The Retreat 

About the Author:

When Kelly St Clare is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie. She can, quite literally, drift past a car accident while in the midst of her day dreams, despite the various police sirens and chaos.

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Afterlife by Sandy Goldsworthy 
(The Afterworld Saga #2)
Published by: Clean Teen Publishing
Publication date: August 29th 2016
Genres: Paranormal Romance, Young Adult

Excerpt:

Sheer Stillness

It was a moment of sheer stillness.

Between the impact of the crash and the point the victims acknowledged it happened, an ugly calmness flooded their minds. In that tiny interim of time, they couldn’t quite determine if they lived or died. When they slowly opened their eyes, humans were often afraid to look anywhere but straight ahead. Until their vision cleared, victims had trouble understanding if they were safe, injured, or if their condition was serious. It was the point of in-between when pain was not yet recognized and uncertainty flourished.

The exact same feeling occurred when one transitioned.

“Emma,” I whispered, removing the invisible web I cloaked over her prior to the accident. The intricate weave of the net held her in place during impact. She couldn’t see the neon blue glow, but I could, and so could headquarters. Severing my tether and going off grid to tell her the truth about me only worked when I wasn’t using excessive powers.

Crashing into a hundred-year-old oak tree was cause for use of excessive powers. Except, I hadn’t worried about the consequences—at the time.

“Emma,” I called again. This time, I put my hand on her neck. My fingers searched for her pulse. I pressed the tip of my forefinger on her vein and felt the slow, steady thump. Slight pressure increased her pulse to the speed of mine. In seconds, she opened her eyes. “Shhhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She blinked. When she looked forward, all she saw was me. Moments passed as her mind recalibrated her location, the accident, and the escape from the tavern. When she teetered on recalling our conversation and the confusion of me telling her who I was, I knew I had to compel her.

It was the right thing to do.

I stared into her eyes and watched her pupils dilate. In that instant, she was mine. I could make her do anything I wanted—tell her a lie she’d believe as truth, make her forget I cheated, or have her remember our past life together. She was under my control.

“Ben?” Emma whispered. My concentration was broken by the softness of her voice. My chance to compel her was lost.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“What happened—?” Emma tried leaning forward, but the space around us was constricting. Emma’s door was crushed inward, her seat shifted to the middle of the vehicle. The front bench seat was now diagonal and further back than its original position. It rested inches from Emma’s knees. The 1980’s Chevrolet sedan was now a part of the tall oak tree.

“Shhh. We were in an accident. How do you feel?”

Emma looked around, her eyes widening. Panic crossed her mind, and I held her hand.

“It’s okay. Are you hurt?” I asked, although I already knew she was fine. I had protected her, after all. She calmed when I stroked my thumb over her fingers.

She shook her head.

Lights glowed from behind us. Distant voices sounded, and I knew it was a matter of time. I placed my hand on the inside of her wrist. Squeezing gently and only for an instant, I was able to increase Emma’s blood pressure long enough for the alcohol content to dissipate. A blood test would be the first test run at a hospital to verify if intoxication was a factor. It would be devastating in Emma’s mind if her aunt learned she’d been drinking. If only I could do the same to Lucas and Brinn.

A flashlight shone in the rear window, and someone yelled. “Anyone hurt?”

I cleared my throat and called back. “We’re pinned.”

“Aaaahhh.” A moan crept up, like a crescendo, from deep within Brinn’s diaphragm. She extended her hand toward Lucas, but she stopped when she realized the dashboard filled the gap between them. “Lucas?” she croaked.

He didn’t answer.

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Quest Post with Sandy Goldsworthy:

What is your writing inspiration?

That’s an interesting question. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been inspired to write. In high school, my English teacher didn’t love the assignment I turned in. I thought it was perfect—just what she was looking for. It wasn’t.

The assignment was to describe a house. I wrote that the door was red. My teacher didn’t like just red. She wanted to really “see” the red. It was a turning point for me. Instead of being a chore, writing was something I enjoyed. It was an art to me.

Every time I read a good book, I get inspired to write. Great characters and twisting plots motivate me to craft my story—to take it to the next level.

Aftermath started when the character of Ben Parker came to life. About five years ago, I had a very vivid dream of a train derailment. Railcars tumbled off a ridge, landing on top of each other in a ravine. In my dream, there was a young man that appeared untouched by the accident. Once everything settled, he pulled the victims from the crash site and escorted them to the afterworld. I still remember waking up, my heart pounding in my chest.

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Excerpt

Ivan spoke with an excited voice. “Do you hear it, Ember?”

I tilted my head and listened. It was faint, but there was a low rumble in the distance. As we walked forward the sound grew.

“Yes. Is that the falls?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “We’re almost there.”

Soon the noise was a deafening roar, vibrating in my ears. When we stepped out of the cover of the trees, I was astonished. Raven Branch Falls was much larger than I expected. The water dropped from nearly seventy feet into a dark pool. Giant boulders jutted out below the pool to create smaller falls, which led into a rapidly flowing rocky creek bed.

My gaze was drawn to a tree leaning out from the side of the falls where a large grey owl was partially hidden in the foliage. There was something familiar about its eyes, and the way it was looking at me gave me the distinct feeling that I knew the bird. Could it be the same owl I saw racing through the air the day of my arrival?

Ivan grasped my arm and tugged me closer to the falls. He held my arm tightly as we stepped onto the boulders beside the deep water hole. Spots on the enormous rocks were wet and slippery from the spray of the falls and I was grateful for his help. He led me out to the farthest point we could go, where a carpet of soft moss blanketed the surface of a particularly large boulder. Ivan gestured for me to sit, which I did, and then he bounded off, climbing along the boulders until he was a little ways downstream.

