Blog Tour ~ Day Moon ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ Day Moon

Author: Brett Armstrong

Genre: Science Fiction/ Fantasy

Dates:29th of May ~ 9th of June

Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:

In A.D. 2039, a prodigious seventeen year old, Elliott, is assigned to work on a global soft-ware initiative his deceased grandfather helped found. Project Alexandria is intended to provide the entire world secure and equal access to all accumulated human knowledge. All forms of print are destroyed in good faith, to ensure everyone has equal footing, and Elliott knows he must soon part with his final treasure: a book of Shakespeare’s complete works gifted him by his grandfather. Before it is destroyed, Elliott notices something is amiss with the book, or rather Project Alexandria. The two do not match, including an extra sonnet titled “Day Moon”. When Elliott investigates, he uncovers far more than he bargained for. There are sinister forces backing Project Alexandria who have no intention of using it for its public purpose. Elliott soon finds himself on the run from federal authorities and facing betrayals and deceit from those closest to him. Following clues left by his grandfather, with agents close at hand, Elliott desperately hopes to find a way to stop Project Alexandria. All of history past and yet to be depend on it.

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Buy Links:

Amazon.com ~ https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XWDM49Z

Brett Armstrong

Author Bio:

From an early age, Brett Armstrong had a love for literature and history. At age nine, he combined the two for his first time in a short story set in the last days of the Aztec Empire. After that, writing’s role in his life waxed and waned periodically, always a dream on the horizon, till he reached college. At West Virginia University, he entered the Computer Engineering program and spent two years pursuing that degree before an opportunity to take a creative writing class, for fun, came along. It was so enjoyable, he took another and in that course he discovered two things. The first was the plot for a short story called Destitutio Quod Remissio, which the others students really seemed to love. The second, he realized he absolutely loved writing. For him, it was like the proverbial light bulb coming on. In the years since, describing that epiphany has been difficult for him, but he found the words of 1924 Olympian Eric Liddell are the most eloquent expression for it: “God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.” God gave Brett a passion for writing, and so feels His pleasure when writing.

After a few years passed, Brett got his Computer Engineering degree, but also completed a minor in each of his real passions: history and creative writing. In 2013, he began graduate school to earn an MA in Creative Writing. During that time he completed the novelization of Destitutio Quod Remissio and entered the 2013-2014 CrossBooks Writing Contest, which won the contest’s grand prize. As of March 2015, Brett completed his MA and is presently employed in the West Virginia Division of Infectious Disease Epidemiology as a programmer analyst.

Brett lives in Saint Albans, West Virginia, with his beautiful wife, Shelly. In the summer the pair gardens together, and each day Brett continues writing his next novel.

Visit him at:

Website: http://www.brettarmstrong.net/

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

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/BArmstrongWV

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00TGQ8ULK

 

excerpt

 

Chapter Seven – The Storm

 

Alas, the storm is come again!”

The Tempest, Act II, scene 2, line 38

 

 

The door to the creative arts hall swung shut behind Elliott, ushering him into the building with a rush of wind that startled him. He glanced back at the huge glass entry doors and swallowed back the wave of anxiety that rose up. Professor Alsworth’s e-mail was so vague it was hard to fathom what this meeting was to be about. It definitely wasn’t the start to a Monday he would choose.

Only a few other students were out and about on the campus. Columbus Day kept most of the other students in bed till well after noon. Elliott had been up for several hours now.

Each footstep echoed off the tiles of the hall. Through the low lit corridor were arranged a variety of art pieces. The hall wasn’t like those on the downtown campus. It was completely new and its interior reflected the subject matter taught within its enclosure. The walls were a gradient of dark and light tones that drew their inspiration from the school colors. Along the wall were crisscrossing metal beams that intersected at various angles and arched around light fixtures and show pieces. Many of the latter were produced by students or faculty. A long entry hall gave way to an open atrium where the metal wall accentuations soared up and twisted into the next several floors.

At the back of this huge open area was a coffee bar, surrounded by stools and automated dispensing machines. The room’s centerpiece was a square pond where the water was almost precisely at the lip of its container. Long plush benches were arrayed around it and the lights played off the barely stirred surface. The entire effect of this place with its wide acoustic halls and edgy architecture was to evoke the spirit of creativity in sight and sound. Elliott liked coming here, most days.

Instructor offices were on different floors, based on the department, but Professor Alsworth’s happened to be on ground level. Nearing the office, Elliott felt his pulse quickening. A variety of scenarios, good and bad, ran through his mind, most too extreme in one direction or the other to be likely.

A few steps shy of the door to the office, Elliott could hear voices. Both spoke in hushed tones, and he did his best to not focus on the conversation. That another student was meeting with Professor Alsworth meant that this should not be a visit of any concern.

Dropping down onto a hard plastic chair in the hall, Elliott folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. In the hall were a number of paintings. The two closest were abstract, with a wide array of colors, strokes, and seemingly erratic design. One was probably on display for the subtle use of hues and even texture in the painting. It didn’t interest Elliott much. He preferred some level of realism in his work. Even so, one of them caught his eye. It was darker than the other and reminded Elliott of a stormy night.

Inside the office the conversation was cut short, and footsteps could be heard approaching the door at a quick clip. The door swung open with surprising speed and Elliott jumped to his feet to avoid its path. Entering the hall was a girl, whose sniffling Elliott perceived before his eyes reached the dark hair and pallid skin. “Lara?” he asked after the retreating form of the downcast student.

