Tuesday, February 21, 2017

YALit Giveaway Event!

YALit Giveaway Event!

A bunch of authors who got together to bring you a YOUNG ADULT Big Box of Paperbacks Giveaway! One lucky winner is going to win FIFTY (50) Young Adult Paperback Books! How’s that for an epic Book-Lover’s Prize?!

THIS BOX OF BOOKS IS VALUED AT OVER $500! And this giveaway is open worldwide! Our first giveaway went to a winner in ROMANIA–and yes, we’re willing to pay the insane shipping on this oversized, overweight package to get the prize to WHOEVER wins!


Here's a sneak peek from a couple of the sponsors:


Exclusive Excerpt from Curse of the Sphinx By Raye Wagner

The box slipped from her hands, the contents spilling on the asphalt. The sleeve of her mom’s sweater landed in the gutter, the splash of red contrasting with the darkness around her.

Even before Hope turned to the car, the fermented stink of alcohol wafted on the breeze. Two men, just more than shadows, came from the left, their drunken gait slow as they ambled toward her car. Even if she ran, she couldn’t get in the car before they reached her. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to face her fate. Adrenaline washed through her, and her muscles tensed. The sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and pages of a book rustled in the wind.

One of the men sucked in a sharp breath, and Hope tried to measure her risk.

The shorter man leered, and his brown eyes bespoke his mortality, and his smirk promised pain. In his fist, he clenched the handle of something. A hammer? No, a wrench.

The taller man’s gait was steady, and something about his features was . . . off. Wrong. Washed out. And . . . his eyes! Two solid orbs of pitch.

Skia.

She swallowed back fear as it clawed up her throat. Hope grabbed for the golden dagger in her back pocket but came up empty. In another second, they would be in striking distance.

The human raised his arm, and instinctively, she moved. Stepping to the left, she hooked his wrist as he moved to strike, rotated her grip, and lunged behind him. She brought his arm with her, applying torque until she heard the snap. Before he had time to register the pain, she kicked his knees with the heel of her foot, buckling him to the ground. Not even a second later, he screamed. He dropped the wrench and clutched his shoulder.

She spun to face the other attacker and dropped back into a defensive stance, her arms up in a guard position. The Skia chuckled, a ghostly wheezing sound. They circled each other twice, and Hope struck. She jabbed twice, measuring his ability. Fast and hard. He knew how to fight.

“You are not as you seem,” he rasped.

He reached as if to grab her, and she swung her left leg up in a crescent kick, clearing his arms. Before she brought the leg completely down, she shifted her stance and kicked him in the ribs. Sliding close, she delivered a hook punch where his liver would be, as if the dead still had their organs.

He bent over, exposing his left side, and she slammed her elbow into his jaw. The Skia crumpled to the ground.

Her legs trembled, and it felt like she was running through water, her movements lethargic and contorted. The man wrapped his warm hand around her forearm, and she stumbled.

Panicked, she lashed out with the heel of her palm, bringing her right hand back at the same time as she struck with her left. Over and over and over again. Using every ounce of force, she struck. Bones crunched and warm wetness covered her hands. Only when the man released her arm did she stop.

Hope looked around for the Skia.

The tall figure leaned against the wall of the alley, the shadows lapping at his feet, the weight of his gaze fixed on her.

She shifted back into a defensive stance, waiting for him to attack.

“Interesting.” He tipped his head. “Little monster . . .” He stepped into the shadow and disappeared.

Purchase Link (or read for free on Kindle Unlimited): 



Exclusive Excerpt from Watcher by Shawnee Small  

October. A standard Thursday night at Paddy’s. Nothing remarkable, nothing out of the ordinary for a small drinking establishment located on an even smaller island. Tybee was like that. The same drinks, the same faces. Day in, day out.

I was the first one to notice him standing in the doorway of the bar. He was tall and too thin, with hair that was untidy, but stylishly so. The long, dark overcoat he wore hung on him badly, almost engulfing him. A black-and-gray scarf twined around his neck. He paused only long enough to glance around the bar before walking the rest of the way in, sliding his long frame into one of my booths.

I picked up a menu off the bar and made my way over.

“Welcome to Paddy’s. Can I get you something to drink?” I passed him the menu before pulling my pad and pen out of my apron pocket.

“A cup of coffee. With sugar. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

I’d turned to go when he did something unexpected – he grabbed my wrist. For a second, I couldn’t breathe as my hand started to tingle, the feeling slowly inching its way up to my elbow . . . even through my sweater.

“What is your name?” He had a slight accent that made me think he was English.

“Poesy.”

A moment of awkward silence filled the air between us as I waited for him to release my wrist. The tingle was like a subtle itch under my skin that I wanted to scratch. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, but it wasn’t painful, either.

Finally, he let go. “Adam Walker. I just bought a house over on Chatham Avenue.”

But I was barely listening.

How on earth did he do that?

The tingling had disappeared, yet I had to stop myself from touching the place on my wrist where his fingers had been just seconds before.

“The Harrington place.” It’d been the only house for sale on that street in over a year.

“Yes,” he replied.

If I expected Adam Walker to say more, he didn’t. He sat silently still, looking at me while I looked back at him. It was unnerving as hell.

“Uh, I’ll go get your coffee.” I fled back toward the kitchen, but as I reached the corner of the bar, a spiky head popped up from behind it.

“Boo!”

My hand flew to my chest before I realized it was just Birdie.

“Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack!” I shot him a dirty look, but Birdie promptly broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

“Geez, who peed in your Wheaties?”

Birdie was my best friend in the whole world, but he could be such a child sometimes.

“Forget it. That guy over there just . . . it’s nothing. Never mind.” I pushed my bangs out of my face and took a deep breath. There was no easy way to explain the tingling or the intensity that radiated off Adam Walker as he’d looked at me. Or the fact that I wanted to know more about him.

Birdie glanced briefly over at him before turning back to me, frowning. “Did he say something perverted to you? ’Cause if he did, I’ll beat his ass.” Birdie took a step out from behind the bar, but I restrained him with my arm.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

“What?”

“Don’t. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Fine.” Birdie huffed as he reclaimed his spot at the bar. “So what did he say then?”

I told him about the Harrington place.

Birdie’s blue eyes went wide. “Unbelievable. That place is practically falling down and they still asked over a million for it. What’s a guy like that doing here, anyhow?” Propping himself up on the bar with his elbows, Birdie leaned in toward me. “I wonder what his deal is? Spy from the air force base? Drug dealer? Internet tycoon?”

“Not sure, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

I should’ve known better than to say that in front of Birdie. He pulled his slim torso up off the bar, straightening to his full height before locking eyes with me. “I’m telling you, that guy looks like a serial killer, Poe. You need to stay the hell away from him.”

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