Merry May Blog Hop and Giveaway

http://www.roanepublishing.com/merry-may-blog-hop.html

Welcome to my stop on the Roane Publishing Merry May Blog Hop

Roane Publishing will be giving away THREE e-titles as a Grand Prize!

Click the above link to go to their site

I'll also be offering a prize, details in the Rafflecopter form 
after this post.

(Daddy Duck, Mummy Duck, and you can just see Baby Duck at the reservoir- with a swan in the distance)

Between visits from the farrier, necessary shopping trips, gardening to take advantage of the fact that spring really seems to have arrived in the UK at last, oh - er- and yes, celebrating a contract for the third book in the series that started with 'Starquest' and will probably now be known as 'The Destiny Trilogy', it's been a hectic few weeks.


It's May - and when we get a little time to relax, the other half (Dave)and I love to walk with our 'rescue' dog, Choccy, enjoying the spring sunshine in the countryside around where we live. There is a reservoir with an abundance of wild waterfowl, and nearby woods where there is always a sea of bluebells. As a tribute to May and spring in general, I thought I'd share some pictures with you.





There is a variety of different species of trees in these woods, some of them are very old, and some of them just saplings.

The woods are carpeted with last year's fallen leaves, and in  between the trees, grass, ferns and other vegetation push their way through the leaves

Can you see to the right of the picture, rare 'white bluebells'!

Some of the trees  form strange, twisted patterns, twining round themselves.

                                                                            

The bluebells grow in drifts, looking almost like  pools of bright blue water in the distance

 

At the edge of the woods, we could see in the distance the Bridgewater Monument, erected in 1832 to the Duke of Bridgewater, in recognition of his pioneering canal development.

and this is the monument itself, with people walking and picnicking under the trees

Men were hard at work in one corner, carving out what will soon be
a natural childrens' play area.

Each season has its own delights, but I have to say Maytime in the woods can be quite magical! 

I hope you've enjoyed your walk around the bluebell woods with me. Please visit the other blogs on this blog hop by clicking on the banner at the top of this page.

 Have a great spring and summer, and before you leave don't forget  to enter my Rafflecopter contest below, to win a copy of my Greek muse novella 'Dancing With Fate' PLUS a $5 Amazon Gift Card.

When Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance, is assigned to revisit the land of Wales, her task seems simple enough.  She is unaware there is a hidden agenda.  Before she can return to Olympus her path crosses that of the mysterious Myrddin, and her heart is lost.

But Myrddin is promised to another.  His mind is set on the dangerous task that lies before him, and the woman he has sworn to save.  Nevertheless, he cannot deny the growing attraction between him and the beautiful stranger he meets along the way.   

  Terpsichore and Myrddin face a deadly force that threatens to part them forever.  Is she destined to lose the only man she has ever truly loved?  Is there nothing she can do to save him?  Finally, when all seems lost, in desperation she finds herself DANCING WITH FATE.

  a Rafflecopter giveaway

'STARQUEST'    'CHILDREN OF THE MIST'  (A sequel to Starquest) DANCING WITH FATE     'Freeread':'A BARGAIN WITH DEATH

           

Liberty by Kim, Iverson Headlee - Giveaway and Excerpt

BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – Liberty, second edition
 AUTHOR – Kim Iverson Headlee  
GENRE – Historical Romance (ancient Rome)  
PUBLICATION DATE – Dec. 2014
 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 462 pages/118K words
 PUBLISHER – Pendragon Cove Press
 COVER ARTIST – Natasha Brown  
BOOK INFO - http://kimiversonheadlee.blogspot.com/p/liberty.html

BOOK SYNOPSIS

They hailed her “Liberty,” but she was free only to obey—or die.

Betrayed by her father and sold as payment of a Roman tax debt to fight in Londinium’s arena, gladiatrix-slave Rhyddes feels like a wild beast in a gilded cage. Celtic warrior blood flows in her veins, but Roman masters own her body. She clings to her vow that no man shall claim her soul, though Marcus Calpurnius Aquila, son of the Roman governor, makes her yearn for a love she believes impossible.

Groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and trapped in a politically advantageous betrothal, Aquila prefers the purity of combat on the amphitheater sands to the sinister intrigues of imperial politics, and the raw power and athletic grace of the flame-haired Libertas to the adoring deference of Rome’s noblewomen.

When a plot to overthrow Caesar ensnares them as pawns in the dark design, Aquila must choose between the Celtic slave who has won his heart and the empire to which they both owe allegiance. Knowing the opposite of obedience is death, the only liberty offered to any slave, Rhyddes must embrace her arena name—and the love of a man willing to sacrifice everything to forge a future with her.

BUY & TBR LINKS

Kindle US – Kindle UK – Kindle CA – Kindle AU – Amazon Paperback – Nook – Inktera (Page Foundry) – iTunes – Kobo – Scribd – Smashwords – Goodreads

EXCERPT

FINGERS CRAMPING AND shoulders aching from having wielded the pitchfork all day, Rhyddes ferch Rudd tossed another load of hay onto the wagon. Sweat trickled down her back, making the lash marks sting. Marks inflicted by her father, Rudd, the day before because eighteen summers of anguish had goaded her into speaking her mind.

Physical pain couldn’t compare with the ache wringing her heart.

She slid a glance toward the author of her mood. He stood a few paces away, leaning upon his pitchfork’s handle in the loaded wagon’s shade to escape the July heat as he conversed with her oldest brother, Eoghan. She couldn’t discern their words, but their camaraderie spoke volumes her envy didn’t want to hear.

Her father’s gaze met hers, and he lowered his eyebrows. “Back to work, Rhyddes!” On Rudd’s lips, her name sounded like an insult.

In a sense, it was.

Her name in the Celtic tongue meant “freedom,” but the horse hitched to the hay wagon enjoyed more freedom than she did. Her tribe, the Votadini, had been conquered by the thieving Romans, who demanded provisions for their troops, fodder for their mounts, women for their beds, and coin to fill the purses of every Roman who wasn’t a soldier.

If those conditions weren’t bad enough, for all the kindness her father had demonstrated during her first two decades, Rhyddes may as well have been born a slave.

She scooped up more hay. Resentment-fired anger sent wisps flying everywhere, much of it sailing over the wagon rather than landing upon it.

“Hey, mind what you’re doing!”

Owen, her closest brother in age and in spirit, emerged from the wagon’s far side, hay prickling his hair and tunic like a porcupine. Rhyddes couldn’t suppress her laugh. “’Tis an improvement. Just wait till the village lasses see you.”

“Village lasses, hah!” Sporting a wicked grin, Owen snatched up a golden fistful, flung it at her, and dived for her legs.

They landed in the fragrant hay and began vying for the upper hand, cackling like a pair of witless hens. When Owen thought he’d prevailed, Rhyddes twisted and rolled from underneath him. Her fresh welts stung, but she refused to let that deter her. He lost his balance and fell backward. She pounced, planting a knee on his chest and pinning his wrists to the ground over his head.

Victory’s sweetness lasted but a moment. Fingers dug into her shoulders, and she felt herself hauled to her feet and spun around. Owen’s face contorted to chagrin as he scrambled  up.

“Didn’t get enough of the lash yestermorn, eh, girl?” Rudd, his broad hands clamped around her upper arms, gave her a teeth-rattling shake.

When she didn’t respond, he released her and rounded on Owen. “As for you—”

“Da, please, no!” Rhyddes stopped herself. Well she knew the futility of pleading with Rudd.  Still, for Owen’s sake, she had to try. Her father’s scowl dared her to continue. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “’Twas not Owen’s fault. I—” Sweat freshened the sting on her back, and she winced. “The fault is naught but mine.”

“Aye, that I can well believe.” Rudd grasped each sibling by an arm and strode across the hayfield toward the family’s lodge. “Owen can watch you take his lashes as well as yours. We’ll see if that won’t mend his ways.” The thin linen of her ankle-length tunic failed to shield her from his fingers, which had to be leaving bruises. Rhyddes gritted her teeth. Rudd seemed disappointed. “I doubt anything in this world or the next will make you mend yours.”

