TIME TO GET HYPE, GUYS.
Yes, two weeks from today, the second novel in the Black Parade series will be on bookshelves. Join me at the Facebook virtual launch party for a chance to win a free copy as well as other magnificent prizes. C’mon, you know you want to. It’s gonna be fun. See you there.
In the meantime, don’t forget to enter the Goodreads giveaway for it and win yourself a free paperback copy signed by yours truly.
-Kyoko
It’s finally here! Enter to win a paperback copy of the sequel to The Black Parade. All it takes is a second and you could be holding this beauty in your hand before anyone else. Giveaway ends July 22, 2014, on the release day, so enter now!
Stay tuned for more excerpts and goodies!
As my show of thanks for the awesome free weekend results, here’s the first part of Chapter 2 from the upcoming sequel to The Black Parade, She Who Fights Monsters. You can read chapter one right here.
JORDAN
“I take it from this supposedly mandatory back rub that things didn’t go well with the talent agent?”
My husband sighed and the smooth skin on his shoulders shifted with each exhale. My fingertips worked small, slow circles in the middle of his spinal column where I could feel knots of tension. An archangel with back problems. Who knew?
“She said that we had the talent and the look, but we’re not ‘marketable enough’,” Michael said with no small amount of bitterness in his tone. It hurt to hear.
“That’s the third agent to tell me so. I’m beginning to think this profession isn’t as enjoyable as I once hoped.”
“C’mon, don’t say that. You love music. You’d better not even think about giving it up,” I scolded, but in my most supportive voice.
“Besides, getting a record deal is like getting published. All it takes is one yes, so you’re going to have to wade through a hundred no’s before you get there.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slow, folding his arms to prop up his head. “Yeah, I know. But it still sucks.”
I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, resting my hands on his shoulders.
“Welcome to showbiz, stud.”
A soft sound escaped him, one similar to a laugh. “How’d you get to be so savvy about this?”
“Life. Alright, let’s get to work.” I reached over and grabbed the manila folder lying next to us and handed it to him. Gabriel had left it for me on the kitchen counter and I hadn’t seen it yet since I’d headed straight to the concert. He pushed up on his elbows and opened it, reading the files out loud while I resumed my careful massage of his lower back.
“Victim Number One: Danny Bowen. Thirty-four. Mechanical engineer. Kentucky resident. Found murdered in his home five months ago. Deep puncture wound in the chest. Traces of steel found in the rib cage indicate a large blade. Entry and exit wounds suggests it’s shaped like a sickle.”
He flipped to the next page. “Victim Number Two: Todd Lovett. Twenty-one. Biochemistry major at Oxford. Found murdered in his car four months ago. Strangled to death in the front seat at roughly three o’clock in the morning. First to remember the killer chanting something in Latin as he died.”
Next page. “Victim Number Three: Imani Ibekwe. Thirty-one. Missionary. Found murdered in her home in Nigeria four months ago. Wounds consistent with the first victim. Confirms that if it is the same killer, he’s using the same weapon. Angle of the wounds suggests the killer is less than six feet tall.”
Page four. “Victim Number Four: Faye Cunningham. Forty-two. Nurse at a hospital in Poland. Found murdered in her home like Victims One and Three with the same wounds three months ago.”
Page five. “Victim Number Five: Yusef Nolan. Twenty-five. Television producer. Found murdered in his studio apartment in Brisbane two months ago. Defensive wounds on his forearms suggest the killer knows an extensive amount of martial arts as Yusef was a brown belt in judo and still ended up dead.”
Page six. “Victim Number Six: Erica Davalos. Forty-three. Kindergarten teacher. Found murdered in her home a month and a half ago. First victim not to immediately cross over. Like the other spirits, she remembers seeing a man chanting in Latin.”
I rested my chin on the top of his head, folding my arms across the back of his broad shoulders. “Aside from being Seers, what do we have on similarities?”
He flipped to the last page. “Based on the records I had some of the angels compile, Todd and Faye are of the same bloodline. They’re descendants of Matthew. Danny is a descendant of Luke, Imani is a descendant of John the Baptist, and Erica is a descendant of Thomas.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t really have any relevance. So far, their Awakenings tie them together, not their bloodlines. What else?”
“Their homes and possessions were all burned to the ground. That suggests that the killer believes in some sort of purification ritual. However, he doesn’t leave markings on the ground afterward or any memorabilia. If it’s a cultural thing, it’s not one we’ve seen before.”
