Blog Tour ~ The Rise of the Queen ~ Excerpt with Giveaway

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Title: The Rise of the Queen

Author: Aoife Marie Sheridan

Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy/Romance

Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

 

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Blurb:

 

FROM AWARD WINNING AUTHOR AOIFE MARIE SHERIDAN

The final Instalment of the Saskia Trilogy.

Sarajane struggles with her separation from Tristan as she moves towards the heart of Saskia to defeat Lucian. But her journey isn’t easy. She encounters The Forsaken, zombies and fights to recover her true form. But with Marcus beside her and the help of Willow she makes her journey to her final destination but nothing is as it seems.

Verona and Mirium try to understand why their visions are gone, what Prudentia is up to? and find Sarajane. All the while Tristan and Verona are at war with each other, and politics makes each decision difficult with Morrick.

Loved one’s will be lost, Decisions will be final, and all betrayals will rise to the surface.

Step into Saskia for the last time.

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↓Buy Links↓

 

 

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About the Author:

 

Aoife Marie Sheridan has loved reading from a very young age, starting off with mills and boon books given to by her grandmother. Her love for romances grew, by the age of 14 she had read hundreds of them.

Aoife has a passion for writing poetry or in her eyes her journal entries. It was something she did throughout her teens and into her twenties. Aoife won first place for two of her poems and had them published at a young age of just nineteen.

Aoife’s first book Eden Forest (Part one of the Saskia Trilogy) took first place with Writers Got Talent 2013. Aoife continues to write tales of fantasy and romance.

To find out more about Aoife Marie Sheridan you can visit her at:

Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00B5W8SK6

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Aoifemariesheri

Website: www.aoifemariesheridan.com

or email her at aoifesheridan101@gmail.com

Blog: aoifesheri.wordpress.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show…

Twitter: https://twitter.com/aoifesheri

Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/+AoifeMarieSh…

Linkedin: http://ie.linkedin.com/pub/aoife-mari…

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/aoifesheri/

Mailing List: http://aoifemariesheridan.us7.list-ma…

 

 

excerpt

 

Chapter ~ 1 ~ Verona

 

The room felt bitterly cold from my earlier absence; I lighted the two candles that sat on a small wooden table beside the unlit fire. The armchair creaked under my weight. My eyelids fluttered feeling too heavy to keep open. Too many vision had plagued me lately, every one of them the same, always the same. I let out a heavy sigh. A smile tugged on my lips.

Mirium.

He would light the fire.

The door opened and I looked up at Mirium as he rubbed his hands together, already making his way to the fireplace. Too pampered, I had always teased him, but that tonight I would be glad of his want for heat, for I felt the cold myself.

“Verona, you will catch your death of cold one day.”

A laugh escaped my lips. “Oh brother just light the fire. I am too tired to fight.”

He looked at me with concern, but shook his head and continued to stack small sticks into the fireplace before lighting them. I drifted off into a light sleep, still aware of the movements around me. I could hear the noise of water. The rattle of mugs. He must have been brewing some sort of concoction, but there was none that stopped the visions. At least the brew would warm me.

“Drink Sister of mine.” He said the words so gently.

I took the cup and smiled at Mirium’s loving face. It wasn’t often we could be like that, so unguarded, so relaxed, allowing us to be just a brother and sister, to act naturally, instead of always being under the watchful eye of someone who would use us against each other. Our distance with each other was the only way to keep us safe.

“Tell me about the visions, are they still the same?” Mirium sat down, while leaning his staff against the corner of the red bricked fireplace. The fireplace was done in a beautiful arch, the craftsmanship remarkable.

“I don’t recall the first one, but I know I have been having the same vision from when I was a child. I see her so clearly, long, dark, curly hair flowing on a light breeze. Her eyes are an unnatural grey, but a grey I have seen before.” I take a long look at Mirium and the eyes I speak of. A sadness fell upon him, but I continued. “She was really beautiful. I always remember being awed by her beauty, thinking she couldn’t be real, but she was. She was very real, and more enchanting in person.” I shake my head pushing away the picture that played out so clearly in front of me; we all know the end.  Sipping my brew stops me from talking.

“You have known for so long,” Mirium said while looking at me with pity, understanding the path that had been laid out before me. I didn’t want to do it, but that was the way of the world. I had no choice.

“I told you not to get too close, Mirium. You should have listened to me.” I didn’t say it with anger, as I was too tired for that, just pity at the understanding of what my brother may have to lose.

A heavy silence fell upon us. I didn’t want it to be like that, as our reunion should have been full of chatter. Since I arrived to Hummus it had been all business. With the war against the exiles and banishing Suraga, we hadn’t had time to just be  brother and sister, but instead we now sit in silence. I didn’t want silence, but I had nothing to fill in the gaps.