“You don’t want me to change. You’d lose your excuse to beat me.” Sheer impertinence, she knew, but she no longer cared.

“I need no excuses, girl.”

The back of his hand collided with her cheek. Pain splintered into a thousand needles across her face. She reeled and dropped to her hands and knees, her hair obscuring her vision in a copper cascade. Hay pricked her palms. Owen would have helped her rise, but their father restrained him. Owen blistered the ground with his glare, not daring to direct it at Rudd for fear of earning the same punishment.

Not that Rhyddes could blame him.

Rudd yanked her up, cocked a fist… and froze. “Raiders!”

Rhyddes whirled about. Picts were charging from the north to converge upon their settlement, the battle cries growing louder under the merciless afternoon sun. One of the storage buildings had already been set ablaze, its roof thatch marring the sky with thick black smoke.

Rudd shed his shock and sprinted for the living compound, calling his children by name to help him defend their home: Eoghan, Ian, Bloeddwyn, Arden, Dinas, Gwydion, Owen.

Every child except Rhyddes.

She ran to the wagon, unhitched the horse, found her pitchfork, scrambled onto the animal’s back, and kicked him into a jolting canter. The stench of smoke strengthened with each stride. Her mount pinned back his ears and wrestled her for control of the bit, but she bent the frightened horse to her will. She understood how he felt.

As they loped past the cow byre, a Pict leaped at them, knocking Rhyddes from the horse’s back. The ground jarred the pitchfork from her grasp. The horse galloped toward the pastures as Rhyddes fumbled for her dagger. Although her brothers had taught her how to wield it in a fight, until now she’d used it only to ease dying animals from this world.

But the accursed blade wouldn’t come free of the hilt.

Sword aloft, the Pict closed on her.

Time distorted, assaulting Rhyddes with her attacker’s every detail: lime-spiked hair, weird blue symbols smothering the face and arms, long sharp sword, ebony leather boots and leggings, breastplate tooled to fit female curves . . .

Female?

The warrior-woman’s sword began its descent.

From the corner of her eye Rhyddes saw her pitchfork. Grunting, she rolled toward it, praying to avoid her attacker’s blow.

Her left arm stung where the sword grazed it, but she snagged her pitchfork and scrambled to her feet. Unexpected eagerness flooded her veins.

As the Pict freed her weapon from where it had embedded in the ground, Rhyddes aimed the pitchfork and lunged. The tines hooked the warrior-woman’s sword, and Rhyddes twisted with all her strength. The Pict yelped as the sword ripped from her hand to go flying over the sty’s fence. Squealing in alarm, the sow lumbered for cover, trying to wedge her bulk under the trough.

With a savage scream, the warrior-woman whipped out a dagger and charged. Rhyddes reversed the pitchfork and jammed its butt into the Pict’s gut, under the breastplate’s bottom edge, robbing her of breath. She reversed it again and caught the raider under the chin with the pitchfork’s tines. As the woman staggered backward, flailing her arms and flashing the red punctures that marred her white neck, Rhyddes struck hard and knocked her down.

The warrior-woman looked heavier by at least two stone, but Rhyddes pinned her chest with her knee. She dropped the pitchfork and grasped her dagger, yanking it free. Grabbing a fistful of limed hair, she wrestled the woman’s head to one side to expose her neck.

The Pict bucked and twisted, trying to break Rhyddes’s grip. ’Twas not much different than wrestling a fever-mad calf.

Rhyddes’s deft slice ended the threat.

Blood spurted from the woman’s neck in sickening pulses.

Rhyddes stood, panting, her stomach churning with the magnitude of what she’d done. ’Twas no suffering animal she’d killed—and it could have been her lying there, pumping her lifeblood into the mud.

Bile seared her throat, making her gag. Pain lanced her stomach. Bent double, she retched out the remains of her morning meal, spattering the corpse.

After spitting out the last bitter mouthful and wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she drew a deep breath and straightened. As she turned a slow circle, her senses taking in the sights and sounds and stench of the devastation surrounding her, she wished she had not prevailed.

The news grew worse as she sprinted toward the lodge.