She turned and looked at him. Lara’s eyes glistened with tears and her primrose lips were twisted with a sorrow he had never seen. Without answering him, she turned around and hurried down the hall away from him.

Elliott took a few steps toward her, but hesitated. Lara hadn’t told him that she had an appointment today as well…

Another figure emerged into the hall: Professor Alsworth. His eyes were trained on Lara, his face impassive, but his posture slightly hunched as though he carried a weight that bore down hard on him. His blue eyes flicked to Elliott after a few seconds and he said, “Hello, Elliott. You can come on inside and sit down. I’m going to go get some coffee.”

Nodding to his teacher, Elliott shuffled inside as Professor Alsworth stalked down the corridor toward the atrium. Inside Alsworth’s office it was much brighter than out in the hall. He kept it pristine, without a single paper of his inbox out of sorts in its stack or bit of clutter to be found. Walking slowly toward the large, L-shaped desk roughly a third of the way from the back wall, Elliott could see the display of his professor’s Mac still alight, left on the last thing his teacher had viewed before stepping out into the hall.

Unable to resist his curious nature, he leaned across the desk to get a good view of it. On the screen was an image from an art gallery’s website. The piece he was looking at was titled Dia de la Luna. It was a painting and it looked eerily similar to the drawing he had submitted just last week.

 

 

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The Blood of the Infected Series ~ Blog Tour ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ The Blood of the Infected Series

Author:  Antony J. Stanton

Genre:  post-apocalyptic/vampire/thriller/horror

Tour Dates: 15th – 19th of May

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Blurb:

“Once Bitten, Twice Die” by Antony J. Stanton

The end of the world was just the beginning.

A cure for dementia has disastrously failed. Patients are left crazed, infectious and enraged. The ensuing carnage quickly spreads the disease, and civilisation is decimated.

On London’s outskirts a military base shelters some survivors. The soldiers within must battle against the infected who now roam unchallenged. Tensions are high, relationships fraught, death commonplace.

But if they thought the end of the world was bad enough, their troubles have only just begun…

An ancient menace has long existed in secret alongside humanity – a vampire clan, which has recently encountered the soldiers. Now is their time to emerge from the shadows. First though they have to overcome their own problems. They too have to fight for survival against the infected, and they violently disagree on their approach towards the humans.

Hostilities are rising. It’s only a matter of time now…

Buy Links:

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Book two from ‘The Blood of the Infected’ series: “Once Bitten, Twice Live”

When death is the best option, survival is no longer enough…

With a growing realization that their continued existence bestows upon them a debt to humanity, the survivors look to create a cure for the insanity that has brought civilization to its knees. But that only encourages disagreement and infighting, and comes at a heavy price, bringing various shocks and surprises.

Tensions amongst the vampires are escalating, jeopardizing the very existence of the clan itself. A battle for supremacy seems inevitable and their future is in the balance. How far will Farzin go to achieve his aims – domination of the vampires and humans alike? And how terrible will his vengeance be against any who stand in his path? Their interaction with the humans threatens to increase and not necessarily for the benefit of either group.

Meanwhile the wrathful infected grow ever hungrier…

When every day is a struggle to stay alive, survival of the fittest is never guaranteed.

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/Once-Bitten-Twice-Blood-Infected-ebook/dp/B01EEKFJZ2/

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Book three from ‘The Blood of the Infected’ series: “Twice Bitten, Twice Die”

When there’s no one left to hear you scream…

Deaths amongst the survivors are occurring at an unsustainable rate. Numbers are rapidly dwindling. Morale is plummeting. Soon they will be beyond salvation, yet their real task has only just begun. But will anyone remain alive to complete it? Nothing could have prepared the soldiers for what lies ahead. If they thought life was brutal already, they had absolutely no idea…

The vampires are in disarray. Their relationships are becoming blurred, confused and violent. A titanic clash between soldiers and vampires seems imminent but no one’s survival is assured.

In a world where life is unpredictable, the threat from the infected suddenly becomes even more unexpected and menacing. Hostilities are inevitable. Only one thing is certain: there will be blood!

Buy Links:

Antony

Author Bio:

“Once Bitten, Twice Die” is the debut novel from Antony J. Stanton. The book is the first of ‘The Blood of the Infected’ series, in the ‘post-apocalyptic action thriller’ genre. Stanton was born in London in 1970. Even as a child he always dreamed of becoming a published author, and he started to write a book. But, having watched the film ‘Top Gun,’ he was swayed into a becoming a military pilot. After no more than a glancing blow of a career in the British Royal Air Force he decided that his long term future lay elsewhere and he became a commercial pilot and remains thus to this day. Hence much of this trilogy was written all around the world, generally at unsociable times when jet-lag meant that normal people were asleep.

During a holiday with three friends, a bet was made amongst them. Each had a task to fulfil within the year – Stanton’s was to write a book. A little late, but five years on and his challenge has been completed. Three times.

His period spent in the RAF helped him write the military survival aspects of this book, and a kidnapping incident in Kazakhstan and shooting in Ghana, amongst other ‘adventures’, provided him with a dark well of experience to draw from. Life is, after all, one big adventure. A combination of the aforementioned, along with his love of the darker sides of literature, and the results are this novel and the next two in the trilogy.

