Blog Tour: Chantress Guest Post by Amy Butler Greenfield + Giveaway!!

 

 **P.S this post was supposed to go up on Saturday but blogger failed me yet again with its poor abilities in putting up scheduled posts on time so here it is, a day later. :( **

Hi guys!I am so excited to be a part of the Chantress blog tour,hosted by Shane@ItchingForBooks.

For my stop I've got an awesome guest post from the author on worldbuilding and of course,a giveaway as well.You can check out the rest of the tour stops here.

 

About Chantress :

Lucy’s Chantress magic will make her the most powerful — and most hunted — girl in England.

“Sing, and the darkness will find you.” This warning has haunted fifteen-year-old Lucy ever since she was eight and shipwrecked on a lonely island. Lucy’s guardian, Norrie, has lots of rules, but the most important is that Lucy must never sing. Not ever. Now it is 1667, Lucy is fifteen, and on All Hallows’ Eve, Lucy hears a tantalizing melody on the wind. She can’t help but sing — and she is swept into darkness.

When she awakes in England, Lucy hears powerful men discussing Chantresses — women who can sing magic into the world. They are hunting her, but she escapes and finds sanctuary with the Invisible College, an organization plotting to overthrow the nefarious Lord Protector. The only person powerful enough to bring about his downfall is a Chantress. And Lucy is the last one in England.

Lucy struggles to master the song-spells and harness her power, but the Lord Protector is moving quickly. And her feelings for Nat, an Invisible College apprentice and scientist who deeply distrusts her magic, only add to her confusion…

Time is running out, and the fate of England hangs in the balance in this entrancing novel that is atmospheric and lyrical, dangerous and romantic.

Release date: May 7th 2013

Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

Purchase: Amazon

 

About the author :

 

Amy Butler Greenfield was a grad student in history when she gave into temptation and became a writer. Since then, she has become an award-winning author. 
Born in Philadelphia, Amy grew up in the Adirondack Mountains and later studied history at Williams College, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Oxford. She now lives with her family in England, where she writes, bakes double-dark-chocolate cake, and plots mischief.

Official links: www.amybutlergreenfield.com | twitter.com/ab_greenfield

Book Trailer :

 

Amy's world building guest post :

 

Chantress is the story of a girl who sings magic in a world that forbids it—and finds herself in the middle of a life-and-death struggle for the future of her country.  Its setting is an unusual one, based on a time and place that stole my heart long ago: London in the 1600s.

 

The London part is easily understood.  After all, I’m far from the first to fall for that ancient and endlessly fascinating city.  But why the 1600s?  Compared with the popular Tudor and Victorian periods, the seventeenth century languishes, almost a forgotten era in fiction.

 

And yet it’s one of the most gloriously intriguing centuries ever.

 

Mind you, I didn’t always see it that way.  For a long time, the 1600s just meant Pilgrims and Puritans to me—worthy but not hugely engaging.  But the century came alive for me when I read The Witch of Blackbird Pond, set in Connecticut in the 1680s  How could I not be interested in a time and place that had witch hunts and seafaring and spirited, rule-breaking girls? 

 

It was only when I came to study history in England, however, that I really fell in love with the 1600s.  What an extraordinary—and dangerous—time to be alive!  Terrorists almost blew up Parliament and the King.  Civil War raged.  The first coffeehouses were springing up, and chocolate and tea were brand new.  Alchemists abounded.  Scientists were working out the mysteries of the universe.  And the women—oh, the women!  They were spies and playwrights and actresses and artists and travelers.  They had nerves of steel.  They were women of wit and laughter and fire.

 

Chantress’s London is based on this world. It’s a London of twisty streets and half-timbered houses and secret passageways beneath great mansions.  Just like the real 1660s London, it has clockmakers, apothecaries, engravers, street criers, alley brats, and dapper aristocrats. 

 

Some of the great landmarks of London are there, too, including the River Thames and the Tower of London and its ravens.

But there is one truly vital distinction between this London and the real one:  In Chantress, there is magic. 

 

In Chantress’s world, the King and his Court really are blown up—and a cruel Protector uses magic to seize control of England.  Using terrifying creatures called the Shadowgrims, he holds the kingdom hostage.  He destroys all magic-workers who might have a chance of defeating him, except one—a girl who’s been hidden out of his reach.  A girl who doesn’t even know she’s a Chantress… until she sings.

 

If you read Chantress, it’s my wish that you’ll slip as easily into this world as I did.  I’d love to have you experience the danger and romance and mystery of its streets—to shiver when the fog rolls in, to feel a surge of fear when a Shadowgrim draws close.  And when the book ends, I’m hoping a small piece of seventeenth-century London might just have a hold on your heart, too.