I watched him go, thinking what a nice boy—or wolf, he was.

Without looking, I knew Sawyer was behind me. The movements of my stomach and heart gave him away.  He sat down very close.

“Where did you come from?” he coaxed softly.

For a second I saw the boy from my dream.

The breath caught in my throat. I gazed at him.

He doesn’t seem evil to me.

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Zero

by Morgan Dark

Release Date: June 28th 2016

Rubiños 1860

Summary:

Kyle Bradford is the envy of Drayton College, but everything takes a turn when a dangerous shadow, hidden in the darkness, starts to stalk him. From then on, his life falls apart. Unjustly accused of being the main suspect behind the robberies terrifying high society, he is forced to prove his innocence. And to do so, he has to find the real culprit: Zero, an infallible criminal who keeps his identity hidden under a silver mask. What Kyle does not know is that his enemy is keeping a secret. A secret he would sacrifice everything for.

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE

The police were the last to arrive. Five patrol cars. They got out of their vehicles, some of them with pistol in hand, and quickly regrouped on the stairs leading to the Los Angeles Opera.

By that time, the curious onlookers were already there. Most of them were upper class. Exclusive spectators who, just half an hour earlier, were watching the world premiere of Macbeth, and were now chatting amongst themselves, speculating on the incident that had just taken place.

The journalists were there, too. As soon as the news leaked, on-call editors came out charging and were now banging on the main door, armed with their cameras and microphones. Their group included a young journalist fresh out of college reporting on the occurrence for a local television station.

“It appears that another robbery has taken place. This time, at the Los Angeles Opera. Owned by multi-millionaire Marissa Grossman, the Empress Diadem has disappeared. For the time being, there are no witnesses. The thief’s identity is still unknown, but it is believed that he may be…”

“Look!” shouted someone from the group of curious bystanders. They were pointing toward the rooftop of the Opera.

There he was: dressed in a form-fitting black suit, a hood covering his head and his face hidden behind a silver mask with a smile frozen in place. Like a shadow blending into the dark of night. Not a soul was unaware of who the unknown man with that arrogant gaze was or what he had done over the past few months. Even so, his presence provoked a certain strange fascination that immediately drew everyone’s interest and attention.

“That’s him! Yeah, that’s him!”

Murmurs of alarm quickly rose up from the crowd of onlookers and the journalists pointed their camera lenses toward the Opera rooftop, trying to snap the most perfect picture possible of the mysterious individual. The police were the last ones to react and, at first, the only thing they managed to do was bring order to the impromptu crowd.

The dreaded one-hundred-million-dollar thief. The same one who had spent the last six months stealing objects of countless value. A slippery ghost who committed impossible robberies and disappeared without a trace.

Nobody knew his real name, because his true identity was a mystery. The media had christened him as “Zero” because the name was the closest thing to what they knew about him: nothing. Since they hadn’t come up with anything better, the police kept using the nickname. Now, everybody called the shadow the same thing.

“We need more forces! Tell all units in the area to come immediately. Get moving!” shouted Lieutenant Brown. A hoarse voice came from his throat, annoyed by the humiliation and anger. Once again… Once again, he had managed to slip past them… How was it possible?

The day before, the police station had received a message sent by Zero himself, telling them that his next target was the Empress Diadem: a sparkling 16th-century diamond, ruby and emerald tiara. But he didn’t say when or where the robbery would take place. Like always.

It wasn’t the first time the Lieutenant had received one of these warnings. The only difference was that, this time, he had moved heaven and earth to stop it. He had sent his best men to escort Marissa Grossman to the bank where she kept the diadem and then back to her mansion. He also assigned surveillance patrols and sensors with alarms all over the house. He was convinced that if the robber wanted to commit the theft, he could only do it at the Grossman’s house where, in theory, it would be easier.

But he never showed up. Zero didn’t come. The Empress Diadem remained safe and sound and the officers went back to the station, where they were received with cheers and applause. For the first time, they had prevented one of his thefts… Or at least, that’s what they thought until the Opera director had called them to say that the jewel had vanished from its owner’s head during the second act of Macbeth. Under Marissa Grossman’s seat, they found a silver coin: the robber’s unmistakable signature.

From the rooftop, Zero contemplated the scene unfolding at the building’s entrance. He was totally calm, delighting in the confused look on the police officers’ faces. He hadn’t the slightest doubt that they must be wondering how he had done it and what plan he had come up with this time to take off with the Grossman family’s valuable relic in a place so full of people, without getting caught. They could keep on speculating.

They would never find him out.

Five minutes, he calculated. That was how long it would take the officers to pounce and trap him. He had just enough time to slip away before they surrounded him. After that, Lieutenant Brown and his men would search the city, like they always did. They would go into the surrounding homes. They would search the few businesses that still remained open. They would create quite a stir, trying to find him. When they were finished, Zero would already be far away. Maybe peacefully sleeping in his bed, as if he hadn’t the slightest to do with the fact that he would be the day’s most important news tomorrow.

Just that easy. Just that simple.

Another impeccable robbery. The twentieth one in less than six months. Not too bad. Not bad at all, in fact. He stepped away from the edge of the roof and put the Empress Diadem away inside his suit for safekeeping.

Only then did he realize that he wasn’t alone.

A silhouette stood between him and his only escape route, blocking his flight.

“We finally meet face-to-face.”