Of her seven brothers, the Picts had left Ian and Gwydion dead, her father and Owen wounded, the lodge and three outbuildings torched. She ran a fingertip over the crusted blood of her scratch, and she couldn’t suppress a surge of guilt.

Mayhap, she thought through the blinding tears as she ran to help what was left of her family, ’twould have been better had she died in the Pict’s stead.

The surviving raiders were galloping toward the tree line with half the cattle. The remaining stock lay stiffening in the fields, already attracting carrion birds.

 Three days later, the disaster attracted scavengers of an altogether different sort.

BUY & TBR LINKS

Kindle US – Kindle UK – Kindle CA – Kindle AU – Amazon Paperback – Nook – Inktera (Page Foundry) – iTunes – Kobo – Scribd – Smashwords – Goodreads

CHARACTER BIO

I am Rhyddes ferch Rudd, which in your tongue means Freedom daughter of Red. The blood of ancient Celtic warriors flows in my veins, though I am a farmer's daughter by the circumstance of my birth. My life spans much of the reign of the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, one of a very few men ever to claim that title who did not abuse his power for personal gain—but I care not who rules and who dies in this gods-cursed empire.

More than anything—even more than my freedom—I yearn to be my lover Aquila’s equal. As a foreign slave in an empire where citizenship stands paramount, where an arena fighter such as I can only be considered the equal of other gladiators, actors, undertakers, and whores, this goal seems impossibly remote. Although Aquila is the son of a powerful Roman, he has declared that he would renounce his aristocratic status, wealth, and power for me, but I cannot in good conscience allow him to destroy himself on my account.

And yet the gods have granted the impossible to other mortals. I pray that I am worthy to receive such a boon from them, for surely divine assistance is the only way for Aquila and I to bridge the vast social chasm that separates us from enjoying a future together.

AUTHOR BIO

Kim Headlee lives on a farm in southwestern Virginia with her family, cats, goats, and assorted wildlife. People & creatures come and go, but the cave and the 250-year-old house ruins—the latter having been occupied as recently as the mid-20th century—seem to be sticking around for a while yet.

Kim is a Seattle native (when she used to live in the Metro DC area, she loved telling people she was from "the other Washington") and a direct descendent of twentieth-century Russian nobility. Her grandmother was a childhood friend of the doomed Grand Duchess Anastasia, and the romantic yet tragic story of how Lydia escaped Communist Russia with the aid of her American husband will most certainly one day fuel one of Kim's novels. Another novel in the queue will involve her husband's ancestor, the seventh-century proto-Viking king of the Swedish colony in Russia.

For the time being, however, Kim has plenty of work to do in creating her projected 8-book Arthurian series, The Dragon's Dove Chronicles, and other novels under her new imprint, Pendragon Cove Press.



FOLLOW KIM

BLOG – NEWSLETTER – TWITTER – GOOGLE+ – FACEBOOK – PINTEREST – AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE – GOODREADS – LINKEDIN – YOUTUBE CHANNEL

GIVEAWAY PRIZES

– 5 e-copies of Liberty – 10 note cards – 1 autographed print copy of Liberty

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Organized & Hosted By  

Beloved Enemy lives!

Starquest was the 'book of my heart' to use a cliche. I was thrilled when it was published by The Wild Rose Press, and in the meantime I wrote the sequel, 'Children Of The Mist, which was also published by The Wild Rose Press.

One of the characters from Starquest, Kerry Marchant, kept nagging me to write a story about him.  It's been a very long time coming, but I eventually finished writing and revising it this  year, and having sent it out to a couple of  trusted crit partners who were also authors themselves, and after some final polishing, I sent it off to the Wild Rose Press and tried not to think about it too much.

On Saturday I received a Contract from one of the lovely editors of the Fantasy Rose line, and am thrilled beyond words that the third book will finally see the light of day.  I can't wait to start work on the edits and of course what my cover will be like (watch this space.)

Of  course it's early days yet, but I thought I'd give you a little taste   of Beloved Enemy to hopefully whet your appetite.

BELOVED ENEMY
UNEDITED SNIPPET

To her amazement he smiled, the most devastating smile she had ever seen, and made more amazing because he didn’t look as if he did it very often.