“Which means it’s newly formed by Captain Psychopath. Great. And you’re sure this isn’t a demon’s doing?”
“No. Demons can only sense the Awakening of a Seer sometime after the angels, not exactly when it happens. Only archangels and experienced Seers can sense when someone’s powers are developing. It gives us a bit of a head start. Besides, we’ve been tracking Belial’s movements for the past year and they aren’t consistent with the murders.”
A little shudder went down my spine at the mention of the demon’s name. I had been fortunate enough not to see him for over a year and that still wasn’t long enough. Every time I left the apartment, I felt a tiny shadow of fear rest between the back of my shoulders—fear that he was watching me, waiting for the opportunity to strike and get back at me for foiling his plans three times in a row.
“Good to know,” I said, though a little softer than I intended.
Michael noticed and pushed up on his hands, forcing me to slide off his back. He turned to me and cupped the side of my cheek in his large hand.
“Hey, don’t get so tense on me. He’s out of our lives. You know that.”
I tried to return the smile but it didn’t quite stick. “Yeah, but he’s always been a wild card. I can’t shake the feeling that he won’t try to come after us again.”
“Well, you’ve gotten pretty good at kicking his ass so I think we’re safe,” the archangel said, pressing a light kiss to my lips. I allowed myself to be lost in his touch and then a couple minutes later I was lying on my back and my shirt was on the floor and I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t stop it.
It took a massive amount of will power to quit kissing him but I finally did, suppressing a wistful sigh. “It’s late. We probably shouldn’t, uh…you know.”
He grinned. “I’m so happy you’re the voice of reason in this relationship.”
I flicked him in the forehead. “Someone has to be, otherwise I’d be a paraplegic in the span of a month. Are you staying here tonight or heading home?”
The grin faded at the edges. “You know, it’d be a lot easier if I didn’t have to keep making the decision.”
I took a deep breath, raking fallen strands of hair out of my eyes. “Can we not have that discussion tonight?”
A frown bunched between his eyebrows, but he swallowed the argument and crawled off the bed, grabbing his t-shirt from where it dangled on the headboard. “I’d better head to my place. We have an early rehearsal and I have more talent agents to find and disappoint.”
I watched him pull the shirt on with a certain amount of regret. I had learned enough in my six-months of marriage to be able to tell when he was unhappy, and he was because he wouldn’t maintain eye contact. Michael’s eyes always gave him away. In some ways, they were his best feature and thus they were his deadliest.
“Would it help if I showed up in a cheerleading costume for your next performance?”
He chuckled. “I thought we tried that one already. Or was it the Naughty Nurse?”
He ducked when I threw my sock at his head, swooping in for a goodnight kiss. I cradled his face between my hands for a long moment before letting go. My bed was always colder—literally and figuratively—when he didn’t spend the night.
“Buenas noches, amor,” I murmured.
He kissed my forehead. “Igualmente.”
Warm fingers mapped my spine, tracing the long curve of naked skin down to the small of my back, slowly, soothingly, purposefully. The sheets beneath me were clean and fresh like a summer morning—nothing a laundry detergent could pull off, either. This scent was as if someone had bottled the air at sunrise and sprayed it over cotton. I never felt more at peace, more relaxed. I’d found a small corner of heaven to lie upon.
The hands at my back had long fingers that hinted at strength and masculinity as they slid upward towards my scars. The rough fingertips followed the jagged lines zigzagging over my spinal column where my aunt’s switches and belts and extension cords had cut the skin too badly to heal. The scars had turned to brown worms and melted into the rest of me. A long time ago, I had been upset over them, afraid to wear certain shirts and dresses, but over time they became as much a part of me as my black hair or morena skin or knobby knees.
I sighed as his thumbs pressed against the blade of my shoulders, massaging in a circle, smoothing away the tension. Seconds later, soft lips touched the spot and silky hair brushed along my spine. My eyes opened and focused on his hand, palm flat, lying to my left. The skin was as pale as alabaster instead of the natural tan I was used to. Wait. Something was wrong.
My pulse sped up as I gathered the white sheets beneath me to cover my bare breasts and rolled over only to find the archdemon Belial on his knees above me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but he clapped one of his large hands over it, drowning my shout of alarm.
“Don’t. This may be a dream, but your screams are still quite irritating, my pet.”