They didn’t need to get any closer. Or for the moonlight to illuminate the newcomer’s face, hidden behind a strange shadow. Zero was fully aware of who he was. He would recognize that raspy voice anywhere. His name? Dimitri Cooper. The best detective in Los Angeles and officially responsible for his capture, specifically entrusted with the task by the Government.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Detective,” said the robber, as if their meeting, far from being a setback, was an excuse to have a pleasant chat. Dimitri didn’t answer. He removed his pistol and aimed at Zero.

“I’m afraid this will be our first and our last meeting. I had a hard time finding you, although I finally did.”

Zero was unfazed when he saw the gun was aimed at him.

“We could say that I’m not too friendly with the police.”

“You’ve been stealing from innocent people for half a year, and you still have the gall to make those jokes of yours.” Dimitri motioned for Zero to move toward him, and held his pistol more tightly. “You can come over here so I can cuff you now. And don’t try any funny stuff.”

“What funny stuff would I try?”

“Just put your hands in the air!”

Zero obeyed.

“Now, start walking if you don’t want to get shot.

For a fraction of a second, the robber glanced at his suit’s right-hand pocket. He could see the outline of a small, rounded object inside… He made no move to grab it. He just stared at it, as if thinking about something.

“Let’s get a move on!” brayed Dimitri.

He brought his attention back to the detective and slowly walked toward him, calmly analyzing his rival’s appearance, so different from his own: his emotionless countenance was chiseled in stone, with metallic gray eyes that looked like they could drill through him. He was wearing a trench coat that reached his knees, his police badge hanging from one side of his belt while his pistol holster hung from the other.

He stopped just a few feet away from him.

“Good. It’s over. Finally.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Before Dimitri could move, Zero rushed the distance between them and kicked his pistol. Dimitri couldn’t hang on to it and it was lost in the darkness. In the blink of an eye, Zero rose up like a giant behind the detective and grabbed him by the neck, immobilizing him. He had moved so quickly that it seemed as if time had stopped and he was the only one able to move from one side to the other.

“I think I remember you mentioning something about me being trapped, or something like that.”

“You’re fast.”

“I wouldn’t be the one-hundred-million-dollar thief if I wasn’t.”

“That’s true. But you’ve got a defect that trumps your speed.”

“Oh, I do? And what might that be?”

“You’re too sure of yourself,” Dimitri said while closing his fist and then, forcefully, punched his enemy’s stomach. Zero hissed out in pain and surprise. He doubled over, instinctively releasing the police officer. Now he was the one without time to react.

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy?”

The robber’s eyes gave off a sinister glint that made the hair on the back of Dimitri’s neck bristle. He moved back. They had never been so close. In fact, he doubted that anyone had ever managed to get so close to the legendary criminal. But now that there were just a few feet between them, now that he was right in front of him, he felt like running away and escaping.

He had been on the force for too long to be intimidated by a criminal who wasn’t even armed. And yet…

There was something different about him. His presence. His mere existence. Whoever he was, this robber gave off…a strange aura. He wouldn’t even know how to put it into words. How he moved and the power he held was disturbing, frightening. Attractive… but as gloomy as the Los Angeles nighttime sky.

While Dimitri was lost in thought, Zero took the opportunity to recover from the blow and counterattacked. Just as swiftly as before, he pounced on his rival and grabbed his arm, spinning around and throwing him over his back. The officer fell on his side and, for a few seconds, the only thing he could see were stars dancing around inside his head.

His brief period of reflection had cost him dearly. “You shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”

“My duty is to arrest you. You, and everyone else like you,” Dimitri groaned. His entire body hurt. And he had a broken rib. Or two. For sure.

“I’m not like everyone else.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve realized that tonight.”

“You’d better stop chasing after me. You’ll be the one who ends up getting hurt.”

“There’s an easy solution for that. Stop robbing, turn yourself in, and I’ll quit bothering you.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I…”

Zero’s words were left hanging in the air. Something drew his attention away. A small black object, fallen at the detective’s feet. His gloved hand shot like a lightning bolt to his right-hand pocket. The circular object that was there before had disappeared and, in its stead, there was a remnant of ripped fabric, shredded on the side. His shoulders tensed imperceptibly.

“What’s wrong? Looks like you’re worn out from fighting,” Dimitri mocked him.

He stoically bore the pain and stood up. He couldn’t afford to sit in a corner and nurse his wounds. He had to stop this criminal he had been chasing for months. Moving forward, his heel drew dangerously close to the object under the robber’s gaze.

“No!”

The police officer froze, bewildered. He looked down at the object at his feet. Intrigued, he bent down and picked it up.

“Now what might this be?”

“Don’t touch that.” Zero wasn’t acting as calm as he had been before. One could almost feel the tension emanating from his body.

“Put it down!”

Like a cat, he jumped at Dimitri. He moved too abruptly and the object slipped from the detective’s hand. It arced through the air before plunging to the ground.

It hit the rooftop, cracking like a whip in the air. Almost at the same time, Zero let out a piercing shriek. A metallic taste filled his mouth and something liquid started spilling out over his chin. Blood. He let out a groan and closed his eyes to contain the sudden pain punishing every part of his being.

“Meddling policeman,” he muttered. His head was spinning as he staggered.

Dimitri held him up, not understanding what was happening. The pain he saw shooting from the robber’s eyes was no performance act. Zero was hurt, but how? He remembered banging into him, but not hard enough for him to be in such a state…

No matter what, he had to do something. He wanted to catch him, and that had been his goal for six months now. But he didn’t want his death on his conscience. Not his death, or anybody else’s. He couldn’t leave him like that. He took a radio from his trench coat and started giving orders, never leaving his prisoner for even an instant.

