Friday, July 29, 2016

~Freebie Book Blitz~ Gemini by Dylan Quinn


Title: Gemini
Author: Dylan Quinn
Genre: NA Urban Fantasy Romance
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb: 
Twin Souls. One Sacrifice.

Northwestern University senior Zoe Adams has spent her fifth incarnation on the run. Abused and abandoned by those she once trusted, Zoe turns her back on a duty her soul accepted lifetimes ago to focus on a music career in this one. Until her Gemini's untimely arrival forces Zoe to choose between a love she can't remember and a life she's always dreamed of.

Cade Adams has waited twenty-one years to reclaim his beloved soul mate, but his elation is short lived. As Zoe struggles to let go of her human life, demons from Cade and Zoe's past threaten the Gemini, and they find themselves living on borrowed time.

The Tree of Souls is empty, and only the Eternal Sacrifice can refill it. Is forgotten love worth dying for, or is five incarnations more than one soul can take? With more than just the fate of their reunion at stake, love becomes an Eternal Sacrifice Zoe and Cade may not escape.



Since sneak reading her first big girl romance at the age of eleven, Dylan's been addicted to Happily Ever Afters. Playing pretend with swoon-worthy book boyfriends and their strong leading ladies often keeps Dylan sleep deprived, though she seldom complains about dreaming in dialogue.

With juxtaposed interests, Dylan writes it all ~ Character driven romance in NA, YA and adult, from sticky sweet to taboo heat ~ Urban Fantasy to Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense. Nothing's off limits.

When she's not writing guilty pleasures, Dylan plays stage mom to her daydreamer offspring in the Midwest. This Music fangirl goes nowhere without her beats and playlists. She has an affinity for Moscato and chocolate-covered strawberries. Dreams of singing on the Voice with Adam and Christina, and fantasizes about getting trapped in Mystic Falls with Damon Salvatore.

Author Links:

Buy Links:
#Free with #KindleUnlimited

Gemini Excerpt published with permission © 2016 Dylan Quinn

Cade
While I held Zoe, every nerve woke from its slumber. My heartbeat increased and a hum of energy surged through me. Just being near her was intoxicating.
I craved to kiss her lips, but I wouldn't. Not until she sought me to.
Until her body spoke to me.
"So what can you tell me?" She asked. "What's the plan?"
"The plan is you get to know me. The way all relationships develop." I released her just enough to look into her eyes. "We spend time together, and your heart will answer the rest. And when you so choose, I’m yours—heart and soul."
Although in time, she would understand that I already was.
"What's the catch? Other than giving up my life here? I need all the information if I'm going to make a decision this important."
"There’s a reason you can’t be privy to all the secrets of this life. This must be a decision based on your soul. No logic can go into choosing love."
Her eyes narrowed, and her irritation returned.
"Well in case you've missed the past millennium, people today don't just fall in love overnight. Life's not a Disney movie."
She pulled away, and I let her go.
Zoe was right. Unions in modern times were complicated. Raz said there were many variables humans took into account when choosing a mate, and Zoe, although the same soul, had different experiences during each incarnation. I couldn’t force her to love me or to choose our life together, as much as I wanted to.
Each of her lives was a lesson for me as well—in relinquishing control. All I could do was trust in her heart and our love. Trust her soul would return to me.
"Humanity is about choice. I would never force you to love me. And I would never choose my happiness over yours, but yes. I am hoping your heart will choose me."
Her breathing slowed, and her lips parted slightly, just enough to send my heart racing.
My Gemini mark began to pulsate. To burn.
I needed to kiss her.
She needed to kiss me.
After thousands of years loving Zoe, I could read her body as if it were my own.
Searching for what Raz called her tells, I first regarded her eyes. They were always the most expressive. They danced between mine and my mouth. Her breaths became shallow. A pink flush spread across her cheeks as she inched toward me, shifting nervously between her feet.
Should I try? Part of me was unsure, but my body betrayed my wits.
I’d waited twenty-one years for this moment.
I could wait no longer.
I moved toward her, inhaling her sweet scent, and rid the space between us.
Her eyes grew wider, and her lips parted. Waiting. I could hear her heart pulsing rapidly.
Her body gave her answer.
"My greatest desire is for you to find happiness." I stepped closer, picked up a long strand of her dark locks and tucked it behind her ear. Running my fingers along her jaw, I whispered across her cheek.
"You have no memory of a life before this."
I gently grasped her chin, stroked her bottom lip with my thumb, and edged toward her.
"But I've seen our life together."
I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, our lips now fractions apart.
Her eyes never left mine, and her body trembled in my arms.
"And I will always. Choose us."
Her breath breezed across my cheek as I pressed my lips to hers. Soft. Gentle. Trembling beneath mine. The tingling sensation I’d missed so much returned, running rampant throughout my body.
I pulled back, not more than a centimeter, to gauge her response.
Her eyes remained closed, lips parted. Waiting for my return.
I brushed a kiss gently, then deeper into her.
She allowed me to explore her soft lips. They parted further still, and I edged my way in, exploring her sweet mouth.
An intense force rushed through my veins, to my chest and arms. Her life force burned within every muscle. My body that longed for her was now alive from her touch.
Zoe fell into my embrace, letting go of all the tension she'd been holding. She enfolded her arms around my neck, pressed her chest against mine, and gently tugged at my hair. Her hands ran down my cheeks, then to my shoulders and waist.
She pressed her kiss deeper into mine, soft at first, then fervently, as if this was our last.
One block at a time, her wall was crumbling—the pain replaced with a longing for our love. Soon, her memories would resurface, and I would have my Chayah back. Our souls Converged as one.
Zoe broke our kiss, pulled back and gulped a breath of air. She opened her eyes, her body still quaking in my arms. A minute passed. Her gaze drifted up, and a single tear slid down her cheek.
"It's you," she whispered.
I placed my hands on her face, held her cheeks gently, and gazed into her emerald eyes.
“It's me."












