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Summary from Goodreads:

Tara may have spent years in an asylum, but that doesn’t make her crazy–just fearless.

Dropped in Moscow with a the group of enchanted Mayan descendants, seventeen-year-old Tara is forced to wait on the sideline while her best friend—the Stone Guardian— battles to reclaim a friend’s soul trapped in the underworld.

It sucks being ordinary when everyone else is superhuman…

A mortal girl with a tainted past, Tara is left to deal with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Her boyfriend, Peter, is a healer. Her best friend is The Guardian, and everyone else is a powerhouse of awesome strengths. Meanwhile, she struggles to leave her childhood of abuse in the past, and while Peter picks her up every time she falls, it becomes clear he deserves better.

When they opened Pandora’s Box, hell came pouring out…

When she’s given a chance to aid in the group’s mission, Tara is eager to pull her own weight, even if it means uncovering buried memories of being held prisoner by the underworld general. Now haunted with flashbacks of torture, Tara wanders from the safety of Peter’s arms into a city of depravity and corruption. And amidst all this evil is a young man with an agenda of his own, who leads her down a road that will either prove she is a hero at heart, or drag her into a world she’s always feared.

He wants revenge, she wants redemption. And in an underground ring of missing girls and bloody sacrifices, only the fearless can survive…

 

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Book One (click on image for Goodreads link):

 

Chapter One

Tara rested her head on Peter’s chest while they lay in his bed, watching TV. She kicked the blanket off of her, and then sighed. She should be happy. She finally had a family of sorts—a boyfriend who would do anything for her, and a best friend who was more like a sister. But she wasn’t happy, and she couldn’t tell anyone.

Peter’s bed was somehow more comfortable than hers, and he seemed to want her there. That didn’t stop her from feeling terrible over waking him up—for the third time that week. Her plush bed looked inviting, but it was home to her horrible nightmares. At least she wished they were nightmares…

She used to find solace in Zanya, back in the orphanage, when they were all each other had. Funny how life had changed so much, so fast. Best friends, they spent their entire lives dreaming of a future outside of the orphanage’s walls, only to be sucked into a reality that surpassed even their idea of insane.

Back then it was Zanya whose dreams were filled with terror.

They’d been taken from the orphanage to Renato’s estate in Belize, where they’d experienced so much, and discovered Zanya’s dreams were real. Then they traveled to Moscow. That’s when things had gone from bad to terrible for Tara.

Her throat tightened. She curled her fingers around Peter’s T-shirt. Half asleep and with the TV on, he didn’t seem to notice.

She fought to stay awake out of fear of reliving her time spent with Sarian, the underworld general. The nightly reminders hadn’t gone away. In fact, they had only gotten worse.

It was just like when she was a kid, before she was taken from her mother by child protective services. Then, the fear of another encounter with her mother’s “boyfriends” had coiled around her in a paralyzing way, stalking her day and night.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and her muscles ached for just a few hours of sleep. Being close to Peter somehow made it all better, for the moment. He chased away her demons and made her forget.

Peter pushed one of her curls aside and placed a soft kiss behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he said in a groggy whisper.

She shrugged. He nudged her shoulder with his chin and rested his lips on the curve of her neck. His breath teased her skin.

She smiled and cringed away. “Knock it off. You know I’m ticklish.”

“Mmm.” He trailed kisses down to her shoulder.

The tickling subsided, and Tara’s eyes fluttered closed. Her lips parted, fingers tightening around the blankets underneath her.

The smell of fresh rain filled the air. God, she loved his scent. The first time Peter had stepped close to her at Renato’s house, it had washed over her like a wave of relief. After that, she just couldn’t stay away.

“You think you can get some sleep?” he whispered. “You need it.”

Tara composed herself and nodded. Even though he didn’t push the issue, a tiny piece of her wished he’d keep kissing her neck to see where it went—see if she felt comfortable, without committing to anything from the beginning. After all, it was she who didn’t want to take the next step in their relationship. Peter, however, would never put her into a situation she didn’t ask for. He loved her too much. It was the first time she had experienced that kind of commitment from anyone. There was no way she’d risk ruining it with sex.

Tara sat up, rubbing the tight muscles in her neck. Every nightmare threw her body into a more tense and agitated state. Her appetite was all but gone, her sense of humor dimmed, and since the flashbacks had become more vivid, she’d nearly lost the ability to smile.

Peter’s hands replaced hers and worked around her shoulders, massaging the knots into submission. Warmth radiated from his fingertips and spread through her body, soothing the tension. His healing ability had come in handy more than once over the last few weeks.