  

GiVeaWaY!!

Every tour stop on the Chantress blog tour comes with a giveaway!!!And mine's no different.Use the rafflecopter below to enter.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour: Promo stop for Demon Royale (The Dream Slayer Series, #2) ,Guest Post and Giveaway

Title: Demon Royale (The Dream Slayer Series, #2)

Age Group: YA

Genre: Paranormal

Author: Jill Cooper

Release date: Oct. 10, 2012

Event date(s): Oct. 12, 2012

DREAM SLAYER (Book, #1) will be FREE Oct. 12-14, 2012.

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15753987-demon-royale

Author Links:
website
facebook
goodreads

Book Links:



Book Description:
The only thing worse than dying, is running away…
Since becoming employed by a supernatural protection agency, Natalie Johnson’s life has been more interesting than ever. While most teens are working on their summer tans, Natalie works on slaughtering the undead lurking just outside her town’s borders.
The workload takes more than just a toll on her love life, it dampens her spirit and her health, as the town is plagued by a mysterious murderer intent on stealing the residents’ souls. Natalie’s investigation is hampered by her declining health and the sicker she gets, the more inadequate she feels.
Guilt over her inability to act, weighs heavily on Natalie’s shoulders during a time when her strength is needed more than ever. As some of those closest to her begin to lose faith, she must make the hardest stand yet to save the soul of the one person she can always count on:
The Slayer.

Trailer: 
  Giveaway(is international):

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Writing Demon Royale (Or how I panicked about getting it wrong)
(GUEST POST BY JILL COOPER)
In Dream Slayer Natalie Johnson is a day dreamer who creates a world of fantastical adventures.  Her dreams create chaos in the real world as everyone’s nightmares, deepest fears, manifest around them. When it’s over she discovers her real power, strength, but people suffer along the way.
And some die.
I had setup a platform for a series about two kick butt heroines. I know where they will end up in Book three and ultimately where the series will end. But how do I get them there?
Initial I had a kick butt plot setup where Natalie springs into action, kills a lot of demons, saves her friends from sacrifice, and eats a lot of pancakes. It was great, it was exciting. My husband loved it, but I wasn’t sure.
It was missing something.
I wasn’t sure what it was missing at first. It seemed like a logical step in Natalie’s progression. She’s learning to fight and figuring out who she is; her relationship with her boyfriend, and along the way she saves the world. Again.
But there was no compassion for the fallen. No remorse for the damage and death she had caused in the first book. I realized I had focused all her attention on learning to fight, to become an effective undead killer, and I needed to put that focus on her emotions.
So I kept some aspects of the plot I loved (like the pancakes, demonic squirrels) and I started over. In Dream Slayer, Natalie had never questioned her destiny because there wasn’t time. The city was at stake! There was evil all around.
Now in this highly personal novel for Natalie it gives her the opportunity to mourn the lost and gives her the chance to decide, ‘is this what I really want’? Is she comfortable being a hero, a leader?
While there is still a lot of danger, evil, and the world is again at risk, it is a smaller journey for Natalie as she comes to grips with her life and the past choices she’s made. As she gets sicker and she begins to lose strength, she always loses resolve. When you’re the hero with no one else to reside on what should she do? What would you do?

Promo Post + Giveaway: The Beckoning by Christopher Savio

THE BECKONING

by Christopher Savio

Genre: Paranormal YA Romance
ISBN: 9781478301936

Number of pages: 273
Word Count: 83,000

Cover Artist: Char Andlesperger

Amazon

Teenage girls don’t fall in love with ghosts, discover their magical powers or save their families from demons, or do they?

Book Description:

Forced to leave the few friends she’s ever had and the only life she’s ever known, snarky fifteen-year-old Marissa arrives at Briar Creek, a remote Virginia plantation house, lonely and unhappy. Immediately upon arrival, she learns that her parents have come under the power of the demon that has dwelled there for over a century and that her very life hangs by a thread. With her life in peril, Marissa makes several discoveries that would turn any teenager’s life upside down.

Finding out that the nearby town of Mills Run is inhabited by the souls of her dead relatives who continually try to communicate with her is terrifying. Knowing her parents are under full control of the demon, who unbeknownst to her wants to father a child and rule the world, is even worse. Realizing that she only has Max, her faithful dog for support, Marissa begins to give up all hope.