~Book Blitz & Giveaway~ The Spirit of Grace by Terry Lynn Thomas


 photo The-Spirit-of-Grace-Blitz-Banner.png


Title:   The Spirit of Grace
Author:   Terry Lynn Thomas
Published:  January 16th, 2016
Publisher:   BlackOpal Books
Genre:  Historical Gothic Mystery

 photo Spirit-of-Grace.png
Synopsis:
Sarah Bennett doesn’t remember the night her mother tumbled down the stairs at Bennett House, despite allegedly witnessing the fatal fall. There was talk of foul play, dark whispers, and sidelong glances, all aimed at Sarah, prompting her family to send her to The Laurels, an exclusive asylum in San Francisco, under a cloud of suspicion. Now, on the one-year anniversary of her mother’s murder, Sarah has been summoned home. Convinced of her innocence, she returns to Bennett House, hoping to put the broken pieces of her life back together. But when another murder occurs shortly after her arrival, Sarah once again finds herself a suspect, as she is drawn into a web of suspicion and lies.
In order to clear her name, Sarah must remember what happened the fateful night her mother died. But as she works to regain her memory, the real murderer watches, ready to kill again to protect a dark family secret.

The Spirit of Grace is similar to the Gothic style of Victoria Holt and Phyllis A. Whitney.


Amazon | Barnes & Noble



I had just put the silver away and was in the process of laying the used dish towels near the stove so they could dry overnight, when I saw Zeke in the back corridor. Something stopped me from speaking to him or asking what he was doing back here. He must have gone upstairs and come back down again on the servant’s staircase, which no one ever used except Anca and me.

I ducked behind a huge parka and watched as Zeke bent over Grace’s camera bag, unzipped it, and slipped out a black canister of film, all in one quick fluid motion. After he did that, he took another canister of film out of his pocket and slipped that into the camera bag in place of the film he had taken. He didn’t see me standing in the shadows spying on him. He headed back up the stairs, his footsteps quiet as passing time.

I walked back into the foyer and up the main staircase to my own room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me. I changed out of the black dress, fumbling with one hand. The image of Zeke switching the film in Grace’s camera bag ran over and over in my head. I tried to convince myself that he hadn’t been doing anything harmful. Maybe he just needed to borrow some film. But I knew what I had seen. I knew what I had heard this afternoon—Zeke speaking flawless German on the telephone.


The magic I had felt earlier, the possibility of a future with him had been clouded now. Our future together wouldn’t be a happy one. How could it be? I had fallen in love with a spy.




 photo Terry-Lynn-Thomas-300x296.png
Originally from the San Francisco Bay Area, Terry Lynn Thomas married the love of her life, who promised to buy her a horse if she relocated to Mississippi with him. Now that she has relocated, she has discovered that she can be happy anywhere as long as she has her man, her horse and time to write. Terry Lynn devoured novels by Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, and Daphne Du Maurier as a child. These gothic mysteries captured her imagination, never let go, and influence her writing today. When she is not writing or riding her horse, she visits historical houses and cemeteries, hunting for story ideas.