“My own philosophy as it happens.” His eyes narrowed. “It seems almost a pity we are on opposite sides.”

“Opposite sides?” How much did he guess?

   “I have no love for the Union. That puts us on opposite sides, even if you are a pirate.”

She gave him her most withering look. “Fine. And just because I decided to save your neck, don’t get any ideas. We don’t have to like each other.”

The Black Swans - Spotlight and Excerpt - N W Moors

The Black Swans

A Tale of the Antrim Cycle

Book One

N.W. Moors

Genre: Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Sunday Morning Publishing

Date of Publication: March 1, 2015

ISBN:  978-0692397602

ASIN:  B00U6I9PUC

Number of pages:  277

Word Count:  96,003

Cover Artist: N.W.Moors

Book Description: 

Taisie MacDonnell loves Celtic music and when a traditional Irish group moves to her small town of Antrim, Maine, she's thrilled. She has no idea that becoming involved with Conn McLaren, the handsome pipe player will enmesh her in magic, a centuries-old enchantment and pursuit by the Fae.

This is a modern retelling of the Irish story "The Children of Lir".

Each book in the series can be read as a standalone.

Available at  Amazon US    Amazon UK    Amazon CA

Excerpt:

“Maybe I should put some lime green color on the other side, to contrast with the magenta.” Nola had pulled the rear view mirror over to the passenger side, her long black hair pulled down in front of her face. She was peeking through the strands over her eyes, studying herself in the dim light of the dashboard.

She tilted her head to the side, then pulled hair from each side of her head and held it out in front of her. The hair on the right side of her head had swathes of purple. “What do you think?” she asked, studying him from under her hair.

Owen had been driving the van for five hours without any breaks. The way from Montreal was mostly highway, but once he crossed into the United States, he was on two lane roads that climbed up and down mountains and were lined by thick brush and trees, occasionally marked by small towns and farms. He was mostly following the white line marking the middle of the road at this point, just trying to make it to his destination, and wasn’t paying all that much attention to what Nola was saying to him.

Nola squinted and frowned at Owen, then tried again. “Hmm, I wonder if I cut my hair like Finn’s….” This time she got his attention. He looked over at her, just in time to catch the grin as she swept her hair back behind her ears.

“I don’t believe it would look as good on you as that haircut does on Finn, but, hey, if it’s what you want, go for it,” Owen played along. Nola grunted and pushed the rear view mirror back over to an approximation of where it should be.

Owen reached up and positioned the mirror in place again. He used it to look in the back seat to where Finn sat, headset in his ears, listening to his iPod, his head bouncing to the music. His hair was a mess of colors and stuck up in short spikes. While it was a hairstyle that worked for Finn, Nola would definitely not be cutting her hair like her brother, not if Owen had anything to say about it. He liked her hair long and silky way too much.

 

There was a street light blinking up ahead and Owen braked, gradually slowing the van. They were approaching another small town or maybe it was just a crossroads. This one looked like it was a gas station combined with a dilapidated general store. Owen glanced down at the dashboard. There was about half a tank of gasoline left according to the gauge. And it was a good thing he didn’t need gas because the station was closed up tight. No one seemed to be around, just a dim light in the store and a crooked “Closed” sign on the front door. The only thing in the parking lot was a rusty pickup truck, parked over on the edge of the asphalt. He wheeled in anyway and stopped the van in front of the pump.

“I need to stretch a minute,” he announced and turned off the key.

Heads popped up in the back seat. “What are we doing?” said Finn who couldn’t hear Owen over the music from his iPod. Conn, who was sitting next to his twin in the middle seat, pulled his earphones off, mussing his long hair, and waited patiently, looking around the dimly lit parking area. He had been working on his laptop, probably on an arrangement for one of their songs, Owen guessed. There was no sign of Hugh who had been stretched out sleeping in the bench seat in the very back of the van.

“I need to get out and walk around a little,” Owen restated. “And I want to check the trailer.” Nola had already opened her door and was standing on the pavement, stretching her arms over her head, getting the kinks out of her back.

