Anyone who knows me or follows the blog will not be surprised at how much I love my former editor/always friend, Skyla Dawn Cameron. She is also an amazingly talented writer. . . to the point that reading her words makes me get all weepy about how badly I still suck. Amazing. Writer.
And for her tour duration Bloodlines will be free (Oct. 28-31) Go ahead and go snatch a copy and we'll wait here. Then come back and read about the rest of the books, the tour and a crazy-fierce, awesome excerpt.
Demons of Oblivion Tour
Skyla Dawn Cameron
If you're in her way, it sucks to be
you.
But in the dangerous world of the
supernatural, few things are ever “simple.”
When a massive assault decimates the
continent's population of powerful witches and warlocks, and its orchestrator
has vampires being hunted down and captured, Zara realizes the tables have
turned and now she'll be playing the hero. Forced to join with a smart-mouthed
fellow vampire, a demonologist who's also a fan of hers, a recently widowed—and
frequently brooding—warlock, and her best friend's mom, Zara's grudgingly
willing to do what she can to save the day.
If only people would stop ruining all
her outfits...
An excerpt from Bloodlines...
“Tea and hugs later, girls—like
maybe when we’re not about to be attacked.”
An irritated sigh. “Top shelf, green
binding, and in the corner—got it. I have a disposable cell; I’ll call in a few
days.” The chair creaked as Nate rose and returned the phone to its cradle,
then he joined me at the window.
“He recommended a book for us?” I
peered between the space in the curtains, acutely aware of Nate right there,
warm, breathing, and smelling of faintly of wintery soap and a spicy aftershave
over my shoulder.
“Mmm-hmm.”
I glanced back and up; he looked out
the window instead of at me. “‘Mmm-hmm?’ Well, what’s it say? Does it have our
demons in it?”
“It’s a book on vampires. Killing them
with magic, specifically.”
I opened my mouth to snark about how
we weren’t dealing with vampires, then caught his drift. Oh,
I see what you did there. The prick. “Aww, you wouldn’t kill me,
Nate.”
“It’s crossed my mind, if only for the
blessed silence it would bring.”
“Nope.” I batted my eyelashes
dramatically. “I’m just too pretty.”
His gaze shifted to look down at me,
blue moonlight etching the strong lines of his face. Tension simmered in the
air and a little chill walked my spine. One of his dark brown brows rose
skeptically.
“Constantly disagreeing with me on this
point would probably hurt my feelings if I had any.”
A slight shake of his head and he
glanced back at our guests outside. “I take it we were being
followed?”
I sighed and returned to business as
well. “So it would seem.”
One of our guests disappeared from
view, toward the front of the house; the second started trying the back lower
windows. Shapes moved across the field in the distance—yet another approaching
Peter’s house/shop.
I scanned the desk, spotted a heavy
metal letter opener with a sharp point. That would do. My gun went back to the
holster at my waist and I snatched up the letter opener instead. “I’m about to
get bossy again.”
“I’ll grab the book on vampire killing
then.”
“Position yourself so you can see the
staircase we came up—I left the door open and I bet they’ll go there first.
Shoot anything that comes through there...unless it’s me, obviously.” I
unlatched the window and eased it open.
“And what are you going to do?”
“Take them out one by one,” I
whispered. “Stylishly, of course.” I got a good grasp on the letter opener,
aimed it at the third man in the field, and whipped the weapon straight at him.
It sailed through the air and pierced
his forehead, plunging directly into his brain. He fell to the ground without
making a sound.
I slipped off my jacket and handed it
to Nate.
“Stealthy kills,” I responded to his
unasked question. “Coat will get in the way.”
I pulled out the combat knife tucked in
my belt—a beauty with a double sided blade—noiselessly hopped onto the
windowsill, and crouched down to fit in the frame.
Shit, Nate was still standing there—I
gave a quick, irritated gesture toward the door. He nodded, but sent one
lingering glance in my direction. Probably just to drive home the you’re
not the boss of me thing. Men are such babies.
My target wandered along the rear of
the house. Closer and closer. He stopped at the window directly below the one
where I crouched. As he leaned forward to peer through the glass, I dropped off
the ledge.
I landed on his shoulders. A flash of
movement under me—body tensing, hands rising to reach for me—and I put one hand
over his mouth, then slammed my knife into his throat. Hot blood spurted past
my fingers. I gave the blade a swift twist, opening the wound further and
ensuring his death, then I wrenched the knife out and flipped off of him. He
collapsed into a heap.
I cleaned the blood from the blade on
the fallen man’s shirt—and wiped my fingers off too—tucked the knife back in
the sheath at my belt, then looked around. No sign of others, so that meant
there was probably just the guy at the front.
The one at my feet went down quickly,
too. I eyed the body but nope, this weeble definitely wobbled and fell
down. And wasn’t getting up again. So, humans. And given the black ops clothing
deal they had going on, I’d take a shot in the dark and guess they weren’t
carrying ID.
Right, so the other guy had to be on
the other side of the house. Maybe we could catch and interrogate him. Rather
than go around the building, I took a run and leapt onto the roof. The tiles
were rough and chipped beneath my feet; the soles of my boots scraped, so I
slowed to a crawl. Just as I was inching along the slope, a rumbling in the
distance signaled approaching vehicles on the road. Two police cars sped down
the sleepy street and pulled up in front of the shop. Great, so someone
probably saw us break in. Stupid, nosy locals...
I hated when mortals got involved in
supernatural situations. They almost always got themselves killed. Dead mortals
didn’t really keep me up at night, but more importantly, most of us on the
supernatural side tried to keep a low profile. Let’s face it: TV shows about
humans learning the monsters of myth are real never end well
for the monsters. Cops showing up while I was trying to kill some people would
certainly risk exposure. Then Hunters would inevitably hear about it, and on
top of everything else going on, I’d have them to deal with. Fuckity-fuck.
As the police were exiting their
vehicles, gunfire sounded in the building below me. The cops ducked behind
their cars, drew their guns, and started firing blindly into the second floor.
A shootout. Just what
I need—fucking Wild West going down in a demonology bookstore.
I pivoted on one foot and raced back to
the rear of the house, heart hammering, no longer caring how much damn noise I
made. My fingers locked on the edge of the roof and I jumped, twisted midair,
and swung into the open window I’d left from.
Bullets tore through the space, ripping
through walls; bits of plaster flew, a fine dust spitting from holes and
clogging the air. I rolled across the floor, glanced up, and scanned the room.
Near the door the final man lay dead, bloodied from the numerous holes in his
torso.
A loud, but slowing heartbeat caught my
attention. I gave the room another once over. Where was Nate?
Movement just beyond a stack of
books—feet.
Ah, shit. I dashed forward, still half crouched, crept around the books
splattered with blood, and knelt at his side.
A low hiss left my lips. “Nate!”
He didn’t respond. Then my gaze
travelled over him, down, and stopped where his hands gripped his stomach,
blood seeping over his fingers.
Coming Soon:
I'll have a double serving of awesome with awesome sauce, please!
~Frances