“It is God’s will,” Mirium said, and he seemed lost in thought for a few more moments. “I don’t feel her. Do you?” he asked not in alarm just more mild curiosity. Mirium could always seem to feel Sarajane. I think it was her life force he felt but I couldn’t. I wasn’t as gifted as Mirium and he knew it.

“I’m not like you brother as well you know, so don’t jest me with such questions.” A niggling feeling ran across me, like hundreds of spiders racing across my bare flesh at once.

“What’s wrong?” Mirium asked.Now fear filled his voice, and I knew he sensed it too. I was unsure what, but something very bad had just happened.

Mirium grabbed his staff while I tied my long red cloak around my shoulders it would be no match for the weather that had started to rage outside, but I just knew that we needed to move, and fast.

 

The wind outside whipped at us likes an angry circus entertainer, but we moved fast against its onslaught. The streets were now deserted, people still in mourning or celebrating our small victory against the exiles; it was a small victory compared to what we must face and that was Lucian, a dark fallen angel who Sarajane must banish to the underworld.

The fires from the dead were nearly out. Red embers danced with the wind swirling them around in fast moving spheres.  I turned in a full circle, the sensation was gone, leaving me feeling only the cold. But something had happened.

“Let me go and check on Sarajane. You go back to the cottage,” Mirium said, his brow creased. He left not waiting for a reply from me. His love for Sarajane was becoming too much. He would lose her, he needed to understand that. He would be the one that would hurt the most in the end.

Mirium was Sarajane’s grandfather. He had missed the first twenty one years of her life as she was brought up in the mortal world with no knowledge of Saskia. But the time had come for her to take her rightful place and go up against Lucian. It was a huge task to ask of anyone, especially from someone who came from a world where magic and angels didn’t exist. I let out a heavy sigh so much weighted upon her final decision in the future. It was life or death. All I could do was hope that my hands wouldn’t bring death to the saviour of Saskia.

I moved towards the cottage, turning my back on the dead and that horrible feeling raced across my skin again. I turned, but no one was in sight. Moving slowly towards the fires that lay just outside Humus’s fallen walls, I searched the perimeter. I couldn’t see much as the darkness was heavy and lay thickly on the ground. Squinting out into the darkness, I was sure something moved. I stood and waited, watching. There it was again.

How long I waited for Mirium, I wasn’t sure, but I rubbed my freezing hands together never taking my eyes off the spot where something lay. I had made that much out so far but what it was, I couldn’t see from that distance.

“I can’t find her, or Tristan for that matter.” Mirium said. I smiled against the bitter cold.

“Their young,” I said, already knowing I was wrong and just wishing I was right.

“Something’s out there.” I pointed and Mirium followed my finger. He too squinted and then he moved towards it with certainty. I followed quickly on his heels. The darkness seemed to consume us, its black blanket swallowing us up the deeper we went. I shivered against the cold and the unpleasant feeling that clung to me. Mirium had reached the area where the movements where. I came up right behind him. “What is it?” I asked, trying to see over his shoulder. When he turned around I could see what he was looking at. My breath hitched. Tristan was crumbled on the ground; a large pool of blood ran from underneath him. The source of the wound came from an arrow protruding out of his side.

“Is he dead?” I asked as I reached to check the pulse in his neck. It was fading.

“He will be soon if we don’t get him out of here,” Mirium said with grief all over his face.

“Sarajane?” I questioned, afraid of the answer.

Mirium shook his head, the grief too much. “I don’t know, Verona. I don’t know.”

I patted my brother on the back, hoping the small gesture would comfort him before we both lifted Tristan and carried him back inside the fallen walls of Humus.

 

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Blog Tour ~ High Summons ~ Excerpt

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Title: High Summons

Author: Eli Celata

Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy

Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:

Jon Blythe is sick of waiting for his Yoda. After years of hiding his magic, he’s ready to retire from his mortal life, drop out of college, and jump into the world of demon hunters. He just didn’t really expect a bleach blond bookstore clerk with light up toys for weapons. Unfortunately, Jordan is Jon’s only hope. When rogue magic users come to Rochester with a malicious plan, the odd couple strikes out to save the day. Jordan might not be what Jon expected, but between demons and Econ homework, the demons win every time. Wild nights drag Jon further from normal into the world where his father vanished. Maybe he’s becoming an addict. Maybe magic just comes with a price. Either way, he’s hooked.

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Author Bio:

Eli Celata was born in Rochester and is currently attending Binghamton University as a doctoral student.

Author’s Social Media Links:

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Buy Links for Book:

Amazon:  https://goo.gl/PQ7lzh

Kobe: https://goo.gl/4ZrKVs

Smashwords: https://goo.gl/eYuVNU

iTunes: https://itun.es/us/MEqCdb.l

 

excerpt

 

We walked almost three blocks before stopping on a more artistic side of town.