That’s until she finds the journal of the long dead boy who used to occupy her room. Reading about his life, Marissa begins to fall in love and fantasizes about the seemingly impossible, meeting him. Her impossible dream miraculously comes true when Zachary materializes to save her life and teach her of the powers she never knew she possessed. Allied with her first love, and more powerful than any teenage girl ever dreamed, Marissa gains confidence and believes she can do anything. Together, can this improbable duo save Marissa’s family and the world from the demon before it’s too late?

Author Bio:

 I reside in Northern New Jersey.  By day I’m a teacher and family man. At night, the need to write drives me deep into the early hours of the morning. Growing up, my love of history and horror, including Stephen King, greatly shaped my reading and writing interests and style. My debut novel, The Beckoning, is a YA paranormal romance immersed in a historical setting.  In additional to the sequel, I have two other YA novels in the publication queue.



Author links:
 www.Scaryreads.com
@scaryreads
http://www.facebook.com/ScaryReads

Giveaway!

Giveaway is of two signed copies of The Beckoning. Open to U.S shipping addresses only.For more info,please check the Terms and Conditions on the rafflecopter widget.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Promo Post: Dark Light of Day by Jill Archer

 

                                                
Dark Light of Day

Noon Onyx Book #1
By Jill Archer
   
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Ace
ISBN: 978-0-425-25715-9

Number of pages: 384
Word Count: 123,000

Barnes & Noble   Amazon






Book Description:

Armageddon is over. The demons won. And yet somehow…the world has continued. Survivors worship patron demons under a draconian system of tributes and rules. These laws keep the demons from warring among themselves, the world from slipping back into chaos.

Noon Onyx grew up on the banks of the river Lethe, daughter of a prominent politician, and a descendant of Lucifer’s warlords. Noon has a secret—she was born with waning magic, the dark, destructive, fiery power that is used to control demons and maintain the delicate peace among them. But a woman with waning magic is unheard of and some will consider her an abomination.

Noon is summoned to attend St. Lucifer’s, a school of demon law. She must decide whether to declare her powers there…or attempt to continue hiding them, knowing the price for doing so may be death. And once she meets the forbiddingly powerful Ari Carmine—who suspects Noon is harboring magic as deadly as his own—Noon realizes there may be more at stake than just her life.

Excerpt:

Failing is not an option...

“I’ve been watching you, wondering, waiting to see where you’d end up. After all, there are other demon law schools,” Seknecus said, making a moue of distaste that made it clear exactly what he thought of them. “But I was happy to see that you chose St. Lucifer’s.”

Technically my mother chose St. Lucifer’s . . . But there seemed no reason to interrupt just to clarify that bit of misinformation. Seknecus wandered around the room, picking through papers, flipping open and quickly shutting the front covers of various leather-bound books, never meeting my eye. I had no doubt, however, that his attention was fully focused on me.

“So, you see, seeing your name on my List wasn’t exactly a surprise, although it appeared much later than I would have liked.”

He did look at me then, with a frown of disapproval. I did my best to look expressionless because none seemed appropriate. It wouldn’t do to look amused, bored or, Luck forbid, rebellious. Seknecus stared at me with narrowed eyes and then went back to wandering.

“You’ve got some catching up to do,” he said, addressing a copy of Sin and Sanction: Codification & Case Law. “It doesn’t matter why or what excuses you’ve got for yourself. You will be held to the same standards as everyone else, regardless of whose daughter you are. And you’ve missed a lot of class already.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a wave.

“Manipulation class,” he clarified. “You’re going to have to work ten times as hard as everyone else just to pass. Quintus Rochester doesn’t go easy on students and he’s likely to see your absence during the early part of the semester as a challenge. You know, failing is not an option. Not if you want to live.”

Author Bio:

Raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Jill earned a bachelor of science from Penn State University and later moved to Baltimore to attend the University of Baltimore School of Law, where she graduated magna cum laude. She went on to practice law as a “dirt lawyer” for ten years, specializing in real estate law, municipal development, commercial leasing, and anything involving exceedingly lengthy legalese-like contractual monstrosities.

Jill now lives in rural Maryland with her two children and husband, who is a recreational pilot. Weekends are often spent flying around in the family’s small Cessna, visiting tiny un-towered airfields and other local points of interest.

website: www.jillarcher.com

blog: http://jillarcherauthor.wordpress.com

twitter: @archer_jill

facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jillarcherauthor

goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13556956-dark-light-of-day

Blog Tour: Promo stop for Dante's Girl + Giveaway

Title:Dante's Girl
Author:Courtney Cole
Genre: YA Contemporary
Links: Website , Amazon , Barnes & Noble
Book Description:

I have spent every summer since I was ten years old with my father in London.  Every summer, since I was ten years old, has been uneventful and boring.  

Until this year. 
 
