Showing posts with label paranormal romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paranormal romance. Show all posts

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Darkest Reaches (Spiritual Discord Series #3) by Brandy Nacole #Giveaway - #Paranormal - #Review


Darkest Reaches
Spiritual Discord Series
Book 3
Brandy Nacole

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal

Publisher: Ponahakeola Press

Date of Publication: April 30, 2015


Cover Artist: CCRBookDesigns

Book Description:

Kayson and the other fallen angels have risked their lives to keep Sabrina safe as she recovered from a Hell hound’s bite.  Just when she began to improve, Hell was unleashed as the hounds attacked, and kidnapped Sabrina. 

Now, only days after the fight between the fallen and the hounds, Kayson is determined to find Sabrina and bring her back from Hell.  The only thing standing in his way is a dangerous fallen angel named Iraja. 

Iraja has the means to find Sabrina, but he doesn’t do favors without a price. 

Sabrina is now facing the nightmare she’s been running from since being turned into a vampire a century ago: her eternal condemnation to Hell.  Knowing her only chance of survival may rest by playing nice and turning Hell hound Falon against Lucifer, Sabrina gives into the bitter darkness and now has to fight to remember the good soul she truly is. 

But when she discovers the role her and the innocent human Emma are forced to play, will her fear get the better of her, and will she be lost forever?

In the third installment of the Spiritual Discord series, the will to survive is tested, worst fears become a reality, and for one, betrayal becomes the only option. 

Available at Amazon and Lulu
About the Author:

Gemini Brandy Nacole is a writer of urban fantasy books.  She is the author of the Shadow World series and the Spiritual Discord series published by Ponahakeola Press.  A reader from a young age, Brandy has always loved folklore and stories of beings that go bump in the night. 

Brandy lives in Arkansas with her husband, three never stopping kids, two snooty cats, two very lazy bearded dragons, and one mellow turtle.  She is a member of the Ozark Romance Authors in Springfield, Missouri.  Whenever she’s not reading or writing, Brandy is spending her time outdoors wheeling, hiking, playing amateur photographer, and enjoying a good laugh. 

Author Links









Tour Giveaway
2 Spiritual Discord swag packs

$10 Amazon GC







My Review

I had a bit trouble getting into this one as I had trouble remembering the 2nd book, and to me, you really need to read the previous ones and remember, lol. That being said its still a great book. Once my memory was jogged a bit, it was easier to grasp.

I enjoyed some of the new characters that came into this. I also was glad to see some returning characters too. Not too happy with the hints a love triangle to possibly come, hopefully I am wrong on that, I am not a big fan of the love triangles.

I felt really bad for Sabrina, she had to work hard to hold onto her humanity. Being in hell after she was kidnapped is not a fun time for her, that's for sure.

Overall its a great read and continuation on the story. Its fascinating, and I do highly recommend. Especially if you have read the previous books.
I give it 4 1/2 stars out of 5

I was provided a copy of this book from the author for my honest review.


