Sunday, May 27, 2012

New Releases: May 29 and 31 and June 1 and 2

May 29
Dark Frost (Mythos Academy #3) by Jennifer Estep
I’ve seen so many freaky things since I started attending Mythos Academy last fall. I know I’m supposed to be a fearless warrior, but most of the time, I feel like I’m just waiting for the next Bad, Bad Thing to happen. Like someone trying to kill me—again.

Everyone at Mythos Academy knows me as Gwen Frost, the Gypsy girl who uses her psychometry magic to find lost objects—and who just may be dating Logan Quinn, the hottest guy in school. But I’m also the girl the Reapers of Chaos want dead in the worst way. The Reapers are the baddest of the bad, the people who murdered my mom. So why do they have it in for me?

It turns out my mom hid a powerful artifact called the Helheim Dagger before she died. Now, the Reapers will do anything to get it back. They think I know where the dagger is hidden, but this is one thing I can’t use my magic to find. All I do know is that the Reapers are coming for me—and I’m in for the fight of my life.

Dreamless (Starcrossed #2) by Josephine Angelini
 Can true love be forgotten?

As the only Scion who can descend into the Underworld, Helen Hamilton has been given a nearly impossible task. By night she wanders through Hades, trying to stop the endless cycle of revenge that has cursed her family. By day she struggles to overcome the fatigue that is rapidly eroding her sanity. Without Lucas by her side, Helen is not sure she has the strength to go on.

Just as Helen is pushed to her breaking point, a mysterious new Scion comes to her rescue. Funny and brave, Orion shields her from the dangers of the Underworld. But time is running out—a ruthless foe plots against them, and the Furies’ cry for blood is growing louder.

As the ancient Greek world collides with the mortal one, Helen’s sheltered life on Nantucket descends into chaos. But the hardest task of all will be forgetting Lucas Delos.

Josephine Angelini’s compelling saga becomes ever more intricate and spellbinding as an unforgettable love triangle emerges and the eternal cycle of revenge intensifies. Eagerly awaited, this sequel to the internationally bestselling STARCROSSED delivers a gritty, action-packed love story that exceeds expectation.

Barnes&Noble Amazon  |  Goodreads  |  Josephine Angelini 

May 31
Keep Holding On by Susane Colasanti
 A romantic and empowering book about bullying

Noelle's life is all about survival. Even her best friend doesn't know how much she gets bullied, or the ways her mom neglects her. Noelle's kept so much about her life a secret for so long that when her longtime crush Julian Porter starts paying attention to her, she's terrified. Surely it's safer to stay hidden than to risk the pain of a broken heart. But when the antagonism of her classmates takes a dramatic turn, Noelle realizes it's time to stand up for herself--and for the love that keeps her holding on.

June 1
Broken (Crystor #2) by C K Bryant
  With Kira injured and dying, Octavion's last hope is to plead with the king of Panthera for a cure. But King Ramla's magic isn't free. The price he asks Octavion to pay goes against everything he's fought so hard to protect and could destroy his bond with Kira. Will Octavion trade his crown and swear allegiance to a kingdom feared by all, or will he sacrifice the woman he loves to remain faithful to his father and Xantara? Find out when BROKEN takes you on a journey into the savage and unpredictable world of Ophira.
Barnes&Noble  |  Amazon  |  Goodreads  |  C K Bryant

June 2
Darkness Breaks (Darkness Falls #2) by Jessica Sorensen
Kayla made her choice and now she has to live with it. She stays with the Day Takers, hiding in the city, staking vampires. But fighting vampires as a human is difficult.
Sylas constantly pressures Kayla to choose the life of a Day Taker. But until Kayla knows what Monarch is planning, she can’t make her choice. Plus there’s Aiden. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop thinking about him.
As Kayla’s memories resurface, the pieces of her history unfold. She learns of Cell 7, a place that Kayla believes holds the answers to the creation of the virus. But getting to Cell 7 is a dangerous mission. And with Kayla's strength weakening, it's one mission she might not make it through alive.
Barnes&Noble  |  Amazon  |  Goodreads  |  Jessica Sorensen

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Jacket Reveal: Ten by Gretchen McNeil

Mara and Noah's first meeting from Noah's POV

I wandered the path to the building and scanned the room numbers, but found the vending machines before I found my Algebra classroom.  Four of them in a row, pushed up against the back of the building, facing a series of tiki huts that dotted the grounds.  They reminded me that I'd skipped breakfast. I looked around. I was already late. A few more minutes couldn't hurt.

I set the papers down on the ground and dug in my bag for change. But as I inserted one quarter in the machine, the other one in my hand fell.  I bent to search for it, as I had only enough money to buy one thing.  I finally found it, placed it in the machine, and clicked on the letter-number combination that would provide my salvation.

It stuck.  Unbelievable.

I clicked the numbers again.  Nothing.  My M&Ms were trapped by the machine.

I grabbed the sides of the machine and tried to shake it.  No dice.  Then I kicked it.  Still nothing.

I glared at the machine.  "Let them out."  I punctuated my statement with a few more useless kicks.
"You have an anger management problem."

I whipped around at the sound of the warm, lilting British accent behind me.

The person it belonged to sat on the picnic table under the tiki hut.  His general state of disarray was almost enough to distract me from his face.  The boy—if he could be called that, looking like he belonged in college, not high school—wore Chucks with holes worn through, no laces.  Slim charcoal pants and a white button down shirt covered his lean, spare frame.  His tie was loose, his cuffs were undone, and his blazer lay in a heap beside him as he lazily leaned back on the palms of his hands.
His strong jaw and chin were slightly scruffy, as though he hadn't shaved in days, and his eyes looked gray in the shade.  Strands of his dark chestnut hair stuck out every which way.  Bedroom hair.  He could be considered pale in comparison to everyone else I'd observed in Florida thus far, which is to say he wasn't orange.  

He was beautiful.  And he was smiling at me.

* * *

Her voice curls around my nerves.

An instantly familiar alto with a slight growl that gives her words a faintly sarcastic edge. The last time I'd heard it was at Wall with Kent, because he couldn't get in without me and I was bored and because fuck, why not.

The lounge was packed—the tourist hordes descended on South Beach in December like wild dogs—but I glided past George, Tyler, and Antoine, bouncers one, two, and three without difficulty. Kent had toted two Pine Crest friends along; I'd already forgotten their names. The trio stared open-mouthed at the girls—models, mostly—writhing to the synthetic music in a haze of fake smoke. A server led us to to the back. I slipped into the tufted leather lounge and flicked my black card on the table, leaning back and closing my eyes after we'd ordered.

I could feel the music beneath my skin. And though it was atrocious, I'd come to find the volume in clubs almost relaxing. It drowned out the sound of things I shouldn't be able to hear but could; racing hearts and breaths and notes of life blending together in a discordant soup of noise.