And this year, after a freak volcanic eruption strands me far from home, I have learned these things:

1.  I can make do with one outfit for three days before I buy new clothes. 

2.  If I hear the phrase, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” even one more time, I might become a homicidal maniac.

3.  I am horribly and embarrassingly allergic to jellyfish.

4. I am in love with Dante Giliberti, who just happens to be the beautiful, sophisticated son of the Prime Minister of a Mediterranean paradise. 

5.  See number four above.  Because it brings with it a whole slew  of problems and I’ve learned something from every one of them.

Let’s start with the fact that Dante’s world is five light-years away from mine.  He goes to black-tie functions and knows the Prime Minister of England on a first name basis.  I was born and raised on a farm in Kansas and wear cut-off jeans paired with cowboy boots.  See the difference?

But hearts don’t care about differences.  Hearts want what they want.  And mine just wants to be Dante’s girl. 

My heart just might be crazy. 

Excerpts: 

 Chapter One


It is impossible to look hot in the dingy fluorescent light of an airport bathroom. Or as my best friend Becca would say, hawt.
At this particular moment, I’m not hot or hawt.  I make this revelation as I vigorously scrub at my arms and face and then use a wet paper towel under my pits.  
And what is it about peeing in an airport toilet ten times in a day that makes you feel so completely scummy?  I glance around at the crumpled tissues strewn about on the scuffed floor and the dirty toilets peeking from behind half-closed doors and cringe.  That answer is clearly ‘because of the germs’. Ack.  
Trying not to think about it, I clean up the best I can.  After running a brush through my hair, I stick a piece of gum in my mouth, apply a thin layer of lip gloss and call it good.  I glance into the mirror and cringe.  It isn’t good enough, but it will have to do.  Very soon, I’ll put this dreadful four hour layover in Amsterdam behind me and before I even know it, I’ll be in London.
With my father.
For the summer.
It would be torture.
Just shoot me now.
And it’s not because I don’t love him, because I do.  My reluctance doesn’t stem from lack of love.  It comes from the deep-seeded fact that Alexander Ellis doesn’t understand me.  He never has and he never will. It’s something that I’ve made my peace with and I’m not angry about it.
I’m his only child and he works his life away as some top-secret agent for the NSA.  His job is so secret that I don’t even know what he does. In my head, I imagine him jumping from helicopters and saving starving children in war torn areas.  But in reality, I know he probably sits behind a desk and analyzes information from a satellite stream or a taped telephone conversation. I’m pretty sure that’s what the NSA does, anyway.  They aren’t the cool kind of spies.
Also, he isn’t exactly sure what to do with a daughter.  I was supposed to have been a boy. Seventeen years ago, sonograms apparently weren’t as absolute as they are today, because the technician told my parents that she was 99.9% sure that I was a boy.  They painted my nursery blue and picked out my name and everything.  I can only imagine the shocked horror on my father’s face when I was born with lady parts.
Regardless, I know he loves me.  Even though he had willingly given my mother full custody when they divorced years ago, I know he only did it because he works overseas so much and he isn’t exactly sure how to raise a girl.  He does okay.  But then again, I do have some reason to believe that he still pretends that I’m a boy, just to make it easier on himself.  It’s fairly easy to do since I still have the boy name that they originally picked out.  
With my head down, I trudge back out into the congested halls of Schiphol airport.  Weary travelers bustle around me and I shift my bags so that I can pull the stubborn strap of my tank top back over my shoulder where it belongs.  As I do, I crash into someone with enough force that my bags go flying out of my hands and scatter onto the ground under people’s feet.
“Son of a –“ I blurt before I even think.
“Buck?” a male voice offers helpfully.  
Looking up, I stare into the most unique and beautiful shade of blue that a pair of eyes has ever possessed. Of that I am certain.  Blue just shouldn’t be that multi-faceted and twinkling.  There should be a law or something.  
Or at least a warning label:  
Caution, these eyes may cause female knees to tremble.
Before I can help it, I scan the rest of him.  Sweet Mary.  This guy had lucked out in the gene department.  Tall, slender, beautiful.  Honey colored hair that had natural highlights that could even catch the crappy airport light, broad shoulders, slim hips, long legs.  He is tan and golden with a bright, white smile.  
I am surely staring at Apollo, the god of the sun.  Probably with my mouth hanging open, which makes me realize that I must look like an idiot- the personification of what foreigners think Americans to be.  I snap my mouth closed.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, trying to still my racing heart.  “Did I run into you?”
“Only a bit,” Apollo says gentlemanly, with a shrug of his strong shoulders.  I can tell he is strong even through his shirt sleeves, which are snug across his toned biceps.  Sweet baby monkeys.  
“How can someone run into someone else only by a bit?” I ask with a nervous smile as I kneel to retrieve my stuff.  
Please don’t let him smell me right now, I silently pray to any god who cares to listen. I am sure that at this point in my travels, I probably smell like soiled hamster bedding.  
He bends next to me and picks up the contents of my spilled purse. He smells like sunshine.  And rain.  And everything beautiful that I can think of.  I try not to cringe as his fingers grasp a tampon and slide it back inside my bag.  He doesn’t even flinch, he just casually continues to pick up my things like he’s used to handling feminine hygiene products.
“Oh, it’s fairly easy, really,” he answers.  He has an exotic sounding accent that I can’t place.  “At least, when you’re not looking where you’re going.”  My head snaps up and he laughs.  
“I’m kidding,” he assures me as he extends an arm to me. Even his hand is graceful.  I gulp as his fingers curl around mine.  “You can bump into me any time you’d like.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.  “I think.”
“I’m Dante,” he tells me, his impossibly blue eyes still twinkling.  
“I’m Reece,” I answer with a sigh, already anticipating his reaction. “Yes, I know it’s a boy’s name.”
“You’re not a boy,” Dante observes.  “Most definitely not a boy.”
Is that a note of appreciation in his voice?  Surely not. I look like a bedraggled Shih Tzu.  
“No, I’m not,” I agree.  “I just don’t know that my dad ever got that memo.”  
I look past Dante and find that he is alone.  He seems to be about my age so that’s a little unusual in these circumstances.  My parents had flown me as an ‘unaccompanied minor’ across the ocean for years, but other people’s parents are usually a little squeamish about that.  
“I’m sure that fact hasn’t escaped him,” Dante tells me in amusement.  Why do his eyes have to sparkle so much?   I usually go for brown-eyed guys.  But this boy is most certainly making me re-think that stance.
“That’s debatable,” I sigh.  Realizing that we are impeding the busy pedestrian traffic like a dam in a rushing river, I smile.
“Thank you very much for helping me pick up my things.  Safe travels!”
I turn on my heel and pivot, walking quickly and what I hope is confidently in the other direction.  Hitching my heavy purse up on my shoulder, I fight the urge to turn and look at him.  Something about him is practically mesmerizing.
But I don’t look.  I keep walking, one foot in front of the other.  When I reach the moving walkway, I hop on and focus ahead of me, eyes straight forward.
Don’t look back.
Don’t look back.
Don’t look back.
Regardless of my silent chanting, when I step from the walkway I discreetly check behind me.  Apollo is nowhere to be seen.  With a sigh, I continue on to the British Airways terminal.  Only three short hours left until take-off.  Plugging my earbuds into my ears, I settle into a seat and close my eyes.