Giveaway Details:
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
  • 2 ebook copies of The Spirit of Grace
Giveaway is International.
Ends August 3rd at 11:59 PM EDT


a Rafflecopter giveaway



 photo JGBS Logo.png


Thursday, July 28, 2016

~Blog Tour & Dream Cast~ Dark Dreams & Dead Things by Martina McAtee


Title: Dark Dreams and Dead Things
Author: Martina McAtee
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR

Blurb:
17-year-old November Lonergan spent her whole life feeling like an outsider. She was right. She’s a reaper like her mother; like her two cousins, Kai and Tristin. The supernatural world believes they are part of a prophecy to save them from an evil known as the Grove. Ember just wants to survive high school and fix the fallout from bringing back her friend.

Old enemies are lurking; waiting for their opportunity to strike but the pack has a new problem. A group of legendary hunters has resurfaced, threatening the reapers and anybody who stands with them. They are making good on their threats too; attacking those closest to the pack.

Their only hope of defeating the Legionaries involves trusting a stranger to perform a dangerous spell to advance Ember and her cousin’s powers. But Ember has a secret; a secret she can’t tell the pack. One that leaves the pack vulnerable.

An attack on pack allies, leaves one member of the group injured and another missing, along with a mysterious girl named Evangeline who may play a bigger part in this than any of them realize. As the Legionaries are closing in, the pack must trust their enemies, enter hostile territories, and play a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a psychopath. Their entire plan lynches on a dangerous bargain, but rescuing one member of the pack could mean losing another in their place…possibly forever. 



Martina McAtee lives in Jupiter, Florida with her teenage daughter, her best friend, two attack chihuahua's and two shady looking cats. When she isn't writing young adult books about worlds with reapers, zombies, werewolves and other supernatural creatures she's reading or watching shows that involve reapers, zombies, werewolves and other supernatural creatures. Her debut novel Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things released in August of 2015. Her second book in the Dead Things series, Dark Dreams and Dead Things, will release July 15, 2016.

Author Links: Facebook: www.facebook.com/MartinaMcAtee1
Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things: http://amzn.to/1Z4L4NH