Our drinks arrive and I open my eyes to find two tall, angular blonds—twins, perhaps—twining around each other and dancing feet away from us. One flicks me a look, then speaks to the other in Russian. They press against each other, undulating with the music. Kent and his friends are spellbound; I am relentlessly bored. I rest against the seat, nearly supine, legs stretched out in front of me, and wonder if I could possibly sleep. But one of the girls moves in closer. She's watching me to see if I'm watching her.

I lift my glass and take a slow sip of scotch. The girl is now dangerously close, dancing between my legs. If I don't break eye contact, in six seconds she'll kneel.

At four, I look away.

The girl moves back, into the crowd, but throws a look over her shoulder. She's hurt.

Better this way. She wants connection, and I can't connect.

Kent says something obscene over the music and I consider hitting him to break the tedium, to say nothing of the fact that he's had it coming for so long. I manage to resist, barely, and take another sip. The burn soothes my tongue and my throat even though it soothes nothing else. I haven't been able to get properly drunk in two years, not since—that night. I miss it. What I wouldn't give to make time and thought slide away.

Minutes or seconds later, I don't know, I hear her voice. A quiet scream. A plea. Fear and rage twisted into three words:

Get them out.

My head throbs and aches and every muscle feels sore. I see nothing at first, then out of the darkness, hands. Pressed up against something—a wall, a ceiling—it's too dark to see. Small, dirty fingernails; slender, feminine fingers. I look at them as if they're my own. Push them against the wall.

The waking nightmare ends; number three. In the previous two I'd seen things as the killer and felt them as the killed. Thoroughly fucked up.

The thought makes me smile. As if I haven't been fucked up for years.

And now, nearly two months later, my issues seem to have developed a life outside my head. I don't look up to see who happens to be beating the shit out of the vending machine until I hear that voice, and when I do, I lean up and watch her. The girl is more angry than annoyed, as if the malfunction is some kind of personal injustice. She kicks it again.

"You have an anger management problem," I say. She whips around.

She stands there in dark jeans that would be indecent if she didn't wear them so casually, with a loose, faded black T-shirt that sets off her cream skin. Not from Florida, clearly new, and so beautiful I nearly laugh out loud.

And with this look on her face like she doesn't give a fuck what I think of her. Which only makes my smile broader.

She considers me for a long moment, and her brows draw together. Then she turns her head, looking over her shoulder. When she does, I slip away.

The girl had walked out of my nightmare and into my life. I needed to know why. I needed to know her.

Things were about to get interesting. About fucking time.
Source: Michelle Hodkin