And all it took was the impetus of a friendly challenge to spur him on to his creative dream… He still lives in South London and is very much looking forward to watching his friend fulfilling his part of the challenge: demonstrating his (not-so) newly acquired break-dancing skills, surely a sight to behold

Visit him at:

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14715498.Antony_J_Stanton

Website: http://oncebittentwice.com/

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ajsobtd1

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/bookseries/B01M013X6D

 

excerpt

 

Taken from “Once Bitten, Twice Die” …

 

This is the end.

The thought was only fleeting. In reality the end had been and gone a long time before. Sinna had warned him not to do anything stupid, but here he was fighting for his life. What he really should have done was to just give up and let Death claim its prize. If he had known what the future held in store for him he may well have accepted the inevitable. He may have sought a more agreeable means of dying; something a little less brutal. Perhaps something that did not jeopardise the lives of others. Had he been aware that he himself was soon to become a vicious murderer he might not have battled quite so hard. But Abbott was not gifted with foresight. At that moment all that consumed him was trying to stay alive just a little longer. Besides, what kind of death can any one person choose for their first experience of it?

His aggressor advanced with surprising vigour. Abbott was forced back onto the table. He was fit, well-trained and considerably larger than the other. Nevertheless, he found himself unable to contain the onslaught, the triumph of wrathful incognisance over strength and experience. Only certain kinds of demise permit the luxury of reviewing your existence as it flashes in front of your eyes in glorious Technicolor. Some keep you fully engaged and struggling for salvation until the very end. In such cases even a brief perusal of your life in black and white is asking too much. Abbott’s situation fell firmly into the latter category.

He frantically grasped the lunatic’s forearms. His assailant however possessed unnatural surges of power dredged up from his inner demons. A trail of phlegm and a guttural snarl escaped his lips. Hands clawed and teeth snapped. He lunged repeatedly at Abbott’s face. He was virtually within reach now. Abbott dodged his head to the side with a grunt. He tried to get a knee under his attacker’s body but the man was writhing too much. It was just not possible. Yet without doing so he knew he would not be able to hold him off much longer. His strength, along with his hope, was fading fast.

Abbott was flecked with spittle. The stench of warm, rancid breath was overpowering as their heads slowly came together. Some of the man’s teeth had rotted and fallen out leaving open sores in blackened gums. His face was mottled with an unhealthy, purple tinge. It was covered with scabs and flaking skin. Red lines like those of a habitual drinker covered his cheeks. His eyes were bulging and blood-shot, and darted about as though without focus. Yet the most chilling factor was the absolute lack of perception. The pupils were dilated and blank like those of a shark. It was as though he was just lashing out blindly. If the eyes are a window to the soul, then these particular portals looked out onto a vista of pure hell. And then there was the rage; unprovoked yet wanton and plentiful. There was just an overpowering urge to kill.

Abbott’s arms burned. His attacker still showed no sign of tiring. If anything he grew even more frenzied and ironically that may have provided an invaluable reprieve. Death took a reluctant step back and waited, denied its reward for now. As the man thrashed about there was a loud crack. The back legs of the table splintered. The pair were sent tumbling. Abbott hit the floor hard. Pain shot through his shoulder and he was winded but he managed to slip a leg between the two of them. Deftly he launched the man over his head, slamming him against the wall. This was his moment to save himself. This was his one chance to live. If the other reacted more quickly then he would surely be dead. He rolled and scrambled to his feet grabbing at whatever he could reach – a heavy, pewter candlestick discarded nearby. He swung as his opponent started to rise. It struck with a thud across the temple. The force jarred right up through Abbott’s arm, but somehow his adversary did not go down. As he leapt, Abbott backed up and swung, again and again.

Each blow solidly found its mark leaving deep, red gashes. The man sagged to his knees, a trail of blood at his nostril. He flailed forwards with an enraged gargling as the liquid dripped from his chin. Abbott struggled to maintain balance. He desperately hit out once more and cracked the skull right on the top. This time it made a different sound, more hollow and decisive.

This time the candlestick embedded itself.

This time the man went down.

Abbott sank to the ground. The body lay at his feet with one leg twitching, disturbingly. A small pool of viscous blood gradually took shape around the head forming a macabre halo. Abbott gulped down air as his hands started trembling. He was in an upstairs room with bookshelves lining three of the walls. The house was identical to all the others in the street and presumably in most this would have been a bedroom. However the owners of this one, almost certainly dead – or worse – had turned it into a reading room. The shelves were made of cheap, knotted pine and books were lying on the veneer flooring, torn and discarded. He noticed that only one tome remained standing – the Bible.

As he sat trying to regain composure, the violence of the confrontation made it hard to focus. He found himself fixing on irrelevant details, a mist enshrouding his mental faculties. He looked around vaguely for a matching candleholder, as these would probably have come as a pair. The random notion surfaced that it was just like a scenario from Cluedo; Colonel Mustard, or in this case Sergeant Matteo Abbott, in the library, with the candlestick. He wondered again where Sinna was as he should have arrived a long time before. It was most unlike him to screw up. Only now did he start to appreciate that something had gone badly wrong.

 

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Hell Holes Series ~ Blog Tour ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ Hell Holes Series ~ (What Lurks Below & Demons on the Dalton)
Author: Donald G. Firesmith
Genre: Science Fiction /Paranormal/Fantasy
Dates: 1st – 12th of May
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:

When hundreds of huge holes mysteriously appear overnight in the frozen tundra north of the Arctic Circle, they threaten financial and environmental catastrophe should any more open up under the Trans-Alaska Pipeline or any of the many oil wells and smaller pipelines that feed it. An oil company sends a scientific team to investigate. But when the geologist, his climatologist wife, two of their graduate students, a local newspaper reporter, an oil company representative, and a field biologist arrive at one of the holes, they discover a far worse danger lurks below, one that threatens to destroy all of humanity when it emerges, forcing the survivors to flee south towards Fairbanks.