Chapter 1 
Ember 
“It would appear you owe me a new body, Luv.”  
November Lonergan stared at the ghost of her dead pseudo-boyfriend and contemplated how truly screwed up her life had become. Despite everything that happened that night, Mace was there, standing in her window, fading in and out, image static. She sighed from her toes, not sure how she felt about the situation. Of course he was there.  
He flickered, image strengthening as she got closer. There was still blood on his torn t-shirt but his silver hair looked cleaner than the last time she’d seen him. The symbols she’d painted on his skin were gone but the of scars layered across his torso remained. His dark brows were smudges over luminous silver eyes. He was beautiful even in death.  
She opened her mouth to say something but realized there was nothing at all suitable for this occasion. She’d already endured a blood ritual, two deaths, a knife fight and a resurrection; she didn’t know if she could handle anything else today. Her magic didn’t agree, it stretched and purred at Mace’s presence, reaching out for his power. Even death hadn’t severed their magic’s connection it seemed. She didn’t give in to the temptation to move closer.  
The heat of her magic and a bone deep exhaustion had her swaying on her feet. He moved towards her before seeming to remember he was of little use in his present condition. “You don’t look very well. Maybe you should sit down.”  
Ember nodded, not so much sitting as collapsing onto her pale pink bedspread. “Or you could lie down.” She heard Mace mutter. She yawned so hard her jaw cracked. She was still fully clothed but undressing seemed as impossible as climbing a mountain. She wiggled her toes. She needed to take her shoes off. She made a halfhearted attempt. “When did my feet get so far away?”  
He glanced at her feet. “They appear to be in the same place as always.” He walked back towards the window. “While you’re just lying about perhaps you could enlighten me on how exactly you plan to fix this disaster?” 
Ember blinked up at him. Funny how quickly his affections turned. “An hour ago it was ‘do what you have to do, Luv. I could have loved you’ now it’s hurry up and fix this?”  
He chuckled at her terrible impression of his accent. “I was trying to be noble and romantic in my final moments of existence. Now that I still exist, I think we’ve wasted enough time on sentiment.” 
“Having your soul back obviously hasn’t made you a better person.” 
“Did you think it would? I told you not to romanticize me. My soul was tarnished long before I gave it away.” Even as a glitchy apparition, she could see the moment her words sunk in. “Did you say my soul?”  
He hadn’t realized what him appearing in her room meant. “Didn’t you wonder why you’re still here?” 
“Certainly, but that wasn’t the answer I expected. How?” 
Ember yawned again, eyelids drooping. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow? I’m so tired.”  
He gaped at her. “Seriously? You tell me I have a soul and now you want to go to sleep?” 
“Yes. I’m tired. I’ve had a rather rough day.”  
“Really? Did a witch force you to cut open your own stomach and create a mural with your own entrails? No? Then I win.”  
Ember was too tired to play. “Drama queen.”  
There was a long pause before he said. “You might consider a shower. You are still covered in blood. My blood specifically. Quite a lot actually.”  
Ember groaned, looking down at herself with effort. She was pretty gross. She was so tired though. “If you weren’t a ghost I’d force you to carry me.”  
There was a low chuckle. “Inviting me to shower with you? I’m sure that would go over quite well with the little alpha.” 
Ember thought about the alpha werewolf currently downstairs cleaning the kitchen. After the night they’d all had, she doubted Isa would be concerning herself with such mundane things as teenage hormones. Could the wolves hear her talking to Mace? Could they hear Mace? See him? Did they think she was in here talking to herself? Could she only see him because she was a reaper? She had so many questions. 
She rolled to her feet, grabbing her things and keeping her thoughts to herself. She hurried to the bathroom and locked the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and froze. He wasn’t lying. She was covered in blood, and not just his blood. Her bright orange curls were a tangled sweaty mess matted together with blood and who knows what else. There were dark smudges under her eyes, making her already pale skin look chalky under the soft white lights. Her violet eyes glowed--actually, glowed--like the wolves did mid shift. That was new. Had they been glowing since the ritual or was Mace’s presence sending her magic into hyper-drive?  
She flipped the water on and stripped down, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping beneath the spray. She realized almost immediately her mistake. She muffled a scream, bouncing from one foot to the other under the frigid water, relaxing only when steam finally began to rise.  
“So, tell me; how did I get back my soul?”  
Ember gasped, slipping and yelping as her back hit the cold tiles. She stuck her head around the curtain. “There is a reason these doors lock.”  
His smile was disarming. “There isn’t a lock in the world that would keep me away from you, Luv.”  
She rolled her eyes, righting the navy and white shower curtain, absently wondering how much he could see in those white stripes. “That is like the most stalkery thing you’ve ever said to me and you rank really high on the creepy-lurker-stalker-guy meter.”  
There was another throaty laugh. “I am starting to think this power has gone to your head. Five hours ago you were weeping at my side like a war widow.”  
Her mouth fell open. She yanked the curtain back enough to level a glare at him. “Five hours ago, I thought I’d never see you again. Five hours ago, I thought I needed you. Five hours ago, I hadn’t known you’d been playing me the entire time. Remember? You’re the parasite and I’m the host. You needed me. You lied to me this whole time.”  
He shrugged, incredulous. “Of course, I lied. I could hardly tell you the truth. You would have booted me into the abyss, which you ended up doing anyway, I might add.”  