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

A Dark Transformation

A Dark Transformation is about Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern's transformation into Sebastion. Originally posted here.
It was a very small bar on a narrow sloping street in a walled town full of shadows. Jonathan Morgenstern had been sitting at the bar for at least a quarter of an hour, finishing a leisurely drink, before he got to his feet and slipped down the long, rickety flight of wooden stairs to the club. The sound of the music seemed to be trying to push its way up through the steps as he made his way downward: he could feel the wood vibrating under his feet.
The place was filled with writhing bodies and obscuring smoke. It was the kind of place demons prowled. That made it the kind of place that demon hunters frequented.
And an ideal location for someone who was hunting a demon hunter.
Colored smoke drifted through the air, smelling vaguely acidic. There were long mirrors all along the walls of the club. He could see himself as he moved across the room. A slender figure in black, with his father’s hair, white as snow. It was humid down here in the club, airless and hot, and his T-shirt was stuck to his back with sweat. A silver ring glittered on his right hand as he scanned the room for his prey.
There he was, at the bar, as if he was trying to blend in with the mundanes.
A boy. Maybe seventeen.
A Shadowhunter.
Sebastian Verlac.
Jonathan ordinarily had little interest in anyone his own age — if there was anything duller than adults, it was other adolescent — but Sebastian Verlac was different. Jonathan had chosen him carefully and specifically, the way one might choose an expensive and custom-tailored suit.
Jonathan strolled over to him, taking his time and taking the boy’s measure. He had seen photographs, of course, but people always looked different in person. Sebastian was tall, the same height as Jonathan himself, and had the same slender build. His clothes looked like they would fit Jonathan perfectly. His hair was dark —  Jonathan would have to dye his own, which was annoying, but not impossible. His eyes were black too, and his features, though irregular, came together pleasingly: he had a friendly charisma that was attractive. He looked like it was easy for him to trust, easy to smile.
He looked like a fool.
Jonathan came up to the bar and leaned against it. He turned his head, allowing the other boy to recognize that he could see him. “Bonjour.”
“Hello,” Sebastian replied, in English, the language of Idris, though his was tinged faintly with a French accent. His eyes were narrow. He looked very startled to be seen at all, and as if he was wondering what Jonathan might be: fellow Shadowhunter, or a warlock with a sign that didn’t show?
Something wicked this way comes, Jonathan thought. And you don’t even know it.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he suggested, and smiled. He could see himself smiling in the grimy mirror over the bar. He knew the way it lit up his face, made him almost irresistible. His father had trained him for years to smile like that, like a human being.
Sebastian’s hand tightened on the edge of the bar. “I don’t…”
Jonathan smiled wider and turned his right hand over to show the Voyance rune on the back of it. The breath went out of Sebastian in relief and he beamed with the delighted recognition, as if any Shadowhunter was a comrade or a potential friend.
“Are you on your way to Idris, too?” Jonathan asked. He kept his tone professional, as if he was in regular touch with the Clave. Another dedicated Shadowhunter protecting the innocent. Can’t get enough of that!
“I am,” Sebastian replied. “Representing the Paris Institute. I’m Sebastian Verlac, by the way.”
“Ah, a Verlac. A fine old family.” Jonathan accepted his hand and shook it firmly. “Andrew Blackthorn,” he said easily. “The Los Angeles Institute, originally, but I’ve been studying in Rome. I thought I’d come overland to Alicante. See the sights.”
He’d researched the Blackthorns, a large family, and knew they and the Verlacs had not been in the same city for ten years. He was certain he would have no problem answering to an assumed name: he never did. He had never felt particularly attached to his real name, perhaps because he had always known that it was not his name alone.
The other Jonathan had been raised in a house not far from his, visited by his father. Daddy’s little angel.
“Haven’t see another Shadowhunter in ages,” Sebastian continued. He had been talking, but Jonathan had forgotten to pay attention to him. “Funny to run into you here. My lucky day.”
“Must be,” Jonathan murmured. “Though not entirely chance, of course. I assume you’ve heard the reports of a Eluthied demon lurking about this place?”
Sebastian smiled and took a last swallow from his glass, setting it down on the bar. “After we kill the thing, we should have a celebratory drink.”
Jonathan nodded and tried to look as if he was very focused on searching the room for demons. They stood shoulder to shoulder, like brother warriors. It was so easy it was almost boring: all he’d had to do was show up, and here was Sebastian Verlac like a lamb pushing its throat on a blade. Who trusted other people like that? Wanted to be their friend so easily?
He had never played nicely with others. Of course, he had not ever been given the opportunity; his father had kept him and the other Jonathan apart. A child with demon blood and a child with angel blood: raise both boys as yours and see who make daddy proud.
The other boy had failed a test when he was younger and been sent away. Jonathan knew that much. He had passed every test their father had ever set for him. Maybe he had passed them a little too well, too flawlessly, unfazed by the isolation chamber and the animals, the whip or the hunt. Jonathan had discerned a shadow in Father’s eyes now and then, one that was either grief or doubt.
Though what did he have to grieve over? Why should he doubt? Was Jonathan not the perfect warrior? Was he not everything his father had created him to be?
Human beings were so puzzling.
Jonathan had never liked the idea of the other Jonathan, of Father having another boy, one who made Father smile sometimes without a shadow in his eyes.
Jonathan had once cut one of his practice dummies off at the knees, and spent a pleasant day strangling it, disemboweling it, and slitting it from neck to navel. When his father had asked why he’d cut off part of the legs, Jonathan had told him that he wanted to see what it was like to kill a boy who was just his own size.
“I forget, you’ll have to excuse me,” said Sebastian, who was turning out to be annoyingly chatty. “How many are there in your family?”
“Oh, we’re a big one,” Jonathan replied. “Eight in total. I have four brothers and three sisters.”
The Blackthorns really were eight: Jonathan’s research had been thorough. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like — so many people, such untidiness. Jonathan had a blood sister too, although they had never met.
Father had told him about his mother running off when Jonathan was a baby. She’d been pregnant again, inexplicably weepy and miserable because she had some sort of objection to her child being improved. But she’d run away too late: Father had already seen to it that Clarissa would have angelic powers.
Only a few weeks ago, Father had met Clarissa for the first time, and on their second encounter Clarissa had proven she knew how to use her powers. She had sent Father’s ship to the bottom of the ocean.
Once he and Father had taken down and transformed the Shadowhunters, laid waste to their pride and their city, Father said that Mother, the other Jonathan and Clarissa would be coming to live with them.
Jonathan despised his Mother for running away. And his only interest in the other Jonathan was to prove how superior he was: Father’s real son, by blood, and with the strength of demons and chaos in that blood as well.
But he was interested in Clarissa.
Clarissa had never chosen to leave him. She had been taken away and forced to grow up in the midst of mundanes, of all disgusting things. She must have always known she was made of different stuff from everyone around her, meant for utterly different things, with power and strangeness crackling beneath her skin.
She must have felt there was no other creature like her in all the world.
She had an angel in her like the other Jonathan, not the infernal blood that ran through his own veins. He was very much his father’s son made stronger, tempered by the fires of Hell. Clarissa was Father’s real daughter too, and who knew what strange brew the combination of Father’s blood and Heaven’s power had formed to run through Clarissa’s veins? She might not be very different from himself.
The thought excited him in a way he had never been excited before. Clarissa was his sister; she belonged to no one else. She was his. He knew it, because although he did not dream often — that was a human thing — after Father had told him about his sister sinking the ship, he had dreamed of her.
Jonathan dreamed of a girl standing in the sea with hair like scarlet smoke coiling over her shoulders, winding and unwinding in the untameable wind. Everything was stormy darkness, and in the raging sea were pieces of wreckage that had once been a boat and bodies floating facedown. She looked down on them with cool green eyes and was not afraid.
Clarissa had done that — wreaked destruction like he would have. In the dream, he was proud of her. His little sister.
In the dream, they were laughing together at all the beautiful ruin around them. They were standing suspended in the sea; it couldn’t hurt them, for destruction was their element. Clarissa was trailing her moonlight-white hands in the water. When she lifted up her dripping her hands they were dark, and he realized that the seas were all blood.
Jonathan had woken from his dream still laughing.
When the time was right, Father had said, they would be together, all of them. Jonathan had to wait.
But he was not very good at waiting.
“You have the oddest look on your face,” Sebastian Verlac said, shouting above the beat of the music, bright and jagged in Jonathan’s ears.
Jonathan leaned over and spoke softly and precisely into Sebastian’s ear. “Behind you,” he said. “Demon. Four o’clock.”
Sebastian Verlac turned and the demon, in the shape of a girl with a cloud of dark hair, stepped hastily away from the boy it was talking to and began sliding away through the crowd. Jonathan and Sebastian followed it, out a side door with SORTIE DE SECOURS written across it in cracked letters of red and white.
The door led to an alley, which the demon was swiftly running down, nearly disappearing.
Jonathan jumped, launching himself at the brick wall opposite, and used the force of his rebound to arrow over the demon’s head. He twisted in midair, runed blade in hand; he heard it whistle through the air. The demon froze, staring at him. Already the mask of a girl’s face was beginning to slip, and Jonathan could see the features behind it: clustered eyes like a spider’s and a tusked mouth open in surprise. None of it disgusted him. The ichor that ran in their veins ran in his.
Not that that inspired mercy, either. Grinning at Sebastian over the demon’s shoulder, he slashed out with his blade. It cut the demon open as he’d once cut open the dummy, neck to navel. A bubbling scream rent the alley as the demon folded on itself and disappeared, leaving on a few drops of black blood splattered on the stones.
“By the Angel,” Sebastian Verlac whispered.
He was staring at Jonathan over the blood and the emptiness between them, and his face was white. For a moment Jonathan was almost pleased that he had the sense to be afraid.
But no such luck. Sebastian Verlac remained a fool to the end.
“You were amazing!” Sebastian exclaimed, his voice shaken but impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast! Alors, you have got to teach me that move. I’ve never see anything like what you just did.”
“I’d love to help you,” Jonathan said. “But unfortunately I’ve got to get going soon. My father needs me, you see. He has plans. And he simply can’t do without me.”
Sebastian looked absurdly disappointed. “Oh come, you can’t go now,” he coaxed. “Hunting with you was so much fun, mon pote. We have to do this again some time.”
“I’m afraid,” Jonathan told him, fingering the hilt of his weapon, “that won’t be possible.”
Sebastian looked so surprised when he was killed. It made Jonathan laugh: the blade in hand and Sebastian’s throat opening beneath it, the hot blood spilling onto his fingers.
It wouldn’t do to have Sebastian’s body found at an inconvenient time, ruining the whole game, so Jonathan carried the body as if he were helping a drunken friend home through the streets.
It was not very far at all to a little bridge over the river, delicate as green filigree or a dead child’s moldy, fragile bones. He heaved the corpse over the side and watched it hit the rushing black waters with a splash.
The body sank without a trace, and he forgot it before it had even sunk all the way. He saw the curled fingers bobbing in the current, as if restored to life and begging for help or at least answers, and thought of his dream — his sister and a sea of blood. Water had splashed up where the body went down, some of it splattering his sleeve. Baptizing him with a new name. He was Sebastian now.
He strolled along the bridge to the old part of the city, where there were electric bulbs masquerading as gas lanterns, more toys for tourists. He was headed toward the hotel where Sebastian Verlac had been staying. He had scoped it out before coming to the bar, and knew he could scramble up through the window and retrieve the other boy’s belongings. And after that, a bottle of cheap hair dye and…
A group of girls in cocktail dresses passed him, angling their gazes, and one, silvery skirt skimming her thighs, gave him a direct look and smile.
He fell in with the party.
“Comment tu t’appelles, beau gosse?” another girl asked him, her voice slightly slurred. What’s your name, handsome?
“Sebastian,” he answered smoothly, with not a second’s hesitation. That was who he was from now on, who his father’s plans required him to be, who he needed to be to walk the path that led to victory and Clarissa. “Sebastian Verlac.”
He looked to the horizon, and thought of the glass towers of Idris, thought of them enveloped in shadow, flame, and ruin. He thought of his sister waiting for him, out there in the wide world.
He smiled.
He thought he was going to enjoy being Sebastian.