Chapter
Two

Sabrina
The foul smell coming from the demon washing my arms would make any sane person want to vomit. And her smile. Good lord what does she do, chew on rocks for fun? They’re broken off at uneven angles, some worse than others. And what exactly were those rocks covered in, tar? The black stains, not only on her teeth but on her gums as well, makes me wonder.
She smiles at me again when she notices me staring.
“No need for that, I’ve already gotten a nasty eye full.”
She smirks and goes back to her duties of washing off the blood that covers
me.
Not wanting to look at her face anymore, I gaze at the cave’s ceiling. God, the amount of bodies they have thrown at me the last few days (or has it been months?) makes my skin crawl. Every single human they brought me to feed from had their throats slit from ear to ear, causing blood to cover their bodies. It had been easy to refuse the feast that was being laid at my feet. They were all full of some sort of dark poison, or dark something. I could smell it in the air, although I’m sure they thought I wouldn’t notice because of my bloodlust.
After refusing the first few, Lucifer—aka Lou—ordered his demon henchmen to hoist the bodies from the ceiling. He thought this would give me no choice but to drink the tainted blood. Unfortunately for him, I had tucked my chin against my chest and did my best to keep the blood from getting anywhere near my face. Once the bodies were drained, the demons would discard of them, but would leave their blood dripping from me in hopes I would go into a frenzy. No such luck. Yet.
Each time it is getting harder and harder to refuse. My body craves what it’s deprived of, and I fear of what will happen to me if that need wins out. I have no idea what is in their blood, but it’s foul—like the demon in front of me now. Why Lou is playing such games, is beyond me. He has the power to do whatever he wants without hanging a mouse in front of the snake. And with me in no shape to fight back, he could easily get the job done. So why all of this?
The demon girl tosses the now blood-stained rag into the bucket, sending soap suds and water all over the rock floor. “Therr, you cleeean,” the demon girl slurs, her words hard to understand.
Intelligence and beauty seems to be lacking in this neck of the cave. “How much longer?” No need to emphasize on exactly what I mean. Any answer she gives me, whether for the next torture blood drip or my death, will suffice.
“Maser will be hare ssssoon.” The demon bends over to pick up the bucket, her long stringy, grease caked hair dipping into the tinged pink soapy water. It’s not an effective wash, but in her condition, it’s better than nothing.
Meeting with Lou again is an answer I was hoping not to hear. He may be toying with me now, but I know something big is going to happen soon. It has to. I may not know everything about his so-called master plan to turn Emma and I into one of his drooling mutts, but I do know they didn’t tie me up just to play this starving game. This isn’t the big torture session. This may just be for sport. Who knows with these creeps?
Once the demon is gone, two hounds come to stand—or rather, sit on their haunches—at the entrance where I’m being held. The rock room is small, with no other furnishings except for the chains holding me to the wall. Thankfully, Lou allowed enough slack in the bondages for me to sit down. Between the bloodlust, trying to use persuasion on the demons who came in, and the hollow feeling in my chest when I think about Kayson, it’s enough to have me collapsing in a heap every time I am left alone.
The helpless feeling that likes to take over when I’m alone with my thoughts starts to set in. First, my chest begins to tighten. Then my vision begins to darken, as my limbs grow numb and useless. What is going to happen to me? I don’t want to become one of Lucifer’s drones to command, to torture for all of eternity. I need to find a way out of here.
I promise that with every ounce of will I have left, I will try to survive. But I also promise that if something happens to you, no depth in Hell will keep me from coming to get you.
Kayson’s promise echoes through my mind and causes my muscles to tighten even more. The last thing I want is for Kayson and the others to come rescue me and get captured in the process. But no matter my fear for them, I can’t but help allow my mind to wander, and imagine Kayson storming through Hell with his sword raised high, his muscles straining as he fights the hounds and pushes his way past their defenses. The look of relief on his face, even though it’s not real, makes me smile. I can almost feel him scooping me up into his arms and carrying me out of this nightmare.
The daydream shatters as a scream fills the hall, before being silenced by a slamming door. God, I hope Kayson has the sense not to come down here. As much as I wish for my fantasy to come true, I’d rather not have to face the reality of what would actually happen if he did try. The images that fill my head of the blood spilt causes my stomach to heave.
The improbable chance of Kayson finding his way into Hell is the only thing that puts my mind at ease. It’s not easy, and from what I remember, there’s only two ways in—besides being an evil bastard and dying of course, that’s a sure-fire way. But Lou isn’t going to be sending out welcome invitations anytime soon, and with Falon being on his short leash, Kayson’s chances are slim and none. And even if Falon wasn’t under the watchful eyes of Lou’s minions after he disappointed his Master by not staying to fight Kayson until the death, there’s no way he would help Kayson into Hell.
