reed’s faint voice, nothing else. I do not know what they are doing or where they are and am unable to decipher the words.

I lie back in the bed, frustrated by my memory block. My head hits the mattress where my pillow was before I tossed it to the ground, the sheets are bunched down by my feet, and faint early morning light glows through the window. Staring at the ceiling, I remember the first time I woke up in this bed.

I awoke suddenly then, too. It was dark, and I was confused. My head felt as if it were filled with cotton, making it difficult to think. I could not remember where I was or what had happened to me, and I was scared—not only because of the confusion, but also because I sensed another fae in the room with me. Lying still, not wishing to alert them to the fact that I was awake, I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. As I lay listening, I heard the sound of metal clinking and water pouring, and then felt a warm, damp rag on my forehead. The gentle movement startled me, and I had to stop myself from grabbing the hand of the fae touching me.

Instead of reacting, I slowed my breathing and concentrated on the person tending me. A female voice hummed a soft lullaby, and the sweet smell of roses and lavender wafted from her skin. The smell soothed me and felt somehow familiar. Her touch was soft and gentle, yet thorough, as she wiped my face with the damp rag. Then she used her other hand to push my hair back off my shoulders before wiping down the side of my neck.

Then I noticed I was not wearing any clothes. A thin, soft sheet covered my body. Luckily for the fae bathing me, she did not remove the sheet. Had she done so, I would have tried to kill her. Instead, she left the sheet alone and quickly finished wiping my body around it. After she moved away, I heard the sound of the cloth being placed in the water. All the while, she continued to hum her pleasant song.

As I continued to listen, I waited. After a few more seconds of muffled sounds, she returned with a dry cloth to wipe my damp skin. This cloth smelled like she did, and I realized she was spreading lotion on my skin. When she finished covering all my exposed skin, I sensed her moving down my body near my hip. The sheet began to lift, and I once again fought the urge to stop her. In doing so, my body shifted a bit, which sent a sharp pain slicing into my side.