The Act of Falling

“Beacuse I can’t talk to you,” Jace said. “I can’t talk to you, I can’t be with you, I can’t even look at you.”
- City of Fallen Angels
Jace will never forget the look on Clary’s face after he says it. Shock at first, blanching into pain.
He has hurt her before. Never because he wanted to, though he has lashed out in his own blindness—like the time she walked in on him kissing Aline and he said every awful thing he could think of, as if the words themselves might have the power to make her disappear, to send her back where she was safe.
He has always cared more about her safety than anything else. If he didn’t, none of this would be happening. Jace wonders if she can see the terror in his eyes, the shards of all those dozens of dreams in which he stabbed her or choked her or drowned her and looked down at his hands afterward, wet with her blood.
She backs up a step. There is something in her face, but it isn’t fear. It’s infinitely worse. She turns, almost tripping in her haste to get away, and rushes out of the club.
For a moment he stands and looks after her. This is exactly what he wanted, a part of his mind screams at him. To drive her away. To keep her safe, away from him.
But the rest of his mind is watching the door slam behind her and seeing the final ruin of all his dreams. It was one thing to push it to this point. It is another to let go forever. Because he knows Clary, and if she goes now, she will not ever come back.
Come back.
Somehow he is outside the club. The rain is pelting down like gunfire. He sees everything in a single sweep, the way he always has, the way he was trained to do. The white van at the curb, the slant of the street as it curves back toward Greenpoint, the dark opening of an alley behind the bar, and Clary at the corner, about to cross the street and walk out of his life forever.
She yanks her arm out of his when he reaches for her, but when he puts his hand against her back, she lets him guide her into the alley. His hand slides across her back to her arm as she whirls to face him—and he can see everything around them again: the wet brick wall behind them, the barred windows, the discarded musical equipment soaking in puddles of rainwater.
And Clary is lifting her face, small and pale; her mascara runs in glittery streaks beneath her eyes. Her hair looks dark, pasted to her head. She feels both fragile and dangerous in his grasp, a glass explosive.
She jerks her arm away from his. “If you’re planning to apologize, don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.” He tries to protest, to tell her he only wanted to help Simon, but she is shaking her head, her words like stinging missiles. “And you couldn’t tell me? Couldn’t text me a single line letting me know where you were? Oh, wait. You couldn’t, because you still have my goddamned phone. Give it to me.”
He reaches to hand the phone back to her, but she is barely aware of his movements. He wants to say, No, no,no, I couldn’t tell you. I can’t tell you. I can’t say I’m afraid of hurting you even though I don’t want to. I can’t say I’m afraid of becoming my father. Your faith in me is the best thing in my life and I can’t bear to destroy it.
Instead, he blurts out other words. “Forgive me—”
Her face goes white, her lipstick starkly bright against her skin. “I don’t even know what you think I’m supposed to forgive you for. Not loving me anymore?”
She moves away from him and blindly stumbles, and he can’t stop himself: he reaches for her. She is delicate and shivering in his arms and they are both soaking wet and he can’t stop. Her mouth is part open, and he brings his own lips down against hers, tasing lipstick and sweet ginger and Clary.
I love you. He can’t say it, so he tries to tell her with the pressure of his lips and his body and his hands. I love you, I love you. His hands are around her waist, lifting her, and he had forgotten: she isn’t fragile, she is strong. Her fingers are digging into his shoulders, her mouth fierce against his, and his heart is pounding like it’s trying to get free of his body as he sets her down on a broken speaker.
Stop, his mind is telling him. Stop, stop, stop. He forces his hands away from her and places them on the wall, on either side of her head. Only that brings his body closer to hers, and that is a mistake. He can see the pulse slamming in her throat; her lipstick is gone now, and he can’t look away from the carnation-pink of her mouth, flushed from kissing, as she breathes, “Why can’t you talk to me? Whay can’t you look at me?”
His heart is pounding as if it wants to leave his body and take up independent residence somewhere else. “Because I love you.”
It is the truth, and an inadequate truth at that, but he feels it punch through him with the force of a lie. Her face softens, her eyes widening. Her hands are against him, small and delicate and careful, and he leans into her, breathing the scent of her under the smell of rainwater. “I don’t care,” he hears himself say. “I’m sick of trying to pretend I can live without you. Don’t you understand that? Can’t you see it’s kiling me?”
He is drowning, and it is too late. He reaches for her like an addict reaching hopelessly for the drug he has sworn not to touch again, having decided it is better to burn up in one final blaze than live forever without it.
And the gray world blazes up around him with color as they come together, bodies slamming hard against the wall behind them. The water soaking her dress has made it as slick under his fingers as motor oil. He catches and pulls at her, desire reshaping their bodies with every touch. Her breathing is ragged in his ears, her eyelids half-closed and fluttering. He is touching her skin everywhere he can: her throat; the back of her neck; her collarbones, hard under his fingertips; her arms, smooth and slippery. Her hands are on him, too, no shyer than his own, and every touch seems to burn away the rain and the cold.
She is gripping his shoulders when she raises her legs and wraps them around his waist, and he makes a noise he didn’t even know he could make. It is too late to go back now. His hands clench involuntarily, and he feels the fabric of her tights rip under his fingers, and he is touching her bare skin. And their kisses taste like rain. And if he wasn’t falling before, he is falling now.
He thinks of the Fall, of angels tumbling forever in fire, and of Icarus, who flew to close to the sun. He had thought of the agony of the Fall, the terror of it, but never that it might be joyful. Lucifer had not wanted to fall, but neither had he wanted to serve. As Jace gathers Clary close against him, closer than he ever thought they could be, he wonders if it is only in the act of falling that one can be truly free.
This scene (Dirty Sexy Alley Scene or DSAS) is originally told in Clay's POV but this POV can be found in certain editions of City of Lost Souls.
Source: Reality is Boring

Christine Fonseca News

Mea Culpa, a bridge between Lacrimosa and Libera Me, will be released a week early on June 11. And it'll be free.
 Libera Me is being pushed to a late October release, around October 30.