With the peace of mind that comes with knowing Kayson is safe and unable to fulfill his promise, my thoughts scatter. My mind races with so many questions, scenarios, and fears, I can’t grasp any to focus on. Will Kayson move on and continue to fight for the half-bloods? What sort of torture will I endure for the rest of eternity? If I’m turned into a hound, I wonder if the transformation is painful. Will I be able to eat food again? What if I have to fight Kayson and the others one day? A broken cry escapes me as I remember the desperation on his face as he tried to reach me before Falon shimmered us down below. I could never fight Kayson or any of the others. Will Falon treat me as any other hound or will he hold a special malice toward me? 
Speaking of Falon, I wonder where that mutt has been hiding these past few days. I haven’t seen him, and from what I understand from the whispers of the others, they haven’t either. It still astonishes me that Lou would leave his Alpha hound in such pain. The dagger I put through his chest had left him looking a little pale. After glancing over Falon’s wound, Lou had dismissed him. His punishment for not fighting the fallen to the death was going to be to suffer until the wound healed on its own. What a way to show appreciation to those who put their lives on the line for you.
The look of surprise on Falon’s face when I spoke out on his behalf reminded me of the same disbelief in Kayson’s eyes when I extended my hand to help him. A moment of kindness can go a long way; just look at Kayson and me. Maybe if I remind Falon of that moment, he will show me a little mercy if I’m forced to become a hound. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Becoming a vampire was bad enough, but to become a hound is unthinkable.
Sometimes we are forced to do things we don’t want. Time to prepare yourself girl; you’re in for some disappointment. 
My fingers tighten around the chains and I close my eyes as that deep voice dripping with cold malice fills my thoughts. Malach had been right that night he whispered those words in the dark, before sinking his teeth in my neck. Things are forced upon us we don’t want and no matter how hard we try, nothing can stop it from happening. I had lashed out against Malach but it had been to no avail. Unlike that time, I will fight like hell until my last breath is drawn before I give in to being a hound. I won’t fall limp from fear. I won’t let something else I don’t want be thrust upon me by force.
The hounds blocking the entrance part, and in comes a slimy looking beast. Not in the literal sense, he isn’t covered in scales or dripping with scum. The look in his eyes is what gives his slimy, evil intent away. Whatever he has planned for me he’s obviously going to enjoy. Perfect.
His stride is calculated as he slowly stalks toward me. Sharp, metal-looking fingernails extend out of each finger and clank with every step he takes, causing my nerves to twitch. Dangling from those sharp points on his right hand is a key. My nervousness spikes. Where is he going to take me? Hope shifts within me and I begin to calculate my chances of escaping before he gets the chance to lay a finger on me.
First I gauge my strength, which isn’t much since I’ve deprived myself of nutrition. Second I plan my attack. First I’ll try to persuade demon boys mind. If that doesn’t work, a chain wrapped around his throat should do the trick. Once free, I’ll have the hounds to contend with. A quick sweep of the small space confirms my fears, I have no weapon to defend myself.
But I’m not going down without a fight.
A desperate plan forms in my mind just as the slime bag reaches me. A slight upward turn of his lips gives way to one creepy smile as he outstretches his hand and begins to unlock my right chain. Once I hear the lock click open, I jump into action. Whipping my left hand around his head, I wrap the chain around the demon’s neck, pull it tight, and hold on for dear life. The demon gurgles, his claws tearing at his own skin as he tries to free himself. It does no good. As he struggles, I wrap my legs around his waist and knock him to the floor.
Unfortunately my escape plan is interrupted, just like I feared it would be. The hounds that had been blocking my door come in the room, jaws snapping as their growls echo from the thick stone walls. The hound on the right lunges and lands on my back. I lose my grip on the demon as I roll onto my side to avoid the attack from the hound on the left.
With a quick intake of breath, the slime bag is on his feet and advancing toward me, a wicked secret dancing on his lips once again. Great, I probably just made his day. Before he can get a grip on me, I’m jerked back by the hound on my right. His claws dig into my leg as he swipes at me, the depth of the wounds going to the bone. 
Suddenly, my attacker is gone and the hound’s whimpers fill the room. The hound backs away toward the exit, his head down, teeth exposed, and he growls his frustration at demon boy. I wonder why they’re backing off. Maybe they know I’m not just some toy to be played with. Probably not. I take note of the double gash scar above the hound’s left eye. Oh, me and this hound will have our chance, and next time, I won’t be the one being tossed around.
I start to ask if anyone is able to speak besides me, when suddenly I am picked up by the neck. Before I can even utter my surprise, my face is shoved into the rock wall of the cave. The impact explodes against my cheek, but before the shock or pain can really set in, my head is brought back and I’m once again thrust into the wall, again and again. Finally, my vision swims and the last thing I see is slime bucket’s pleased smile as I fall into his arms.