I tore his hand away from my lips, glaring at him to hide my fear. He still looked the same—a narrow nose, perfect slender cheekbones, and wickedly sensual lips. He looked vaguely European to me, but he didn’t have an accent. His voice was deep, cold, and empty most of the time unless he was mocking me. He appeared somewhere in his late twenties to early-thirties, but I knew he was damn near as old as time itself. He wore an unbuttoned navy dress shirt that flapped loosely around his chest, granting me an eyeful of his perfectly carved abs.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“What? You don’t own a phone, jackass?”
He cocked his head to the left, one dark eyebrow rising. “Would you have listened if I called you? No. You’d hang up and we both know it. I was forced to find an alternate method of communication.”
“Yes, and the bed was entirely necessary as part of the communication,” I growled with the utmost sarcasm. He smirked.
“I would be remised if I didn’t try to make a pass at you. In the real world, I am no longer able to…” He paused, licking his bottom lip. “—taste you, but in the dream world, I am free to do as I please.”
I glared. “Do you have a point?”
“Ah, yes, that.” The humor and flirtatiousness abated, leaving his nearly white eyes to focus on me with a serious look in them. It never failed to creep me out that his pupils weren’t round but slits like a snake’s. It was the mark of all archdemons, a sign of royalty.
“You are no doubt aware of the murdered Seers, yes?”
“Of course. Don’t tell me you’re gonna confess to them?”
He snorted again, seeming offended. “Nonsense. I would have left a signature if it were my doing, but that is why I have chosen to contact you. I wish to report that these killings are not being committed by one of the Fallen.”
“Why the hell should I believe that, Belial? Lying is like air to you.”
“Because you know as well as I do that our side would not kill Seers indiscriminately. They are of as much use to us as they are to you and we are at a disadvantage when there is only one of them hanging around. One who just happens to be married to an archangel,” he added with another insufferable smirk.
I ignored the comment. “So let’s pretend you’re telling the truth. If it’s not a demon, then who is it?”
“I would advise you to reexamine your so-called saviors.”
“The angels?”
He nodded. I shook my head. “You think we haven’t considered that? Of course we have. But there’s also the fact that not a single angel has ever gone rogue since the Fall. Why would one start now?”
Belial shrugged. “Perhaps he knows something we do not? The roster in Heaven is infinite. It is possible one of these angels slipped through the cracks. Ask Michael if there have been any unusual absences in Heaven, perhaps someone who left for Earth without a specific order.”
“Why are you so eager to find this killer?”
“As I said before, my pet. Seers are just as valuable to my side as they are to yours. It is necessary to find him and stop him if we ever want to get anywhere.”
I shifted underneath him, becoming even more nervous now that our little chat was coming to an end. “Great. Thanks for the tip. Now get out of my damn head.”
“So soon?” the demon purred, leaning down enough to make my heart rate spike again.
“Is there nothing about this situation that interests you, Seer?”
“Nothing at all,” I said through gritted teeth.
A rather smug grin crossed his lips. “Mentirosa.”
I tried to punch him but faster than I could see, he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them to the mattress. Squirming, I tried to knee him in the groin. He crawled upward and straddled my waist, rendering my legs useless under his weight. An arrogant laugh trickled out of his throat as he watched me struggle in vain.
“I adore that you still resist me even in a place where no one can see us. A less stubborn woman would at least be honest with herself.”
“Honest about what?” I spat. “How much I despise you? How much you disgust me?”
“And how much I turn you on?” he offered. Despite my anger, a creeping heat found its way on my cheeks and I hated it.
“You don’t-”
“I’m inside your head, Jordan. I can feel everything.” He lowered his face to my neck, not touching me but just barely letting his hot breath flow over my skin and his jet-black hair glide across my collarbone.
“I can feel it like the blood rushing through your veins. Your angel may be handsome and valiant, but he does not excite you the way that I do. You crave danger like a creature of the night. Like a demon. Like me. Sooner or later, you will accept that about yourself.”
“You’ve been out of my life for a year and a half. I don’t miss anything. Can you feel that?” I shot back.
“No, I cannot. Perhaps if I try a little harder…” He pursed his lips and blew at the sheets just barely clinging to my chest. They slipped downward a couple of inches, revealing the scar over my heart, and Belial’s hot tongue laved the length of it, making me gasp. I squeezed my eyes shut, ashamed and angry as my body started to tremble with a horrible combination of fear and excitement.