“Attention, this is Officer Dimitri speaking. I need a medical team. I repeat. I need a medical team. I have an unconscious civilian on the Los Angeles Opera rooftop.”

“Who are you calling unconscious?” mumbled Zero. The object that fell from his pocket was just a few feet away. He tried to take a few steps toward it. Dimitri stopped him.

“Don’t even thing about moving.” He held on to his arm more tightly and added, “I already told you that this would be our first and our last meeting.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Have you seen yourself? I highly doubt you can escape with the state you’re in.” Dimitri couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Before, Zero had given him the chills.

His presence was almost supernatural. Now, he looked like a helpless, vulnerable kid… His gaze came to rest on the silver mask. It perfectly fit its owner’s factions, hiding his face from the hairline to the chin. After so many weeks chasing him down, so many sleepless nights because of him, he still didn’t know who was hiding behind the disguise.

He hooked his fingers behind the titanium hooks holding the mask to Zero’s face. Zero started to squirm as soon as he understood his intentions.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Are you afraid I’ll find out the truth?”

Dimitri released the titanium locks and the silver mask fell from its place, revealing the famous thief’s identity. They observed one another in the darkness. Two enemies, finally face-to-face after countless chases and escapes. Neither of them spoke a word. They merely regarded one another. The detective couldn’t believe what he saw. As far as he was concerned, Zero felt a wave of anger rising up in his throat, consuming his pain and turning it to fury.

They had found out his secret… They had found out who he was…

“That’s impossible…” whispered Dimitri. “I know you…”

Zero grabbed the tranquilizer dart gun hidden on his leg. Before the detective could utter his name, before he could even say one syllable, he shot him in the neck. The officer immediately dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

The thief bent over and picked up his mask. He put it on again. But he knew full well that it was too late now.

He knows…

Six officers burst onto the rooftop. Lieutenant Brown was with them, anxious to avenge how ridiculous Zero had made him look at the Grossman’s house, at any price. They aimed their guns at him.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

Zero ignored the order and looked for the circular object that he had lost. It was too close to the police officers. It would be impossible to get it back without getting riddled by bullets while trying. But if he left it behind… If someone touched it… He hesitated. What should he choose? He knew that no matter what he decided, he would regret it. So he opted for the lesser evil.

He took out one of the smoke bombs he only used when urgently needed and threw it to the ground. A gray cloud spread over the rooftop, covering everything under a dense fog.

When it had cleared, the circular object was right where it was before. But Zero had disappeared.

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About the Author:

Morgan Dark is one of the most original teenage literature writers. Always enveloped in suspense, as of yet no one knows her true identity. She began writing ZERO after a hooded man robbed her in her New York apartment. Included amongst the stolen items was her favorite ring. After ZERO became one of the most awaited teenage books in 2015, her ring showed up in her

house again… in black envelope with no sender.

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Excerpt:

“In the vision, I was sitting on a bench,” says Jomeini, her eyes distant. “The sunlight beat warm against the stone I sat on, but the wind that blew was brisk and harsh. A storm rode on that wind, a storm I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. Afterwards, I drew this.”

Jomeini pulls another card from beside the others and hands it to Shasa.

“It’s a coat,” Shasa says, confused. She traces a finger over the handless, headless trenchcoat, drawn as though it’s blowing in the very wind Jomeini claims she felt during its vision.

“I assumed it meant that I wouldn’t be comfortable in my home much longer, that I would need protection from whatever storm was riding on that wind. I assumed it meant that Grandfather was taking me from my refuge, my home in Xavienke, and that I would need to find protection in Valadir. And it did, in a sense. But the drawing was also literal. Whose coat do you see?”

Chills brush across Shasa’s skin. “Color it yellow, and that could be Craven’s.”

Jomeini rubs her arms as if chafing away whatever memory fills her mind at that moment. Shasa wonders if it’s the same one she’s recalling, the sight of the dingy yellow trenchcoat Craven wore the day he snatched Shasa from right in front of the Triad Palace into an abandoned building and stole her magic then and there.

“What does the star mean, then?” Shasa asks. When Jomeini doesn’t answer immediately, Shasa continues thinking aloud. “Stars provide light in the night sky. They’ve held their places for years, giving sailors something to sail by.”

“But this one is a shooting star,” Jomeini says. “This one is setting off on its own course.”

“And you think it pertains to Tyrus?”

Jomeini shakes her head. “I thought so at first. I Saw Tyrus, yes. But I Saw others with him. Among his soldiers was a blonde woman I didn’t recognize.”

“A group of stars,” Shasa says inwardly. “With one straying from all the rest.”

“It means change is coming, and someone is at the center of it. I thought it was Tyrus, but now I’m not so sure. See the other star beside this? See how the bursts on the star go one way, so it looks like the star can be spearing to the left? But if you look at it this way…” Jomeini turns the card until it’s upside down. “Now the star could be shooting to the right.”

“So Tyrus isn’t leaving?”

“Not in so many words. It’s more complicated than I can explain, but something Tyrus is going to do will be as vast as the effort of crossing an ocean with no other guide but the stars. It’s going to change the world as we know it. And depending on what we do, that change is going to veer the races one way or the other. For good.” She holds the star picture one way. “Or for ill.” She turns it the other direction.

Shasa swallows and takes the card, experimenting. The star’s direction turns with each flip, more indecisive than the weather. It’s like the picture of a smiling man with a furrow in his forehead her mother used to draw. She would turn it upside down, and though the picture hadn’t changed at all, the man would look sad and menacing instead. All because of one or two carefully placed lines.