The rest of the blogs on this tour can be found here.




Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Incite (Ignite #2) by Erica Crouch ~ Blog Tour ~ #Giveaway ~ Excerpts & #Review ~ #Paranormal Romance


Book Info Incite, by Erica Crouch

Publisher: Patchwork Press
Release Date: February 17, 2015

Synopsis: Earth is in ruins, and the war of Heaven and Hell has spilled over into the mortal world. In the frozen wasteland of the apocalypse, Azael and his band of cohorts search for Pen and Michael with orders to kill. Little does he know that his sister has incited a rebel army of her own.

Angels and demons alike stand side by side, ready and willing to fight for a future they didnt realize they could have. Change doesn't come easy, though. Pen is wary of joining New Genesis's revolution, but when Azael shows his hand and Pen learns all that he holds over them, she chooses to fight back, no matter the risk. She only has to survive, one hour at a time.






Purchase Links



Blurb for Ignite (Ignite #1):

Penemuel (Pen) fell from grace over a millennium ago, yet there are still times she questions her decision to follow her twin brother, Azael, to Hell. Now that the archangel Michael has returned, threatening Lucifer’s vie for the throne, she begins questioning everything she has always believed.

As Hell prepares for war—spreading a demonic virus and pilfering innocent souls to build an army—the lines separating the worlds blur. Fates erase and the future is left unwritten. Azael is determined that he and his sister will continue to serve as demons together, but for the first time in her life, Pen is not ruled by destiny. She has the freedom of choice.

With choice comes sacrifice, and Pen must decide which side she’s willing to risk everything fighting for: the light, or the dark.






Blurb for Entice (Ignite #1.5):

With the aftertaste of Heaven still strong, Pen and Azael cloak themselves in their new demonic destinies, fighting for Lucifer against the angels. Pen, warring against former friends turned vengeful enemies, still struggles with defecting to Hell. But in one short battle, they go from forgotten to famous, thrust into the spotlight where she has no room for uncertainty.

Suddenly top-tiered demons, they’re tasked with seeing through hell’s new agenda: corrupting man. But tarnishing Eden isn’t as simple as they thought it would be, especially when they’re forced to work with another team of demons who are trying to claw their way up the ladder of power.

Entice is an e-novella that prequels Pen and Azael’s story in Ignite.




Erica Crouch Biography

Erica Crouch is a young adult and new adult author from Baltimore, Maryland. She has a strange blended aesthetic of cute and spooky, and her books reflect her ever changing mood. (You may find romance, you may find gore—sometimes both in the same book, but probably not at the same time. Probably.)

Erica is the cofounder of Patchwork Press, an author-powered publisher of middle grade, young adult, and new adult titles. She is the head of editorial services and design, with nearly fifty projects to her name. Find a complete list of Erica’s books at ericacrouch.com.




a Rafflecopter giveaway


What to say, well I really love this series. And was shocked on the turn of events in this one. It was the edge of your seat type of exciting. Kept me up late into the night devouring it. I was hooked.

I guess the only think I disliked was the point of view from Azael, as I do not like him, and didn't want to be in his evil head. I actually did more skimming on his parts as he is too disturbing for me. I think it would have been better to have a lot less of him, getting every other chapter was a bit too much for me. He is evil, and could do with less of the inner workings of his mind.

I would liked if there would have been at least a few parts from Michael's point of view. He would have been much more interesting to me.

Overall though, I am a huge fan of this series. I liked book one, and this one best. Didn't really care so much for the novella of Pen and Azael before book one, when she was also still evil. Wasn't as great to me. Anyway they all are worth reading for sure, and can't wait for what is next.

I do recommend these books, and give this one 5 of 5 stars

I was provided a copy of this book for my honest review.




From Chapter 7 | Pen

“Since when do you work with angels, Nicor?” I ask, spitting on the ground to get rid of the taste of the gag.

“Since when do you?” Nicor counters.

Sidriel comes closer to me, running his fingers up the flat of Michael’s sword. “Times are changing, child.”

Michael tries to move his arm out of the ropes that wrap around his entire torso. They bound him much more securely than they tied me. I should be insulted.

“So, what? You’re going to kill us?” I ask, looking between the two. “Then do it already. Quit stalling. Or do you not have the stomach for it?”

Pen, Michael’s voice warns in my head.

I glare at Nicor. “Never were one for blood and gore, huh? Drowning is so much easier. Less messy. Would hate to have you mess up your hair.”

The exhaustion that tugged me down earlier is all but dissipated, eaten away by the anger I have in the face of death. I won’t go this way. Won’t let Nicor kill me. Please.

Nicor walks away from me and tucks himself at the base of a tree, sitting with his legs stretched in front of him, his ankles crossed. “I’m in no rush,” he says. “Besides, the job pays more if we keep you alive.”

I look at Michael then Sidriel, who smiles at me.

“Then you’re working for Azael?”

“We work for nothing but gold,” Sidriel says, a flash of fury lighting his orange eyes. “Whose pockets it comes from makes no difference.”

I snort. “Right. Keep telling yourself that. You’re just lowly foot soldiers now.” I make sure Sidriel meets my gaze when I say, “A bit of a step-down from Prince, no?”