She exhaled and melted into him. “Thanks.” She glanced at the digital clock. It was almost four in the morning. Guilt tore at her. “I really have to stop coming in here every time a memory breaks through. I’m not five.”

“No, what you really have to do is tell Marzena that you’re remembering more.”

Marzena, the group’s dreamwalker, had helped Tara unlock the hidden door in her mind, allowing them to find the memories to locate Sarian. If only she could go back in time and block that door with concrete and chains to seal the memories inside…

“I won’t do that,” Tara said. “Not yet anyway. It’s not that bad.” Only bad enough to wake her in a cold sweat with her stomach knotted and muscles so tender she was achy for days. “Besides, she isn’t even in Moscow, so it’s not like she could do anything about it.”

“She would come back if you needed her.”

“Well, I don’t.” Not if that meant putting her issues on display. “She already reached into my head once. I don’t need her doing it again.”

Peter leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. “Even if it’ll help?” He kissed her temple. “Come on, Tara. You know you can’t keep doing this.”

He was right, but she couldn’t admit it aloud. She had been so selfish, staggering to his bedroom, shaking like a leaf. Not exactly a romantic midnight rendezvous. “I’m sorry I keep dragging you into this.”

If she could just leave him alone, at least one of them would get some rest and not feel like a zombie.

With her stomach in knots, she scooted to the side of the mattress and stared blankly at the wall. Lights from the TV danced, casting shadows over the room.

“Whatever you’re dealing with, I’m here for you.” His voice was soft and comforting.

She swallowed down the urge to cry.

Zanya was still working to counter Sarian by travelling decades into the past with Renato, Arwan, Hawa, and Jayden, leaving Marzena, Tara, and Peter behind. Tara had tried to curb her bitterness about that, especially since she had nobody to channel it toward. It wasn’t Zanya’s choice to leave them. That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway.

Tara rubbed her throbbing eyes. It was probably good that Marzena had gone back to Belize to manage the workers while they patched up the damage to Renato’s house. It needed to be done before they all went back—if they went back. Renato’s house had already become her home. Her heart ached at the memory of it under attack. And with Marzena gone, no one had to know Tara was steadily losing her mind. Again.

Peter grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. “There’s nothing on that’s not in Russian.”

She glanced at the screen. Had the actors been speaking Russian? Showed how much she’d been paying attention. He stopped on a news station with a woman speaking English in a heavy Russian accent. Behind her, emergency lights from police cars and ambulances flashed. Tara sighed and slumped her shoulders forward. “The news?”

“There’s nothing else on.” He lifted the remote. “You want me to just turn it off?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Leave it. At least it’s in English.” She tuned in for the first time.

“Officers responded to a call of a suspected gang clash outside of the Moscow Academy of Science. Authorities say a confrontation occurred between a student and an alleged gang member when the student’s younger sister was forced into a gang-marked vehicle. The victim, who was wounded at the scene, was a freshman. Sadly, he died before the ambulance could respond, while the alleged attacker, who was also wounded, is now being treated at the Yakimanka Hospital where he is in critical condition.”

Tara pushed the power button on the remote and the screen winked off. “I changed my mind. Even if it is in English, that’s just depressing.”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Poor guy,” she whispered, imagining the look of terror on the brother’s face while his little sister was being dragged away. “I hope they get her back.”

Peter moved to the far side of the bed. “Get who back?”

“The girl who was kidnapped.”

“Yeah.” His yawn deepened her guilt. “Come on.” He patted the mattress. “Lie down next to me.”

It was still dark out. If she left now, he could catch at least a few hours of sleep before the morning. She stood up and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

She paused with her fingers wrapped around the handle. “I’m letting you get some rest. I’ll be fine until morning.”

Whether that would prove true or not, only time would tell.

 

About the Author

 

Theresa DaLayne is a north-south-east-western kind of girl with a quirky personality to match her nomad life. Born in California, she migrated to three different cities in Washington State, a tiny island in Alaska, North Carolina, and finally to the suburbs of Ohio where she currently lives with her husband, three kids, vegetarian cat, and her ungrateful fish.

Always on the lookout for a new story, Theresa is a shameless eavesdropper and will take anyone who provides inspiration and mold them into a character without a second thought. She enjoys writing both paranormal and contemporary stories, considering her mind wanders between worlds of fantasy while she’s forced to live in the real world, very much against her will.