Transcend is to be released September 18, 2012. This is a Phantom of the Opera inspired story that chronicles one young man's journey to find himself after a horrific accident. Originally pitched as BLACK SWAN meets HAMLET, this story is very different from the Requiem Series

For more news visit Christine Fonseca

The Program Cover Reveal

Cover: Novel Novice

Full Jacket: Mundie Moms

Case Art: The Story Siren

THE PROGRAM by Suzanne Young—SimonPulse (Simon & Schuster) April 2nd, 2013
SLOANE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO CRY IN FRONT OF ANYONE. With suicide now an international epidemic, one outburst could land her in The Program, the only proven course of treatment. Sloane’s parents have already lost one child; Sloane knows they’ll do anything to keep her alive. She also knows that everyone who’s been through The Program returns as a blank slate. Because their depression is gone—but so are their memories.
Under constant surveillance at home and at school, Sloane puts on a brave face and keeps her feelings buried as deep as she can. The only person Sloane can be herself with is James. He’s promised to keep them both safe and out of treatment, and Sloane knows their love is strong enough to withstand anything. But despite the promises they made to each other, it’s getting harder to hide the truth. They are both growing weaker. Depression is setting in.

Jax's POV of Beach Party

This had been a completely selfish decision. Although it was serving it’s purpose, the fear that I’d gone too far was there in the back of my mind. Reminding me that this was not safe. Sadie’s life could completely blow up after tonight. But I’d wanted to do this. Making sure everyone in this small town knew Sadie White was taken had been more important than anything else at the moment. I hadn’t thought through the repercussions of coming here tonight. 
“So, is Star seeing anyone? They only ever show her with you.” A guy sitting across the fire from us asked as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees in wait of my answer. His gaze shifted from me to Sadie quickly and I could see the interest in his eyes. He wasn’t interested in Star. He was trying to call me out in front of Sadie. The girl beside him shot an annoyed frown in Sadie’s direction and confirmed what I’d already picked up on. He was interested and Sadie of course was completely clueless. She had no idea the affect she had on guys.  
Sadie cleared her throat to cover up a small chuckle and I turned my attention from the curious crowd we’d gathered to look down at the reason I was here tonight. Sadie smiled up at me with an amused grin before taking a bite of the hot dog I’d roasted her over the fire. 
“I’m not sure. I don’t exactly keep tabs on Star’s love life,” I replied not taking my eyes off Sadie. 
More questions were asked but I didn’t hear them. I’d answered enough questions for the night. Sitting among her peers and making sure every guy here knew Sadie was mine had been accomplished. Now, I wanted her alone. No more questions about my music, Star, or personal life. 
I stood up and reached for Sadie’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I want to go dance with Sadie.”
Her big blue eyes flashed a surprised smile up at me as I pulled her close against my side before leading her to a secluded moonlit section of the beach. 
I squatted down and picked up one of Sadie’ small feet and slipped off one of those heels that had been causing me to salivate all night. Her legs were long enough without the help of the heels but damn if they weren’t hot. 
  After I had her barefoot, I placed her shoes beside mine. Glancing back at the D.J. who was watching me closely waiting on my cue I gave him a nod to let him know I was ready for that request now.
Instantly familiar music began pouring through the speakers and I pulled Sadie in my arms. I’d been singing this song at every venue I performed at over the past year but I’d never much cared for it. This had been one of those songs that didn’t really click with me, until now. Leaning down so I was closer to Sadie’s ear I placed a small kiss on her temple then began to sing,
“Let me hold you close just for tonight. 
When you’re not in my arms, nothing seems right. 
Just to see your smile lights up my darkest night. 
So, baby, please dance with me in the moonlight.”
This song would never be the same for me. I leaned back and tilted Sadie’s face up so I could look into those eyes that had enraptured me from the first moment I saw them. 
“Your touch is my only addiction. 
Your heartbeat takes my breath away. 
You’ll break my heart if you don’t stay. 
Your whispers sing to me each night, and your laugh is my only sun.
“Hold me and whisper you love me. 
 me and tell me there’s no world without you beside me. 
Hold me, I need you to guide me. I can’t live without you. 
Hold me and whisper you love me. 
Hold me and tell me there’s no world without you beside me. 
Hold me, I need you to guide me.”
The emotion in her eyes as I gazed down at her literally took my breath away. How was I ever going to leave her? How would I ever sing this song again without her there, close beside me? 
“I’ve never understood those words until tonight. I sang them, but I didn’t write them. I didn’t want to record the song, but I lost the battle. Now, when I sing those words, I’ll have a face to put behind them.” The tightness in my chest surprised me but I knew why it was there. “I just hope I’m able to get through those words when you’re a thousand miles away.”
Sadie didn’t say a word. She blinked several times and the unshed tears in her eyes glistened in the moonlight. Making myself miserable thinking about it was one thing but I hated myself for doing this to her. For now, I could hold on to her and reassure myself she was mine. I had her here in my arms. Pulling her tightly against me, Sadie came willingly and laid her head against my chest. The ache that had tightened inside eased some but the fear... it was still there.
Source: Abbi Glines