“So how do we get this change to veer in the direction we want it to go?” Shasa asks.

Jomeini doesn’t answer. Instead, she fingers the collar at her throat. The two girls sit in the boat in silence, bathing in the deep wake of their thoughts.

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The Burning Star & The Frozen Star
Jessie Lane, M.L. Pahl
(Star #1)
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult

Synopsis for The Burning Star:

Seventeen-year-old Kay’s journey of a lifetime started in the woods where she met a beautiful man … along with a monster. The chance encounter led her to an unbelievable world that shouldn’t have existed, a place where myths and fairytales were real and, in some cases, deadly.

Kay knew she would have to brave this new world if she hoped to find a cure for her terminal cancer.

With a strange yet beautiful cast of characters, Kay uncovered truths that would change her life forever. However, before it was all over, she discovered she wasn’t the only one with problems.

Yet another seventeen-year-old young woman was fighting for her life.

Kira had grown up in a magical world. Despite this, her life had not been filled with many good things. She considered her empty, emotional solitude the only positive aspect of her life and fought daily battles to escape abuse and torture.

Trained to be an expert assassin, she was charged with kidnapping Kay and delivering her to Kira’s master, Lord Donovan.

As the two young women set forth on their journeys, their paths would cross in unimaginable ways. There was only one question that remained: who would come out alive?

Excerpt:

I stood there frozen, knowing that I would probably die because of this wretched creature, when all of a sudden I saw the quick movement of an arm bringing down the point of the knife, slicing towards the large creature’s skull. The animal’s enraged screams ripped through the woods surrounding us.

My brain tried to analyze what was happening before me as I stood still as a statue and watched as the monster started to crumble away like something that had been burnt from the inside out and then fell apart.

This can’t be real.

I looked up from the ashes into the face of an angel.

He’s not an angel; he’s just a guy. Right?

He was staring at me as if he had just seen me sprout a second head. I was staring back at him like he was somehow related to those alien birds outside my window. My mouth flapped open to scream again, but before a sound could escape, the world faded to black, and I fainted.

At least I didn’t scream again.

 When I opened my eyes, two ethereal blue eyes were staring back at me. My head was throbbing like a bass drum in a marching band, and it felt like my head might split in two from the pounding headache.

“Are you okay?” he asked me, his voice strong but sweet.

Before I could stop my mouth from saying anything ridiculous, I replied, “Are you an angel? Did I finally die and go to Heaven?”

He bellowed a laugh while I blushed a shade that was more than likely lobster red. I smacked myself in the forehead and tried to hide my face behind my hand. What a brilliant way to make a first impression on an extremely hot guy. That’s when it hit me.

The past few moments of events flooded my brain again and I started to panic.

“Wait a minute! What was that thing and how in the world did it just, just—”

“The dog? I had to cut it with my knife to scare it away. It wasn’t a mortal wound though. He took off through the woods to escape. Sorry if you’re one of those animal lovers, but I was afraid it might kill one of us.”

I shook my head to try to clear it. “No, no, no, no. That was no dog. Well, it was at first, but then it became something else. It was black and huge and had those red eyes…”

Before I finished my sentence, I looked up at him to see complete shock and amazement on his face. I had never seen anyone look so bewildered.

“Don’t look at me like that! I know what I saw! Now what was that thing and what happened to it? It didn’t run off; I saw you kill it. And I would point to the body to prove it, but it, well, it fell apart or something.”

In a split second, the shock had disappeared from his handsome face, replaced by something more masked and calculating. “I’m sorry, but you’re quite mistaken. I didn’t kill it. I only wounded it. And it was a dog. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something? I’m afraid you might be having some kind of hallucination.” Somehow, when he said it, it didn’t seem as scary or grotesque as it did when I played what I saw back in my head.

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Synopsis for The Frozen Star:

The journey continues …

Kay discovered secrets, lies, shocking truths, and even love in a strange new world hidden from humans. Everything she thought she knew was turned upside down when she found out three things: she wasn’t human; she had a power she couldn’t control; and there was a possibility she might have found a way to cure her deadly cancer by using that very same power.

Just when she was on the precipice of gaining everything she wanted and saving her own life, tragedy struck. Would she be able to fight her way back to Ryan and save herself in the process?

Kira had lived a terrifying life of servitude and abuse under Lord Donovan and his son, Cole. It was an existence that had stripped away her emotions and reasons to keep fighting.

Just when she thought freedom was within reach, Lord Donovan struck again, ruining her plans and almost killing her. When she awoke from her injuries, it was to stunning revelations that would change her life forever, changes she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted.

Persistent individuals, such as Prince Kane, refused to let her walk away, though. Would she embrace all of her sudden fortune? Or would she walk away from those who needed her most, forsaking their acceptance and love?

WARNING: This is a upper ya/young adult/new adult fictional story that includes some explicit language, graphic violence, and mild sexual situations. Recommended for ages sixteen and up.

*This book is a re-release and revision from the original book published in 2012. Please be aware that some things have been added, deleted or changed.*

Excerpt:

“Kira, do you have any birthmarks?”

That is it! My patience was long gone at this point. I stomped my foot in frustration and fisted my hands at my sides. How dare they start asking about my bodily marks! Over the years, my entire life really, I’d had all of my freedoms stripped from me. This was too much! There was no way I was going to let these people try to strip away the freedom of keeping any personal knowledge about my body to myself.

No longer thinking of the innate dangers of how one should act or speak to royalty, I shouted, “NO!”