Owen got out, headed around the back of the building and stepped back into the trees. He was joined by the rest of the lads, Hugh wandering back last.  He must have woken up with the slamming of the doors. It had been a long ride with no stops and Owen had drunk at least three cups of coffee out of the thermos jug that Nola kept in the front seat for him.

Once they had finished their business, Conn and Owen went back out front to check on the trailer. Owen crouched down and looked under the frame while Conn pushed on the tires. The rig looked fine. The trailer wasn’t very heavy, loaded mostly with sound equipment and camping supplies. Their instruments and personal items were in the way back of the van. Nola wandered out from the other side of the garage where she had gone to find a bit of privacy away from the guys.

“How much further is it to the pub?” Conn asked.

“I think that we have a couple more hours to go. It’s going to be late when we get there,” Owen answered.   Nola came over and wrapped her arms around Owen’s waist, snuggling under the denim jean jacket he wore. He stood there, resting his chin on her head, while she rubbed the lower part of his back, pulling up his tee shirt to get at his stiff muscles.

About the Author:

N.W. Moors lives in Portland, Maine, land of lobster and pine trees. She is a voracious reader and avid traveler. She loves visiting Great Britain and Ireland especially. Researching trips meant that she tries to learn as much about the area as possible and uses those tidbits in her books. She enjoys interacting with readers.

Blog  http://antrimcycle.blogspot.com/

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009322893083

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/blackswansantrim

Twitter   https://twitter.com/AntrimCycle

GR  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13572124.N_W_Moors

Pinterest  https://www.pinterest.com/antrimcycle/

Tour giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Suspected

This is my stop during the book blitz for Suspected (#2) by Rori Shay. This book blitz is organized by Lola's Blog Tours. The book blitz runs from 20 April till 3 May, you can view the complete blitz schedule on the website of Lola’s Blog Tours.

So far this series contains 2 books: Elected (The Elected series #1) and Suspected (The Elected series #2). The Elected series is about the environment and environmental change and what can happen after climate change. It’s about a girl pretending to be a boy for the good of her country. Fans of Mulan will love this series.

Suspected (The Elected series #2)
By Rori Shay
Genre: Dystopia
Age category: Young Adult

Blurb:
East Country upheld the laws. Mid destroyed them.

In the year 2185 Earth is rebuilding after a global eco-crisis. Countries maintain complete isolation so there is no warfare over scarce resources. One Elected family is chosen to lead each country for 100 years to ensure stability. Women aren't allowed to take office and must reproduce at all costs. Technology use of any kind is banned to preserve what's left of the environment.

And yet, I'm my country's Elected. I've just sanctioned technology use to ready us for war. I'm about to cross the border to spy on our neighbor. And...I'm a girl. Shhhhhh.....

You can find Suspected on Goodreads
You can buy Suspected here:

- Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Suspected-Elected-Book-Rori-Shay-ebook/dp/B00UUIRE0Q/
- Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/suspected-rori-shay/1121727075
- Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/suspected-1
- Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/536776
- Silence in the Library: http://www.silenceinthelibrarypublishing.com/product/suspected-by-rori-shay/


First book in the series:
Elected (The Elected series #1)
By Rori Shay
Genre: Dystopia
Age category: Young Adult
Release Date: April 8, 2014

Blurb:
It’s the year 2185, and in two weeks, Aloy will turn eighteen and take her father’s place as president of the country. But to do so, she must masquerade as a boy to avoid violating the Eco-Accords, four treaties designed to bring the world back from the brink of environmental extinction. Aloy hopes to govern like her father, but she is inheriting a different country. The long concealed Technology Faction is stepping out of the shadows, and as turmoil grows within her country, cryptic threats also arrive from beyond their borders.

As she struggles to lead, Aloy maintains her cover by marrying a woman, meanwhile battling feelings for the boy who knows her secret—the boy who is somehow connected to her country’s recent upheaval. When assassination attempts add to the turmoil, Aloy doesn’t know whom to trust. She understood leadership required sacrifice. She just didn’t realize the sacrifice might be her life.