Character Interview: Kylie, Part 2

1. If Red would not have died, what would you have done? You were sort of sad when he died, and found out that he wasn’t all that evil. If he wouldn’t have died, would you have become his friend and welcomed him into your life, or would you have told him to leave you alone again, and stay away? [Winning question from Lilly G.]
C.C. Man, is this is good question. And it’s going to be a hard one for Kylie to answer, too. But let me see if I can channel Kylie and get the answer.
Kylie: You think this is a “good question?” Seriously?
C.C.: I do. Any question that makes you think, makes you dig deep for the answer is a good question.
Kylie: You sound just like Holiday. But, fine. I’ll try to answer the question. (She’s quiet for a long moment.) Okay, I think the answer would depend on Red/Roberto’s actions. For example, would he be willing to own up to his mistakes and accept the consequences of his actions? He saved my life, but he also killed two girls, and that’s not a small mistake, no matter how you look at it. But . . . (She falls silent for another long moment.) But my opinion of him changed a lot once I got to know him. Honestly? I feel sorry for him because I think his actions were caused by his grandfather and the upbringing Red was given. If he had lived, I don’t know that he and I could have ever become friends, per se, but I don’t think we would have been enemies, either.
2. Kylie, if you could go back in time to a mistake or a memory and change it, would you? And what would you make different? [Question from Missy]
C.C. Another good question! (I turn to Kylie.) Kylie, what do you think?
Kylie: (A glimmer of pain crosses Kylie’s face.) I wish I could have saved Ellie. (Her voice nearly cracks. Tears glisten at the corners of her eyes and she swipes her right hand at them and looks down at her lap.) I wish that more than anything, although . . . (She takes a deep breath.) I know that I couldn’t have changed things. I know that logically, I mean. (She raises her head.) There are some things that simply have to happen, and that was one of them. Still, in my heart, I wish I could have saved Ellie.
3. Since you’ve found out that you may be able to change your brain pattern, do you intend to attend all of the species groups to learn about each culture and their unique gifts? [Question from J.B.]
C.C. I know the answer to this one. (I smile at Kylie.)
Kylie: You know, I really hate it when you turn all writer-knows-all on me. It’s not fair. Plus, it’s kinda’ annoying.
C.C.: Sorry.
Kylie: Whatever. (She shrugs.) But back to J.B.’s question—which she directed to me, I might add . . .
C.C.: (My smile turns into a full-fledged grin. Doesn’t Kylie know that she’s a figment of my imagination? Probably not. Sometimes, I have hard time realizing it.)
Kylie: I plan to attend meetings for all of the species groups, to learn about their culture and their gifts . . . assuming they will all let me, that is. I would want to do that even if my brain pattern wasn’t changing all the time. It’s about respect and honoring their culture. But since I’m still trying to figure out where I fit, it’s even more important that I learn about the other species.
Source: C C Hunter

Spicy Mara/Noah Scene from The Evolution of Mara Dyer

I pulled him fiercely into his soft bed and he didn't protest. I rolled beneath him and he braced himself above me and his arms were a perfect cage. 

We were forehead to forehead. From this angle, it was impossible to ignore length of his lashes, the way they skimmed his cheekbones when he blinked. It was impossible to ignore the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips when he said my name. 

It was impossible not to want to taste them. 

I arched my neck and my hips and stretched my body up towards his. But Noah placed one hand on my waist and very gently pushed me back down. 

"Slowly," he said. The word sent a thrill through every nerve. 

Noah leaned down slightly, just slightly, and let his lips brush my neck. My pulse raced at the contact. Noah drew back. 

He could hear it, I remembered then. Every heartbeat. The way my breathing changed or didn't. He thought my heart was pounding with fear, not desire. 

I had to show him he was wrong. 
I arched my neck off of the pillow and angled my lips towards his ear and whispered, "Keep going."

To my complete shock, he did. 

Noah traced the line of my jaw with his mouth. He touched me nowhere else. Then, he hooked one finger under the collar of my T-shirt and pulled it down into a slight V, exposing a triangle of skin. He kissed the hollow at the base of my throat. Then lower. Once.

I was spinning. I was pinned to his mattress by the space between us, and I was desperate to close it, desperate to feel his mouth on mine.


"No," he whispered against my skin. His mouth made me ache, sweet and furious. It was impossible to keep still, but when my body instinctively curved towards his, he drew away.


His lips found my skin again, just beneath my ear. "Not yet." 

And just when I thought I couldn't possibly take any more, Noah lowered his mouth to the curve of my shoulder, and his teeth grazed my skin.

I was ignited, on fire, flooded with heat and ready to beg.

I thought I saw the smallest hint of a half-smile, but it was gone before I could be sure. Because Noah's gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and then his lips brushed mine.
Source: Michelle Hodkin

Darkness Breaks Teasers

Teaser 1:
“You feel too much.” Sylas props his foot up on the ledge of the roof. “You’re going to have to turn it off, or else it’s going to get the best of you.”

“Is that what you do?” I meet his eyes, my hair dusting my cheeks as the wind howls. “Do you turn it off Sylas? Is your uncaring behavior just an act?”

His eyes never waver and his eyebrows rise with a challenge. “You te...ll me. After all, you do know me better than anyone. At least you used to.”

His gaze makes me nervous, like it always does whenever he sneaks into my emotions. From behind us, Tristan moans and Emmy snarls, but I don’t let my eyes cower away from Sylas. The longer I focus on him, the less unsettled my body feels. I feel a newfound surge of energy, one that wants answers, one that knows I’m about to cross a dangerous line. In a quick shooting motion, I snap my hand up and grab onto Sylas’ arm. I grip tightly, digging my nails into his skin. He’s surprised, eyes
blinking wildly, like no one has ever touched him without permission. For one brief second, his guard and control crumbles. A window opens, revealing a small insight into his soul. He’s always afraid… always afraid of failing, of letting people in, of being human, yet at the same time, he fears he’s lost all of his humanity.

“An act,” I say boldly.

His eyes flare and his lips curl, allowing his teeth to dangerously glint in the night. I worry he might shove me off the roof and let me fall to my death. And maybe he would have, if Tristan hadn’t beat him to the punch.

As the blow of Emmy’s scream slams against my eardrums, Tristan’s body crashes into mine. Our bodies tangle as we fly airborne, off the edge of the roof, and plummet to the ground, toward my death. I shut my eyes. But I feel something sparkle against my head and my eyelids whip open to Tristan’s smile. He has one hand on my head and the other on my hip.

“Don’t forget me,” he says and the sparkles in my head ignite, and I can feel everything he’s ever felt.

It’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt and I’ll never be able to forget it.

Then he releases me, only a few feet from the ground.

Teaser 2:

We continue to stare each other down, even when Emmy clears her throat.
“Guys,” she says. “I think we need to get out of here. Morning’s coming.”
Sylas shakes his head. “Not until we settle this.” He spreads his hands to the side. “You want to know if I’m lying, then go ahead and see.”
I eye him over. “You’re just going to let me tap into you.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Consider this your one and only freebie.”
I glance at Emmy, who shrugs, looking just as astounded as I am.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. “He surprises me every day.”
Still uncertain, I reach for him, but he pulls back.
“Oh, I’m not going to make it easy on you.” He licks his lips.
I remain immobile, hand suspend in midair. I don’t know what my problem is. It’s just a kiss and I’ve kissed him before, but something about it feels wrong. Or maybe it’s that deep down part of me wants to kiss him.
For a second, I considered kicking him between the legs. But not wanting him to know he’s getting to me, I keep my head and shoulders held high, my gaze never faltering as I lean in. “Alright, Sylas, if that’s the way you want to play, then let’s play.” Without indication, I press my lips to his, a dominating move as I clutch onto the upper hand.
He’s not influencing my emotions, which is making the situation worse. All of it’s raw; the way he feels, the way I feel, the way our lips connect. Kissing him is so much different than kissing Aiden. Aiden is open and his emotions pour out effortlessly. There’s something safe in Aiden’s touch. But when Sylas opens up, it’s like falling into an abyss. 
Teaser 3:
“Kayla, just breathe” Aiden whispers, his honey eyes filled with worry. Chains bind him to the blood-stained wall. “You can do it, just breathe.”
I lie on my back, my body pumped full of various medicines. Needles implant my skin and every muscle in body screams. I’m burning up, my skin as hot as fire. I shut my eyes, panting, wanting to get up, but the pain constraints m...e to the concrete floor.
“I want to die,” I murmur. There’s a knife by Aiden’s ankle. “I can’t take this anymore. Aiden, please just kill me.”
He shakes his head and kicks the knife to the side. “I won’t do it Kayla. I love you too much.”
I cough up blood and it drowns my lungs. Tears slip down my cheeks as the medicine eats away at my heart, my mind, my skin. It’s been going on for days, maybe even weeks, a test which we’re failing. “Aiden, I can’t take it anymore. Please.”
He slides onto his stomach until the chains reach the end. He extends his hand and his fingers brush the tips of mine. “I won’t let you go,” he whispers. “I love you too much.”
I feel his love burning through his blood and at that moment, part of me loves him back. But part of me hates him for loving me so much that he’d rather see me suffer than let me go. And for a brief second, I wish he was Sylas. Because Sylas wouldn’t watch me suffer.
Source: Jessica Sorensen