Shocked looks went around the room at my angry outburst, but I lingered on Kane’s excessively amused look.

“Interesting…”

Growling in exasperation, I spoke through gritted teeth. “What’s interesting, Kane? Are you mocking me somehow?”

“Kira, dove, look down.”

Doing as he said, I looked to the floor and froze. Not quite literally, but it was pretty damn close.

Underneath the foot I had stomped a second before, the floor glistened with frost and ice. A layer of ice also encased my foot and had effectively sealed it to the area of frosted floor around said foot.

“Ah, God! Undo this, Kane! Undo it right now! Why would you do this to me?” I kept trying to jerk my leg up, but it wouldn’t budge an inch from its frozen spot on the floor.

“I had nothing to do with that, Kira. That is all you, dove.”

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About the Authors:

Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.

She’s also a proud member of the Romance Writer’s of America (RWA).

To be notified about new releases you can sign up for her Newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/2XZan

Please visit Jessie at: http://jessielanebooks.com/ for more information!

Author Links:

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ML Pahl or simply Mel to her friends and family, grew up in coastal North Carolina. With the Marine Corps at her back and the sandy beaches beckoning her face on, she learned that nothing could hinder her imagination.

She wrote and released her first novel, Zombies Don’t Ride Motorcycles, a lil’ zombie apocalypse novel that had the beginnings of a love story threaded in there, with her brother Matthew Leo in December 2014. (Written under the name Melissa Leo-Pahl)
Not wanting to be stuck in one genre, ML Pahl decided to dabble in everything from Science-Fiction to Romantic Comedy and even Paranormal. Whiskey Diaries is book one in the One Night Only series and her first solo project.
Not only is ML Pahl an author she is the owner/operator of IndieVention Designs. A book formatting and book cover company servicing other indie authors like herself.
Melissa currently resides in the frozen north of Minnesota, where she lives with her family and those cute dogs she’s always tweeting about.

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Bound by Birthright
by Janeal Falor
Genre: YA Fantasy
Release Date: June 6th 2016

Summary:

About the Author

Amazon best selling author Janeal Falor lives in Utah with her husband and three children. In her non-writing time she teaches her kids to make silly faces, cooks whatever strikes her fancy, and attempts to cultivate a garden even when half the things she plants die. When it’s time for a break she can be found taking a scenic drive with her family or drinking hot chocolate.
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Terrapin by A.C. Troyer 
(Nordic Airre, #1)
Publication date: May 30th 2016
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Excerpt:

“Hold still,” he said.

I froze. My thoughts instantly drew a large coiling snake at my feet, but then a gentle wipe of his thumb swept across my cheek. I jerked away in response. “What are you doing?” I covered his path with my hand, as if the man-germs burned me.

“Hold still. You made it worse. And don’t look at me like I’m your favorite dessert, it’s not helping the situation any.”

There was a tease in his tone. “What situation?” I asked. “And I’m not. Trust me.” I displayed the most repulsed expression I could. The hem of his shirt pulled up over his crossed arms and cleared his head. “Whoa.” My palms few up. “You’re reading the signs all wrong. Put your shirt back on,” I pleaded to him. My eyes widened, soaking up the definition of his stomach. Holy abs.

“You like what you see?” He laughed, waggling his eyebrows.

I gained my composure and mocked a laugh. “I was just thinking you’re almost as toned as I am. Close, but not quite there yet, big guy,” I said, patting his stomach.

His closed lipped dimpled smile awakened something inside of me. The same smile I saw the morning on Senders Rock, the one that sent tingles through my body. I wanted to pull my eyes away. But he was beautiful.

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Shining Sea by Mimi Cross 
Published by: Skyscape
Publication date: May 24th 2016
Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult

Excerpt:

The Rock Hook Harbor public library doesn’t have that library book smell. It smells more like the inside of a guitar. Wooden beams cross high ceilings, and tall windows show the surrounding woods, making it a soothing place to study, a better place to daydream.

Whether I do those things here or in my room, each day by late afternoon I’m up on the lighthouse deck, searching for that lone surfer. So far the only sign of life I’ve seen is a flock of seagulls.

Maybe the surfer was just visiting. Maybe he’s a tourist. That would be a drag. I might never see him again.

School, however, is not a drag, not like San Francisco, and I’m glad. For most of last year I stayed home from school, unable to deal with Lilah not being there, unable to handle the continual questions from friends, classmates, teachers. My assignments were sent home along

with Lilah’s. Mine were sent back completed.

Worse, though, was toward the end of the year, when I went back to school full time. At that point, people must have decided there was no hope for Lilah—or maybe they just didn’t want to keep asking questions that had no answers. Abruptly, the inquiries stopped.

It was then that I turned invisible.

No one knows what to say to the girl whose sister is gone but not gone.

Here, I’m definitely not invisible. In fact—not to be paranoid, but—sometimes it feels like someone’s . . . watching me. And some- times, somebody is. I get that. I see Logan looking at me, or I catch some other boy at school—some boy I don’t know—checking me out from across the cafeteria. But that’s not it. I mean, watching watching. Like, a creepy kind of watching.

I don’t get that feeling when I’m busy, when I’m writing a song, or caught up in classes, so that’s good. Rock Hook Harbor High is a magnet school specializing in marine technology and science, and Early Oceanography has actually started to draw me in. The class meets three times a week, and we have to log an additional six hours every other week in the lab—or out in the field. I’m sticking to the lab, because in this case, “field” means water.