* * *

“Excuse me, Reece?”
Before I even open my eyes, I know the sexy accent is coming from Apollo.  I can feel his epic hotness emanating through my eyelids.  I only hope that I haven’t been drooling in my sleep.
“Yes?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can while my eyes pop open.  I try to discreetly smooth my hair down. In my head, I envision myself as Chewbacca from Star Wars and wince.
Dante hands me my phone, which must’ve fallen from my lap as I napped.  
“Are you on the flight to London?” he grins.  “They’re boarding priority travelers now.  I just thought you should know.”
Yikes. I had slept for three hours?  In a noisy airport?  I must have been super tired.
“Thank you,” I reply quickly, gathering my things in a rush. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  I’m not a priority traveler, but I probably would have slept through general boarding.  Thank you for waking me.”
I glance at him as I stand up and can’t help but do a double take.  It isn’t easy to get used to his particular brand of sexy.  He is laid-back, handsome and casual, which is a formula for utter female devastation.  The impossible thing is that he doesn’t seem to realize it. He’s effortlessly sophisticated and chic.
“Well, you’re awake now and that’s the important thing. Have a nice trip, Reece,” Dante grins once more before he joins a group of men who are apparently waiting for him.  I was wrong, I guess.  He isn’t alone after all.  The men close around him in a tight circle and they board the plane with the other passengers with first class tickets.  
He’s on my flight.
I gulp and find a place in line with the other travelers flying coach.  
As the richer, better-dressed passengers file past us, I feel a little like a bumpkin in rumpled clothing.  Even though I travel to London every summer to visit my dad, I live in rural America the rest of the year. And all of a sudden, I feel like I am wearing a blinking neon sign proclaiming that very fact.  The clothing that had seemed sophisticated to travel in this morning now seems like it was hand-made in someone’s backwoods shed.  
And it so makes sense that Apollo is in first class.  He smells like a beautiful sunrise in a wooded meadow. Oh, my gosh.  What is wrong with me? Where did that come from?  I am totally being as corny as an erectile dysfunction commercial.  
I roll my eyes at my own absurdity and hand my ticket to the heavily made-up flight attendant who is waiting to take it.  She glances at it and then at me before she stamps my passport and hands it back.
“Have a nice flight, Miss Ellis,” she tells me before turning her attention to the passenger behind me.
Yeah, right.  
I like flying almost as much as I like having dental work.  Or having my fingernails pulled out one by one.  Or having paper cuts sliced onto my legs and then lemon juice poured onto them.  Just about that much.
Filing down the narrow aisle through first class, I can’t help but search out Apollo.  It doesn’t take long to find him.  He is situated by the window in a wide, leather first-class seat.  He’s already covered in a warm blanket and looks like he is settling in for the hour long flight.  As I move closer to him, his eyes pop open and meet mine, the electric blue of his almost causing me to gasp aloud.  
He smiles slightly as I pass and his gaze doesn’t waver from mine.  
I find myself wishing that I could sit next to him.  Not only because of the lavish first class seats, although those would be nice too.  
But rather, there is something in the air between Dante and me.  I can feel it, an instant connection.  I can practically reach out and touch it.  I’ve never experienced chemistry like this in my life. It’s the kind that seems corny when you read about it in books, but in real life, it is anything but. It is simply electrifying.  Ripping my eyes from his, I continue down the aisle and find my seat.
Taking a deep breath, I stash my carry-on in the overhead bin and slump into the window seat, trying not to hyperventilate as my fear of flying suddenly overwhelms me while the cramped airplane closes in around me.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Repeat.
I watch the flight crew below me loading the bags into the belly of the plane.  What if they dislodge the landing gear while they are messing around down there?  What if they don’t check the systems well enough and we die in a fiery crash?  What if the metal holding the plane together rips off in the air and peels away like tissue paper?
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Repeat.
I might die.  
Seriously.
I listen impatiently as the flight attendants give their safety spiel and motion toward the exits like they are NFL referees with dumb tiny scarves around their necks.  I just need for them to get on with it.  Just let us taxi out and take-off and then I will be perfectly fine once we are in the air.  My hands get clammy and my ears start to roar.  Why am I such a freak?