Sidriel drops Michael’s sword next to Nicor, propping it up against the tree. He produces a golden sickle and strikes out, but not at me. The curved blade pulls across Michael’s leg, tearing him open. His pants rip, and all I see is hot, pink muscle. The only reaction Michael gives is a low groan and the tightening of his jaw, a tension in his forehead. He closes his eyes against the pain, and my stupid courage withers in my stomach.

“Stop!” I scream.

Monday, February 16, 2015

Gathering Frost (Once Upon a Curse #1) by Kaitlyn Davis ~ #Book #Review #Excerpt

Gathering Frost (Once Upon a Curse #1)
by Kaitlyn Davis

Will his kiss be enough to revive her frozen heart?

Once Upon A Time meets La Femme Nikita in GATHERING FROST, a dystopian romance from bestselling author Kaitlyn Davis that reimagines the classic fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty.


Jade was only a little girl when the earthquake struck. Before her eyes, half of New York City disappeared, replaced by a village that seemed torn out of a storybook. Horses and carriages. Cobblestone streets. A towering castle. And, above all, a queen with the magical ability to strip emotions away.

Ten years later and Jade has forgotten what it is to feel, to care...even to love. Working as a member of the queen's guard, she spends most of her time on the city wall staring at the crumbling skyscrapers of old New York. But everything changes when the queen's runaway son, Prince Asher, returns. Jade is tasked with an unusual mission--to let the Prince capture her, to make him trust her, and then to betray his secrets to the crown. In return, she'll earn her freedom. But life outside the queen's realm is more than Jade bargained for. Under Asher's relentless taunts, her blood begins to boil. Under his piercing gaze, her heart begins to flutter. And the more her icy soul begins to thaw, the more Jade comes to question everything she's ever known--and, more importantly, whose side she's really on.