She made a noise of disgust. This was Mace with a soul. “I’m such an idiot.” She said, more to herself than him. He tilted his head, a hint of something behind his eyes, regret maybe? She didn’t give in, letting the curtain drop back into place, determined to ignore him.      
She scrubbed herself quickly, alarmed at how little it bothered her to have this conversation with him while she was naked.  
“I didn’t lie about my feelings for you, Luv; if that means anything?”  “Hah.” Like she was going to believe anything he said now.  
“I’m serious. If you believe nothing else. Believe I meant what I said.” 
“You said you could love me. If you’d been capable. Well, apparently you were capable this whole time. So I don’t even know what to do with your half-assed confession of love.”  
Why was she even talking about this? Maybe it was the shower curtain. It was like a confessional. It was so much easier to talk to somebody when you didn’t have to look at them.  
“Half-assed?” He said, “I sacrificed myself so that our dear friend, Quinn, could have my body.”  
Ember choked on her laugh. “Oh, please. You were kidnapped and tied to a chair with a gaping abdominal wound. It’s not like you volunteered for the job.” Ember’s eyes dropped to her feet, shuddering at the blood spiraling towards the drain.  
Mace wasn’t done being offended. “Well, that hardly matters. Quinn’s soul is safely housed in my body and I’m…here? So you could at least tell me how this all came to be.”  
Ember rolled her eyes. He was impossible. “Not that you deserve any sort of explanation but Ms. Josephine says I restored your soul the night we met in the cemetery.”  
He was quiet for so long she caved and, yet again, pulled the curtain back enough to ensure he was still there. He stared at nothing, jaw slack. “I’ve had my soul the whole time?” 
“Yep.” She couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about how wrecked he looked.  
“You’re sure?” 
She slathered conditioner into her hair. “That’s what Josephine thinks.”  
“The swamp witch?”  
“Oh, that’s right. You were dead. Josephine the swamp witch isn’t a witch at all. Well, maybe she’s a witch but she’s also an Oracle, because those are apparently a thing too. Oh, and Miller, my boss from the funeral home is actually Josephine’s brother and she’s had him, like, watching me this whole time and Donovan is her grandson.”  
He sounded awed as he said, “Good Lord, how long have I been dead? I’ve clearly missed a lot.”  
“You have no idea. Allister tried to kill me but Quinn saved me by stabbing Allister but as Allister was dying he forced Quinn to absorb his magic.”  
“The human killed his own father to save you? I didn’t think he had it in him.”  
“Former human.” She corrected. "Besides, Allister isn't dead."  
"What? What do you mean? You just said Quinn killed him."  
She hesitated before saying, "I revived him." 
"Revived or resurrected?" Mace asked, leery.  
"What's the difference?" Ember asked, deliberately avoiding answering. 
"Reviving is CPR, resurrecting is bringing a soul back across the veil. Stop being evasive, Luv."  
"Fine, I resurrected him."  
"With a spell?"  
"No" she said, tone casual. "With my hands."  
She could hear his forced exhalation. “This is all very astonishing, even in our circle.”  
Her heart did a strange skip at the word ‘our’. She was pathetic. She snagged the towel and wrapped it around herself.  
“Why would they go to all this trouble to orchestrate this elaborate plan?”  
She yanked the curtain open and stared at him. His eyes roamed her body, starting at her toes and working their way up. He grinned at her petulant expression. “Sorry, Luv. I’m dead, not blind. I’ve never been so jealous of a piece of cotton.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Move, please.”  
“Why? You can just walk right through me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I encourage it, in fact.”   
When she didn’t take the bait he moved, following her back into her bedroom. “You didn’t answer my questions. So, what are you to two witches? Or a witch and an oracle?”  
“They have a crazy theory.”  
“Which is…?” he prompted in exasperation. 
“They believe that Tristin, Kai and I are descendants of some ancient triple goddess.”  
“The Morrigan?” Mace said, sounding like the breath had been punched from his lungs.  
Ember narrowed her eyes. “Yes, exactly. They say there is some sort of prophecy. It’s insane. They are both insane.”  
He watched her for a moment as she wriggled into her t-shirt and sleep shorts without revealing anything. She towel-dried her curls.   
“I suppose it makes sense.”  
“Nothing about this situation makes sense.” She told him, slipping between the sheets with a moan that bordered on obscene. She didn’t know what sex felt like but she bet it wasn’t as good as cold Egyptian cotton with a 700 thread count. She flipped her light off, amused as his spirit gave off a faint glow allowing her to see his annoyed expression.  
“What are you doing?” He asked. 
“We’ve had this conversation. Going to sleep.”  
“You can’t. We have to figure this out.”  
“Tomorrow.”  
“What if I’m not here tomorrow?” He asked quietly. 
Ember’s eyes jerked open, pulse tripping. She hadn’t thought about that. Could he cross over? 
Would he want that? He’d been immortal for a very long time. “You mean what if you cross over? Could you? Is that something you’d want?” 
He sounded sick when he said, “To be tortured for all eternity in the pits of hell? No, Luv, I’ll pass, thank you. Besides, soul or no, sluagh can’t cross over into the spirit world.”  
“So why do you look so worried?”  
“Because there are things far worse.”  
“Worse than hell?”   
“Aye. I told you before, nobody gets away with the things I did.” 
“We’ll figure something out.” She said without thinking. Why was she still trying to help him? He really wasn’t her problem. All those squishy sad feelings she’d had after he was gone were quickly turning to something else. She didn’t know what to call it but it felt like it was burning a hole through her chest.  
She reached out; her hand brushing his. Her magic shocked through her, causing them both to suck in a breath.  
Again, that same spooked look. It made her shiver. What the hell could scare Mace?  
“But we have to figure this out tonight.”  
She wanted to tell him not to worry but she felt drugged, eyelids so heavy. “Tomorrow. I promise.”  
“Ember.” Her name sounded like a plea but she was too far gone.  
“Tomorrow.” She mumbled, already falling into sleep. 