Thanks to contributions from the Ocean Zone Institute, the labs at RHHH are extremely well equipped. OZI is the largest private nonprofit oceanographic institution in the world, with main offices in Portland and a satellite facility in Rock Hook that employs half the town. It has a vested interest in supporting the school.

Yesterday in the lab I was looking at slides of water samples through a microscope. Fascinated, I watched as miniscule creatures swam to and fro. Obviously a few drops of water can’t hurt me, and a powerful lens—it provides a window into another world.

“It’s amazing how the ocean holds so many life-forms we can’t see with the naked eye,” I said to Mary. She stifled a giggle and looked sideways at Logan.

“She said naked,” he obligingly shouted, causing everyone to stop and stare.

“Mary, you shouldn’t encourage him. Logan—you’re not even in

this class.”

“Oh, but he should be,” Mary said, leaning her head on Logan’s shoulder.

I must have looked skeptical, because Logan said, “Don’t act so surprised, Rush. Mary loves me, just like every other woman who’s ever met me. Except you.”

“Yeah, well, you guys have been friends since, what? Preschool?

Maybe you’re an acquired taste.”

“Hey, you just let me know if you want a t—”

“Delaine!” bellowed Mr. Kraig. “What are you doing in this sacred space I call my classroom?”

“Leaving,” Logan replied, giving us a little wave. He grabbed the edges of two lab tables and vaulted over a chair, stopping only to pick up a book that slipped from his back pocket—I confess I craned my neck to read the title but the book was upside down—before heading out the door.

Smiling at the memory of Logan in midair, at the fact that he’s always got a book on him, I look around, like I think I’ll see him or something. But of course he’s not here—I’d totally know if he were. No, the library is practically empty. Quiet. And yet . . . I’ve got that feeling, that weird watched feeling.

I push aside a book about lighthouses. Open one on marine biology. When I was ten, Dad was hired to captain a large research vessel.

He was going to be gone for an entire month. Before he left, we spent the weekend on the boat with the group of scientists, professors, and grad students who were preparing to study the complex waves of a particular inlet in Turkey. Listening to their conversations, I desper- ately wanted to understand everything they were talking about. Over the weekend I became a mascot of sorts and decided I wanted to study oceanography.

Here in Maine the ocean is my front yard, but handling slides of salt water in the lab is the closest I’ve been to the sea . . .

When I first started seeing Dr. Harrison, he said I was suffering from depression. I didn’t want to go on medication, and he was fine with that. He told me that if I paid attention, I’d be able see a bout of depression coming, and then I could handle it appropriately.

That made sense to me; Nick Drake wrote a song calling depression the “black-eyed dog,” which definitely sounds like something you can see coming.

But Dr. Harrison also warned that “an episode” might be preceded by a loop of obsessive thinking, and that’s the thing that still trips me up sometimes. He said what I need to do is break the loop—because the loop can work like a lasso, and anxiety and depression can swing it like a couple of cowboys and catch me if I’m not careful. I’m careful, but . . . guess I’m not always quick.

Another thing Dr. Harrison said was, “Having a social life without your sister is going to be a big change.” Which is why when Logan asks me over to his house, or out to the movies, I say no. Mary told me I should go out with him, that she loves him. “Like a little brother, of course.” She’d laughed. “But still. You should go.”

At home I’d always been Lilah’s little sister. Everyone wanted to be friends with Lilah Rush. Piano prodigy, precocious child, gifted young woman. “Oh, isn’t she the one who—”

After the accident, the phone at our house literally stopped ringing. I run my hands over my face. What about him? is all I can think now. The boy that Lilah met here; did he ever call her? How am I going

to find him?

If I could just go back, ask her again—What are you writing? Can I see it? I’d snatch the book from her hands when she laughed, run off and read it and insist she tell me the boy’s name—because even though Lilah’s accident took place off San Francisco, I can’t shake the feeling that he was involved. I close my eyes. I’m so, so angry.

Lilah. The anger turns to heaviness, as if I’m weighted down everywhere.

But the reality is, she said no, so I didn’t grab the book away, I just—backed down. Lilah’s way or no way, that’s how it was with us. I was—I am—just her little sister.

Although here in Maine . . . nobody knows that. Here on Rock Hook, I’m not anyone’s little sister. I’m not anyone’s anything, and somehow that makes me feel . . . hopeful. About what, I have no idea, because after the accident, hope makes me suspicious, gives me the sensation of being on one of those floating docks, where your feet tell your brain that you’re standing on solid ground, but your body senses movement.

Thinking of the surfer, tourist or not, gives me that same hopeful feeling for some reason. But that little bit of optimism is like an atro- phied muscle. It needs exercise, fresh air. Sunshine.

Despite the fact that I arrived at the library early due to the half day at school, the leaden sky outside the expanse of windows makes it feel like five o’clock. No sunshine here, although now I sense a strange change in the light. But the clouds aren’t clearing, despite the wind that pushes the pines, the wind that sounds . . . musical.

The back of my neck prickles.

Someone is standing in the stacks to the left of me. I twist in my chair—

Surf ’s up.

The boy from the beach faces the tall bookshelves, his profile toward me. His shoulder-length hair creates a shimmering shield of gold, hid- ing his face as he concentrates on—what? Reading the title of a book? How long can that take?

I have a strange urge to stand up, to go to him and push aside the curtain of hair, as though seeing his face is of some kind of crucial importance. Luckily I can’t move.

He seems frozen too, or lost in thought; he’s holding his hand on the spine of one large book, like he’s trying to absorb the information through osmosis.

Clearing my throat, I say, “You might actually have to open it.” My voice sounds loud, startling in the silence of the library. “The book, I mean.”

