SNEAK PEEK: Beyond the Darkness by Alexandra Ivy

ISBN 9781420102987

Series: Guardians of Eternity, Book 6

Genre: Paranormal Romance

(c) April 2010, Zebra Books, Kensington

Alexandra Ivy's website 

Buy Links (paper): Book Depository, Barnes and Noble 

Excerpt: (Exclusive to The Raving Readers. Thanks, Alex!)

At a glance Harley was the spitting image of a Barbie Doll. 

She stood barely over five feet, her body was slender, her heart-shaped face was delicately carved with large hazel eyes that were thickly lashed and her golden blond hair that tumbled past her shoulders gave the image of a fragile angel.  She also looked far younger than her thirty years.

Anyone, however, stupid enough to dismiss her as harmless usually ended up injured.

Or dead.

She was not only a full-blooded Were, but she took her training in combat skills to a level that Navy SEALS would envy.

 She was working out in the full-scale gym when Caine returned to the vast colonial home.  She continued lifting the weights that would crush most men as she absently listened to his bitter tirade of the ineptitude of his cur pack and the injustice of a world that contained Salvatore Giuliani, the King of Weres.

At last, Harley moved to take a swig of bottled water and wiped the sweat coating her face.  She glanced toward Caine who leaned negligently against the far wall, his jeans and muscle shirt filthy and his short blond hair tousled.  Not that his bedraggled appearance dimmed his surfer good looks.  Even beneath the fluorescent lights that made everyone appear like death warmed over, his tanned skin glowed with a rich bronze and the blue eyes shimmered like the finest sapphires.

He was gorgeous.  And he knew it.

Barf.

Harley’s lips twisted.  Her relationship with Caine was complicated.

The cur had been her guardian since she was a baby, but while he’d protected her and kept her in considerable luxury, she’d never truly trusted him. 

And the feeling was entirely mutual.

Caine allowed her to roam the house and the surrounding lands with seeming freedom, but she knew she was under constant surveillance.  And God knew, she was never allowed to travel away from the estate without two or three of Caine’s pet curs.  Caine claimed he was concerned for her safety, but Harley wasn’t stupid.  She knew his motives were far more selfish.

It might have been tempting to escape her golden cage if the knowledge that a lone wolf, even a pureblood, rarely survived.  Weres were by nature predators and there were any number of demons that would be eager to rid the world of a Were if they could catch them without a pack’s protection.

Besides, there was always the fear that the King of Weres was out there somewhere, anxious to kill her as he had her three sisters.  Caine might be determined to use her for his own purpose, but at least that purpose meant he had to keep her alive.

Tossing aside the towel, Harley sent her companion a mocking smile.

“Let me see if I have this straight.  You went to Hannibal because Sadie created some mysterious mess that you had to clean up and while you were there you brilliantly decided to kidnap the King of Weres, only to drop him like a hot potato when you were nearly caught by a vampire and pack of curs?”

Caine pushed away from the wall and prowled forward, his gaze skimming over her tight spandex shorts and sports bra.  The cur was nothing if not predictable.  He’d been trying to seduce her for years.

“You have it in a perfect little nutshell, sweet Harley.”  He halted directly before her, toying with her pony tail that had fallen over her shoulder.  “Do you want a reward?”

“And your pet jinn?”

“Slipped from her leash.  She’ll be back.” His smile was taunting.  “Like you, she has nowhere else to go.”

Harley jerked from his touch.  Bastard.

“So now you’ve lost half your pack, your demon, and you’ve left behind a trail that will lead the pissed off King of Weres and his angry posse directly to this lair.”

Caine shrugged.  “I’ll call for one of the local witches.  My trail will be long gone by the time the almighty Salvatore manages to get out.”

“Get out of where?”

“I collapsed the tunnel on top of them.”

“God.  Are you even barely sane?”

“Once they manage to heal enough to dig out of the rubble they’ll discover the entrance has been completely blocked.  They will have no choice but to turn back.”

“You’re pretty damned cocky for a cur who has just pissed off your royal master.”

“I don’t have a master,” Caine snarled, revealing a glimpse of his resentment at being a lowly cur instead of a full Were before he was smoothing his expression.  “And besides, the prophecies have spoken.  I’m destined to transform the curs into purebloods.  Nothing can happen to me.”

Harley snorted.  Caine wasn’t a complete loon.  He managed to control his large pack that he had spread throughout the Midwest with an iron hand.  He was a Harvard trained scientist who made a fortune with his black-market drugs.  He regularly kicked her ass at Scrabble.

But at some point in his very long life he claimed he’d been visited by an ancient pureblood who had given him a vision.  Harley didn’t pretend to understand it.  Something about seeing his blood run pure. 

Being a scientist, he naturally assumed this miracle would be performed in a lab, which was why he kept Harley as his permanent houseguest.  He thought by studying her blood he could find the answers he sought.  Moronic, of course.  Visions were the stuff of mist and magic, not glass beakers and microscopes.

“Look, if you want to get yourself killed because of your delusions of grandeur I don’t give a shit.”  She narrowed her eyes.  “But I’m not going to be happy if you put me in the firing line.”

Caine stepped forward, reaching to trail his fingers over her shoulder.  His touch was warm, experienced.  She shook him off.

A woman would have to be dead not to find Caine attractive, but Harley needed more than simple lust.  She needed…hell, she didn’t know what she needed, only that she hadn’t yet found it.

Besides, her skin was suddenly feeling hyper-sensitive.  As if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.

“Would I ever put you in danger, sweet Harley?” Caine goaded.

“In a heartbeat if it meant saving your own hide.”

“Harsh.”

“But true.”

“Perhaps.”  His gaze dipped downward, studying her sports bra.  “I need a shower.  Why don’t you join me?”

“In your dreams.”

“Every night.  Do you want to know what we’re doing?”

“I’d rather yank out your tongue and eat it for dinner.”

With a laugh, he snapped his teeth near her nose.  “Naughty Were.  You know how it makes me hard when you threaten violence.”