~Book Blitz~ The Masterpiecers by Olivia Wildenstein


Title: The Masterpiecers
Author: Olivia Wildenstein
Genre: YA/NA Mystery
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR

Blurb:
Nineteen-year-old Ivy Redd’s talent with a needle and thread has earned her a spot on a coveted reality TV art competition set in New York’s Metropolitan Museum. The prize: a significant amount of money and instant acceptance into the Masterpiecers, the school that ensures new artists fame and fortune. Her talent has also thrust her and her twin sister, Aster, into the spotlight.

Not that Aster needed help with becoming a media favorite. She managed that on her own by running over a wanted mobster. She told the police it was self-defense, because she couldn’t tell them the truth—the truth would make her sister look bad.

Locked in an Indiana jail to await her trial, Aster watches Ivy on the small TV hanging in the dayroom. It’s the highlight of her day, until she finds out what her sister truly thinks of her. Then, observing her sister becomes a punishment far crueler than imprisonment.



Olivia Wildenstein grew up in New York City, the daughter of a French father with a great sense of humor, and a Swedish mother whom she speaks to at least three times a day. She chose Brown University to complete her undergraduate studies and earned a bachelor’s in comparative literature. After designing jewelry for a few years, Wildenstein traded in her tools for a laptop computer and a very comfortable chair. This line of work made more sense, considering her college degree.

When she’s not writing, she’s psychoanalyzing everyone she meets (Yes. Everyone), eavesdropping on conversations to gather material for her next book, baking up a storm (that she actually eats), going to the gym (because she eats), and attempting not to be late at her children’s school (like she is 4 out of 5 mornings, on good weeks).

Wildenstein lives with her husband and three children in Geneva, Switzerland, where she’s an active member of the writing community.

Author Links:

Buy Link:
#Free with #KindleUnlimited


 
"Our mother used to say that Ivy sucked all the good from the womb and I was left with the scraps. I hate to think she was right about anything, but my twin sister is exceptional.
“You’re going to do so well,” I tell Ivy, squeezing her hand.
“No touching,” barks the guard watching over us.
It’s just the two of us in the visitation room.
Ivy yanks her hand out of mine. “I don’t know about so well, but I’m going to do my best.” She links her fingers together in a business-like manner. “Has Josh come to see you yet?”
“No.”
“He told me he spoke to your warden about letting you watch the show. You have his permission to look at it whenever you want.”
I give her a weak smile. “That’ll be the highlight of my day.”
She runs her nail underneath the peeling, synthetic wood surface of the table.
“I’m happy you came to see me,” I say.
Her gaze sticks to the tabletop. It’s as though she doesn’t dare look up at me. I think she’s afraid to cry. “Was it really an accident, Aster?” Her voice is so faint that I have to strain to make out her words.
“Yes.”
“You promise me—”
“Yes,” I say. “Stop worrying about this. By the time you come home, it will be ancient history.”
She bites her lip.
“Now go make history,” I tell her."








~Release Day Blitz & Giveaway~ Sentinal's Tear by Christina Fonseca


Title: Sentinal’s Tear
Author: Christine Fonseca
Genre: YA Gothic Romance
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb:
As if casting out demons isn’t hard enough, five-hundred-year-old Nesy has to masquerade as a teenage girl to do it.

Nesy is the best of an elite group of angels – warriors called Sentinals – charged with the job of vanquishing the fallen. She’s never made a mistake, never gotten emotionally involved. But when she comes face-to-face with Aydan, she freezes.

He is evil incarnate. A fallen angel that feeds off the souls of others. Everything Nesy is supposed to hate.  But she can’t, because he’s also the human love of her former life as a teen; a life that ended too soon, tying her to emotions she should never feel. Now she must choose between doing her duty – damning Aydan to the fiery depths of hell – or saving him, and condemning herself.

Tagline: Some sacrifices should never be made—even for love.