Deity teasers

 Teaser 2:
 Teaser 3:
Source: Deity Island

Shatter Me e-novella: Destroy Me

Awry Cover Reveal

Three curses. Two brothers. One love triangle.
Sometimes love is meant to be. But sometimes the death of you.

Seventeen-year-old Scarlet has just died. Only, dying isn't unusual for a girl under a centuries old curse that left her semi-immortal. 

This time, though, she comes back to her current life instead of awaking in a new one, and she realizes the curse is changing. With the help of the immortal Archer brothers, Scarlet must piece together her life and try to break the curse before her impending death comes again.
To be released June 2012. Chelsea Fine

Two Teasers from J Lynn's seecret project

J. Lynn's description:
A lot of people have asked what I'm working on. I can't go into a lot of detail about it, but what I can tell you is that it's an adult novel, heavy on the romance and action and what not. It hasn't been sold. So there's no release date. I can say that I *think* some people will be very happy or excited about it. 
Teaser 1:
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, heading toward the cabinet near the fridge.
            “Yes. Please.”
            Hunter glanced at me. “You look surprised.”
            “You don’t seem like the type who does gentlemanly things like that.” Or civil things, but I figured I shouldn’t tack that on.
            His lips twitched. “I’ve been known to surprise myself every once in awhile. Turning back to the cabinet, he grabbed two glasses. “I have soda, milk, water—”
            “Milk? I’m not ten.”
            He turned around, eyes glimmering in the light. “And how old are you? Nineteen?”
            Offended, I leaned back on the stool. “I’m twenty-two.”
            “Hmm…” He put the glasses back and picked up two wine flutes.
            My eyes narrowed. “Didn’t they give you like a basic file on me or something?”
            “Yes.” Hunter swiped a wine bottle out of its rack.
            Staring at the back of his broad shoulders, I pictured a spider monkey landing on him and biting his neck, total vampire style. Actually, maybe zombie style. That would do more damage. “Have you’ve read it?”
            Hunter spun around and crossed the distance to the island. He placed a glass of dark wine in front of me. “I have.”
            My skin felt tight. That’s how irritated I was getting. “Then if you’ve read even the basics, you would know I’m not nineteen.”
            Leaning his elbows on the table, he took a sip of his wine. “Most likely.”
            “So you asked if I was nineteen to annoy me?”      
            “Quite possibly,” he murmured, watching me over the rim of his glass.
            A sharp tingle was spreading across the back of my skull, spreading like a heatstroke. “You’re an ass.”
            “And you have a potty mouth.” Hunter flashed a quick grin.
            I took a deep, calming breath as he finished off his wine in one gulp. I hadn’t even touched mine. “Should you be drinking while you’re working?”
            “Should you be asking so many questions?”
            “Shouldn’t you have at least put a shirt on by now?” I snapped back. “Adding that to the whole drinking thing, you’re really inappropriate.”
            Hunter chuckled, and the sound, oh wow, the sound of his amused laugh sent a shiver down my legs. “You haven’t seen inappropriate, pet.”
            “Don’t call me that.”
            He prowled around the island. He didn’t walk—oh, no—the graceful movements of his denim clad thighs reminded me more of a great lion stalking its prey than how a human walked. My breath stalled out as he sat beside me, spreading his thighs wide so that one brushed my own leg.
            “Do you have a thing against pet names?” he asked.
            “Ha. Ha.” Gripping the stool, I scooted away. The metal legs made this horrible scratching sound. I hope I ruined his tile. “What did you want to talk about?”
            Hunter inched his stool toward mine, taking back the distance. Even sitting down, he was a good head or two taller, so when he bent over, his face was right in mine. “You.”
            My throat dried. “You’re in my personal space.”
            “You’re in my home therefore that cancels out your personal space.”
            “Your logic is faulty.”
            He cocked his head to the side, lashes lowering. “My logic is the only logic around here. You need to get used to that.”
            And he needed to get used blunt objects being thrown at his head, because it was about to happen again.
Teaser 2:
Heh. He sucked at the whole babysitting thing.
“You’re hurting me,” she said finally, nodding at where his entire hand wrapped around her arm.
“No. I’m not.”
Her face scrunched up. “Okay. You’re annoying me.”
“Want to know a secret?”
Serena looked wary. “What?”
 “I don’t care.”
She rolled her eyes. “Real funny." 
Source: JLA

Final Easy Teaser

“Hey, baby!” Chaz’s voice pulled both of us from our thoughts. He snatched Erin out of the flow of people and I followed, laughing at her delighted squeal until I noticed the guy standing next to him.

My face went hot, blood pounding in my ears. As our friends kissed hello and began talking about what time they each got off work tonight, Buck stared down at me, his mouth turning up on one side. My breath came in pants and I fought to keep the rising panic and nausea under control. I wanted to turn and run, but I was immobilized.

He couldn’t touch me here. He couldn’t hurt me here.

“Hey, Jackie.” His piercing gaze roamed over me and my skin crawled. “Lookin’ good, as always.” His words gushed flirtation, but all I felt was the threat underneath, intended or not.

The bruises had faded from his face, but weren’t entirely gone. One yellowish streak ringed his left eye, and another brushed along the right side of his nose like a pale smear. Lucas had given him those, and only the three of us knew it. I stared back, mute, the coffee clutched in my hand. I’d once thought this boy handsome and charming—the all-American veneer he wore fooling me as thoroughly as it fooled everyone else.

I raised my chin, ignoring my physical reaction to him, and the fear causing it. “It’s Jacqueline.”

He cocked one eyebrow, confused. “Huh?”

Erin grabbed my elbow. “Come on, hot stuff. Don’t you have art history in like five minutes?”