Spinning on her heel, Harley headed for the door.  “You’d better make that a cold shower or you won’t have to worry about Salvatore Giuliani slicing off your balls.  I’ll already have them dangling from my rearview mirror.”

She ignored Caine’s low laugh as she headed toward the front of the house. 

It was late and she was tired, but she ignored the carved wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms as she entered the paneled foyer.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She felt restless and on edge.  As if there was a looming thunderstorm and she was about to be struck by lightning.

Telling herself it was nothing more than frustration with Caine and the mysterious games that were being played around her, she yanked open the door and stepped outside. 

What she needed was a walk.

And if that didn’t work, then there was always cheesecake in the fridge.

There was nothing in the world that couldn’t be cured by cheesecake.

~ o ~

Review of Beyond the Darkness

Review of Darkness Unleashed

Interview with Alexandra Ivy

We have two giveaways--any book from the author's backlist, which includes the one to be released in April (Beyond the Darkness)! One international and one US residents only. In fairness to everyone, this means there'll be two pools of entrants--one US resident pool and the other non-US resident. Please indicate your country of residence when you comment.

We'll also have Alexandra Ivy popping in and out of the blog, so if you've any questions, feel free to ask! She'll be around to answer and comment.

How to enter the contest?

Answer this question: Go to Alexandra's website and tell us which of her Guardians of Eternity books you'd like to read the most and why.

Extra chances to win:

+ 3 if you're an old follower of this blog
+ 2  if you're a new follower of this blog (start following from this contest/post)
+ 2 if you follow us on Facebook or Twitter
+ 2 if you take our poster (located on the right sidebar) about this contest and post it
              on your blog/website with a link back to us
+ 1 for every time you spread the word about this contest via Facebook, MySpace, Twitter,
              your blog, website or other form of social media. For example, you tweeted about
              this contest twice and also announced it on your Facebook. You also wrote a blog
              post. That's 4 additional chances! However, for these to qualify, be sure to come
              back here and post the links. Like, if you tweeted twice, give me both links.

If you do all of the above, at a minimum, that's 9 chances to win (8 if you're a new follower)! Remember, the more things you do to help us spread the word, the better your chances.

Contest ends on March 24 (Wednesday), 1159pm EST.

Winner will be picked via Randomizer.org and announced on March 25 (Thursday). Instructions will be given then on how to claim your prize. Be sure to come back and check because we won't hunt you down. If prizes are unclaimed after 1 week, new winners will be chosen.

Good luck!

SNEAK PEEK: Queen of the Sylphs

Coming November 2010!

Blurb (from author's website):

Life in the Valley is mostly peaceful, and newcomer Gabralina is settling in happily with her Battle Sylph Wat. The only problem is, not everyone in the Valley is interested in letting things stay the way they are and the council that advises the Queen is being targeted.

Tensions mount when even the Battle Sylphs can’t find the culprit, and a creature no one was ever expecting starts to study the Gate from the other side.

Excerpt (Unedited):

Sixteen Battle Sylphs crouched on top of poles for the night lanterns, all of them perched like giant blue and gold birds.  Used to them, the people who lived in the Valley went on their way, only glancing up periodically at the outwardly human creatures.  They in turn were ignored by the Sylphs.  Newcomers, however, gaped in amazement. The Battlers didn’t appear to pay any attention to them either, though that wasn't true.  Outsiders were alien to a species that didn't like change.  To safeguard the hive, they hunched on their poles, looking around at the growing town and speaking to each other in silence while they watched and waited.  There wasn’t a single one of them who didn’t like the visibility being on the poles gave them, relying on their eyes to watch for danger as much as they did their empathy.

Seated on his heels with his hands resting lightly on his knees, Mace studied the street.  It was market day in the Valley and a large caravan had arrived with merchants from Eferem and Yed.  Thanks to them, there were several hundred new people in the town, all jostling their way through the market with its plethora of  merchant stalls and all shouting.  None of the Battlers were happy about it.  Given their own way, there would be no one new allowed into the Valley unless they cleared them first, but the town would never survive that.  Without trade, they wouldn’t grow, and if they didn’t grow, they wouldn’t be able to survive.  They needed to.  Theirs was a people against the rest of the world and they had no allies.  There were people who would trade with them, certainly,  but other kingdoms who agreed with their Queen’s philosophy?  So far, none of them even acknowledged her.  The merchants who came to this place weren’t the representatives of their Kings after all.  In the case of Eferem, Mace had no doubt that they were coming directly against their King's command.  The Valley was a good place to trade with though and the Queen made sure that everything was kept fair.  No one cheated anyone in the Valley, not with the Battlers watching.

Mace shifted on his pole, watching the crowd with more than his eyes.  To anyone who saw him like this, he was a tall, heavy boned man of indeterminate age, his balding hair short and his face not given to smiling.  He looked more strong than attractive, but there was a certain hard confidence to him that he knew appealed to women.  He could feel it, though he never took advantage.  Not anymore.  His loyalty lay with two women; the Queen, who commanded him before all, and the Widow Lily Blackwell, who owned both his body and his love.  All of the Battlers had their women and would take no others while they lived.  It was for them and for the hive itself that they guarded the Valley.

As the day wore on, he studied the people who made their way down the street and felt their emotions.  Amusement, contentment, impatience, worry.  A tapestry of a thousand different feelings washed through him and left him unmoved.  Empathy was something Battle Sylphs had in abundance.  Compassion they had not at all.

Mace searched for anger, for violence and hate.  A man about to cause harm would broadcast it, giving himself away to the Sylphs.  The Elemental Sylphs and Healers wouldn’t react to that, except to run, but the Battlers would attack.  If a man felt rage, they came.  If a woman felt fear, they came.  Even the Queen wouldn’t deny them that deep instinct.  Battlers protected the hive.  It had always been that way. 

Below him, a man in an ordinary travel tunic with a pack on his back passed by,  not noticing Mace on his silent perch.  The man felt... determined.  He was looking at the Elemental Sylphs who walked in the form of children with surprise and then contempt.  He saw the women who wore clothes like men and bartered or sold as equals with disgust. 

Mace leaned forwards, balanced unnaturally on his toes as he stared at the man who was heading through the market.  He looked over at the other Battlers and saw them watching the newcomer as well, their emotions interested.  Mace nodded at the closest; a blue-haired, nervous creature named Claw. 

We follow, he said silently into the other Battler’s mind and Claw nodded spastically.  He was a shivering, broken creature who’d been ruined by years of slavery.  Mace would never send him on a mission alone, but even if Lily hadn’t said to include him, he still had his uses and he was a Battle Sylph.  Nothing would change that. 

Mace jumped down, landing easily before a woman carrying a basket of potatoes.  She yelped and nearly dropped it, staring up at him in fright.  Mace nodded at her and set off, making his way through the crowds behind the man, people getting out of his way at the sight of the gold trimmed blue uniform he wore.  The Battlers all wore the same clothes, making it easy for the people who didn’t know what they were to identify them.  The Queen felt that was a kinder announcement than the aura of hatred they otherwise projected to anyone nearby.  That wasn’t needed, she felt;  not in a peaceful place like the Valley.  Mace wasn’t inclined to argue with her, even if arguing with a Queen or a master wasn’t incomprehensible to him.  People in the Valley knew what they were and if they didn’t, they learned quickly.

They stepped out of his way now, which was all that mattered.  The ones who knew him started to speak, perhaps to say hello, but stopped when they saw the look in his eyes and Claw following at his heel.  He felt whatever emotion they had turn to fear and kept going, following the man.  He was easy to catch up to, what with having to push his way through the crowds that parted for the Battlers, but they didn’t catch up all the way, instead just following.  One of the Queen’s rules was that they not attack on instinct.  They needed a reason; not much of one, but a reason nonetheless. 

The man reached the end of the wide road and headed into a square that was even more filled with stalls than the street he’d just left.  Everything from food to tools to jewellery was being sold, but Mace didn’t care.  Neither did the man, apparently.  Above, a Battle Sylph named Wat perched on the edge of a building, watching Mace and Claw. 

He feels like he’s looking for something, Claw sent to Mace. 

Yes.  The man did and it wasn’t anything the merchants were selling.  He looked at the faces of the women he passed instead and Mace could feel his annoyance and determination at not seeing what he wanted, along with a determination that led towards violence.  He felt like a predator and Mace let a low growl sound in his throat.

A little girl toddled out of the crowd and grabbed his leg, beaming up at him.  “Play with me!” she cried, her happiness a dizzy salve to him.  Mace scooped her up, tickling her under the chin, and passed her back to Claw. 

Take her to her mother, he ordered, seeing the woman not far away.  She was one of the original Community members, there since the Valley was settled, and her emotions were content, trusting the Battlers with her child.  Claw hurried over to her and Mace turned back to his target.

He was nowhere in sight, lost in the emotions of the excited, happy crowds that gathered around a street performer with a dozen juggling balls.  Mace snarled, looking around, reaching with his senses, and glared up at Wat on the rooftops.  Where? 

The Battler on the roof, dark-haired, slim, and gorgeous by any human standard, stared right back at him.  Huh?  

The big Battler snarled and shifted form, dropping the human shape he’d chosen years before and going to his original one.  Formed of dense black smoke laced heavily with lightning, his eyes were swirls of ball lightning, his teeth pure electricity.  Black, drifting wings spread out and he rose, lifting dozens of feet in moments.  People who saw him screamed in fright, even those who knew him.  Some of those ones screamed even louder. Battlers only took their own shape to travel or to attack, but Mace didn’t care.  He had no proof, but he knew exactly where the man was going.  Determined, violent, searching for a woman.  Not expecting to find her in the market but watching regardless, just in case.  Mace rose high and confirmed where he was going, just as he'd thought.  On the other side of this square was another road that led eventually to a stone building, the walls as thin and delicate as candy floss, the windows tall with coloured glass.  It rose high in the air, the stone a creamy white.  Wide stairs led to the great double doors, both open now as they always were open when the Queen held court.  A woman that Mace could easily see a determined, violent man looking for.

Mace spotted the man, already nearing the stairs, though the entire building was mostly built for show.  For all its beauty outside, its interior led only to a staircase into the underground complex where the Queen's throne room really lay.  Mace roared, his call a command to every Sylph, whether Battler or not. 

PROTECT THE QUEEN. 

The Battlers answered the cry, all of them immediately in the air.  The other Sylphs shrieked, going to their own forms to escape, many of them dragging their human masters to safety with them.  People from the Valley saw them retreating, heard the Battlers roar, and fled themselves, all of them hurrying to stairwells at every corner of the square.  They led into the corridors underground, the hive that existed underneath the Valley.  Strangers to the Valley didn’t know to follow them, but Mace didn’t care about that, not nearly as much as he did the safety of the human Queen who was master to them all.

At the foot of the stairs, the assassin started, looking back up at Mace in fear.  At all of them, as the other Battlers rose behind Mace, creating a storm layers high.  Behind the man, the doors closed, sealing shut at the touch of an Earth Sylph.

Mace opened his jaws wide, hissing.  He couldn’t speak in this form to the man.  He could only project his voice to other Sylphs, or his master, or his Queen.  He projected it to her now. 

There is danger, my Queen.  A man has come to kill you.  We have him. 

Don’t kill him, she sent back immediately.  No one dies. 

Mace hated it, but as he dropped down to take the assassin, he obeyed.

~ o ~

Review of The Battle Sylph, Book 1 of The Sylph Series

Excerpt of The Battle Sylph

Excerpt of The Shattered Sylph

Interview with L.J. McDonald 

LAST DAY for the contest. You may make your comments in this post or in any of the posts above. L.J. is also around to answer your questions, so ask away! More importantly, have fun!

SNEAK PEEK: The Shattered Sylph by L.J. McDonald

Blurb (from author's website):

Years after Eferem and the battle on the Cliffs, Ril is a free Sylph, living with the man he still calls his master in Sylph Valley. Only Ril doesn't care about his freedom. Instead he's a broken creature, crippled in that final battle and, in his own mind, useless.

However, when Leon's oldest daughter Lizzy is kidnapped by slavers and taken halfway across the world, Ril is the only one who can track her. Together, he and Leon follow to a world alien to both of them, following a bond Ril's not willing to admit to, even in the depths of his own heart.

Excerpt: 

A man known for crudity and violence, Cherod Mash came to Sylph Valley looking for a drink, a fight, and a tickle, in any order he could get them. Mostly, however, he came as one of the drovers of a trade caravan willing to give the new kingdom a try.

The place was said to have money—gems and metals dug from the heart of the world by sylphs. But no sylph could make those things into anything useful. For that, artisans were needed, and Cherod drove a wagon piled high with woven carpets and other crafted commodities from the southern kingdom of Yed. These had been commissioned for a good weight of those gems he'd heard about, and once the trade was complete, the caravan would continue through the mountains to Para Dubh and see if maybe they could buy some even more valuable goods brought across the sea from Meridal, which they'd take home and sell for tremendous profit.

Not that the logistics really mattered to Cherod. He left that kind of thinking to his employer and focused on driving his oxen—at least until they reached a town where there was beer to drink, fights to start, and women to bed. He'd never been to Sylph Valley, but from what he'd heard it was chock full of whores. He'd even heard they slept with the sylphs, which made no sense to him. Those damn things weren't even solid most of the time.

The convoy arrived in the Valley in late afternoon, the oxen blowing and men shouting over the creaking of the wagons. Yelling at his own beasts, Cherod guided them through the streets in the direction a local had pointed the boss, to a huge building towering over everything else at the end of the street. It didn't look like any warehouse Cherod had ever seen before, though. It was made from a solid piece of stone, veins of metal running through it like some sort of disease. It loomed before them, its front a massive door that stood open.

The buildings they passed to get there were exactly the same in that they were all totally unique. Cherod saw shops where the walls were transparent or where the roof reached into the sky a dozen or more stories. The roads were smooth stone, the sidewalks raised, and every block had a stairwell leading underground. To see people going in and out by way of those stairs was bizarre. What kind of man lived underground, or in a building that looked like the wind could knock down? All of the buildings seemed almost sickeningly fragile. The whole place might fall on you! Better was a proper house made of wood or stone, with a real thatched roof.

Still, he thought, this place mightn't be so bad. He watched a trio of women cross the street, darting past his wagon while the way was clear. They were laughing over something, their faces bright with smiles. One of them even wore pants like a man, and Cherod appreciatively regarded the place where her legs met her body. They had to be whores to dress like that.

An earth sylph trundled past, looking like a little mud-shaped girl. Cherod gave it a quick look, but otherwise kept his eyes on the women. He whistled at them. They looked back but kept walking, giggling. He grinned. This would be a good night.

Ahead, the wagons turned to pass through a wide doorway leading into the warehouse. Standing by the door, a fat man with sweat on his face gestured them all inside, shouting for them to pull to the right, for the gods' sake, pull to the right or there'd be no room for them to get their wagons out.

Cherod turned his wagon with the others, still thinking of those women, and nearly ran into the wall. The fat foreman screeched and Cherod swore, yanking the reins hard to the side to steer his oxen. They bellowed in protest and turned, the wagon wheels scraping the wall but finding clearance. That made Cherod forget about women; the boss would have his hide if he scratched the paint on those damned wheels.

Just inside the warehouse, a dark-haired man stood with his arms crossed, watching. He was dressed in blue trousers and a long blue coat edged with gold trim. Cherod's first thought was that he was a lord, but the boss had said this place didn't have lords. His second instinct was that the man was the law.

As the wagon rolled past him, the blue-coated man looked up but didn't say anything. Cherod kept staring forward. He'd spent far too many nights in lockup, and the boss had warned he'd be fired if it happened again. Cherod instead drove the wagon to the rear of the warehouse, where the first was already stopped. Another door loomed beyond, one for them to drive out of once they unloaded, and the entire ceiling was made of glass, letting in more than enough sunlight to see. It was a nice setup, if a bit unnerving. Usually he'd have to unload his damn cargo outside, no matter what the wind or rain.

What was even nicer was that air sylphs were doing the unpacking. Cherod couldn't see them, but carpets and other goods were flying off the wagons, vanishing among huge shelves while Cherod's boss screamed at the foreman over how much was there and in what condition.

Stretching his back, Cherod climbed down and walked over to the next wagon. There, Frem was watching the sylphs with his mouth hanging open. Cherod grinned. "Not bad, eh?"

"Yeah," Frem agreed, his mouth still agape. "Wish we got this everywhere. Damn, this place is different."

"Yep. Can't wait to see what the women are like."

"I think I'm afraid to know," Frem admitted. In all, it only took ten minutes to unload everything, which to Cherod's mind made it a record. Even better, it was still too late to start off again before morning. While the boss was too much the skinflint to pay for rooms—he was of the opinion that his men could sleep just as well under their wagons—this meant they'd have the evening to themselves. They just had to make sure they were back before the convoy left.

They'd also been paid since the last stop. Cherod had coin in his pocket and a powerful urge to drink.

"Want to go find a tavern?" he asked Frem. It was always good to have a buddy along, mostly on the theory that he could be convinced to buy a few rounds.

Frem shook his head. "Sorry, I'm gonna get a bath and some sleep."

Coward. He just didn't like Cherod's reputation. Cherod himself didn't really mind, though. He was more interested in a different kind of company tonight. "Your loss," he grunted.

The boss waved them all over. A huge man who'd been a drover for thirty years, Thul Cramdon was one of the few men Cherod respected; Thul had nearly broken his hand for throwing a drunken punch. The boss was fairly open-minded, though, willing to have a drink himself and not caring what Cherod did, so long as he wasn't late and didn't cost Thul any money.

"There's a place we can store the wagons and oxen for tonight," Thul told them. "We get paid on the morrow, then we're out of here." He scratched his hairy chin. "Foreman here says there's a hotel of sorts down the road with a bar. Y' can stay there if you want, but it's right expensive." There were groans at that. "Otherwise, the blacksmith lets men sleep in the loft of his barn for a penny." That sounded better, though Cherod didn't really like picking hay out of his clothes. "Only other thing he said was, 'Leave the sylphs alone, leave the women alone, 'less they say otherwise, and stay the hell away from the men in blue and gold.' That's it. Settle yer animals and be back at dawn."

The men obeyed, discussing what they'd do while they drove their wagons out of the warehouse, following the boss to the empty lot provided for storage. A large paddock nearby was good for the animals. Cherod didn't join their conversation. He was going to find that bar—and as for a place to stay, women had rooms, didn't they? He'd just sack out with whoever took him home.

Waving at the others, he headed out and down the street, passing other warehouses and places to buy or repair farming equipment. All of the buildings had the same oddly organic look. More, everything seemed to be laid out according to some master plan . . . and it didn't take him long to realize that most of the buildings were going unused. It seemed crazy to build a bunch of places before you needed them, but he supposed if you had a whole bunch of sylphs to do the work, there was no harm done.

It didn't take him long to find the tavern the boss mentioned. The rooms above were overpriced, but the drinks were plentiful and cheap. The beer was made by a water sylph, the barman told him proudly—which explained the weird aftertaste. It was still pretty good beer, but unnatural.

The whole place was. Cherod had never seen so many sylphs as he had on the walk over. There were three in the bar itself, with the owner's water sylph washing glasses when she wasn't mixing hops, malt and water in midair. She looked like some sort of freaking kid, except kids weren't see-through.

Cherod didn't much care for her. More interesting was how there were two barmaids, one of whom was fat and middle-aged, while the other was much younger and pretty. They both carried drinks and bowls of stew to customers, chattering with the men as much as serving them. This meant Cherod had to get his first beer from the barman, but he took this time to watch, downing the mug and gesturing for another.

"Might want to slow down a bit," the barman laughed. "Pond puts more oomph in her beer than most folks. It's stronger than it looks."

"Just pour," Cherod growled. He drank half the results in a single gulp and gestured toward the younger woman with the stein. "She available?"

The barman blinked. "Cherry? Nah, she don't date customers."

Why not, with a name like that? Cherod smirked and drained his beer, slamming it down in front of the barman, who shrugged and filled it again, but with the warning, "I'd leave her alone. She's quick to yell for help."

That sounded even more interesting. After Thul nearly broke his hand, Cherod hadn't got into any fights with his fellow drovers, and fighting was his favorite hobby, next to drinking and whoring. "I'll take that under advisement," he told the barman, and lurched off his stool, swaying for a moment. "Shit, this stuff is strong."

"Told you." Cherod ignored him, lurching across the floor toward Cherry. She had her back to him, chatting with some stupid customer who'd brought his wife to the bar and was ordering dinner. The barman, realizing what Cherod intended, shouted for him to stop, but Cherod flung an arm around the maid, his hand latching onto her breast.

"Hey, girl," he slurred. "Let's go find someplace we can get naked."

Cherry screamed, trying to pull away, but Cherod just laughed, tightening his grip and taking another swallow from his mug. The barman was shouting for him to let go, rushing around the side of the bar, but he was a skinny little nothing, and everyone else was staring in shock. As if none of them would ever grab a whore for a tickle!

"You wanna try something?" he sneered at the barman, his grip tightening on the girl's breast until she started to cry. "Stop yer bitchin'," he snapped at her. "You know you want it."

The door crashed open. Immediately, all of the patrons turned white, scrambling out of their chairs and shoving each other as they fled to the back of the establishment. The barman went with them, while his water sylph gave a bizarre shriek and vanished, leaving her half-made beer to splash on the floor. The other sylphs who'd been wandering around vanished as well, or stood between their masters and the door.

Surprised, Cherod turned, Cherry swinging around with him. She saw who was there and started sobbing, reaching out.

The man in the blue and gold from the warehouse was entering the bar, his face so devoid of expression that Cherod hesitated before he started to laugh. From the look of it, he outweighed the newcomer by a hundred pounds or more, and the blue-coated fool didn't have a weapon.

"You have to be joking," he laughed.

A second man came in, then a third and fourth. In all, seven men in blue and gold entered, none of them speaking as they spread out to fill the bar. They advanced.

These weren't odds Cherod liked, but from experience, the worst he would get was a lump on the head and a night in jail. He glared, though, seeing his job leaving in the morning without him. Thul wouldn't wait for him again.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he shouted. "Who gives a shit about some slut barmaid?" Somewhere behind him, someone groaned.

The men didn't seem to care. "The hive's in danger," one of them said in a soft voice.

"Yes," several more answered.

"The queen gave her permission."

"Oh, yessss." They all hissed it, the sound continuing after they should have run out of breath, and Cherod looked around at them, suddenly nervous.

"Look," he said. "I'm letting her go. See? I'm letting go."

He released Cherry and immediately she ran to the men, still crying. Half of their number converged around her, holding her and actually cooing. The rest kept advancing.

"Look," Cherod said. "I—"

He didn't get to finish. A blast of emotion hit him all at once, focused and deliberate, and he felt his bladder release as his tankard fell to the ground. His eyes widened and he screamed in terror. Hatred that wasn't his filled him, crippling his courage, leaving him shaking and helpless and his heart threatening to burst in his chest. But this didn't last long. The men's focus narrowed and something else came at him, something invisible and very deliberately aimed.

Cherod's right arm blew off at the shoulder. It was the one he'd grabbed the girl with, intending nothing but some harmless fun, though if she felt bad about it in the morning, oh well. He drew breath to scream again, and his left burst off as well. He did scream then, his voice so high-pitched he couldn't recognize it—and then the blue-coated battle sylphs he'd been warned about took off his head.

~ o ~

Review of The Battle Sylph, Book 1 of The Sylph Series


Excerpt of The Battle Sylph


Interview with L.J. McDonald

The contest is still ongoing. You may make your comments in this post or in any of the posts above. L.J. is also around to answer your questions, so ask away! More importantly, have fun!

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY: The Battle Sylph by L.J. McDonald

ISBN 9780843963007

Series: The Sylph Series, Book 1

Genre: Paranormal Romance

(c) March 2010, Leisure Books, Dorchester Publishing

L.J. McDonald's website

Buy Links (paper): Amazon, Book Depository, Barnes and Noble

Buy Link (ebook): Barnes and Noble Ebook

Blurb (from author's website):

In a world where Elemental Sylphs are used for slave labour, Solie thought her biggest problem in life was avoiding an arranged marriage with an older man. That is, until she finds herself kidnapped for use as a human sacrifice in the luring and binding of a Battler, the most dangerous kind of Sylph there is. Terrified but determined not to die, Solie fights back and finds herself suddenly the master of an immensely powerful, shape-changing creature who can take on any form she wishes.

Heyou, however, isn't the only Battle Sylph around, and the two of them are forced to run, pursued by men determined to destroy them both. With no other options left to her, Solie flees with her newfound allies to the only source of sanctuary left to them, but death is tracking them down and Heyou is filling her with desires that threaten to change the world.

Excerpt:

They brought the sacrifice in before dawn, while the streets were mostly empty and the roads still dark. Only the castle and its inner environs were lit, the fire sylphs mostly concerned with keeping the buildings warm in the frigid winter air. Keeping the streets outside the walls lit was less important.

Devon watched them bring her in from where he stood on the ramparts of the castle, huddling in his cloak and waiting for the ship that was soon to arrive. At least, he assumed it was a sacrifice in the cart driven through the old back gate, three armed men sitting inside before something covered in canvas. Whatever it was, it moved. There had been whispers that another battle sylph was to be summoned. The prince was of age, and no simple sylph would ever be considered good enough for him.

Devon sighed, glad that his sylph at least hadn’t needed anyone to die before she could be bound to him. He could feel her, hovering incorporeal in the air around him, waiting as he did. When she wanted, she could take on solid shape, as all sylphs could, but she preferred to be invisible most of the time, dancing on the air that she could control. First summoned by his grandfather, she’d been passed down to him through his father for a gift of music, bound to him for the rest of his life. She didn’t mind. Devon felt her contentment in the back of his mind. It was said the men bound to battlers felt nothing but their sylphs’ hate. Certainly everyone near them felt it.

The breeze was cold, enough so for an autumn night make him think unhappily that soon it would be snow blowing across his body as he stood there, huddling deeper against the lee of the castle. “Hey, Airi,” he called, teeth chattering. “It’s freezing. Can you do something about the wind?”

Her presence grew closer, a face forming out of the air. It’s a big ship, she reminded him.

“I don’t think keeping me from freezing to death will use up too much of your energy,” he replied, and the wind stopped around him, the air not quite warm but not so bitterly cold anymore either. “Thank you.”

A silver laugh answered him, and Devon shook himself, straightening his cloak and looking up. Where they stood, there was a wide space a hundred feet across, easy for a ship to land on. Usually they docked during the day, but this wasn’t a standard trade ship. It was rumored it had been bait for pirates instead. Three ships these brigands had attacked so far, taking the cargo and releasing the crew, but the king wasn’t known for tolerating anything, and this latest craft had gone out armed with two battlers.

Whatever they’d found, they were on their way back now, damaged. Devon’s job was to use Airi to help Tempest, the ship’s official air sylph, land. His superiors hadn’t told him when the craft would be arriving, however, and he’d already been out half the night, waiting.

He wouldn’t complain, he admitted with a sigh. The same as he wouldn’t ask what had happened to damage the ship, or about that cart he’d seen. Air sylphs were easy enough to get, as were those of earth, fire, and water. Someone like him could be replaced if they started questioning too much, and it had happened before, especially when battlers were involved. They were rare. Fortunately. Devon didn’t like to think about what kind of damage even one could do.

Despite knowing better, and though he had just finished reminding himself how expendable he was, he looked back down over the ramparts at the cart now vanishing inside. A ship sent out for bait with two battlers on it? A sacrifice brought in to summon a new battler for the prince? That upset the normal world Devon was used to, where he didn’t have to worry about anything but his work and Airi. Devon was happy being an air-sylph master. He didn’t want to think about anything else. He felt sorry for the girl who was going to be killed, though.

“Do you sense Tempest yet?” he asked.

No.

Devon sighed, leaning back against the rampart again. At least he wasn’t cold anymore. He closed his eyes, trying to catch a bit of rest. Late night or not, he would still have a full day tomorrow. Airi would wake him if anyone came. Sylphs rarely slept.

They’re here.

Devon looked up. Enough time had passed while he dozed that dawn was starting to break, and on the skyline he could finally see a ship floating toward them. It was huge, its hull rounded on the sides like an ocean-going vessel, but the bottom was flat and the sails rigged to the sides. The only waves this ship sailed were those of the sylph who bore it. Tempest was a major sylph, one much more powerful than his little Airi. Devon was almost envious as he watched the thing glide silently in.

I’m just young, Airi told him, though she was almost a hundred years old. Sometimes that made him wonder just how old creatures like Tempest were, or how long Airi would live. He’d never asked her. In a lot of ways, Devon just didn’t want to know.

“I know,” he soothed, not wanting her upset. An upset sylph was nearly painful for its master. He didn’t know how the battlers’ masters handled it. “If you weren’t, we’d spend all our time on a ship.” He’d hardly see his father again.

The ship slowed to a stop overhead, and he felt Tempest’s winds beat harshly against him as Airi went to help her fellow sylph. Together, the two lowered the vessel toward the stones of the castle and lifted a ramp up to it.

As he walked forward, Devon noted that the ship’s sides had gaping holes and one of the sails was torn. It was no wonder extra help was wanted to land her. He looked at the burn marks and felt a cold that didn’t have anything to do with the weather. A man came down the newly set ramp, pulling his coat closed. In his wake stomped a behemoth in full armor, light gleaming out through the eyeholes of his helm. Recognizing both, Devon bowed deeply.

The man swept past without slowing. He was dressed like a dandy, his face pinched with pride, and he didn’t even see Devon: Jasar Doliard, a minor landowner and one of the courtiers in favor with the king and the council. Enough in favor at least to win himself a battle sylph, the second figure, who Devon hoped would ignore him as well. He wasn’t that lucky. Immediately, those glowing eyes within the helm locked on him. At least, it looked like a helm. It was very probable that the armor was physically a part of the battler and not separate at all. Devon could feel the hate rolling off the creature, yet Mace didn’t do anything, not without his master’s command. Mace usually didn’t do anything other than hate. He just stood near his master and looked impressive. It would have seemed a waste of a battler if the creatures weren’t so horrific when they did act.

Behind Jasar came the second battle-sylph master. He was a well-built blond man, though nowhere near the size of Mace, and his sylph did go into battle. Leon Petrule had been the king’s head of security and lead battler master for years. Leon’s battler took the form of a red-feathered hawk, perched on his shoulder, and Devon felt its hate as clearly as he had Mace’s.

Ril’s loathing was sharp, and the bird’s grip tightened on his master’s shoulder when he saw Devon, talons cutting into the leather. Devon bowed deeper, not wanting any attention. The only thing battlers knew how to do was hate. All they were good for was killing, and he was beyond grateful no one ever suggested he master one, though a man could only be master to a single sylph at a time, and the Chole family already had Airi to care for. Even if that weren’t so, he didn’t have the spirit for it. You had to have a certain hardness to your soul to hold one in thrall. Leon had it. For all his frilly clothes and brownnosing attitude, Jasar had it. Devon wondered if the king’s pansy son would, and found himself doubting it.

Airi flowed around him, taking shape as a whirlwind of leaves, when Leon, to Devon’s dismay, stopped before him. Ril shifted on Leon’s shoulder, looking at Airi out of one eye. Devon bowed again. “My lord.”

“You didn’t see anything tonight,” the king’s battler master told him. “Understood?”

Devon bowed even deeper. “Yes, my lord.” “Good.” The battler master continued on his way. Devon waited until he was gone before straightening. His hands were shaking. “Airi,” he managed. Her attention focused on him, a breeze in his mind. “Tell no one about tonight.”

There was no argument. That’s what it meant to be a master. She was beholden to him, unable to disobey. Should Devon and his father both die, she would return to the otherworld from which she came, never to return, unless he passed her on to a new master first. If Devon died before his father, Airi would return to the old man. She’d been his father’s and his late grandfather’s before him, and the old bonds still held, but Devon owned her loyalty now. She’d still obey any former master, though. Once someone owned her, they would always do so. Even the battlers followed that rule.

Devon shuddered, turning back to the ship to help unload as the crew started to emerge, but as he did, an explosion shocked him to his knees. Gasping, he scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the castle ramparts. Looking down, he saw a massive hole blown out of the side of the keep, near the base, and heard the cry of something inhuman. It was an outraged scream, like one he’d heard only once before, on a day that he still couldn’t forget in his dreams. A moment later, a winged cloud shape shot from the hole, wings stretching out as it angled upward. Devon gasped as he felt its hate.

The lightning-filled cloud flew up into the sky, already vanishing in the early-morning light. It was carrying something with long red hair and pale limbs, something that shrieked with fright and clung to it.

“Airi,” Devon gasped, not knowing what he was thinking or why he did so. “Follow them.”

In a moment his sylph was gone, chasing along after her quarry through the air currents. Devon stood alone on the ramparts, staring after the escaped pair and wondering how any girl could manage to handle a battler.

Review for The Battle Sylph

~ o ~

Because we here at The Raving Readers love this book so much, we're giving away one copy of The Battle Sylph to a lucky winner! What's more, Dorchester Publishing has offered five additional copies for giveaway, so there will be six (6) lucky winners instead! Yay! Thank you, Dorchester!

And there's no geographical restriction, so everyone who lives on planet Earth, even the penguins in Antarctica, is welcome to cast your name into the hat.

How to enter?

Today's question is: Which writing contest did L.J. McDonald enter the first three chapters of THE BATTLE SYLPH?

Hint: L.J. McDonald website

Extra chances to win:
+ 3 if you're a follower of this blog
+ 2 if you follow us on Facebook or Twitter
+ 2 if you take our poster (located on the right sidebar) about this contest and post it
           on your blog/website with a link back to us
+ 1 for every time you spread the word about this contest via Facebook, MySpace, Twitter,
           your blog, website or other form of social media. For example, you tweeted about
           this contest twice and also announced it on your Facebook. You also wrote a blog
           post. That's 4 additional chances! However, for these to qualify, be sure to come
           back here and post the links. Like, if you tweeted twice, give me both links.

If you do all of the above, at a minimum, that's 9 chances to win!

Contest ends on March 12 (Friday), 1159pm EST.

Winner will be picked via Randomizer.org and announced on March 13 (Saturday).

Good luck!

SNEAK PEEK: Breaking Daylight by M.J. Fredrick

ISBN 978-1-60504-869-7

(c) January 2010, Samhain Publishing 

M.J. Fredrick's website

Buy Links (ebook): Samhain Publishing, Fictionwise

Blurb from Publisher's Website: 

Touching her crosses the line…and shoots his code of honor all to hell. 

Sergeant Alex Shepard is all about getting the job done. That single-minded purpose helps him forget the fact he hates the jungle as he leads his Special Forces team in search of Honduran drug lord Santiago Saldana. His quarry eludes him, but the woman left behind in the compound is the next best thing. Saldana’s mistress—an American woman who clearly puts her own pleasure over right and wrong.

Isabella Canales has been Saldana’s prisoner for four long years. Worse, he’s taken away her most precious possession. Except Alex doesn’t believe a word of it. The clock is ticking, and she’s frantic to do anything to convince him to take her home. Even agree to serve as bait to draw Saldana out.

As they push through the tangled jungle dodging bullets and ambushes, Alex fights his growing respect for Isabella’s determination—and an attraction that’s impossible to resist, whatever she’s done. But Saldana never lets go of what’s his. And betrayal is his deadliest weapon…

Exclusive Excerpt (provided by the author):

“Where did you get these boots?” He motioned to the footwear that was out of proportion to her body. 

“I borrowed them.” She swiped the back of her wrist over her forehead. “I didn’t have clothes for this." 

“Who did you borrow them from?” 

He inspected a fallen tree, looking for snakes or anything else that might be using the log as a hiding place. Tossing his pack down, he motioned her to sit. She looked at him warily, then did. He reached for the laces, but she drew her feet back, the quickest he’d seen her move in hours. For the first time he saw that her pants were too big as well, rolled at the hem and at the waist. She was tiny, and these were men’s clothes. 

“Saldana’s clothes?” He squinted up at her. 

“No.” She folded her arms over the loose waist and dipped her head. “No, if he knew they were missing—” 

“Someone you trusted?” 

She shook her head. “If he found out someone helped me, it would be terrible for them. I couldn’t ask anyone for help.” 

“Well, you’re not asking me.” He gripped the heel of her boot in one hand and untied it with the other. 

She sucked in her breath when he tugged the boot, and he looked up at her. She was in real pain. This wasn’t going to be good. 

Blood had soaked through the thick white socks—three pairs, she’d had sense enough for that. 

“Jesus.” He peeled the socks gently, one at a time, feeling her tense with each layer. If there was this much damage after only walking this morning—the outer sock was little more than a rag—what were her feet going to look like? Hell, he knew. What he didn’t know was how he was going to deal with an injured woman in the middle of the jungle with no transportation. 

He peeled down the third sock. Her ankle was so small he could wrap his fingers around it. It was ripped to hell, the skin over her Achilles tendon shredded and the flesh over her anklebone where the heel of the boot had rubbed. The tops of her toes—tipped with red nail polish—were raw. 

He rested her heel on his thigh, then gave the same attention to the other foot. Only after he dragged his pack over did he look at her face. She had braced her weight on her hands behind her, her whole body tense as she stared at her feet. 

“I thought nothing could hurt as bad as stilettos.” 

That comment surprised a grin out of him. “Yeah, you wouldn’t look too great in them now.” He pulled out the peroxide, gauze and antibiotic lotion. “You’re going to have a hell of a time walking and we’ve got a long way to go.” 

She stilled. “You can’t leave me here.” 

He sat back on his heels and sighed. The objective had changed on the mountain—get her back to the States. But how was he going to make that happen when her feet were in this shape and he was on his own? He couldn’t protect her and get her out of here. He’d have to stash her until he could do both. “They won’t hurt you. We’ll get you to the road, they’ll find you, take you back.” 

“To Santiago.” Her voice rose in panic. “If he knows I left on my own—” 

He dragged a hand over his hair. “You tell him we took you.” 

She shook her head violently. “He’ll know. There’s no way you could get in, and I’m forbidden to leave.” 

“Ever?” He opened a new bottle of water, splashed a bit over each foot, soaking the thigh of his BDUs, and he passed the bottle to her. 

She took it but didn’t drink. “In four years. I even—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together. 

“Even what?” 

She shook her head, her gaze following a trail of ants on the jungle floor. He cut a strip of gauze, cleaned her wounds with gentle swipes and dabs, applied the antibiotic and started wrapping her foot. “If you give it an extra layer or whatever I could make it,” she said. “It already feels a lot better.” 

“Your socks are bloody rags.” He looked up. “I have to send you back.” 

“You can’t!” 

She shot forward and grasped his wrist. Her dark eyes were pleading. The kind of eyes that could make a man do anything. He turned his gaze down. 

“You don’t know what he’ll do to me.” 

He pulled his wrist away. “Your choice. You went with him.” 

She reached for her pack and dragged it close as he wrapped her other foot with less gentleness than the first, needing to get her away from him. But God, how could he make her walk on these feet? 

“You’re not going to leave me all by myself?” 

Damn, she was about to cry. “We’ll find a village. I’m not going to leave you in the middle of the jungle. But even that won’t be easy.” He held out his hand. “Give me that.” 

She pulled her pack closer, protective, wary. 

“I need to stuff the toes or something so your feet won’t have room to slide around.” 

"I don’t have anything.”  

He tugged the pack free, frowning at her determination to hang on to it. What was she hiding? “I already saw the vibrator. Not that you’re likely to be embarrassed by something like that.” He unzipped the pack and pulled out a brightly colored silk dress, something fine and expensive, something Rebecca would never wear. No, she liked soft colors and cotton, and had probably never paid more than fifty dollars for a dress. This garment was probably worth four times that, at least. 

The goddess whimpered, her gaze focused on it. 

He grabbed the garment by the shoulders, took just a moment to imagine how the fabric would mold to her body, and ripped it in two. 

You would have thought he’d stabbed her in the heart, the way she cried out and reached for it, trying to pull it from his grasp, too late. 

“What the hell?” he demanded, holding it away. “It’s a dress.” 

But the woman who’d refused to cry when she was in a truck on fire, or hanging off the side of a mountain, was sobbing over a dress. Jesus. 

He snatched up her boots, one at a time, and shoved the fabric inside, wadding it in the toes. Then he held out each boot expectantly. Lower lip trembling, she took them, eased her sore feet inside and laced them up. 

He stood, backing away and grabbing his pack, not taking his gaze off her. Goddamn, he’d never understand women.

Buy Links (ebook): Samhain Publishing, Fictionwise

SNEAK PEEK: The Man by Mechele Armstrong

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