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Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle #1)
by Rachel A. Marks
July 1st 2015

Summary from Goodreads:

Aidan O’Linn’s childhood ended the night he saw a demon kill his mother and mark his sister, Ava, with Darkness. Since then, every three years the demons have returned to try to claim her. Living in the gritty, forgotten corners of Los Angeles, Aidan has managed to protect his sister, but he knows that even his powers to fight demons and speak dead languages won’t keep her safe for much longer.
In desperation, Aidan seeks out the help of Sid, the enigmatic leader of a group of teens who run LA Paranormal, an Internet reality show that fights demons and ghosts. In their company, Aidan believes he’s finally found a haven for Ava. But when he meets Kara, a broken girl who can spin a hypnotic web of passionate energy, he awakens powers he didn’t know he had―and unleashes a new era of war between the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness.
With the fate of humanity in his hands, can Aidan keep the Darkness at bay and accept his brilliant, terrifying destiny?

Excerpt:

DARKNESS BRUTAL

I let the pulse of the music coat me and mute my surroundings. A mass of people crowd the dance floor of the club, and I sit on an abandoned couch in the corner. The lights beat at the air in blues and greens, and bodies twist and merge to the thunder. I lean back, close my eyes, and try to get lost in it, the smells and sounds of people and their collective high.
Something moves next to me. I look over to find a girl sprawled on the seat beside me, trying to catch her breath. She’s not dressed in the usual club gear, more like a girl who got lost on her way to a beach party: Hurley T-shirt, jean skirt, and red Converse. Her cheeks are flushed pink; her throat and forehead glitter with sweat. She glances at me like she didn’t know I was there. She licks her upper lip, her eyes not leaving mine. Then she says something I can’t hear.
I point to my ear and shake my head.
She smiles and laughs, lighting up the space around her. She rests her hand on my arm, like we’re friends and I just told her the most hilarious joke, and then she gets up and disappears into the mass of bodies again.
My arm tingles, my body reacting to the moment of contact in a sudden and disconcerting way. I think I’ve had my fill of watching people indulge their baser instincts. I need to get out of here.
The beat of the music speeds up, vibrating faster as I move through the crowd. I try not to touch anyone, which is nearly impossible. All the emotions and appetites are overwhelming, as if the rising rhythm of the music makes their yearnings rise, too. Lust buzzes in the air. A hunger stirs in me, a gaping hole, needing to be filled. With touch.
The touch of female fingers. A hand on my arm, taking my wrist, pulling me into the fray, into the pressing bodies. And I don’t try to escape. I let her take me.
Because I’m tired.
Because I’m a dumbass.
A girl moves in front of me—not the Hurley girl, not the one I was hoping for. She presses closer, so close I can almost taste the salty perspiration on her skin. She has thin, birdlike shoulders, a swan neck, a heart-shaped face, and black hair, long and tangled, turning blue and green with the light. Her hands slide up my chest. She wraps her arms around my neck and tilts her head to look up at me.
Her lips are full and painted dark purple. There’s a dimple in her left cheek that gets deeper with her growing smile. And her eyes . . .
Fog fills my head for a second, interrupting my thoughts.
“Hi,” she mouths, calling attention to her lips again.
And then she’s rising up on her toes, pulling me down to her, twisting her fingers in my hair, her lips smashing against mine.
My body buzzes from her touch, and my hands react, drawing her into me. I drink her in. She tastes like the air around me, hunger and urgency, and—
Green apple Jolly Ranchers?
I grip her sides, her ribs so delicate beneath my fingers. The sweet tang of her teases me, the hunger becoming a monster deep inside. I have to press her closer, tighter, try to feed it, as I feel the fire of her need link with mine.
She pulls back a little and looks at me with wide eyes, like she’s shocked. That’s when I see the mark, a glowing, blue-inked line of what looks like Chinese symbols, trailing down the nape of her neck to her shoulder blade. Symbols that I’m suddenly sure mean: touch this girl at your own risk.
It’s the only thing I see for a second: Beware. Beware.
Until her energy reaches for me, wispy tendrils of blue light wrapping their way around my wrists and snaking up my chest.
I jerk away, into the guy behind me, stepping on his girlfriend’s toes. I get shoved— thankfully farther from the hypnotic girl—through a space in the crowd, saying a hundred excuse-me’s even though I know no one can hear them. I find my way out of the press of bodies to the edge of the room again where it’s safe.
It’s time to leave. I should’ve left an hour ago.

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Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle #2)
by Rachel A. Marks
Release Date: February 2nd 2016

Summary from Goodreads:

Against the backdrop of an ancient battle between the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness, Aidan struggles to control the newly awakened powers that seem to be his only hope for rescuing his little sister Ava, who is now trapped somewhere beyond the Veil. As he gravitates to Kara, the beguiling and dangerously unstable girl who helped him realize his abilities, a terrible mistake of fate is revealed that points him back toward Rebecca, whose role is becoming more critical to the battle. And no matter what his heart wants, it might be too late to stop the pieces already in motion.
Without knowing the sacrifices that will be required of them, Aidan and his motley crew of friends—each with their own role to play—must face the demon threat head-on. They’re the only ones keeping the growing army of Darkness at bay, and if they fail, the future of humanity could be lost.