I stumbled slightly as I turned and followed her, and he issued a soft, taunting laugh as I passed him. “See you around, Jacqueline,” he teased.

My name in his mouth sent a tremor through me, and I trailed behind Erin into the sea of students. Once I could move, I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Source: Tamara Webber

Monday, May 21, 2012

Elixir - Aidan's Novella Cover Reveal

Aiden St. Delphi will do anything to save Alex.
Even if it means doing the one thing he will never forgive himself for.
Even if it means making war against the gods.
This novella will be available for free download on the SPH website (like Daimon) in November after the release of Deity.

Cover and Chapter Reveal of Prodigy by Marie Lu

Military-trained whiz kid June and Robin Hood-esque Day met in the first book, and now are off from Los Angeles to Sin City in Prodigy (G.P. Putnam's Sons), out in bookstores Jan. 29. The Elector Primo of the Republic has died, with his son assuming power over what's left of the USA's West Coast as it teeters on full-blown chaos. June and Day join up with Patriot rebels so they can rescue Day's brother and head east for the Colonies. In order to help, though, the rebels want June and Day to kill the new Elector, who may be a step up from his dad.
Read the first chapter on USA Today.

Article 5 Book 2 Title Reveal

The title for the second book in the Article 5 series by Kristen Simmons is
There is no release date as of yet.
Source: Kristen Simmons

Easy by Tammara Webber Excerpts

Teaser 1:

I shook off my reverie and looked across the counter, prepared to give my usual order, and there stood the guy from Saturday night. The guy I’d avoided sitting next to this morning in economics. My mouth hung open but nothing came out. And just like this morning, Saturday night came flooding back. My face heated, remembering the position I’d been in, what he must have witnessed before he’d intervened, how foolish he must consider me.

But then, he’d said it wasn’t my fault. And he’d called me by my name. The name I no longer used, as of sixteen days ago.

My split-second wish that he wouldn’t recall who I was went ungranted. I returned his penetrating gaze and could see he remembered all of it, clearly. Every mortifying bit. My face burned.

“Are you ready to order?” His question pulled me from my disorientation. His voice was calm, but I felt the exasperation of the restless customers behind me.

“Grande caffĂ© Americano. Please.” My words were so mumbled that I half expected him to ask me to repeat myself.

But he marked the cup, which was when I noted the two or three layers of thin white gauze wrapped around his knuckles. He passed the cup to the barista and rung up the drink as I handed over my card. “Doing okay today?” he asked, his words so seemingly casual, yet so full of meaning between us. He swiped my card and handed it back with the receipt.

“I’m fine.” The knuckles of his left hand were scuffed but not severely abraded. I took the card and receipt, his fingers grazing over mine. I snatched my hand away. “Thanks.”
Teaser 2:
I couldn’t take any more of this night. A sob came from my throat as I tried to remain composed. “May I have my keys, please?” I held my hand out, willing the tremors to subside.

He swallowed, looking at me, and I stared back into his clear eyes. I couldn’t tell their color in the diffuse lighting, but they contrasted compellingly with his dark hair. His voice was softer, less hostile. “Do you live on campus? Let me drive you. I can walk back over here and get my ride after.”
Teaser 3:
“Lie down on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, facing me.”

I did as he told me. “Like this?”

He nodded, eyeing me as if absorbing details or searching for flaws. Coming onto his knees, he moved close enough to fan his fingers through my hair and let it fall over my shoulder. “Perfect,” he murmured, scooting back to his position against the wall, a few feet away.

I stared at him as he sketched, his eyes moving back and forth from my face to the pad. At some point, his gaze began to move over the rest of me. As if his fingertips skimmed over my shoulders and down my back, my breath caught in my throat and I shut my eyes.

“Falling asleep?” his voice was soft. Near.

I opened my eyes to find him on his knees next to me, sitting back on his heels. My heart picked up the pace again at his nearness. “No.” He’d left the pad and pencil on the floor behind him. “Are you… done?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. I’d like to do another, if you don’t mind.” At my nod, he said, “Turn onto your back.”
Source: Tammara Webber

Vincent Brothers Excerpts

Excerpt 1:
The last time I sat on Ashton's bed talking about the Vincent boys, I had told her that she needed to let both of them go. Even then, I knew she wouldn’t be able to actually do it. They were so much a part of her life. Beau especially.
“Is Sawyer dating?” I asked trying to sound as casual as possible.
Ashton let out a short laugh,”I wish.”
That was odd. He was gorgeous, talented, athletic, polite, funny - how did someone like him go six months without some girl managing to snag a date?
"Not even one date?”
Ashton shrugged and pulled her knees up to her chin wrapping her arms around the front of her legs. “I think maybe one or two dates. Not sure. I don’t ask. Sawyer still acts weird around me and Beau gets very territorial if I bring up Sawyer. He doesn’t like me talking about him much.”
How sad for Sawyer. Ashton had been a big part of his life since they were twelve. Now, he couldn’t really talk to her anymore without Beau standing over them. As much as I wanted Sawyer over Ashton, I didn’t like the picture in my head. Sawyer alone bothered me. He didn’t deserve that. He’d been so good to both of them.
“Welcome to the Jungle” started blaring from Ashton's cell phone. She reached over and picked it up from the table beside the bed. I didn't miss the silly grin on her face.
“You can not already be in bed,” Ashton purred into the phone. That had to be Beau.
Excerpt 2:
Before I reached the door, Sawyer walked inside. His eyes seemed a little glassy and his normally perfectly styled hair was messy. I stopped and watched him as he scanned the room until his eyes found me and stopped. A slow grin spread across his lips and he sauntered toward me. Or was he staggering a little? 
       “Hey Lana, what you doin’ all alone?” 
       I swallowed the nervous knot in my throat as he stood so close my arm was touching his. “Uh, well, Ash and Beau went,” I pointed toward the stairs unable to tell him what they’d gone to do. 
       His amused smile became an angry snarl as he shifted his focus to the steps leading upstairs like they were repugnant. Great, I’d got him all worked up over Beau and Ashton, again. 
       A warm hand closed around my hand and I squeaked in surprise. Sawyer chuckled and slipped his fingers between mine, “Come on sweet little Lana. You can come entertain me since you’ve been stranded. Besides, I’ve been looking at those sexy legs of yours all night. You make them shorts look real good.”
        I gaped at him as he pulled me over to an empty couch. Had Sawyer just said my legs were sexy? I didn’t have time to think about his statement before he was pulling me  down to sit in his lap. 
       He buried his face in my hair and inhaled loudly, “Damn you smell good,” he murmured. One of his hands slipped around my waist and his hand spread out across the front of my bare stomach while he wrapped a lock of my hair around his finger with his other hand.
Vincent Boys is on sale for $0.99 on Amazon and Barnes&Noble
Source: Abbi Glines