A buzzing sound woke me. I jolted upward in bed, my hands flying to my chest as I felt the ghost of Belial’s touch fading away with the nightmare. Light touched the edges of the bedroom through the blinds of my window. I glanced about to detect the odd noise only to discover my phone had received a text message. I sighed, swiping sweaty tendrils of hair off my forehead, and grabbed my cell phone.
I’ll be over for lunch around 1:00. Te amo.
-Michael
“Saved by the bell,” I muttered, dropping the phone in my lap. A shudder went down my spine at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t woken me up. With Michael beside me, my dreams were protected because he emitted a subconscious protective aura. Without him, I was vulnerable. Open. Prey.
A knot began to twist in my stomach, sagging there like a boulder. I knew that ache. Michael and Gabriel had taken turns rehabilitating me from my alcohol dependence, but I still got cravings during high stress situations. This sure as hell was one of them.
So I did what any person would do.
I cooked.
To be continued in She Who Fights Monsters, available on Amazon July 22, 2014. Like the Facebook page for updates and announcements for the upcoming paperback giveaway.
The upcoming sequel to The Black Parade hits July 22, 2014. Here’s your official book blurb and plot reveal!
Michael O’Brien. 25. New Yorker. Lead guitarist. Commander of Heaven’s Army.
Jordan Amador. 22. New Yorker. Waitress. Investigator for souls with unfinished business, also known as a Seer.
The dynamic supernatural duo is in the middle of trying to solve a deadly case. Someone is methodically hunting down and murdering Seers one by one. After six months with no leads on the killer, Jordan and Michael are forced to work with their worst enemy—the archdemon Belial: a self-professed Prince of Hell who is dead set on stealing Jordan for himself. However, with the archdemon’s help, they pick up on the trail of the serial killer and plan to stop him no matter what the cost.
When the shocking truth behind the murderer’s identity is revealed, Jordan begins asking herself if she is still fighting for the good guys or has she become one of the monsters she is desperately trying to stop?
Excited yet? You can read an excerpt from Chapter 1 already.
The next chapter will be posted sometime soon as well as the reveal of the book cover. I’m also going to run a giveaway on Goodreads starting June 22, 2014, if everything goes according to schedule. We’re also going to do another virtual book launch since the first one went pretty well, so I hope you’ll join me for that as well.
Keep your eyes peeled for more!
-Kyoko
Hell of a week, my darlings.
Hell of a week.
So in that regard, here are all the stops we’ve made that haven’t been posted since yours truly has been stuck working long hours at her day job.
Mythical Books – Guest Post “From Bible to Urban Fantasy”
Fangtastic Books – Guest Post “Tips for Novice Writers”
Roxanne’s Realm – Guest Post “The Deadly Seven soundtrack”
Paranormal Romance and Authors That Rock – Spotlight
With each post, you still have a chance to enter to win a free copy of The Deadly Seven, either in paperback or eBook. Thanks for all your support! It’s been a fun tour!
-Kyoko
Good afternoon! Here’s stoop three on our tour. Join us over at A Writer’s Mind for an interview! Go, go, go!
Evening, folks! Stop Number Two on The Deadly Seven’s blog tour is over at Mila Ramos’ blog. There’s a spotlight and excerpt ready for you to enjoy. Thanks and see you tomorrow for Stop #3!
-Kyoko
Today’s the day! We’re kicking off a week-long blog tour for The Deadly Seven. There’s going to be interviews, spotlights, excerpts, and more coming atcha.
Our first stop is with my good friend, Melanie, over at Fang Freakin’ Tastic Reviews. We’ve got a fun little post about who I’d pick to play the main characters of the Black Parade series if it ever became a movie.
Don’t forget that you can enter to win a copy of The Deadly Seven either as an eBook or in paperback if you visit the post above.
Tune in tomorrow for our next stop!
-Kyoko
Good afternoon, everyone! Today I have the honor of being the first stop for Elizabeth Los’ fantasy novel, Second on the Right.
Second On The Right
Elizabeth Los
Spawned from an ancient promise, treachery and intrigue follow the protagonists through our world and one lost to the waves. Bound by an invisible bond, they are thrust into a fantastical world of pirates and demons.
James Benedict is a just man haunted by evil. Pushed to the edge, everything stripped from him, a new man arises . . . a man whose name strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it: “Captain Hook”.
Eileen Davis was a timid woman. Through a fateful cruise she finds herself in the company of the Captain of the Mistral Thief. With his guidance, and the meddling of the local barista, she eventually finds her inner strength.