Buy at Amazon Feb 17, 2015

~~~

Kaitlyn Davis ~ Author Links


I loved this book. To me is it a very loose reimagined world of Sleeping Beauty, but that is a good thing. It kept me guessing and really kept me on the edge of my seat. I stayed up late reading as I just had to know what happens next. I loved the unique idea that Kaitlyn  came up with to make this story very unique.

I really felt I connected with the main characters, and just loved Asher. He is yummy. Jade is a kick ass female that I really loved. Love the strong female characters.

I do not want to give anything away, and the blurb gives you just enough to get your interest (I am not one to rewrite a blurb in my review, you can read that for yourself)

I love Kaitlyn Davis' other books and was not surprised that I loved this one too. I look forward to the rest of the series.

I highly recommend this book for anyone who likes paranormal books, as well as any fairy tale retellings, that are unique too.

I think it was brilliant on how it ends to open up for the next book which is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. I can't wait.

Here is a quote for you that I loved:




Asher pushes me back until I hit the wall, and then he presses further, until every inch of us touches, burns. His leg comes between mine as my hands clasp behind his neck, urging him closer. Hands grip my waist, just skimming my bare skin, pulling me toward him.Time stops as we seem to fly, to soar together. I forget the cell, the room, the rebel camp. I forget that we are underground, because behind my closed eyes all I see are stars. The ones that spark in his irises, the ones that I've stared at for years on the wall. Stars and open skies and freedom.

I give it 5 out of 5 stars.

I was provided a copy of this book from the author for my honest review.

Read below of the first 2 chapters to get a small taste. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One and Two of Gathering Frost

One

The world ended on a Saturday in spring. Beautiful. Sunny. The sort of afternoon that pulled New Yorkers from their hibernation, urging them to shed their floor-length coats and stiletto boots, to let the sun kiss their pale skin once more.
When the earthquake began, my mother and I were in Central Park. "Pedal!" I remember her shouting. "Pedal!" And I did. My little legs pumped in circles, my heart lifted as I felt her fingers release the bike, and suddenly I was riding on my own. For the first time. The breeze whipped against my grinning cheeks, stinging my eyes.
But then the ground shook. The earth began to tremble. And I had no hope. In a flash, I was on the ground, sandwiched against the concrete as screams rose around me. Darkness stole my vision as my mother's arms encircled me, hugged me closer. Teeth chattering, I tried to be strong. But tears leaked from my eyes, the cries of a baby. Shame burned my chest.
Time passed but my young mind had lost count. Minutes. Hours. I still don't really know. But when the ground stilled, I woke to a new world.
My mother was frozen with shock, so I had to pull against her hold, straining to see. Over her shoulder, south, I saw smoke and ash rising like clouds over my skyline. The trees looked gray, the sky washed out. Faint outlines of buildings were only just visible through the fog, a mix of skyscrapers still standing or leveled to the ground.
I looked at my mother. Her arms had fallen mutely to her side. I'll never forget her green eyes, pulled so taut I swore they were about to snap. Her lips were just slightly open.
"Mommy?"
But she didn’t hear. Something behind me had her so transfixed that even her only child, her little girl, could not shake the alarm.
So I turned.
New York was gone.
Like a line driven through the ground, we stood on one side with the past while our future rested a few feet away. A future that was backward in time.
Atop a hill, a giant castle rose from the ground, surrounded by green lawns where apartments used to stand. At its base were stone houses, smoking from fires. Horses. Carriages. Carts. And people. People dressed in dull brown clothes looked at us just as we looked at them—confused and terrified.
And then she appeared.
Her gown sparkled in the sun, brilliant red popping against a dull backdrop, cinching in at the waist and then expanding into a magnificent skirt billowing in the breeze. Silky white gloves encased her hands. Jewels dripped around her thin neck. Pins held her hair so that it curled elegantly down her back, and resting right above her forehead was a golden crown.
My eyes went straight to her.
A princess. I knew she would save us. I had seen it before, so many times, so many princesses saving the day.
I ran to her, crossing the threshold without hesitation as my mother screamed at me to come back. My mom was an adult. And adults didn’t believe in these things. I knew she would see my side if I could just get the princess to help us.
She knelt as I approached. A wide inviting smile spread across her face. Her arms caught me.
"What is your name child?" Her voice was warm. It soothed me, relaxed me, filled me with hope.
"Jade."
She brushed my bangs from my forehead, kissed it softly.
"Would you like me to help you? To make all of your fears go away?"
"Yes!" I wanted to run to my mom, to show her she didn’t need to be afraid. The princess would help us. But I couldn't. Something stopped me.
A hand pressed against my chest, pricked my skin.
I looked up at the princess, struggling to break free of her hold, when a freeze snatched my heart, so cold that it burned. I tried to speak, but I was frozen. My limbs grew heavy, my lips felt fat, my vision started to spot.
"Don't worry, little Jade. I'm just putting you to sleep for a little while. You'll wake up soon."
I did. In a cell with other frightened girls. But I never felt the same. Icy. That's what some of us started calling it, this feeling like our hearts won't thaw. Even a fire doesn't warm me. I am hard. Frigid. Emotionless. Sometimes I think I must still be caught in a long dream.
But time has only made me tougher.
Now I know the princess by another name, Queen Deirdre, the Ice Queen.
And I wish I could say I was the hero of the story. A resister. A rebel. Someone who lived to bring an end to the queen who stole my childhood—my mother, my life, my very world.
