After so much craziness, Avenger Mine is finally released! Which means a whole new type of work must begin. Now it's time to work on promo, marketing, marketing, and promo. Fortunately, it's an area I like quite a bit. If you're local, you'll see me on NBC and CBS early in the mornings this week to promote my new release and the book signing this weekend March 28, at Hastings in Alexandria from 12:00 - 2:00 p.m.
So, in the spirit of the new release and book signing, I'm going to give you a snippet of the book, and tempt your taste buds with a sneak peak of Avenger Mine!
Marko stood on his front porch, looking out at the land around him. The night still and cool. The ground was a beautiful burnt amber in stark contrast to the black sky with is diamond gems hanging on a dark velvet curtain. His beautiful ranch was normally settled and covered in peace on nights like this. Not tonight. He could almost see the tension as a musical concerto. Notes flowing and crashing against one another, making a melody only those in tuned with the intricacies of his desert would hear or understand.
Men were getting ready to war against enemies they'd only heard stories about. Enemies who could steal your mind, and make you kill those you loved the most. It was the stuff their childhood nightmares had been made of. This war would neither be for the tender of heart, nor the weak of mind. It would most likely prove to be a battle of the mind before physical fighting came into play. The women and children would all stay underground in the basements of their homes.
Most of the basements had started off as root cellars in the cabins that were originally on the properties when the Roma and Mala's parents had obtained the ranch in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. With each modern advancement, Mala had rebuilt the homes, added on to them, and reinforced those underground cellars, eventually turning them into basements to be used in the event she needed to pull from the earth. She did that quite frequently. She would pull jewels for money, or minerals and elements for healing, and she would walk through their gardens and regenerate the soil as it was needed. They never had to worry about failed crops. And it was all because of her. Now, they would use those underground rooms as safeguards for their women and children during the attack the men were preparing for. Not that they were any safer there, than hiding in their bathrooms, they simply fell back on the safety they knew. For the tribe, safety was in the basements, where Mala could heal them and provide for them.
And if Marko knew Mala like he thought he did, she would refuse to be in any of those basement blockades. She would want to be right beside the men fighting; she would want to be spreading her net of psychic barriers around all of them so they wouldn't be susceptible to the nightmarish enemy. Even though Jackson had said her barriers might not work. Marko could beg and plead with her, but she would find a way around him anyway. She always did. He knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her. He always had, and probably always would. It was her fragile heart and sense of duty that kept them apart. An ache started deep within his chest and clawed its way up his throat.
She had watched her parents die in the same moment, drawing the same last breath, and knew it would be the same for her and whomever she would marry. Her heart for him, and duty to her Roma family kept her without a mate. The young girls in the tribe found it incredibly romantic; while he found it remarkably tragic, and made him love her all the more. When he was in his early twenties, she had graced him with a forbidden kiss. That tender, loving caress killed him a little piece at a time every day. She had promised him another kiss, "when the time was right," she had said. As each part of him died, another part lived for the hope alone of their potential relationship.
A subtle shift in the tension of his desert brought Marko from his musings. He would be able to tell the new Katara from one-hundred yards away, easily. Jackson's inner turmoil was following him like a fog underfoot––each step he took only moved the cloud a step forward. He quite literally was creating and recycling his own mood of frustration and confusion. The urge to agitate this supposedly great Katara Warrior was overwhelming, but the Roma in him wanted to comfort this lone traveler. He was, after all, just another one of them. He might be from another world, but he was made up of the same stuff. To make matters worse, this man would wed the woman he loved, and in doing so would determine whether she would disappear with him, or stay within Marko's watchful eye.
He was pretty sure someone had cursed him. A bibaxt was the only explanation to his life. Oh well, the man was here now, and the only way to keep on top of what would transpire, was to befriend him. The trouble here was that Marko really wanted to hate him, but Jackson was just too damn likable––the no good son of a...
So, in the spirit of the new release and book signing, I'm going to give you a snippet of the book, and tempt your taste buds with a sneak peak of Avenger Mine!
Marko stood on his front porch, looking out at the land around him. The night still and cool. The ground was a beautiful burnt amber in stark contrast to the black sky with is diamond gems hanging on a dark velvet curtain. His beautiful ranch was normally settled and covered in peace on nights like this. Not tonight. He could almost see the tension as a musical concerto. Notes flowing and crashing against one another, making a melody only those in tuned with the intricacies of his desert would hear or understand.
Men were getting ready to war against enemies they'd only heard stories about. Enemies who could steal your mind, and make you kill those you loved the most. It was the stuff their childhood nightmares had been made of. This war would neither be for the tender of heart, nor the weak of mind. It would most likely prove to be a battle of the mind before physical fighting came into play. The women and children would all stay underground in the basements of their homes.
Most of the basements had started off as root cellars in the cabins that were originally on the properties when the Roma and Mala's parents had obtained the ranch in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. With each modern advancement, Mala had rebuilt the homes, added on to them, and reinforced those underground cellars, eventually turning them into basements to be used in the event she needed to pull from the earth. She did that quite frequently. She would pull jewels for money, or minerals and elements for healing, and she would walk through their gardens and regenerate the soil as it was needed. They never had to worry about failed crops. And it was all because of her. Now, they would use those underground rooms as safeguards for their women and children during the attack the men were preparing for. Not that they were any safer there, than hiding in their bathrooms, they simply fell back on the safety they knew. For the tribe, safety was in the basements, where Mala could heal them and provide for them.
And if Marko knew Mala like he thought he did, she would refuse to be in any of those basement blockades. She would want to be right beside the men fighting; she would want to be spreading her net of psychic barriers around all of them so they wouldn't be susceptible to the nightmarish enemy. Even though Jackson had said her barriers might not work. Marko could beg and plead with her, but she would find a way around him anyway. She always did. He knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her. He always had, and probably always would. It was her fragile heart and sense of duty that kept them apart. An ache started deep within his chest and clawed its way up his throat.
She had watched her parents die in the same moment, drawing the same last breath, and knew it would be the same for her and whomever she would marry. Her heart for him, and duty to her Roma family kept her without a mate. The young girls in the tribe found it incredibly romantic; while he found it remarkably tragic, and made him love her all the more. When he was in his early twenties, she had graced him with a forbidden kiss. That tender, loving caress killed him a little piece at a time every day. She had promised him another kiss, "when the time was right," she had said. As each part of him died, another part lived for the hope alone of their potential relationship.
A subtle shift in the tension of his desert brought Marko from his musings. He would be able to tell the new Katara from one-hundred yards away, easily. Jackson's inner turmoil was following him like a fog underfoot––each step he took only moved the cloud a step forward. He quite literally was creating and recycling his own mood of frustration and confusion. The urge to agitate this supposedly great Katara Warrior was overwhelming, but the Roma in him wanted to comfort this lone traveler. He was, after all, just another one of them. He might be from another world, but he was made up of the same stuff. To make matters worse, this man would wed the woman he loved, and in doing so would determine whether she would disappear with him, or stay within Marko's watchful eye.
He was pretty sure someone had cursed him. A bibaxt was the only explanation to his life. Oh well, the man was here now, and the only way to keep on top of what would transpire, was to befriend him. The trouble here was that Marko really wanted to hate him, but Jackson was just too damn likable––the no good son of a...
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