Excerpt:

DARKNESS FAIR – Chapter One

I never would’ve come on this job if I’d known it involved a demon. But last night during the briefing, Sid acted like it didn’t even involve anything paranormal.
“Probably just a human thing,” he said. “We can wave a little smoke, give the client a prayer or two, maybe one of Holly’s happy cookies, and the nice lady will be feeling better in no time.”
Not exactly. Standing here looking at the client’s massive living room that’s piled to the ceiling with stuff, I can tell this won’t be as easy as appeasing a grumpy five-year-old.
“You should’ve brought Connor,” I mumble to Sid as I survey the mess around us. The thing is here somewhere. I can smell its rotten-egg ass even over the stale air and must coming from the clutter. Mountains of junk rim the walls and cover almost every inch of what looks like a very expensive marble floor. “I can’t believe you dragged me here.” It’s my first time on a job site since everything went to hell four weeks ago—literally.
If Sid heard my complaint about being here on the job, he isn’t acting like it. He’s just smiling his salesman smile and listening intently to the large woman in the silk muumuu on the leather couch as she tells him how her cat tried to eat her last week. She looks young, midthirties. Too young to be wearing a muumuu and living in this filthy place. A bit of bandage peeks out from under her flowery sleeve. There’s an angry-looking scratch on her neck, too. She ended up in the ER with twelve stitches from the attack.
“Fluffy keeps leaving dead mice lying around, dead rats, even floppy gophers,” she says, her face wrinkling with disgust. “Dead all-sorts-a-stuff everywhere. It’s starting to stink no matter which room I sit in, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t seem to escape it. And then this happened.” She motions to the scratches on her neck.
I smell the death, but the odor is layered with the putrid stink from rotten food, moldy boxes stacked end to end, and piles of clothes mixed with God-knows-what. Not to mention the sulfur wafting around from whatever demon is hiding in this place. How can this woman tell one gross thing from another?
Sid crunches his way over some debris to sit beside the client on the five inches of couch space still available.
“You rest easy,” he says as he pats her broad shoulder. “My boy, Aidan here, will take care of anything that’s gone wrong.” He motions toward where I’m standing by a stack of magazines and DVDs, and the woman looks at me for the first time since Sid and I walked through the door.
Her eyes grow a little when she studies my face, my hair, her gaze taking in the markings on my hand and arm for a few seconds longer than normal.
I really should be used to the staring by now. Ever since my “change,” or whatever we’re calling it, strangers seem to think I’m either something to marvel at . . . or something to fear. It makes me wonder what they’re sensing. Just one of the reasons I like staying at the house and leaving the jobs to the others.
She gives me a half smile, half grimace, her lips tightening over her teeth, then she turns back to Sid. “I’m not sure what else I can do. I’ll pay you whatever you want, just please, fix Fluffy. He’s all I have left now.” Her voice shakes a little and she points to something near her foot that looks like a plastic box. No, a cat carrier. I hadn’t noticed it among the piles of clutter.
Something moves inside the carrier. A shadow. The cat? A hiss emerges, like an answer, and the smell of sulfur billows out even thicker.
A shiver runs through me.
Sid leans on his cane and stands up from his spot beside the woman as he runs a hand over his bald head. Then he hesitates, like he smells it, too. He steps back, studying the carrier, then looks sideways at me, a question on his face.
Could the cat be possessed?
Or maybe the cat isn’t a cat.
“So, Ms. Bentley.” Sid clears his throat. “How long have you had, um, the, um . . . Fluffy?” He tries to move back toward me, but stumbles over a box marked As Seen on TV, before steadying himself on a nearby coatrack—his arm tangles in the strap of one of the very large bras hanging from the hook. He doesn’t seem to notice, though; his eyes still haven’t left the small cat carrier at the client’s feet.
“He was a neighborhood stray,” she says, sounding deflated. “I took him in a month ago, shortly after . . . after my mother died. She hated cats, so I was never able to have one. And Fluffy was such a sweet thing.” Her eyes glisten with growing sadness.
She puckers her lips like she’s holding something in. Finally, she says, “Until a few days ago, he was all cuddles and smooches.”
Well, now Fluffy is all talons and teeth.
“Very sorry.” Sid finishes making his way over to me and pats me on the shoulder, very fatherly-like. “Aidan will need to look at the, uh, the . . . your Fluffy.”
I turn to him. “Will I?”
He nods. “The show must go on, my boy.”
Really? Must it?