But I'm not.
I'm not the good guy.
I'm the one who puts the good guys in their graves.

Two

The city is silent, full of shadows cast by moonlight. I should be used to it after spending so many hours on the wall, protecting my home, guarding its sleeping citizens. And I am. But sometimes in my dreams, I can still remember the way the skyline used to sparkle outside my window, a blanket of stars close enough to touch.
More than a decade has passed since the city that never sleeps was last awake. More than a decade of darkness.
I hardly remember how easy it used to be, how much we took for granted. Lights were just one flick away. Movies danced on screens before our eyes. Food stayed chilled, the entire world was a few keys away. Honking cars and rattling trains once filled the air, and now they lie still like skeletons, fossils in a broken down museum.
I was only a little girl then. I'm a much different woman now.
"See anything?"
"No," I yell back, rolling my eyes. Of course I don't see anything.
The war has been over for years, long before I joined the guard, but still we keep watch every night, waiting for the rebels to return.
I've walked this perimeter a thousand times, gun at my hip, sword in my belt, crossbow strapped to my shoulders. My fingers itch to swing a blade or pull a trigger, but silence is the only thing that has ever been beyond the wall. Silence and the tap of my impatient feet on stone.
I can count on my hands the number of times I've actually seen a rebel and if they do manage to come this close, there is not much fight left in them. Not enough for any fun anyway. The queen's powers are strong, strong enough to make even the most willful soldier drop his weapon.
I've only heard rumors of the war. I was still with the other children in the dungeons below the castle when the rebels came, still caught by the queen, still waiting for her to determine what to do with us. The sound of smattering bullets is about all I remember. But on the wall, conversations always drift back to the glory days of the war, when the guard had a purpose, when we were victorious.
They say the rebels didn’t know how to fight us, how to fight the queen. Their tanks stopped working miles outside the city. Their planes fell from the sky. Long-range missiles simply puttered out.
Magic.
It's the reason the electricity turned off. It’s the reason it won't come back on. They say magic has an electric charge of its own, different. One that interferes with the old electricity of Earth. I say who cares. I'm no scientist. And that's not the magic I have to live with, not really.
The magic we deal with every day is what happened next. The rebels marched on the queen's castle a few days after their first strikes wore out. I bet they had no idea what they were walking toward. Machine guns against arrows and swords? I'm sure they thought they had us beat before the fighting even began. But once they stepped into the queen's hands, there was no escape. A few managed to fire their weapons, to take some of the guards out, even a giant or two I've heard. But most just stopped, dropped their weapons, and gave up. Some of those men work beside me on the wall now.
Indifference is the queen's magic. Loyalty to her and indifference to everything else.
More than a decade has passed since I last felt warm. Not like being by a fire, where the flames lick my face and heat presses into my skin. I mean warm from the inside out, like my heart is pumping, like my mind is spinning, like my body is alive.
Warm enough to feel…anything.
Sometimes, on nights like tonight, watching the gray shell of my old New York stand still like a ghost in a mist, memories haunt me. I see her face, my mother, looking down, kissing my forehead, and tucking me into bed with three sweet words on her lips. For that moment, a tiny flame flickers in my chest.
A dying fire. Not a burning one. And I wonder when the light will finally fade out. Maybe then I'll get used to the chill.
"Jade!"
I turn at the sound of my name. There is just a shadow, silhouetted by the light of the guardhouse, but I recognize the voice. Brock. One of the boys who was in my training group. One of the many I have since surpassed.
"What?"
"The commander wants to see you." A chorus of low laughter follows his words, but I've grown used to ignoring it.
Stepping out of the dark night, my eyes adjust to the firelight of the guardhouse. Boys sit around a table, playing cards, drinking beer. Their weapons sit by their feet. Bulletproof vests hang on the wall. Some aren't even wearing shoes.
Sloppy.
If the rebellion did attack tonight, I would have to beat them single handedly. But what else is new. There is a reason I prefer the silence of the dark wall, the solitude.
"Where is he?" I sigh.
"The west wall."
I nod and turn back to the door without so much as a goodbye. They won't miss me anyway.
The uneven stones beneath my feet are as familiar as my own limbs, so I jog, letting the sound of my breath fill my ears. To my left lay the last vestiges of what used to be Central Park, the vacant skyscrapers at its boundaries, stretching until everything disappears into thick ebony.
To my right, the complete opposite. The queen's city. Some of us from old Earth call it New New York as a joke. But to those of the magic realm and to most who live here, it is known as Kardenia.
It is a city like I imagine most of Europe must have once looked, if Europe even still exists. Rows and rows of stone houses with chimneys releasing puffs of smoke from burning fireplaces. Not much rhyme or reason to the design, more like roads that interconnect in a large, hard to decipher web. There are stalls for horses, empty merchant carts in the street. And in the center, the castle looms, watching everyone from above.
Still, I've read about the days of old and there are some differences. In the morning, when the streets come alive, there will be bikes zooming. A wood-burning grill might be warming breakfast. The seamstresses will sew with foot pedal machines instead of their hands. Not all of Earth has been forgotten—the gun at my hip is a good reminder of that.
A shadow appears before me, the outline of a man I recognize. The commander. The closest thing to a father I have ever known.