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↓Buy Links↓

Amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/Hell-Holes-What-Lurks-Below-ebook/dp/B012IUE14U

Itunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/hell-holes-what-lurks-below/id1076804292

Booklife: http://booklife.com/project/hell-holes-what-lurks-below-12402

Indigo: https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/hell-holes-what-lurks-below/9781310431210-item.html

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/608355

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Blurb:

When hundreds of huge holes mysteriously appeared overnight in the frozen tundra north of the Arctic Circle, geologist Jack Oswald picked Angele Menendez, his climatologist wife, to determine if the record temperatures due to climate change was the cause. But the holes were not natural. They were unnatural portals for an invading army of demons. Together with Aileen O’Shannon, a 1,400-year-old sorceress demon-hunter, the three survivors of the research team sent to study the holes had only one chance: to flee down the dangerous Dalton Highway towards the relative safety of Fairbanks. However, the advancing horde of devils, imps, hellhounds, and gargoyles would stop at nothing to prevent their prey from escaping. It was a 350-mile race with simple rules. Win and live; lose and die…

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Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Hell-Holes-Demons-Donald-Firesmith-ebook/dp/B01FQA1EFI
Booklife: https://booklife.com/my/project/hell-holes-demons-on-the-dalton-12403

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/625752

Itunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/hell-holes-demons-on-dalton/id1097614941

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Author Bio:

A geek by day, Donald Firesmith works as a system and software engineer helping the US Government acquire large, complex software-intensive systems. In this guise, he has authored seven technical books, written numerous software- and system-related articles and papers, and spoken at more conferences than he can possibly remember. He’s also proud to have been named a Distinguished Engineer by the Association of Computing Machinery, although his pride is tempered somewhat by his fear that the term “distinguished” makes him sound like a graybeard academic rather than an active engineer whose beard is still slightly more red than gray.

By night and on weekends, his alter ego writes modern paranormal fantasy, apocalyptic science fiction, action and adventure novels and relaxes by handcrafting magic wands from various magical woods and mystical gemstones. His first foray into fiction is the book Magical Wands: A Cornucopia of Wand Lore written under the pen name Wolfrick Ignatius Feuerschmied. He lives in Crafton, Pennsylvania with his wife Becky, and his son Dane, and varying numbers of dogs, cats, and birds.

His magical wands and autographed copies of his books are available from the Firesmith’s Wand Shoppe at: http://magicalwandshoppe.com.

Visit him at:

Website: http://donaldfiresmith.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/FiresmithAuthorFanPage
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DonFiresmith
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001HQ006A

BOOKTRAILER: https://youtu.be/amXuTAlKoX0

 

excerpt

 

Hell Holes: What Lurks Below

Excerpt In The Hole

“Professor, take a look at this,” Mark said, squatting down and pointing at the nearest mound of dirt. He held his hand a few inches over it. “There are small holes, and I can feel gas escaping from them. That’s weird; it should be freezing, but it’s actually warm.” He leaned over and sniffed the air just above the hole. “Jesus, that reeks,” he cursed as he stood up and rubbed his eyes.

I reached down. There was a surprisingly large flow of gas coming out of the hole. I looked around at all of the other mounds of dirt dotting the ice on which we were standing. “Shit,” I exclaimed. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“Why?” he asked with a confused look on his face. “We just got here.”

“Prudhoe Bay natural gas is about three fourths methane. One eighth is ethane, propane, and other heavier hydrocarbons, while the remaining eighth is carbon dioxide. I’m not worried about the methane and ethane; they’re lighter than air and will drift up and out of the hole. But carbon dioxide, propane, and hydrogen sulfide are all heavier than air and build up in low areas.”

“Like the bottom of this hole,” Mark said as the nature of our danger dawned on him.

“Like the bottom of this hole,” I agreed.

Although I was breathing rapidly, it was becoming increasingly harder to catch my breath. Both were early signs of carbon dioxide poisoning. Meanwhile, my eyes were really watering, my nose was running, and my lungs were starting to burn. Hydrogen sulfide combined with the water on their moist surfaces to form hydrosulfuric acid. I had a dull headache and was becoming increasingly nauseated. Worse, the stench of sulfur had begun to disappear: a classic symptom of hydrogen sulfide poisoning. “We have to head back up and strap on oxygen tanks and full face respirators before we come back down.”

“Okay, Professor,” he replied, looking at me with concern. “You’re definitely not looking so good.”

Weak and increasingly clumsy, Mark had to help me reach the rope and secure it to my climbing harness. Then he said into his walkie-talkie, “Angela, there’s hydrogen sulfide and excessive carbon dioxide down here, and we need to get out of here right now. It’s made the professor sick, so I’m sending him up first.”

“Understood, Mark,” Angie replied, her voice indicating her concern. “Is he ready?”

“Yes, all hooked up,” Mark replied.

A second later, the rope began pulling me up. It sped faster and faster until I was practically running up the side of the hole. Soon, I was up to where the permafrost gave way to damp dirt. I slipped going over the boundary, and the rope dragged me face first over the short muddy slope. Bill helped me climb over the ridge of dirt surrounding the edge and unhooked my climbing harness.