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Repeat.
You freaking flight attendants.
Hurry.
Up.
I’m just getting ready to shove my earbuds back in to distract myself when Dante appears next to me like a savior or an angel or something of equal beauty and importance.
“Is this seat taken?” he smiles and I notice a dimple in his right cheek that I hadn’t noticed before.  How had I missed a dimple?
“Um, not that I know of,” I answer weakly, trying not to die from heart palpations.  “But the seat belt sign is on. You’re not supposed to be out of your seat.”  
Fabulous. Now I sound like a hall monitor with a heart problem.
Dante shrugs without seeming worried.  
“I think it will be okay,” he answers.  “We’re not even on the runway yet.”
“Good point.”
“Can I sit here?  I’m bored up front.”
I nod, my palms instantly clammier.  “I hope you brought your blanket.  You won’t get much back here except for a bag of peanuts.”
And now I sound like a cheap hall monitor with a heart problem. I’m presenting myself better and better by the moment.
Dante smiles yet again and sits next to me.  He brings his charming accent with him and the scent of his amazing cologne.  I take a deep breath.  He smells far better than the stale airplane air.  Far better.  I fight the urge to jump into his lap and inhale his neck, a maneuver that just might make me appear slightly insane.
“You look pretty pale,” he observes as he buckles up. “Are you afraid to fly?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask quietly.  “As much as I’ve flown in my lifetime, I should be used to it.  But I’m afraid that’s never going to happen.  Once I’m in the air for awhile, I’ll be fine, but until then… well, I’m terrified. I admit it.”
“Don’t worry,” Dante tells me quietly, his voice calm and reassuring.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  You’re more likely to get into a--”
“Car crash rather than die in a plane crash,” I interrupt.  “Yes, I know. I’ve heard.  Where are you from?” I ask curiously, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of the need to distract myself.  “You have the most interesting accent.”
He smiles, his teeth brilliantly white.  I decide on the spot that I could watch him smile all day long.
“Caberra,” he answers, reminding me that I had asked a question.  “It’s an island near Greece.  And you?”
“Like you don’t know that I’m American,” I chuckle.  “I know it’s written all over me.  I’m sure you’re a fan, right?”
“Of Americans?” he raises a golden eyebrow.  “Of course. I love them.  I have no reason not to.  They bring a lot of tourist dollars to Caberra.”
“Well, we are a land of excess,” I admit.  “But that’s usually what foreigners seem to hate about us.”
Dante stares at me for a moment and then smiles.  “Well, I can’t speak for all foreigners, but I don’t hate Americans.  And you’re not in America right now, are you?”
I shake my head.  “No, I am most certainly not.”
“Well, then.  You’re the foreigner now.”  He grins and I can’t help but smile back.  He has a point.
The pilot gets on the intercom and his nasally voice drones on and on, but I am able to tune it out as I engage in conversation with a boy who is surely a direct descendent of the gods.  There is no other plausible explanation for his good looks or charm. I barely even hear the words that come out of Dante’s mouth, because I am so mesmerized by the shape of his lips as he moves them.  Pathetic, I know, but true.  
One thing about me:  I don’t lie to myself.  I might stretch the truth for my parents from time to time when necessary, but never to myself. And I’m pathetically fascinated by this boy.
Finally, the aircraft shudders a bit and noses forward and I startle, gripping the arms of my seat. My fingers turn white and I am certain that I am leaving permanent indentions in the cracked vinyl arm-rests.
“Don’t worry,” Dante says quietly, unpeeling one of my hands and grasping it within his own.  “It will be fine.”
The feel of his hand distracts me.  Strong and warm, it cups my own carefully, like he is holding something very fragile.  I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling. I only have a couple of minutes to soak it in, however.
As the plane moves down the runway in preparation for take-off, something happens.  Something isn’t right.  
Our plane rocks a little, then quivers, like it is being moved by a strong gust of wind.  I feel it a brief moment before Dante tightens his grip on my hand, a split second before light explodes from outside of my eyelids.  I open them to discover fire tearing down the runway past my window.  Before I can react or even scream, all hell breaks loose. 