Award-winning and critically-acclaimed author of fiction and non-fiction. Lover of books, lattes, and family. Passionate about humanity. Recent titles include Transcend, The Solomon Experiment series, and Emotional Intensity in Gifted Students, second edition.
When Christine isn’t writing a book, she can be found sipping too many skinny vanilla lattes next to a beach with a book in her hand.

For more information, visit her website – http://christinefonseca.com.

Author Links:

Buy Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2a4YXZ9

Chapter 1
Nesy

I shift in the booth, careful to remain hidden in the shadows. My human form feels foreign, awkward. Nothing about tonight’s assignment seems right; not the constant thoughts echoing through my mind nor the everpresent feelings I can’t seem to shake.
I tighten the muscles across my back, desperate to escape the confinement that comes with this new body. One I never wanted.
My senses register each scent, each sound, adding to the noise of too much mental chatter already ricocheting in my head. Sweat and too-strong perfume from the tangled mix of bodies on the dance floor burn my nostrils. My heart pounds against my ribs and unfamiliar twinges of fear cloud my vision. Feelings I can’t decipher crawl through my skin, sending chills throughout my body.
I may have prepared for this task, but nothing could prepare me for being a seventeen-year-old girl.
Again. 
I slip further into the booth, surveying the scene. Lights pulse around me, synchronized to the blaring sounds that pound from the speakers. Clubbers sway to the music in intoxicating rhythms, casting a spell throughout the room.
And somewhere in the crowd lurks the one I came for—the UnHoly. 
I narrow my eyes, taking in the irony of the church-turned-nightclub. Tall, gothic arches adorn the ceiling. Old stone sculptures of saints and angels watch the hordes of teens gyrating on the dance floor. The altar, once a sanctuary, now houses a stage where up-and-coming bands woo adoring fans. The remaining spaces are punctuated with small alcoves designed to hide the club’s true patrons: dark creatures that feed on the lust and fear of the human crowd.
My task is simple enough: find the UnHoly and vanquish him to the Abyss. Just like the countless other assignments I’ve had over the past few centuries. But something about this task feels wrong. Something that sends fresh shivers cascading down my very human spine.  
Little information was given to me about my target, only his name, location, and human age. I’d have to figure out the rest. No problem, since vanquishing the UnHoly is my specialty; whether I’m stuck in a teenage body or not.
I take one last sip of water and recite my plan:
One: Find the UnHoly.
Two: Lure him away from the crowd. Don’t want to ruin my perfect record with collateral damage.
Three: Cast him out.
What could go wrong?
Satisfied, I settle my thoughts and prepare for battle. The sooner this is finished, the sooner I can ditch this body and escape the chaos it brings. My human form may look similar to my angelic being, with its familiar blond hair and blue eyes. But I hate being trapped in this flesh, stifled by the heaviness of this body. I miss feeling the air move through my wings and play across my skin. More than anything else, I miss the quiet solitude of my mind; no emotions to muddle my thinking, no angst to cloud my judgment. Necessary or not, I’m never masquerading as a teenager again.  
I smooth out my clothes—black leather skirt, black tee, leather jacket and boots that stretch up my long legs—and approach the altar-turned-stage.
“Hi there,” I say to the stooge blocking my entrance. I lock eyes with him, tipping my head slightly. I may not like being human, but I do know how to use this body to get what I want. “Is Aydan here tonight?”
The would-be guard swallows hard.
Perfect.
His gaze rakes over every inch of me as his lips part slightly. He swallows hard and smirks. 
Oh yeah, he’s easy. “So? Is he?” I purr.
He fumbles over his words. “Um, yeah. The band performs in a few minutes. Want me to get him for you?”
I think about it for a second, picture my plan in detail. “No, I’ll try to find him after his set.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll find you. You’re just his type,” the guard says.
Of course I am.
The lights dim and I take my position in front of the stage. Four dark shapes emerge from the shadows. The band. I scan each one as the crowd fills in behind me.
Heavy sounds from the bass guitar and drums send the horde into a frenzy. I move with the crowd and continue to search. Which one is he? The drummer? Nope, he’s definitely human. The guitarist? Maybe. He’s too dark to be fully mortal. Too demonic.
But he’s also far too weak to be the UnHoly.
I scrutinize the rest of the group. He has to be here. I couldn’t have made a mistake.
I don’t make mistakes. Not ever.
A single spotlight focuses on the lean silhouette of the lead singer; a teenage boy who’s definitely more than human.
There you are.
He’s taller than I expected, wearing clothes that match my own—black jeans, a black sleeveless shirt open just enough to see his smooth pale skin, and black boots. His chiseled muscles and dye-job-black hair hanging in an unruly mess add to his allure. But it’s his eyes that draw my attention. Amber with flecks of gold.
Mesmerizing, dangerous, and…
Familiar. Too familiar.
I bite my lip, my mind racing. Aydan, the only apprentice to the Dark One. Feared by angel and demon alike. He’s rumored to stop at nothing to procure anything and everything his master wants. Judging by the way he hypnotizes the crowd of unsuspecting teens with his voice and eyes, I have no doubt that the rumors are well-earned. More than dangerous, Aydan is lethal.
And just my type.
I check out the club, looking for the best way to lure him outside. He’s managed to elude capture for more than four centuries. Clearly he knows how to avoid the likes of the Sentinals, the likes of me. But not tonight. Not with this body.
I focus my attention back on him as he finishes his song. There is no evidence of his true nature reflecting in his features; no fangs or claws to signal danger. No sulfur-scent or bloodlust. No proof of the evil that lurks just under the surface. Nothing except the black bat-like wings curving across his back, hidden from everyone.
Well, almost everyone. Not expecting me, are you?
His voice intoxicates the crowd. The hunger in his eyes reveals his true intent. Aydan is on the hunt.
Two can play at that game.
I notice a small door at the end of a corridor adjacent to the stage. No doubt it empties to the alley that flanks the church. Perfect. Now, to get him outside before he chooses one of the screaming girls as his prey.
Aydan finishes his song as I make my way around the stage and toward the hall. I watch as he turns away from the crowd.
Almost time.
The horde screams for him and begs the band to continue.
Aydan grabs the mic. “Do you want more?” he yells. Their response, a cacophony of “Yes!” and “We love you, Aydan!” rings through the rafters of the once-holy building.
I watch as he works the mob into a craze. Voices blend away. The scene shifts. All I see, all I hear, is Aydan. An unfamiliar current of electricity streaks through my body, causing my heart to beat wildly against my ribs. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stiffen with anticipation while anxiety fills my senses.
This can’t be happening.
I force my heart to slow and shove aside the silly human reactions.
The guitarist starts to strum a ballad. A light frames Aydan as he begins to sing in slow, rhythmic phrases. He scans the crowd, a predator looking for his prey.
Time stops and he turns to me. Our eyes lock. A smile pulls at his lips.
My skin erupts in gooseflesh. My legs begin to wobble. His smile broadens and for a brief moment I forget how to breathe.
Strange sensations inundate my thoughts. My abdomen clenches and my body trembles.
His stupid mind tricks are working. On me.
Not acceptable.