After the earthquake, the queen locked all the children she found in the prisons below the castle, unsure how they would fit into her society. We had too much imagination, I heard her say once. We weren't as afraid as the adults and it made us hard to control.
I was barely down there for a week when the commander came to visit. With slow, purposeful footsteps he walked the length of the long corridor, eyes peering at every little girl huddled against the ground. I was the only one standing, holding onto the bars, staring back at him.
He liked my fight. Said it reminded him of his daughter. The next day, I was pulled from the castle and delivered to his doorstep. There were no hugs, no pats on the head, no pretty dolls waiting for me.
Just as there won't be now.
"Commander Alburn," I call, voice loud against the still night.
"Jade." He turns, hands still locked behind his back. There is no warm recognition in his tone, no smile wrinkling his eyes or puffing his cheeks.
I bow my head, adopting the same rigid stance.
"I was told you needed to speak with me, sir?"
"I do, come with me."
I follow as he spins back around and marches toward the nearest guardhouse. For a moment, I wonder if people can even spot us from the ground. Black pants. Black long sleeve shirt. Black bulletproof vest. And black boots.
Do we simply fade into the night?
When we enter the guardhouse, the mood is solemn—the men sit at their posts, peering out through slits in the walls. There is no beer, no cards. The way the watch should be, but rarely is. This is the power of the commander.
"Hang up your vest."
My brows scrunch but I heed his order and unbuckle the clips at my side, hanging the heavy garment with others on the wall. There are not enough bulletproof vests for everyone in the guard, so we share, leaving them at the wall for anyone on duty.
To remove it only means one thing. I am being sent home. But why?
"Sir?" I shouldn't ask. I should follow. But I can't help it as the question slips through my lips, out into the open.
"The queen wishes to speak with you in the morning. You are to go home, bathe, and prepare your best dress. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," I automatically reply. But my mind is spinning. The queen?
I have not seen the queen in years, not in close proximity, not since the day I joined the guard. I'm the only girl who has ever done so, the only one who received the queen's blessing.
It was the day I received my black heart, the pin we all wear, the formal sigil of the guard. I was standing in line with a dozen boys, breasts taped down to seem less girly, clothes a size too big so they did not hug my hips. But I fooled no one. And I was not sure if even the commander could convince the guard to accept me, despite my training or maybe because of it.
I was better.
I was a woman.
Those two facts were enough to ostracize me from the pack.
And then with no warning, the queen swept in. Her gown only accentuated her femininity. Her poise only strengthened her power. The men, like a wave, bowed deep.
"My Queen," the commander spoke, voice silencing the murmurs of the guard. "What brings you to our halls?"
"Dear Commander," she said, voice like velvet, smooth and soft, lulling everyone into a trance. "I come to place a pin on the girl who wishes to do the job of a man, to wish her luck and to give her strength. I myself know what sorts of challenges she might face."
The captain holding our pins offered her the plate, and she stepped forward, gracefully selecting a black heart with her delicate fingers. Everyone watched me, eyes fierce. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and I stood still, strong, not breaking my composure.
The pin slid easily into my chest and then her blue eyes met mine, so stark and pale, almost like ice. Her palm came to my face, and I felt it all drain away. The nerves. The doubts. The excitement. Whatever had been there was gone. All of it taken. And I remained still, like a statue, even after she had long disappeared from our halls.
We did not speak then. And I cannot imagine what she would need to say to me now.
"Jade?" The commander's voice flings me back to present day, to the guardhouse, to his command.
I nod my understanding. I will go home. I will prepare. I will not complain.
But before I take my first step, the ground rattles beneath my feet and a boom snaps across the night sky like lightning. All seven of us stop. Our heads twist to the wall, to the darkness of the night, to the source of the noise.
I move first, sprinting through the door.
And then I see it. A glow in the sky, filtering through the empty streets of old New York, hot white and bubbling red. A cloud. It pops and then only fire remains, fire and the smoke that billows high, blocking out the stars. One of our mines has been detonated.
My hands grip the stone as I peer further, balancing across the edge to get as close as I can. We are all transfixed.
"Rebels." I grin as the word leaves my lips.
"It is just an unlucky animal." The commander overrules me, shuts my words down, and the others nod in agreement.
"Still, shouldn’t we take a look?" I lick my lips.
"You will do nothing, Jade, except go home."
I meet his eyes. Both of us are made of stone, hard and unflinching. Time seems to tick between us, stretching, thickening the air. His eyebrow raises and I give in. Dropping my shoulders in defeat, I turn from the scene and shuffle back to the guardhouse.
But as soon as I am hidden behind the stones, my steps grow lighter, swifter, faster. I take the staircase two at a time, racing, until I am on the ground.
I'll get in trouble for this.
I don't care.
My hands fumble with the knots, loosening the reins that tie my horse to her post. In one move, I am on her back. The clicks of her shoes against stone fill my ears, thunderous, loud enough to drift up to the wall.
But by the time shouts rain down on me, I am gone, through the gate. Protests disappear until I am left with only the wind brushing my cheeks and the crunch of grass beneath heavy hooves.
We don't slow until the trees fade and metal takes their place. I am back in the wilds, a concrete jungle more perilous than any forest I can imagine.
But these are my wilds. My home.
A grin spreads across my face, pulls my cheeks until they hurt.
No one can beat me here.