Coughing and unable to catch my breath, I stumbled into Angie’s arms. The caustic gasses at the bottom of the pit had set off one of my ordinarily rare asthma attacks, leaving me gasping for air. I fumbled through my pockets, found my rescue inhaler, and had to give myself three puffs before my breathing became easier. Meanwhile, my eyes were still burning and watering so heavily that I heard rather than saw Bill throw the end of the rope back into the pit and use the winch to lower it rapidly into the hole. After helping me wipe the mud from my face, Angie wrapped me a bear hug, totally heedless of the muck she was transferring to her own face and clothes.

“It’s down,” Jill said, her voice amplified through our walkie-talkies.

Bill stopped the winch, and we waited for Mark to tell us when he was ready to come up.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Mark said. “Bring me up.”

Bill restarted the winch, and the rope began winding itself back around its spinning shaft.

Feeling stronger, I let go of Angie and turned back towards the pit so I could watch Mark being raised over the edge. It was at that moment, through eyes still somewhat blurry from tears, that I saw Kowalski. He was standing near the edge of the hole, a few feet downwind so that the smoke from his cigarette wouldn’t bother us. He took a final puff and carelessly flicked the still smoldering butt into the pit.

“Stop!” I croaked, my voice raspy and painful from coughing.

Kowalski turned towards me, and our eyes met. Unaware of what he’d just done, he was completely confused by the expression of horror on my face.

After seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, the cigarette butt tumbled past Mark and eventually reached the depth where the concentration of methane and hydrogen sulfide reached explosive levels.

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Blog Tour ~ Grimm Remains ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ Grimm Remains
Author: Eli Celata
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal
Dates: 11th – 21st of April
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:
Sometimes the fairy tale’s end is just the Grimm beginning.

Mammon’s summoning turned Rochester into a beacon for the denizens of Hell. As demon activity increases, Jon settles in for a new academic year, and Jordan moves in as the city’s protector. Unfortunately, the young warlock of Rochester might not be around long if the Devil’s marine legion has a say. Havfine, demonic mermaids, don’t often leave deep lakes and ocean waters. They’re better known for drowning mortal sailors than hunting magic users, but something has sent them upstream from Lake Ontario. When three orphans vanish from a magical sanctuary in Toronto, their caretaker – the Wizard Monday – dredges up a part of Jordan’s and Jon’s father’s history that Jordan would have rather forgotten. In this race against the Bane of Hamelin, more than three souls may be on the line.

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↓Buy Links↓
https://www.amazon.com/Eli-Celata/e/B01J6S0AY2

Author Bio:

eli-celata

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

Author’s Social Media Links:
Twitter: @Celata_E
Website: elicelata.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/EliCelata/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Eli-Celata/e/B01J6S0AY2

 

excerpt

I drummed the coin against the table. Three fast, one slow, then repeated. My foot tapped. Jitters ran down my legs, and every few minutes, I’d hold still. Not even a breath would escape. Then I’d begin again. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the sun dip lower, inch by inch, in the sky. It trickled down like a waterfall of gold sinking below the darkening cityscape. The steady warmth of summer faded with each vanishing ray though August – in name alone – would remain for another few days.

“Come on,” I whispered.

The sky shifted. My leg stilled. Metal paused, hanging above then falling to sit against the wood. As the sun fell down below the horizon, the Void Hours came in spades. Evening turned to night inside the bookshop, but I still pressed into the rising tension. A figure shifted down the street, but I kept my eyes straight ahead. The street lights buzzed and flickered on. Lemniscates shimmered over the window panes. From one side of the glass to the next, the sideways figure eights connected one into the next like linked chain. Inhaling, I let my eyes shut as the world hummed around me. Then the angel rang, and the door opened as if by a gust of air. The whole shop stretched out in the same breath and eased back with a sigh as the door locked. Fingers tapped the chalk remnants on the door before unhooking the ringer.

“Jon.”

I smiled, opening my eyes. “Welcome back to the States.”

 

 

 

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Blog Tour ~ The Thieves of Nottica

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Blog Tour ~ The Thieves of Nottica
Author: Ash Gray
Genre: Science Fiction/Steampunk
Tour Dates: 3rd – 7th of April
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:
In a world where humans are evil, invading aliens, Rigg is the youngest member of the Keymasters, a band of professional thieves who use their skills to defy an overbearing government known as the Hand. It is a world full of pollution, intrusive surveillance cameras, and injustice, where any who “give the finger to the Hand” are punished with death. The Keymasters are hired to steal a highly sought after treasure, but when one of their number is lost during the job, they find themselves the tools in a power play for said treasure — a mysterious lockbox that no one can open. To ultimately survive in the end, the Keymasters must battle their way through mechanical monsters, airships, and politics, literally going through shit (they travel through a sewage pipe) to make it out alive.

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↓Buy Links↓

Authors Bio:
Ash Gray is a dragon with minuscule spectacles perched on her nose, living in a wonderfully dank, musty cave far away in an alternate universe. She types her stories with gigantic claws on a ridiculously small typewriter before sending them through a membrane and into your dimension for your enjoyment.