ELECTED Excerpt

First time the two main characters meet

I fall into a fitful sleep, but when I hear a noise in my room, it jars me awake. The mid-morning sun is high in the sky, which must mean I slept straight through to the next day. I don’t make a movement, trying to assess the sound. It’s footsteps coming from across my bedroom near the window. I expect to see my mother or a maid, but the figure is a man. It’s too slender to be my father and too tall to be Tomlin. 

My hand instinctively juts out from under my bed covers and finds the small whittling knife on my nightstand. I use it merely to carve wood, but it’s the closest weapon I have. I close my fist around its small handle, ready to plunge it into my attacker should he step forward. I lie in wait, at the defense. But then I think, if he has a weapon, he could strike me from afar. So, I gently lift the sheets off my body and step out of bed, now on the offensive. 

His back is to me, and since my footsteps are light as a feather, he doesn’t turn. 

I wonder why the guards at my door didn’t stop him, but I have little time to ponder because I’m now inches from the man’s back. He still doesn’t move. He’s got something in his hands at waist level. It must be an intricate weapon. One he’s getting ready to use. 

I lift the knife higher in the air, ready to advance on him, when the thing in the man’s hand lets out a loud “Squawk!”

I falter for a second, the tip of my foot catching against a raised floorboard, and it’s in that brief moment the man hears me and abruptly turns.

“Hey!” he says, stepping backward against my window when he sees me so close. 

“Get back!” Still, I don’t hear guards ready to storm in and rescue me. So I stand my ground, knife raised, ready to inflict damage against this man myself if I need to. 

I look at him closer. He’s not even a man. He’s my age. 

“Watch what you’re doing with that thing!” The boy’s voice sounds familiar, but I can’t think where I’ve heard it before. I concentrate only on keeping my ground. Keeping him in place.

“Don’t move,” I say. “If you do, I’ll advance. And show me your hands!”

“I’m not moving!” He raises both hands in the air, palms open so I can see they’re empty. I want to trust this boy. I don’t want to have to harm him with my knife. But it is

n’t until I see one of my pet parrots fly off the boy’s shoulder and onto mine that I realize I know him.

I’ve never spent more than a second up close to the bird keeper, but over the years I’ve made a personal pastime of watching him from afar. The boy’s name is Griffin. He’s the son of my father’s veterinarian. Griffin is the apprentice, administering to the smaller animals around our house. He’s fixed the wing of my parrot before.

I step back but don’t lower the knife. 

“What are you doing in here?” My voice is gruff. I might know this boy, but he could still be here to do harm. 

“I didn’t know you were in here. If I’d known, obviously, I wouldn’t have come in to look after your birds.”

The parrot gives another shrill squawk. I study the boy for a moment. Close to me now, for only the second time in my life, I stare at him openly. The dark hair I’ve seen from afar falls forward over his brow but ends in sharp points around the sides of his ears, like he’s cut it himself without a mirror. His eyes are a deep amber too. Like fresh gingerbread cookies straight out of the oven, glowing and bright. He’s lean but relatively tall. 

The one thing I know about him for sure is his gait. Since before I can remember, Griffin was the only male my age allowed into our house. He followed his father around, watching him work and then taking over some of the veterinary duties himself. I made an art of subtly watching Griffin to learn how a male my age moved and talked. It was one thing studying the masculine characteristics of my father, but it was altogether another to study someone my own age. 

And then there’s the one time I did see Griffin up close, just for a brief second when I was thirteen, but the memory stayed with me for years.

I realize we’re staring each other down.

“Well, are you going to lower the knife, or do I have to knock it from your hand?”

You can find Elected on Goodreads

You can buy Elected here:
- Amazon
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About the Author: Rori Shay is a strategic management consultant living in the Seattle area with her family, black lab, and cat. In the writing world, Rori is primarily know for her science fiction trilogy, The Elected Series. She enjoys running, reading, snow-shoeing, pumpkin-picking, and right now…writing the third ELECTED novel! Rori is also a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI).

You can find and contact Rori here:
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There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Suspected. This giveaway is US and Canada only. These are the prizes you can win:
- a kindle ereader and a signed copy of Elected by Rori Shay

For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:
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