Chapter 2
Aydan

The crowd is wild tonight, hordes of kids desperate for a little action. The perfect hunting grounds. Maybe that’s why I stick with the band—the free food.
My senses pick up the distinct scent of vanilla and warm sugar. My favorite. I feel the craving start at the back of my throat. I have to find the source of that scent and drink from her soul.
Soon.
The lights drop as I sing a slow melody. The rhythms are smooth, seductive. I watch the girls drop their defenses and feel their desire rise.
Scanning the crowd, I search. My need grows as the seconds pass. Every girl strains to look at me and through their eyes I see their need, taste their lust. It floods my senses, nourishing me.
But the feeling is temporary, just enough to awaken the Beast within and force me to continue the hunt.
My eyes settle on a girl near the back of the crowd, sandwiched between the stage and a narrow hallway. She’s different from the usual patrons of the club. Beautiful—long blond hair, legs that seem to stretch forever, and curves that make me ache. But it isn’t her beauty calling to me, or her distinctive vanilla scent.
It’s the mystery.
Her desire fills me. Not only desire, something more. Something angry and dangerous. Something that awakens the core of my being.
I stare into her eyes and ride her emotions as they crest. I sing my lyrics only to her. Our worlds collide; nothing exists but the two of us.
She closes her eyes, obviously trying to break the spell I’ve cast. But I know it won’t work. No one can get away from me. I’ve had centuries of practice.
I continue to sing, weaving a trap around my target. She stares at me, an almost pained expression etched into her features.
You’re mine now.
A flood of emotions fills me, chaotic and wild, desperate. Her feelings, her passion. The taste is addictive and I know I can’t resist her. I don’t want to.
The song ends as my frenzy grows.
It’s time.