I am the scariest thing you’ll find in the dark, forsaken places, with breath of fire and claws that shred. “Dragon!” they scream as I rip them red.
Visit them at:

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14603050.Ash_Gray
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/A.-D.-Gray/e/B003DXYVII

 

excerpt

 

When Rose awoke, she could hear voices speaking quietly, and the room was so vast and so empty, they echoed off the walls in a whispered refrain. She went very still, too afraid to open her eyes, listening with building dread to the whispers that surrounded her. She could feel that she was lying on a metal table, for its cold stung the back of her arms and her legs, which seemed to be bare in that chill room. She tried moving her hand, and when it did not respond, her brain flew into a panic and tears filled her eyes. She was unhappy to realize that she could open them if she wanted and squeezed them shut tight, too afraid of what she might see. Her heart thundered in her chest as she tried to imagine where she was, if she had been kidnapped . . . if Oliver was dead.

The voices fell silent, and somehow, without even looking, Rose knew they were waiting for her to open her eyes. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to wake up in her hotel room again, with Oliver beside her in bed, laughing and stuffing his face with popcorn as he watched tv.

“Rose,” said a man’s voice, buzzing as if from a speaker. “Open your eyes. It’s alright. You are safe.”

Rose swallowed hard. Somehow, she knew that voice, but she couldn’t recall where she’d heard it before. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and her heart shrank to see the man standing over her. He was wearing a tropical shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, and her lips parted in surprise when she recognized him as the young man from the bar, only now his eyes were solid black instead of warm brown. His golden brown skin appeared dusky in the dim light, and matted blonde locks fell twisted into his eyes, which reflected the overhead light like black water.

The room was very dimly lit, but straining to look past the bartender, Rose could see the curving walls were lined with pod after pod. The translucent brown sacks all contained black-eyed fetuses that were curled and gurgling softly, a strange warbling sound that rose like a background buzz in the vast chamber.

As she glanced around, Rose realized her table was in the very center of the room. On a table beside her, the corpse of a dead woman was stretched, and Rose went still, staring at that body in silent dismay. The woman was beautiful, with smooth brown skin and pale blonde hair, high cheekbones and full lips. She was wearing what looked like a white hospital gown, and glancing down, Rose realized she was wearing the same garb.

The dead woman’s eyes were barely open, solid black orbs that stared in frowning agonies she could feel no more. The front of her hospital gown was bloody and her legs were up in stirrups, as if she had died in childbirth.

Rose’s eyes turned back to the bartender in fright and confusion. She tried to speak but her throat flexed, her lips moved, and nothing came out. Her lashes fluttered and she tried again. Tears started to her eyes when she realized she could only make the barest moan.

“You can not speak,” the bartender gently told Rose, his voice buzzing still, as if he were speaking through a dying microphone. “Which is just as well. There is no need for you to. You need merely listen. It is paramount that you do so.” He paused, as if to make certain Rose was indeed listening.

Rose glared at him. She didn’t care what he had to say or what was important him. He had drugged her and kidnapped her and had probably murdered her husband to boot! She could still feel the drowsing effects of the drug and glanced around in a listless daze as she raged against her own helplessness. It seemed to her as if the world was spinning the harder she tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth and her chest heaved in vain. Whatever drug they had given her, it had stolen her voice.

“You have been selected,” said the bartender, “to carry one in the fifteen thousand eggs of her royal highness, Empress Nashal, of our beloved planet Qorlec.” His black eyes went to the dead woman on the adjoining table and they filled with affection.

Rose watched, heart thudding fear, as people with surgical masks came forward. Like the bartender and the dead woman, their eyes were solid black and their skin was brown and their hair blonde. There were two of them and they were women. One gently closed the dead woman’s eyes with fingers that were spindly and long, while the other shook her head in silent sorrow, gently taking each of the woman’s legs down from the stirrups.

“Our empress passed away as we smuggled her from the homeworld,” said the bartender regretfully and his eyes saddened as he gestured at the surrounding pods on the walls. “But she managed to lay every last one of her eggs. She did so prematurely, knowing she would die but that it was best for the survival of the empire.”

Rose glared at the bartender, wondering why she should care.

“Each one of the fifteen thousand princesses needs a womb and a place to hide on your planet, until the rebel forces have regained control of Qorlec. Because you are one in ten thousand humans who are biologically compatible with our people, because you are healthy, intelligent, and – by estimation of our brain scanners – kind and compassionate, we have chosen you to carry one of our royal eggs. When the time is right, we will return to Earth for the girl.”

How do they even know it would be a girl? Rose wondered in listless misery.

The bartender’s lips curled in a slight smile, as if he were listening to her thoughts. “Ninety percent of the eggs that hatch to our women are female. Men on our planet are something of an anomaly. The queen’s sister would have been a perfect replacement in the event of her death, but she has disappeared.” He blinked regretfully. “We believe the regime has taken her.”

There was a bang in the distance, and the room rocked. The lamp above Rose wobbled, gliding its spotlight through the dark in a white circle and swinging dangerously before the bartender caught it deftly in one long-fingered hand. He looked with alarm beyond the edge of the light’s sphere, and following his gaze, Rose could see people in white coats staggering amidst sliding furniture as the room swayed. They screamed and shouted in a language Rose could not understand, scrambling to gather falling trays and instruments.

The sound of a clicking voice buzzed something frantic over an intercom, and several people ran in and out of the room. Lights on the walls blinked in duress, and the fetuses stopped their soft gurgling to shriek in horror. There was another bang and a crash, and someone screamed in pain as somewhere far away, glass shattered.

“My god,” muttered the bartender, his voice buzzing still. “They’ve found us. It’s begun.” He braced himself against Rose’s table and looked down at her apologetically. “If the regime captures us, there will be no hope of saving the royal children. You may be the only one we manage to impregnate – Gralik! Hurry! We’ve little time now!”