Will the two of them unite through time to fulfill the promise of their ancestors or will tempers ignite leading all to failure?
Genre: Fantasy
Purchase Links
CreateSpace | B&N | Smashwords | Amazon US | Amazon UK | iBooks
Excerpt #1
The night grew its darkest, just before dawn, when every man aboard the Mistral Thief heard a strange triumphant crow. Benedict shot up with a start. Recognizing the familiar sound, he grabbed hold of his sword and burst out onto the deck. He could make out the figure of the boy, Peter.
He heard the sound of his crew, spooked by the noise of what shouldn’t be on board a ship. They scurried to light the deck lamps. As the light grew stronger, Benedict could see more clearly a petite figure on the mast, hands on hips, weapon at the side. Glancing back to the deck, he saw James coming from below. Benedict decided to hold off on approaching the figure, knowing of James’ desire for revenge. He kept a watchful eye, fully aware of James’ tendency to act on impulse.
“Peter,” James said in a low growl. “Show yourself!” he shouted.
“That crow. I’ve heard that before,” Benedict commented.
Peter alighted onto the railing with such ease and grace it irritated James. He gave a slight bow, as if observing the niceties. Pulling one of two bags from his belt, he held it up in his hand. James held the sheath of his sword with his hook, struggling only momentarily to hurriedly unsheathe it.
Peter laughed and shook his bag, “Need a hand?” He laughed even more, causing chills to run through James.
James advanced towards him, but stopped short. Peter had reached into the bag he had been holding and had removed a rotting hand, with fingers missing. It was all too familiar to James: his right hand. James and Benedict cringed, disgusted at the sight.
Peter tossed it at James, who jumped back in disgusted. The splat of soft, wet flesh hit the wood, matching the feeling in the pit of their stomachs. Laughing, Peter spun up in flight, and landed back down on the deck, retrieving the hand. Pieces had been left behind from its initial fall.
“No? Much happier with a hook, are we? You’re welcome,” he sneered. “There’s one who would appreciate a hand, yours, in fact.” He floated to the railing to glance at the waters below. “Come, take a look. I promise I won’t bite,” he grinned, taking several steps away to allow James to draw near.
James and Benedict cautiously took a glimpse. What they saw was the shadowy shape of an enormous crocodile.
James said to him, “Impossible. They can’t grow that large, can they?”
Benedict had no response. He had never seen one that large. In the water, the crocodile, nearly twenty meters long, ticked and hissed. The sounds were eerily similar to a clock.
Benedict and James peered down again at the beast. The crocodile thrashed and clawed its way partially up the side of the Mistral Thief. Sweat dampened James’ brow. Benedict looked at Peter, who was now dangling the remaining portion of what he assumed was James’ right hand over the side of the ship. The crocodile leapt from the water, greatly desiring either the hand of James or James himself.
Both James and Benedict cringed, though it was James that moved away from the railing. The scratching of the crocodile’s claws on the side of the ship seemed to make him tremble. Peter laughed maniacally, and tossed James’ hand to the crocodile.
“You’ve been using it for bait?” James looked at Peter, horror and disgust evident on his face. “This is all a game to you.”
Pan. He hasn’t aged. Should I tell James? Benedict thought. His eyes shifted in James’ direction. He needs to know.
James pointed his sword at Peter. “What do you want?” He shouted.
Peter unsheathed his knife, circling around the deck. James followed suit. Occasionally, Peter would tap the end of his sword. However, Benedict knew James was a man of indomitable courage. James held his sword steady, firmly in his left hand, his hook slightly hidden behind him. His eyes were cold as steel. At that moment, James appeared to be in complete control of his emotions and actions. Benedict couldn’t help but beam proudly at what he had done for James.
“What do I want?” Peter asked himself thoughtfully. He looked back at James, his eyes glowing faintly red. “I want you to pay,” but he stopped. “Then again, perhaps you are suffering a bit. After all, I’m finding your son to be a delicious addition to my lost boys.” He ended this with a slight hiss.
“I’ve done nothing to you,” James replied. “I believe you’re the one that will pay for taking my family.”
Benedict subtly moved closer to James. He could see how the boy was manipulating James, using the loss of Eileen and Robbie to rile him to the point of pure rage. Benedict knew all too well how easy it was to make James angry.
“Jas,” he said in quiet warning, seeing James’ shoulders rise and fall more frequently.
James voice wavered, “What areyou?”