Didn’t Shakespeare say we’re all actors on the stage of life, or something? Well, Sid takes that notion very seriously. The twenty-four-year-old magician is always playing some part or another to fit the game.
He nudges me again and whispers sideways, “I know you’ve been wanting to jump back in, so here you go. Just see what you can accomplish. It’s in a cage and all that.” He waves his arm as if he’s just explained how to go about this.
I glare at him and shake my head. “You’re an ass.”
He lets out a fake laugh and gives the client a look like, Aren’t teenagers impossible? “It’s a preliminary test, Aidan. So we know what we’re dealing with.”
I sigh. As much as I don’t want anything to do with this job, I need to start figuring out my power. It feels like it’s growing, every day, bigger and louder, like a ringing in my ears. It’s pushing now, this weird urgency, making me itch to . . . well, kill. It’s terrifying.
I need to get these new urges under control. And if I want to kill a demon again so badly, why not give it a whirl?
I’m wearing my amulet, so if a corporeal demon is in that carrier instead of a cat, then it won’t see me. However, if the demon is possessing the cat, using the cat’s eyes to see, then I’m about to be discovered.
I take a deep breath and step closer to get a look. Following the boss’s orders.
Ms. Bentley leans toward her innocent Fluffy.
I crouch down to get a clearer view, avoiding the trash at my feet.
The cat hisses and its plastic carrier jerks and clangs. But the thing’s not looking at me, it’s more like it’s sensing danger, its hackles rising. And then I see tiny horns beside the ears, and thorn-like protrusions on its back through grey-striped fur. Its eyes dart around the room—eyes like light reflecting off a pool of oil. Its teeth are shiny silver.
Not an actual cat. An actual corporeal demon. Check.
This lady is lucky all the thing did was set her up with a few stitches. It could’ve scratched off her face entirely.
Prickles work over my skin as I stare at the thing. Corporeal demons are somehow less disgusting than the ones I see on the other side of the Veil. The ones that manage to get called up by witches and cross over to the physical plane are always trying to masquerade as something they’re not, and sometimes they suck at it—like Fluffy here, a cat with horns. Yes, they’re still creepy, just not as creepy as when they’re full monty in their spiritual form.
Looking at it makes the strange new urges in my gut stir, reminding me that I’m a killer now. Officially.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, quickly standing, itching to run but not wanting to scare the woman more.
I stumble back to Sid’s side and say under my breath, “We’re done here.”
“What sort of help will you be if you leave?” Ms. Bentley rests a hand on the carrier, as if comforting the demon inside. “We need help.”
A corporeal demon as a pet. That’s definitely new. I wonder how she hasn’t noticed Fluffy’s oddities. I mean, horns? Come on.
Maybe the fumes from the rotting crap in the house have messed with her head.
Sid clears his throat and waves an arm as if trying to keep her calm with hand gestures. “It’s all right, Ms. Bentley. It’s merely that your cat may be possessed and in need of an exorcism.”
I turn and gape at him, wondering why he’d spit that out right now.
She gasps and clutches her muumuu to her chest with a meaty fist.
I nudge Sid. “But my boss and I should maybe discuss it and get back to you.” Sid’s reading this all wrong. Not surprising, since the guy is slowly losing his senses from staying too long in this time. But I’m not a fan of him blurting out made-up shit to the clients before we’ve agreed on what shit can be said out loud.
“I’m paying you to fix this now!” she says. “I can’t leave poor Fluffy in a cage forever.”
“We’ll call you,” I say, shoving Sid toward the door before he can say anything else stupid.
Sid trips over a karaoke machine and nearly dives into the wall headfirst. But somehow he looks graceful about it, with his thin limbs and delicate fingers reaching out like a dancer’s. “Don’t let it out of the cage. We’ll call you tonight,” he says, righting himself effortlessly with his cane. “And we’ll try to get help here in the morning. Just, please, keep it locked up until then.”
She stands, watching us maneuver our way out of the living room. “One more day!” she hollers with a catch in her voice before the door closes behind us, leaving us on the porch.
I need a shower.

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About the Author:

Rachel A. Marks is an award-winning author and professional artist, a cancer survivor, a surfer and dirt-bike rider, chocolate lover and keeper of faerie secrets. She was voted: Most Likely to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse, but hopes she’ll never have to test the theory. Her debut novel is DARKNESS BRUTAL, the 1st installment in The Dark Cycle. Book 2 releases February 2nd, 2016 and is titled, DARKNESS FAIR.

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