Random indie stores lined the side of the street we were on, and outside a coffee shop, a homeless man in ragged clothing sat with a drunken smile upon his lips.

His eyes, a light gray, were clouded by exhaustion or drugs or who knows what. His lips were chapped and seemed white due to the skin peeling off of them. His hair was a soft red and in general disarray casting odd shadows across his upturned face. He had antique spectacles resting on the tip of his nose. They were wire frames and the glass was shaped into thin rectangles. A flush covered his already sunburned skin, and a small coffee can, the old tin kind, sat at his side. Scrawled in black sharpie were the words,

“Poetry for Your Soul.”

He seemed completely normal, and if I had any money, I might have given him some if it weren’t for the whole soul-wanting business. When we reached him, a group of young women in their teens were gathered around him. They were giggling as girls were ought to do, and they glanced between each other conspiratorially.

Jordan’s pace slowed from a brisk walk to a leisurely pace, though any

onlooker wouldn’t have been able to see the difference in the way he walked.

He always looked like he was gliding across the world, or maybe just standing still as it flew by him.

“Fair ladies.” The man’s smile was open, and it made me smile even from a bit off. “You asked for a poem and yet gave me some change instead of your soul. Whatever am I to do with this?”

He held up a handful of nickels, dimes, and pennies with a few quarters before letting it fall between his fingers and back into the can. “I suppose it is for the best; I should not hunt in the Devil’s territory.”

“Where’s our poem?” One of them sneered while the others laughed behind false coy hands.

“Infantile child, challenging years with disdain and contempt / Fearless in a mind lying within the hands of a merciless god / Thinking kindly of yourself, but you are nothing more / than a doll talking without speaking /

hears, without listening. Infantile child, / little girl who claims her place upon the world / without knowing what lies within it, / can you not see you are nothing / more than a blink of my eyes. / I sleep longer than you have been alive. / I have taken higher breathes than all of yours added upon each other.” He lifted his head as he spoke, and when he was finished, he let out a breath slowly as if to emphasize his point as his face upturned again.

The one girl turned and stormed into the coffee shop, swearing beneath

her breath. Jordan and I stopped and hung back as the rest of the girls looked at the man and chanted, almost as one, “What about me? Make a poem for me!”

The hand resting on the can after letting the coins drop pointed at one of the remaining three girls. “Here is the day which casts no shadows. / Stand forth and let your words become / the stars you gaze upon at night. / There is someone listening / to each as if it was a universe within its own. / Reach out to the hand holding yours / when darkness cast no light upon your lips.”

His finger stretched and pointed at another while the one turned and texted someone on her phone. “Sinister, the eyes which see. / Cold, those who are blind. / What lamb falls to the slaughter? / What love have you left behind? /

Where is your taunting smile now, / oh forgotten mistress all to waste? /

Could you taunt the stars for shining / because they leave your eyes

disgraced?” The woman who he had been pointing to looked resigned at his words as if she refused to argue what she knew to be true of her character.

“And me?” a soft voice came from the sad eyes of the third.

The man’s brows knotted, and his lips turned downwards in empathy.

“Standings, arms spread /a sacrifice for you, / calling the names /of the demons / who haunted your day. / Swearing life, / swearing blood for you. /

Giving everything away, / just so you might survive. /Wings like an angel’s, /

but blackened with soot. / Lightning makes the sky dance. / The earth trembles in fear /as the flames rise. / He died for you. / Fell into the darkness for you. / Gave his life / for you. / He died, / he lived, /all for you / until the end. /And even then, / it was all for you.”

The girl’s hands trembled and came before her lips which quaked as if to allow sobs to pass. Tears rolled down her pallid cheeks, and she shook her head as if it would rid her of the emotion. The man simply looked on with a light envy in his otherwise flat features. He seemed distant while appearing intrigued at the same time.

Finally, the last one’s hands dropped enough her lips were visible as

she whispered, “Thank you,” and fled with her friends following close after her, leaving the man alone.

He stared down at his hands and said to no one, “Again, I have spoken of you with praise. This time, have I earned forgiveness for a deed for which I will never apologize?” He then bowed his head and waited. “Your voice echoes in the Absence. / It spills over the world and gives life. / Life was never known till you whispered. / Love was never known till you sang. / Your voice echoes in the highest mountains and lowest seas. / Your voice echoes in the Absence.”

“Oh, Belial.” Jordan shook his head as if commiserating with the man—

demon, he had to be a demon. “The last one was honestly one of the worst poems you have spouted out to date. You’re getting sloppy.”

To be honest, I liked it, but I wasn’t bringing it up then. As we

already discussed, literature critique wasn’t my strong suit, and

complimenting demons wasn’t on my to-do list. He looked especially human.

There weren’t any extra limbs or creepy teeth. Compared to every demon I’d ever seen, he was perfectly human, if a bit drugged out. Plus, the level of

communication put him in a category undoubtedly out of my league.