Benedict hesitated to offer his knowledge. What would it serve but to merely fan the flame the boy had started. Quietly he said to James, “Me thinks he’s Pete, a boy I met years ago. Feeds off humans.”
“Explain, please,” James murmured to Benedict, not taking his eyes off Peter.
“Not quite o’ changeling. Thought ta be mere legend, but I’d seen it with me own eyes. A powerful creature, though from what world, I’m not sure. Feeds off tha young, slow and sure ta stay alive. No doubt, yer boy be one he’s feedin’ on,” he explained.
Peter held a penetrating gaze at Benedict. “Oooohh. You’re a rather smart one, aren’t you? But I am at a disadvantage. You seem to know me, but I do not recognize you.” The boy’s face scrunched up in contemplation until he seemed to have an epiphany, “The one who set me free! You’re so…old!”
James looked over at the captain. “You set him free?” he whispered angrily. “Why am I not surprised?”
Benedict did his best to avoid eye contact. He knew he would have to explain all of this later. Perhaps he’ll forget. Not likely though.
“It’s true.” Peter said with a grinned. “I did feed on her. The red hair had to go.” He made a violent motion as he spoke.
“Jas,” Benedict warned, seeing James tense, the muscles in his jaw tightened.
James waved him off, stepping forward.
Peter continued. “Her white skin, so soft and supple. Her screams of terror and pain, delicious. Oh, she was wonderful!” He paused for a moment, then finished, “Particularly the chewy center within.” With the last sentence, his wicked eyes fell on James.
James screamed in anguish. He charged for Peter. Benedict reached out to stop him, but he was too slow. Peter flew up to the top of the mast. James, whose momentum had gotten the better of him, teetered at the rail. The crocodile waited eagerly below. James grunted in an effort to push himself back.
Peter howled in laughter, pointing, mocking and pantomiming actions as if he were James falling over the railing. James ran to the ropes, set to climb. Benedict shouted, but James didn’t hear. Not being heeded, he and a few crewmen pounced on him, holding him down.
“Take him ta me quarters!” he barked at the bo’sun. They held James, who thrashed violently. It took five men to drag James into the captain’s quarters and slam the doors shut. Benedict addressed Peter, “Ye best be leavin’ now, or ye be facin’ mywrath.”
Peter shrugged off the threat. “I have no quarrel with you, old man.” He jumped off the mast, floating high above. “Tell himI’ll be waiting, in Neverland.” And he flew off.
Benedict rubbed his sore eyes. “I’m gettin’ too old fer this.”
At his quarters, Benedict’s hand stopped at the door. James’ screams of rage could be heard from within. Benedict opted to take his time. Making a course adjustment, he continued towards El Tiburón.
Author Bio
Elizabeth uses writing as therapy, her release from everyday stress. At night, after work and once the children are finally tucked in bed, for the fifth time, she sits at her laptop and lets her imagination flow.
Elizabeth has produced short stories, one of which will be published in an anthology. She’s had fun writing a Sherlock Holmes fan fiction story, A Case of Need, based on the BBC’s Sherlock. By July 2011, her first novel, Second on the Right, had been completed. She spent several years polishing the story in order to provide a high quality product to the public. Second on the Right is her first professional novel.
Author Links
Twitter:https://twitter.com/SantaFlash
Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/santaflash
My blog:http://www.elizabethlos.com
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/AuthorELos
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6624486.Elizabeth_Los
Giveaway
My Review:
Very few authors have the talent to take something legendary and classic and put a creative spin on it, but Elizabeth Los is one of the privileged few. All the great things about storytelling are present–compelling main characters, a sprawling world to go frolic in, gripping sexual tension, and a twisty-turny-timey-whimey ball of peril as the cherry on top. The language is lovely and the descriptions are more than easy to picture. I especially found myself wrapped up in the setting, which is so easy to feel as you read. It also smacks of the more traditional methods of writing, which can be a double-edged sword.
One is reminded slightly of the Harlequin novels, but more like a faint memory than an intentional homage. The pacing is also a bit slow, but the payoff is more than worth it.
Well, it’s finally here!
The Deadly Seven is free to purchase on Amazon all day today. Swoop in and grab yourself a copy.
The Black Parade is also free all day today, May 9, via Smashwords, so grab a copy if you haven’t already.
We are also right in the middle of the virtual book launch party for The Deadly Seven, so please drop in for your chance to win prizes.
Thanks for your support!
Kyoko