He turns—

And walks away.

Whoa—so rude. Besides, that was funny, right? Or had it sounded sarcastic? Critical? No, that comment had definitely been funny. Lilah would be cracking up if she were here—and still herself. She’d be teas- ing me now. I can almost hear her: Were you trying to hit on that guy?

But no, I wasn’t trying to hit on Mr. Black Board Shorts. I just want to know who he is. Not that he’s wearing the trunks today. I looked at every inch of him. Now, behind closed eyes, I play the image like a video: jeans faded to the palest blue, broad shoulders under a black cotton surf shirt—the old-school kind with a band of tropical flowers across the chest.

But fine. I snap my eyes open. Whatever. I don’t need to know who he is—he’s obviously a jerk. What I need—is to go outside and get some air. I gather my things.

But then, I go over to the shelves where he had stood. I pull out one volume, then another—

Yoga?

Huh.

Sliding out the biggest book—the one he’d held his hand over— I’m surprised to discover it’s mostly about yogic breathing techniques. Pranayama.

Deciding to check it out, I head toward the front desk, arms strain- ing to carry what’s become a wobbly tower—

A rush of heat warms my cheeks.

The fact that I can recognize him from behind, that the tall, broad- shouldered frame standing before the counter is already so familiar, is disturbing, makes me feel . . . kind of stalkery. Stalkerish?

I turn around, wanting to move away before he notices me, only to find a line forming behind me. I turn back, and hearing the librarian thank him, step forward—

At the same time he steps backward.

The sound of our bodies colliding is practically audible, we hit so hard. My books avalanche, my nose presses into his back—and I can’t help it. I inhale. I take a deep breath in—

That comes out almost immediately as a sigh.

A microsecond passes. Then he turns to me, a look of horror on his face, as if my sigh heralds some kind of terrible event. And before I can even make out the color of his flashing eyes—blue? Green?—he’s gone.

The bang of the books hitting the floor echoing in my ears, I stare out the double doors.

Somebody sniggers.

Another voice says, “Can you move it along, Miss? There’s a line.”

Fingers clutching one last book that threatens to join the rest down by my toes, I look around and see Pete Hill and Bobby Farley, guys from school who hang out with the Kevins.

“Oh. Hey. A little help here?” I ask.

Pete fakes a groan as he heaves the giant volume onto the counter. “Yoga.” Bobby nods sagely. “That explains a lot.” He gathers a few

of the books.

“Working in the Wet Field: A Handbook for Aspiring Marine Biologists,” he reads aloud. Pete chuckles as Bobby puts an arm around my shoulders and says, “You know—I’m into that stuff.”

Removing his arm from around me, I give him a bland smile, noth- ing like the gorgeous grin on the face of the boy from the beach, who’s driving past the glass doors of the library at an unthinkable speed in a midnight-blue Mercedes. My head seems to turn of its own accord, eyes following the car.

“Seriously.” Bobby waves a hand in front of my face. “We should study together.”

Unable to stop seeing the boy’s stunning smile, I blink at Bobby uncomprehendingly.

“Hey, Farley, I’m out. You coming?” Pete strides over to the doors, pushes one open.

“In a sec.” Bobby holds up a book—the last of the ones that had fallen—as if it’s an incentive, or maybe a hostage. “So what do you think? You, me—a few books, a few beers.”

“Pardon me,” a woman with black-rimmed glasses says from behind the counter. “May I please have your library card?”

“Ah—” Reaching for the book, I shake my head. “No. Thanks.” With a shrug, Bobby relinquishes the book. “Your loss.” He follows

Pete out.

“No?” The woman behind the counter folds her lips into a sober line.

“Oh—sorry, here.” The librarian looks dubious as I hand over my card but returns it a moment later with a prim nod. She watches as I carry my awkward armful away.

Outside on the steps Pete and Bobby are talking with Alyssa. Despite the fact that she must not be able to breathe in those jeans, she looks great as usual. She gives me a wave that somehow uses her entire body, but I hardly see it. That guy. His eyes. The way he smelled, like—

“Arion! Hold up.”

Reluctantly, I turn. Pete. He’s stayed on the steps and I’m already halfway across the parking lot, so he’s pretty much shouting across the space between us.

“Hey, what did you say to Bo Summers? He looked pretty freaked out.”

Bo Summers.

A long eternity of a second goes by. Nobody else seems to notice the time warp.

“You don’t seem like a scary chick,” Pete continues. “Not to me, anyway.” He grins and takes a cigarette out of the crumpled pack in his top pocket. He lights it, and waits.

Smoke of any kind grosses me out, but in this moment, Pete’s cigarette is my savior.

“Pete, that thing in your mouth? You might want to watch it.” Barely balancing my books on one hip, I pull on a pair of sunglasses I don’t need. “It’s on fire.”

Bobby laughs. Alyssa tosses her hair and says to Pete, “When was Bo here?”

So Alyssa knows him. Makes total sense. Alyssa’s a transplanted New Yorker, same as Mom; maybe that’s why, despite her attention addiction, I find her interesting. But her big blue eyes—which ignore the line between polite eye contact and rude staring—always have some guy in their sights. Of course she knows Bo.

I head for the Jeep, lifting one hand high after hearing a couple of goodbyes behind me. Stomach flip-flopping, I get in and drive all the way to the lighthouse—with no music.

On our trip cross-country Dad had a hard time with the fact that I couldn’t drive without the radio blasting. Today, I don’t listen to any- thing, and feel like I could drive around the world.

My mystery man has a name.

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