Rose saw three women come running to her table. As the bartender stepped back into the shadows, they surrounded her, peering down at her from behind their white surgical masks. Two were dressed in white scrubs, while the third was wearing a long white lab coat.

As the nurses prepared instruments and scrambled to ready the procedure, the woman in the lab coat caught the swinging overhead light and twisted it into the proper position. Rose winced as the light was flashed hot in her eyes and beads of sweat broke out on her skin. One of the nurses opened the front of her gown, revealing her bare belly in the harsh pool of light.

Watching as the masked nurses lifted gleaming-sharp instruments, Rose wanted to scream, but her mouth moved in silence. She hated how the woman in the lab coat watched her with pitying black eyes.

I am the doctor, said the woman’s voice, reaching abruptly into Rose’s mind. She pushed a button on the overhead panel, and Rose watched in silent horror as a whirling drill peeled out of the darkness.

As the whizzing contraption came slowly toward Rose’s vulnerable belly, the room rocked and the walls banged, smoke rose and people screamed, and miraculously, Rose remained fixed to the table, never sliding, only moving slightly with every violent quake.

The doctor alone seemed unmovable. She watched with quiet intensity as the drill drew within inches of Rose’s bare belly, a still pillar in the swaying room, even as her nurses cringed in fear of the shots that rocketed into the walls. When yet another blow hit its target, the room tilted violently, and Rose heard the bartender hiss from the shadows for the doctor to hurry. The doctor, with panicking eyes, reached up and hit another button, and Rose was horrified to see the drill coming down faster.

Helplessly watching those menacing razors, Rose felt certain it was all some hellish nightmare, that she would wake and the drill would never have touched her. She was wrong. The whirling drill plunged slowly through the flesh of her trembling belly in a sudden cream of bright red blood, and she screamed and screamed, the sound tearing at last from her throat like the ragged wail of a dying woman.

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Blog Tour ~ Reborn ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ Reborn
Author: Jane Ederlyn
Genre: Paranormal/Romance
Tour Dates: 27th-31st of March
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

Reborn

Blurb:
Marie Josette d’Orgemont, cousin to Louis XVI, watched in horror as a rogue creature took her husband’s life before turning on her. A powerful vampire swept in and spared her life, but she never suspected surviving meant immortality or the price she’d have to pay to protect her surviving son.

Centuries later, in Miami, with her family on the verge of extinction, Marie is preoccupied with the continuation of her human bloodline. When she meets sexy and persistent Odin Ulfsson, his icy-blue gaze and burning touch are hard to resist. Will a forbidden romance with the Nordic werewolf be the key to her happiness, or will it set in motion a wrath that endangers not only her last human heir but her entire existence?

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↓Buy Links↓

Jane Ederlyn

Authors Bio:

Jane Ederlyn is the alter ego of a writing duo from South Florida.

Jane, a registered nurse by day, by night lives to create havoc and conflict in their stories, relentlessly strategizing ways to kill off one more character.

Ederlyn, a cruise-line professional by day, by night loves to plot meticulous happily-ever-afters for the hero and heroine, often battling Jane to save her favorites.

They can usually be found at their favorite Barnes & Noble sipping lattes and pondering “what ifs?” or at the mall shoe shopping.

Visit them at:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ediojeda
Website: http://janeederlyn.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/janeederlyn/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Jane-Ederlyn/e/B01M6USTGM

 

Excerpt taken from Reborn:

“You make me come all the way out here to announce you’re in heat? And that is supposed to be acceptable because of your free pass.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I thought this went both ways.” He pointed back and forth, between them.

Her temper surged because he was right. She did want him. Wanted him so much she was standing on a beach with him despite her better judgment. She could have waited for Etienne’s return. But she couldn’t admit that to him. She barely admitted it to herself. “I think you lack manners.”

“Okay. Look, this is all coming out wrong. I just want to get to know you.”

“You do not know me.”

“Exactly. Forget about how we met and pretend we met at a bar. You know. Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Boy buys girl a drink.”

“I do not drink alcohol.”

“What do you drink? Never mind. That was stupid. I know what you drink. I’m nervous. I’ve never met a female vampire before. There can’t be that many of you.”

She cocked her head.

“When you stare, it’s so intense it’s like you can see every breath I’ve ever taken.”

There was a catch in his voice that surprised her. She inhaled and exhaled, smelling the truth in him and the same earthiness of his skin mixed with beach scents, salt, sand, and ocean. “Am I to allow you intimacy just to fulfill your curiosity?”

He chuckled and she found that she liked the deep huskiness of his laugh.

“I promise not to turn unless you want me to,” he said.

“Have you ever been with a vampire?” she asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Your smell is driving me crazy and I know you’ll taste as good as you smell.”

A small gasp escaped her lips at the hunger in his voice. “You want to lick my face?” Somehow she managed to keep her voice casual. Could he smell her desire, the way she could smell his?

“I’m not a dog, woman.”

Her hand itched to touch him again, and she reached out, splaying her palm on his chest. Heat burned through the cotton of his shirt.

“No, you are not a dog.”

He dipped his face until he was at eye level with her. Then he growled. The rumble was low and sedate, rolling through his body, as if propelled by a current, and tumbling out on his warm breath.

Marie closed her eyes, losing herself in the heat and the drumming of his heartbeat. He was supernatural but alive. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her.