Shorter Excerpts: 

Number One:

There are rose bushes everywhere. And peonies, which are my favorites.  And lots of white marble statues of Greek gods.  And one of Napoleon.  Why in the world is this country so obsessed with Napoleon?  
I am just wondering if the small statue is life-sized when Dante interrupts any coherent thought process that I might have by striding across the lawns with a racquet in hand and wearing short-short tennis shorts.  
Sweet.
Baby.
Monkeys.
It’s like a slow-motion scene from a movie.  Dante shakes his blond bangs out of his eyes and the sun catches every glint of gold in his hair.  His legs are long, lean, tanned and muscled and HolyCowThereIsAGod.  If I were a man, I would totally be wolf-whistling right now.  But then again, if I were a man, I guess I wouldn’t be wolf-whistling at Dante.  
I’m such a weirdo.


Number Two

Mia shows me how to get water out of the tube when it leaks in by blowing it out sharply.  She tells me that the most common problem is when new divers get flustered when water gets into their tubes.  I’m supposed to keep calm and simply blow the water out.  That’s a little difficult to do when I’m so completely focused on watching for sharks.
We swim and after a few minutes, more like thirty, I start to feel more at ease.
Every once in a while, Mia reaches out and grabs my hand and pulls me to a different place where we watch tropical fish leisurely swim in their little schools.  Or a sea turtle gliding gracefully by.  Or colorful tropical plants waving in the current.   
Under the surface, the water is perfect and aqua and silent. There is no drama, there are no mean girls and best friends and boys that I shouldn’t have crushes on but do anyway.  
I sort of love it.
I kick my legs, letting the water flow fluidly over me.  I am weightless here.  I am relaxed and I haven’t been this comfortable in a long time.  
Just as I am thinking about how wrong I had been to be terrified of sharks and about how wonderful this is and how I have never been this comfortable or relaxed in my whole entire life, I spot something out of the corner of my eye that makes me freeze.
A gray bump slowly coming toward me.
I pull my head out of the water so that I can see better and find that Mia is nowhere near.  But the gray sleek bump is only a hundred yards away and getting closer by the minute.  I flail and splash, then remember from watching Shark Week on TV that you definitely don’t want to splash.  
Sweet Holy Monkeys.  What the eff do I do??
I yell for Mia, but don’t see her.   Has she been eaten?  
I look around frantically, but we’ve drifted to an isolated location and there isn’t anyone else here.  
Except for me and the shark.
And the shark is certainly taking his time to reach me.  
Oh my gosh.
Oh my gosh.
Oh. My. Gosh.
My breathing comes in pants as I try to slowly and calmly paddle backward, away from the shark, toward land, away from the shark.  Toward Land.  Away. From. The. Shark.
Then, a fin emerges.  A fin.  And I scream.  And scream.  And forget about not splashing.  I am splashing so much that every shark and sea creature in a hundred mile radius will know that I’m here. And I don’t care.  All I care about it surviving this shark attack.  Because it is going to attack me.  It’s stalking me right now like the prey that I am.  And very soon that water around me will be red because I’m going to die a bloody death.
And then I notice that the fin is made from hands.  A pair of hands.  
I freeze.
What the eff?
Dante bursts from the water, wearing gray swim trunks and shaking droplets from his hair as he lunges to grab me with a roar.  
I scream again because it’s happened so fast and my brain hasn’t had a chance to truly realize that it is Dante and not a shark.  
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to die.
I’m not going to become breakfast for JAWS.  
But I’m going to kill Dante.  


