Monthly Archives: November 2019
Needs Work Blitz
Coldest Fire by Juliette Cross Tour
COLDEST FIRE
by Juliette Cross
Dominion, #3
Publication Date: November 18, 2019
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Amara, Paranormal, Romance, Angels
SYNOPSIS
Archangel Uriel is hell bent on revenge on the demon prince Vladek. To get into the prince’s impenetrable fortress, he’ll have to fight in the pits of the underworld. And he’ll need the help of the last person he can trust––the demon witch Nadya.
There is no way Nadya, who spends her days taking care of others, expected to find Uriel on her doorstep. He seems no happier about being there than she does. But helping him means evening the scales against her backstabbing sister, and she’ll do whatever it takes to make that bitch pay.
Using the fight pit circuits in the demon underworld, Nadya helps Uriel combat his way to the arena at the castle in Russia. Only she isn’t what she seems. As a matter of fact, she may hold the key to his redemption…and to his heart.
EXCERPT : Uriel
Ludvik took my wrist in one hand and my opponent’s wrist in the other before announcing the standard, “Only body and blades in the ring. Fight till you die. Or survive.”
The voice of Yorick echoing through the speakers of the hall crooned over the masses. “Tonight, we have a special guest. To challenge our champion Mastok the Marauder, we have Uriel the Archangel!”
Sudden raucous yells erupted from the audience. I heard what I’d expected from some of the jeering crowd.
“Kill the angel!”
“Break his wings!”
“Take off his pretty head!” one demoness in the front row yelled with spittle flying.
Fuel to the fire, my friends. They had no idea what had been building inside of me since the day I’d been taken captive by Vladek and restrained by his putrid essence and by Lisabette’s blood rites and black magic. It would all be unleashed tonight.
“Let the games begin!” shouted Yorick, then the maestro waved his arms.
The orchestra swelled suddenly, joined by a chorus in the left balcony that I hadn’t noticed. A few of them were seraphs, but mostly humans. Throat collars with chains binding them one to the other kept them in place. All slaves to this bastard, Yorick.
“To the death,” grunted Ludvik, smirking at me before letting our wrists go.
The behemoth circled away from me, but I stood perfectly still.
I recognized the music building with spine-chilling accuracy. “O Fortuna” from the cantata Carmina Burana. The Latin voices and strings rang with staccato perfection. The haunting lyrics vibrated straight to my soul, opening it wide for the words to take on new meaning. Words penned by defrocked monks now long dead sang straight to my heart. Oh, yes. Lady Fortune had been undeservingly cruel, blasting me with one disaster after another, enslaving my soul with despair, bringing me to my knees and expelling me out of hell so that I could stand on this stage and take my revenge.
As my soon-to-be first kill continued to circle me like a menacing predator, his sinister grin having zero effect, I glanced one more time up to the top balcony, capturing her look of mingling worry and fear and another heady emotion no woman had ever held in her eyes for me. I pressed it all inside my chest and turned to the monster crouching for a strike.
Let it all begin.
ABOUT JULIETTE CROSS
Juliette is a multi-published author of paranormal and urban fantasy romance. She calls lush, moss-laden Louisiana home where she lives with her husband, four kids, and black lab named Kona. From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with the Gothic romance–brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes. Even then, she not only longed to read more books set in Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.
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E.V.A.IN.E Tour
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
PART 1
Planet Deneva and the E.V.A.IN.E. World Foundation Period
The coming and establishing of the E.V.A.IN.E. ancestral ghosts were required instruction for the younger inhabitant’s education on Deneva. An instructional teacher of the rich history on the world of Deneva stood before her classroom. Not someone identical to you and I but recognizable in the sense of the word. She was an artifice. An exceptional mix of working parts that required little if no replacement except for the intrusion of unexpected trauma. True enough she was lifelike but behind her white eyes and underneath her artificial skin was a mechanical wonder. She asked her children of which she was assigned if they would set aside for now their basic framework of mathematical formula rationalization for their analytical historical studies. Sharing the room with their teacher was a teaching artificial intelligence helping and moving about the students. The children were far away in thought and had been for most of the morning with only the reward of solutions confirmed by the A.I. to problems to excite them. Her voice had taken them unaware being in deep concentration with the logic required for intricate problem solving in their studies. She would re-enforce their efforts with an example of pleasure explained in the Great Guardian’s philosophy to sustain them in the ongoing race of their mandatory indoctrination. Their education adhered to a rigid prescribe allotted time for comprehending and must be fully attained by the sessions demands so that they could continue to achieve the knowledge for the role of Denevan explorer. For her to have said so had made them glad to relax for a short spell in what was left to the day. Looking over her students of mostly girls to boys, roughly two thirds to one third respectively, she was proud of their efforts this morning and so wished to excite them with a reward. She asked them if they could recall where in their civilizations history did the place of redemption point to next.
What the children had been shown so far, in relation to the creators place with them in the world of Deneva’s past, was mostly preparation he had dictated to himself in his scientific studies and research. Now the fruition of his efforts would be revealed as closely as possible along the timeline it had occurred in and projected like a living story there in the classroom.
The girls devoutly raised their hands to be called upon and the boys leaned gregariously nearly coming out of their seats and spoke out quick without being felt to be under formal permission to wait. With brief acknowledgements to each face, the teacher had meant to be understood only rhetorically, but was delighted they were enthusiastic about their home world’s deep past and its state of steady recovery. For although their worlds last catastrophe had been passed by now for many generations, the history of it still had a way of affecting even the newest of their population. To placate as well as encourage their curiosity she now asked them more specifically if they would like to investigate once more the archival histories. There had been no need to ask. Seeing their happiness to explore the histories, she had with deliberateness set aside for the remainder of the day the regimentation of their mathematical education before class would be suspended till tomorrow. All of their visual and mechanical aids were retrieved into the cavities on their individual desks. The soft form seats they occupied were adjusted and the working desks removed themselves being only holograms of teachable aids. Their level of completion to the list of formulas was recorded before being sealed by the authority instructing them. The teacher felt their sense of exploring returning to the past and set in motion the participation of the assisting android to access the last waypoint the class had entered from its internal archival library.
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Soteria Tour
Excerpt
The entrance to the subway was congested; there were panhandlers blocking the steps. He made his way down the stairs and onto the crowded platform. Columbia students were talking of academic subjects. Three young hippie-looking girls giggled about last night’s trysts with their boyfriends. On a wooden bench in the middle of the platform, a homeless man slept beneath a blanket, his stench mingling with the smell of cheap wine, staining his coat. A police officer nudged him with a nightstick as he passed, and a group of teenage boys in the corner laughed at the spectacle. It was 1969. It was an inspiring time – a time of experimentation, a time of pleasure. It was a time when rules seemed to matter little to a world turned over on its head.
These humans are fascinating! Mark would say to himself as he walked through the subway. He could read their thoughts as well as hear their words, and he drank it all in with delight. Today, the platform bathed Mark in a cacophony of sights, sounds, and feelings. A swirl of human emotions flew through the air in what was to Mark a sinuous torrent, flickering and jumping like sparks from a burning campfire, flying colors, a kaleidoscope of humanity. It baffled him how humans would lie to each other about the silliest things, even to their closest friends, and how they often seemed so mentally distant as they pushed themselves up against each other’s bodies in the subway cars. They remained faceless, isolated in a crowd, and yet they increasingly busied themselves within the networks of their own lives. For all their strange, paradoxical behavior, Mark found humans forever surprising, constantly naively beautiful; every day they fascinated him more.
Playing games and testing his abilities at mental manipulation became a daily pastime on the train, an unending source of pleasure. He would often construct suggestions, implant them into some unsuspecting mind, and watch the ensuing reactions. He might create a deep-seated attraction in a young girl’s mind for a stranger. Then, he would observe her eyes as she pined away, watching her new true love jump on the express train, never to be seen again. Or he would suggest to the mind of a busy businessman that he had left the gas on in his house, and then relish in the anxiety, witnessing the panic, as he would flee to rush home. What silly games! He often thought. But I might as well practice what powers I have. Who knows how I’ll need to use them.
Besides, these minor games paled in significance to the games Mark and Jason had played when they were children. Jason had once gone so far as to induce the preacher’s wife to seduce their school principal in the rear of the church. Jason had practiced his abilities of suggestion from an early age, and he had developed them into an art. Not only was the school principal thirty years older than the preacher’s wife, but he was fat, almost consistently unshaven, and always had bad breath. Mrs. Shulster, on the other hand, was a beauty with blue eyes, a fetching southern accent, and healthy blonde curls that bobbed and bounced in the most affected manner intended to disarm the men she dealt with as the church’s first lady. She was also supervisor of the school, a position she often abused, dispensing a cruelty for which even at a young age the brothers, especially Jason, had no patience.
One day she found herself naked, reclined and sweaty, succumbing to an uncontrollable lust with the principal behind a thin curtain in the rear of the church. The debauchery devised by Jason was cruel even by his standards, and afterward, he allowed her only to recall the event in full during an occasional dream. She would never be sure whether the tryst had been real, but it would always haunt her. Mark eventually admitted he enjoyed watching her squirm in her seat whenever the principal walked into the room, or when his eyes found hers. To this day, the preacher’s wife never understood how it was possible that she had found herself sitting in a pew next to all the prim ladies without any underwear beneath her stiff dress. The principal, for his part, could never quite wash the smell of her off his clothes. The brothers had hated them both, and never had a moment’s remorse. They granted themselves these silly pleasures, thinking of them as learning exercises, for their time living amidst humans passed ever so slowly. Mark had been seeking what these beings were flush with, what they took for granted, this irrational torrent they call emotions. Maybe one day I will even be able to dream. Could I imagine such a thing?
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Fame and Fortune Tellers Blitz
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