She was surprised to see more flecks of gold in his irises. The shimmering color blazed when a beam of moonlight touched his face.

He lowered his face to her neck and inhaled. “You’re so…cool,” he said in awe.

She was instantly reminded of her reality, of her body temperature, and the absence of her heartbeat. Self-conscious, she began to withdraw from him.

“No. No. I like it.”

She blinked.

He sniffed again, his body curling above her and his face a breath away from her neck. He didn’t touch her, but the stubble of his chin and cheek grazed the ghost of her skin, and shivers of excitement rushed down her back.

 

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Blog Tour ~ Souls Discovered ~ Excerpt

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Blog Tour ~ Souls Discovered
Author: Miranda Brock
Genre: Fantasy/Romance
Tour Dates: 27th-31st of March
Hosted by: Ultimate Fantasy Book Tours

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Blurb:

Spin away with young Autumn as she finds a seemingly innocuous gold necklace on her family’s farm and inadvertently uncovers her destiny as “The Keeper.” Autumn’s discovery of the necklace activates “The Window” and alerts both good and evil forces to her whereabouts. Autumn is pulled from everything she knows, and is tossed into a life of unknowns. Enigmatic enemies called Dehmons hunt her at every turn, and if captured the very world she lives in will fall into destruction. With the help of seven Searchers Autumn must learn to use the power she has been given before it is too late. Will she choose to follow the dangerous destiny thrust upon her? Will she be able to withstand the temptation of a relationship that could jeapordize everything? Most importantly, will Autumn be able to find the strength within herself to fight the dead-eyed evil Dehmon souls?

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↓Buy Links↓

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Author Bio:

From an early age Miranda Brock has always loved fantasy and adventure everything. Since she doesn’t live in a world of enchanting powers, mythical beasts, and things unbelievable she has decided to write about them. (Although, if you happen to see a dragon flying around, do tell her.) Born in southern Illinois, where she still resides with her husband and two children, she grew up running through the woods, playing in creeks, and riding horses. What started out as writing poetry grew into short stories and eventually led to her first novel, Souls Discovered. Miranda lives in the country where she finds inspiration in the simplicity and beauty around her. With the help of a ridiculous amount of coffee and some good music she writes whenever she gets a chance.
Visit her at:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Miranda_Brock1
Website: http://whimsicalwanderingwords.blogspot.ie/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/miranda.brockauthor
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Miranda-Brock/e/B01J5Y44HG/

 

excerpt

Autumn stood up and brushed leaves from her clothes. She started to walk after her dog when she heard a twig snap behind her. She spun around as her heart jumped into her throat.

A man was standing there clothed entirely in black. His loose coat nearly touched the ground, he was wearing heavy boots, and he had black gloves on his hands. What skin she could see was deathly pale, and his long, lank locks hung around his face in greasy strands. Still, the thing Autumn noticed most were his eyes. They were completely black, not just the pupil or even the irises. He smiled, and she cringed. A chill ran up her spine.

“Forgive me,” he said. Autumn was surprised at his normal sounding voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was looking for someone, and I’m afraid I’m lost.”

Autumn took a step back. “Go back the way you came. You’re trespassing.”

Suddenly behind her she heard an explosive cracking and the sound of splitting timbers. It came from the direction of her house. The trespasser fled her mind as she turned and ran toward the noise. Someone grabbed her arm from behind as two more men stepped out from behind some trees.

“Never mind,” said the man who had a hold of Autumn’s arm. “I think I’ve found who I was looking for after all.”

“Let go of me!” Autumn yelled. She tried to jerk away from the stranger. The other men walked calmly over. They were dressed just like the man who held her and had the same cold, black eyes.

“Where’s the Window?” one of them asked in a quiet, breathy voice. Autumn was terrified. One man was holding her arms, and the other two were circling her like vultures.

“The Window. Where is it?” the other one asked.

Autumn jerked, trying to free herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go!”

“Tsk, tsk. It’s not nice to lie,” said the one holding her arms. “We know you have it.”

One of their faces was suddenly all but touching hers. “We can sense it, you see.”

“I don’t have anything!”

“Oh, dear. She’s not very cooperative, is she?”

The one holding her, their apparent leader, shoved her at the others. “Take her.”

The others paused to remove their black leather gloves which Autumn found odd. As each one took hold of an arm, she cried out in pain. Their touch was so cold that it went straight to her bones. In fact, it was moving straight to her heart. Suddenly her heart felt colder than the most frigid winter. She had never felt such pain in all her life!

“She has it. She has the Window,” said the quiet-voiced one. The freezing pain intensified.

Autumn wanted to tell them they were crazy, that she didn’t have anything, but the cold was so bitter and painful she could only shake her head.

“Still denying? Don’t worry. When the Master sees you, he’ll sort you out,” the leader said. After he had spoken, he walked over and stood to the side of the man on her right and whispered something to him. The other man laughed softly.

Autumn felt sheer panic. She had no clue what they were talking about, and now they were waiting for some Master to come and “sort her out?”. Thinking was difficult. The extreme feeling of cold in her heart was overtaking her mind. She forced herself to concentrate on how she might get away.

A man stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of her. He, too, was wearing a black leather coat, the length of which nearly reached the ground. However, his coat was tighter and more fitted. His pants were black leather, too; so were his boots. His coat hung open, revealing a dark crimson shirt. This man was tall with dark blonde hair combed back away from his face. Strapped on his right arm was what Autumn thought must be a crossbow, and he was pointing it straight at her.

 

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