“I know. I know…oh how I comprehend. But there is little I can do,” Belial replied softly. “This is the twelfth time you have passed…will you leave in the same manner or do you challenge?”

Looking at me over his shoulder, Jordan smiled. “Eashians won’t attack

at random like other demons. However, their idea of random and ours is a bit different.” I couldn’t help but tense. “It will only tempt when challenged to tempt and will only harm when challenged to harm.”

“I get he’s a demon, but he seems awfully—calm…” It wasn’t the right

word. I didn’t have the right word to explain he seemed too human.

“If all demons are the remnants of fallen angels, than

Eashians are the ones who shattered the least while still shattering at least a minute amount. Eashians have names,” Jordan explained gesturing at Belial.

“Like the Devil.”

“What?” I stepped back. “I don’t think I’m up for anything so powerful.”

“He’s not too powerful,” Jordan informed me though Belial’s eyebrows

knotted, and he looked up at Jordan with an accusing stare. “Those who didn’t shatter—the three born, Lilith, and the Devil—have the capacity to recognize names, both their own and others. Eashians don’t acknowledge the other. Often they’ll call you by their name,” Jordan explained as he looked back at Belial.

“They are also more likely to respond to a single particular emotional output than any other.”

“I respond well to lust.” Belial smiled, and his eyes sparkled from

beneath his spectacles. “But most won’t be as forthright as I am about it. I suspect it is why Belial hasn’t blasted me to oblivion yet.”

At first, I thought he was joking when he said Belial instead of Jordan, but the expression on his face was absolutely serious. Quickly jotting down what I had been told, I realized the sun had been up for a good long while, yet Belial was still outside.

“Why isn’t Belial dead? Did he just show up?”

“No, he’s been here all day.” Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Possibly longer

considering the amount of coins.”

“The sun’s setting in an hour or two—like seriously, going on four

o’clock,” I said glancing between Belial and Jordan. I was totally the kid who got all disappointed when facts learned in one class were disproved in the next year.

Belial sighed and looked down at his wristwatch, which was a tacky piece of plastic in the shape of Big Ben. “It isn’t terribly late…”

“Eashians also have a penchant for killing themselves. Due to their emotional disconnection, they can’t always feel their voids and often stay on Earth too long,” Jordan told me, and I focused my eyes to see the dark nothing of Belial’s void. It was about the size of a motorcycle. I had to admit I was impressed. “Belial’s one of the more peaceful ones. After him, Abigor is probably the least threatening.”

“I know that one!” Belial exclaimed. “He likes to sing a lot. He’s the

Belial pinned to revelry. All braids and no brains that one.”

The street suddenly seemed to empty in a most certainly unnatural way.

It was then I noticed we were not where I thought we had been. Instead of on a street corner, we were in an alley, and Belial was standing. He stretched and smiled gently at Jordan. Jordan pulled a can of hair spray out of a pocket somewhere in his jacket and his lighter out of his back pocket. Belial frowned.

“You didn’t think I’d just let you win, did you?” Jordan jested with a

smile, and it was the weirdest thing. The smile was more genuine than any other smile Jordan had given. He looked like he was exactly where he wanted to be, which I suppose he was.

Belial shook his head. “God has forgotten me.”

Jordan didn’t say a thing. He just flicked one and pushed down the other.

A flame threw itself toward Belial, completely engulfing him. I was certain Belial’s void would be completely gone by the time the first few minutes passed, but Jordan held tightly to both even as a light pink stained the thumb of his lighter hand. When the flame finally stopped, Jordan tossed the empty can aside. Belial was unharmed and swaying a bit on his feet as though he were drunk more than anything else. I held back a curse of bemusement and squinted to see if his void was whole. During the time I was searching for it, Jordan pulled out a bottle of lighter fluid and squirted some at Belial. I followed the line of liquid and saw the void; it was no bigger than a basketball.

“I’m insulted—I think,” Belial muttered as he stared down at the line of fluid. He picked up his void and looked at it as if it had done something to him.

Jordan lit a match and tossed it. I was sure it would have hit the void, but Belial blew it out midair. “Seriously, you’re going to be like this about it?” Jordan asked, and Belial glowered.

“You’re trying to completely destroy me and you ask if I’m going to be

like this? You are a shower, Belial!” The demon roared, and Jordan burst out laughing. Belial frowned knowing he had messed up somewhere along the line.

“You mean ‘douche,’” Jordan corrected and lit another match.

This time he lit two wooden things, three-inch cubes I believe, and

threw one after another. Belial jumped around dodging the blows until he took a bit of a wrong turn and stood only a foot away from Jordon. His void was

still in his arms. It was dark and swirling in its emptiness. “Crap,” was the last word he said as Jordan flicked the match.

The world around us exploded.

 

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