Number Three

“Why do you look sad?” I ask.  “You live in a beautiful country with the world at your fingertips.  Your dad is amazing and nice and you’re a billionaire.  What could possibly make you sad?”
Dante studies me, his cobalt eyes serious, his expression unreadable.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he finally says.  “Someplace quieter.”
A quiet place with Dante?  Yes, Please!
I scramble to my feet and walk with him through the crowd again, this time oblivious to the stares.  He has a huge stride and I find myself hurrying to keep up, two steps for every one of his.  He weaves us through the people and out the doors in record time.  
Before I know it, we are on a terrace.  In the dark.  Under the stars.
With Dante.
This may as well be Heaven.
In fact, it might actually be.  
Have I died and didn’t realize it?
I flex my fingers and poke at my thigh.
My mind is fuzzy and I feel like I am moving slower than I actually am.  Is life in slow motion right now or is it me?  I blink hard then poke myself again.
“Are you alright?” Dante asks, watching me curiously.  I nod.
“Yep. I’ve just never had three glasses of champagne before.  In fact, I’ve never even had one.  Until now.”
I giggle at the thought and Dante smiles.  
“Okay, drunk girl.  Let’s sit you down.”
He guides me to a lounger and eases me onto it.  I clutch at his arm, not wanting to let him go.  He stares down at me.  
“You really have had too much to drink, haven’t you, little sunflower?”
The name warms my heart and I decide that he is the handsomest person in the world.  
“Is handsomest a word?” I ask him.  
He looks at me blankly.  
“I don’t know,” he answers slowly.  “Why?”
“You’re the handsomest person in the world,” I announce.  “I don’t care if it’s a word or not.  You are it, one way or another.”
Dante smiles and runs a hand through his hair, as though he’s trying to decide what to do.
“Oh.  Okay.  Um, thanks?  What am I going to do with you?  You’re adorable when you are drunk.  But I made you drunk, even if it was an accident.  How was I supposed to know that you’re such a lightweight?”
He sounds like he is waging some sort of battle with himself.
“Who exactly are you arguing with?”I ask, the champagne clouding my thoughts in a very thorough way. “You will get no arguments from me tonight.  No matter what.”
He sighs, a husky and ragged sound.
It’s sexy.
I scoot closer to him and drag him down until he is sitting on the lounger with me.  His warmth feels nice out here because the air has turned cool.  It’s dark and I feel like we’re in our own little world.  I run my fingers over his arm, then grip at his shoulders.
“You’re so strong,” I tell him.  “And your fingers are so long.”
I don’t know what that has to do with anything, I just feel like pointing it out.  Because his fingers are long.  I pick up his hand and slide my own against it.  His hand is at least a full inch longer than mine.  Probably more.  I curl my fingers around his and hold tight to his hand.  
I look up at him.
He is so devastatingly beautiful in the moonlight.
I tell him so.
He stares at me, his dark gaze unwavering.  Except for my knees.  It definitely wavers my knees, if that is possible.  I know I wouldn’t be able to stand up if I tried. Which I’m not going to.  I’m staying right here…with Dante.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.  “Please.”
Dante is silent, his blue eyes frozen on me.  
And then he lowers his head and his soft lips are upon mine.
And I might seriously die this time.
For real.
I’m kissing Dante.
Kissing.
Dante.
The thoughts won’t stop running through my head as Dante kisses me in the most romantic and soft kiss I’ve ever experienced.  My thoughts blur together and all I can do now is immerse myself in the moment.  The world actually seems to explode for a second.  This is the most amazing kiss in the history of the world.  

Giveaway! 

Prize: Winner’s choice of a gifted ecopy (Kindle or Nook) of PRINCESS  or SOUL KISSED by the author; Open International. If winner lives within US/Canada, they will also receive  a signed 4x6 glossy of Dante’s Girl. **Please note that the prizes will not be sent out until after October 5th, when the event ends.**

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway