DAY 5 : CHAOS BOUND by REBEKAH TURNER - EXCERPTS & GIVEAWAYS - HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO ESCAPE PUBLISHING DIGITAL IMPRINT OF HARLEQUIN AUSTRALIA

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY 

ESCAPE PUBLISHING

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I am going to be showing you an excerpt every day for the next five days and giving you the chance to not only win a digital copy of that book but also to go into the running to win a digital bundle of all of them from Escape Publishing. 

Here's a look at the banner showing the bundle giveaway. 

Escape Publishing is an imprint of Harlequin Australia.

This is for digital reads only.

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Today I am showing you an excerpt from :

CHAOS BOUND by REBEKAH TURNER

The long-awaited sequel to Chaos Born takes us back into the Applecross, where Lora faces increasing threats to her survival and her chance at love.

Lora Blackgoat — mercenary and smuggler — has only just recovered from the last threat on her life and hasn’t even begun to sort out the mess of having both a nephilim warrior and a reborn hellspawn as potential lovers. Work should be a refuge, but a job finding missing persons puts her in the crosshairs of a violent gang and a merchant with a taste for blood sport.

Reluctantly, Lora turns to the two men in her life for help. Roman — the nephilim — professes to be her soul mate and turns to her when he feels the darkness of nephilim madness descending. But though Lora is drawn to Roman, it is Seth, ex-lover and reborn hellspawn, who Lora must ultimately ask to protect those she loves. Can she trust Seth to save Roman and her adoptive family, or will this be a fatal mistake?

Chapter 2

The trees sat just beyond the cemetery's low stone wall. There was no gate nearby, so I had to resort to an undignified scramble over the top. Muttering curses, I straightened up on the other side, dusted my knees, and stepped into the shadows of the pines to see who had been trying to get my attention.

‘Hello, Dimples.’ Seth leant against a tree trunk, smoking a thin cigarillo. He wore a starchy City Watch uniform under a battered leather greatcoat, a wheellock pistol strapped against one thigh. He smiled at me, teeth white against his dark goatee. A straight razor sat in one hand, the blade angled to the sun. A saddled horse stood a little way off, tethered to a low hanging branch.

‘Having fun watching the show?’ I asked dryly. Seth and I had a long past together: a patchwork of fights, long absences and moments of heated, sexual bliss. Then things had soured between us after I'd discovered he'd been keeping secrets about his past. Wasn't the kind of thing a girl could easily forgive, not when you understood the kind of past he'd been hiding.

‘I always enjoy watching you work, Dimples.’ Seth folded the razor back into its ivory handle, blade winking one last time. I ignored the thrill of excitement that sparked low in my belly. Seems my libido had the memory of a fruit fly and had forgotten we were angry with him. Stupid libido. Stupid men.

‘Are you all right?’ Seth's tawny eyes were calculating as he stared at me through tendrils of smoke. ‘I could hear the widow from here. You know she was just talking nonsense.’

‘I don't care what she thinks. I don't care what anyone thinks.’ My hands tightened around my cane. A wicked sword hid in its stem, but running Seth through seemed like a slight overreaction. He took a step towards me and I shifted back, fresh indignation spiking my veins in a hot rush. I needed to keep my distance; my body had its own ideas when it came to Seth Hallow, and most of it involved sweaty cravings of the bedroom variety.

Seth dropped his cigarillo and rolled a boot toe over the smoking stub. ‘Glad you don't care what people think. Especially with your latest nickname.’

I mashed my lips together. I was not going to ask. I was not going to ask. Since the beheading incident, people had been calling me Chopper behind my back. Gideon had lectured me on the virtues of having a ferocious nickname, a killer's handle to awe the clientele. But I loathed it, the name a constant reminder of a blood drenched moment I wanted to forget. And now, apparently, I had a new one.

‘Personally, I think everyone should call you Dimples,’ Seth said. ‘Since you have the cutest pair I ever did see.’

‘Stop calling me that. You know I hate it.’

‘It's an improvement on Chopper,’ Seth continued, ignoring me. ‘Though I must say, the new one isn't very flattering.’ He grinned, like he could smell my curiosity in the spring air.

‘I don't want to know.’

His smile dampened at my frosty tone. ‘Still mad at me?’

‘What do you want, Seth?’

‘You won't return my messages, so I had to resort to stalking. A mighty fall for a Captain of the City Watch, don’t you think?’

‘I asked what you wanted.’

His bright eyes darkened. ‘I heard you were hanging around that Regulator lately. He's nothing but bad news.’ Seth's words were measured, but his tone carried a warning tone that summoned a scowl to my face.

‘Bad news, hey? Kind of like you?’ I snapped.

Seth moved forward and I stumbled back, hitting a trunk behind me. Seth came close, cupping the back of my neck with a strong hand. ‘I'm looking out for you, Lora, something you've not being very appreciative of. You can understand how a man might feel aggrieved.’ His movements spoke of restrained violence, lurking underneath a thin surface of social necessity. I wasn't impressed though, and inched up my chin to glare into his gold‐flecked eyes.

‘Get lost, Seth. I've got nothing for you.’

His hand slid to my right hip, a possessive touch and my thighs clenched , remembering moments of tangled passion and deep kisses. I closed my eyes and tried to keep a level head as hot desire swept through me, tempering my anger. Seth's closeness was the headiest of aphrodisiacs, his familiar smell intoxicating. But I'd come a long way since we'd first met, when I'd been seduced by his sweet words and clever hands. If Seth tried to sneak into my bed these days, I was just as likely to pull my cane sword and threaten his Mr Winky.

I opened my eyes to see Seth staring down, eyes expectant, waiting for me to crumble and forgive him. After all, I'd forgiven him in the past for his indiscretions; had always welcomed him back into my bed after months of no contact. But Seth didn't seem to realise this time was different. Everything was different. I'd found out he was ex‐hellspawn, expelled from The Pit. I'd also discovered he'd known what I was. That underneath my snow‐white hair and eclectic fashion sense beat the heart of a nephilim: half angel, half
human.

The fun didn't stop there, either. I'd discovered I was the only female of my kind to ever exist. Not something I wanted anyone else to know. Nothing like being a freak to bring out the fanatics. A spell woven into a charm around my neck hid any nephilim characteristics; it had made my hair ivory instead of ebony, my eyes green instead of black. The first charm had broken and it had been Seth who had told me it had contained a powerful concealment spell. I had a theory that Seth had known I was nephilim since we'd met. I saw it as a betrayal, that he'd pretended to care about me. Pretended to be my friend. Pretended he loved me.

Yeah, right.

‘Get off me.’ I scratched around inside my head, trying to reignite the indignant rage I'd been coasting on the last few weeks. I'd made my peace with Gideon over tankards of beers, and then with Orella over pots of spicy tea. The two of them had conspired to keep my true identity from me and while I didn't agree with what they had done, I understood they just wanted to protect me. But Seth? I didn't understand his motivations, only that our relationship had been a set‐up from the start.

‘I didn't exactly plan for things to go this way, Lora.’ Seth sounded exasperated. ‘I wasn't sure you'd ever want to embrace your heritage.’

‘How did you know?’ I asked stiffly. ‘How did you know what I was?’

Seth took my hands in his, his touch warm and inviting, full of promise. ‘Sometimes, I see things in dreams. Premonitions, maybe. I saw you and a suggestion of what you were. Nothing specific, just that you were special. So I arranged for us to meet, and you intrigued me. In time, I learned just how special you were.’

I ignored his gentle words, letting unasked questions burn in the air. Seth saw them in my eyes and his hands tightened. ‘I didn't say anything about what you were because I wasn't sure,’ he said. ‘You had the white hair of a Witch Hunter, so I thought I could be wrong about your bloodline.’

‘When did you know what I was? When were you sure?’ I asked.

‘Why does that matter?’

I pulled away, raising a hand to touch the new concealment charm under my shirt. Probably a bad idea to even start on questions. ‘It matters.’

Seth dropped a hand and stepped back. ‘You think I'm lying to you. About everything.’

‘That about sums it up.’

He shot a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. You're the only female nephilim that's existed, Lora. Are you really not interested in the slightest about what you could accomplish?’

I gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Not as much as you are.’

‘You could achieve so many great things.’

‘With chaos magic? I talked about this hot‐stuff power with Orella. You can't control chaos magic. You know, hence the name “chaos”.’

‘You're stronger than you think,’ Seth argued. ‘All you need to do is learn how to harness it. You wouldn't have to do it alone. I could help you.’

‘Sing that tune for someone else.’ My knuckles went white around my cane. ‘I'm not buying.’

‘What about The Key of Aldebaran?’ Seth's voice was suspiciously light.

My eyes narrowed to slits. That rotten little book of spells was what had started this whole mess. Written by a mad warlock, its pages contained spells for powerful chaos magic, with a rambling prophecy that claimed the blood of a female angel would be the key to its spells. Catch was, female angels didn't exist. The prophecy also apparently talked about a woman called the Dreadwitch, who would fight a creature called the Howling King. What this all meant for me? Well, technically, I had angel blood in me, so technically, my blood fuelled the spells. What else this meant for me? That zero fucks were given. My destiny included buying expensive shoes on sale, a full beer tankard, and a good game of dice.

‘What about the Aldebaran?’ I asked.

Seth shrugged. ‘What happens when another madman gets a copy of it and realises your blood can unleash all sorts magics?’ He shook his head. ‘You know, I'd have thought you'd want to take charge of your destiny. Use this situation to your own advantage. Carve  something out for yourself.’ He made a sharp, exasperated gesture. ‘Instead, you're still working as a Runner for Blackgoat, as if nothing happened. A lowly mercenary for hire. Just waiting to get mixed up in the next disaster.’

I flushed, feeling like a petulant child, unable or unwilling to control their own destiny. Didn't quite match the strong, independent image I worked hard to project. I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. There's only so much hard truth a girl likes to hear in one day. ‘We're done here.’ I turned and began to walk away.

‘Wait.’ Seth touched my shoulder, stopping me. ‘I've found out something I thought you might be interested in.’

Against my better judgement, I paused. ‘What?’

‘I know the location of a copy.’

‘Of the Aldebaran? Where?’ I instantly regretted giving away more than I'd wanted to reveal. After all, I thought my enquiries had been discrete enough. My plan was simple. Find all copies of that stupid book and burn them. No more grimoires containing chaos magic  spells meant peaceful nights for me.

Seth held a finger up. ‘I want to help you, but I want something in return.’ 

Here it was. The catch. Of course he'd want payment; Seth's services usually had a price, sooner or later.

‘I want a favour I can call on,’ he said.

Suspicion blanketed my mind. ‘What kind of favour are we talking about? Wouldn't you just prefer money?’

‘You couldn't afford me.’ Seth gave a low, sexy laugh. One that I wasn't falling for anymore. ‘Relax. I won't ask for the world.’

I rolled a shoulder, like I wasn't bothered. ‘As long as it doesn't involve me getting naked, I'm sure we can work out a deal. I agree to your terms.’

Seth gave me a smug smile, eyes lingering on my mouth. ‘I'll set the meeting up and let you know the details. It will involve some travel.’

‘Where is it?’

‘The Outlands, if you can believe it,’ he said.

‘Fine by me.’

Seth walked back to his horse and untied the reins. ‘You want a lift?’

I ignored the question and limped towards the city to the soundtrack of Seth’s laughter. He knew I hated horses; a horse riding accident as a child had left me half‐lame. Since then, I preferred my transport with wheels, a driver and some privacy. My thoughts tumbled over each other. Whatever Seth's intentions were towards me, one thing was certain: the bastard couldn't be trusted.

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DAY 4 : KING HALL by SCARLETT DAWN - EXCERPTS & GIVEAWAYS - HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO ESCAPE PUBLISHING DIGITAL IMPRINT OF HARLEQUIN AUSTRALIA

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY 

ESCAPE PUBLISHING

In celebration of Escape's Birthday they have kindly donated some giveaways for y'all to be in the running to win.

I am going to be showing you an excerpt every day for the next five days and giving you the chance to not only win a digital copy of that book but also to go into the running to win a digital bundle of all of them from Escape Publishing. 

Here's a look at the banner showing the bundle giveaway. 

Escape Publishing is an imprint of Harlequin Australia.

This is for digital reads only.

Click HERE To read more.

See all the wonderful Aussie Authors on display. 

All genres.

Escape Publishing is Global so all giveaways are international.

Today I am showing you an excerpt from :

KING HALL by SCARLETT DAWN

A fresh, meaty, sink-your-teeth-in-and-hold-on-tight new adult fantasy series kicks off with King Hall…

King Hall — where the Mysticals go to learn their craft, get their degrees, and transition into adulthood. And where four new Rulers will rise and meet their destinies.

Lily Ruckler is adept at one thing: survival. Born a Mystical hybrid, her mere existence is forbidden, but her nightmare is only about to start. Fluke, happenstance, and a deep personal loss finds Lily deeply entrenched with those who would destroy her simply for existing — The Mystical Kings. Being named future Queen of the Shifters shoves Lily into the spotlight, making her one of the most visible Mysticals in the world. But with risk comes a certain solace — her burgeoning friendships with the other three Prodigies: a wicked Vampire, a wild-child Mage, and a playboy Elemental. Backed by their faith and trust, Lily begins to relax into her new life.

Then chaos erupts as the fragile peace between Commoners and Mysticals is broken, and suddenly Lily realises the greatest threat was never from within, and her fear takes on a new name: the revolution.

Chapter 1

August 1, 2012

Sex Education.

No matter your age (sixteen or nineteen), or what school you attended (Commoner or Mystical), this class was still “are you kidding me” worthy. Knowing this as fact wasn’t difficult because I had endured Com schools from kindergarten through to my high school graduation. Even so, because of my switch to a Mys school, and because Law dictated Mysticals weren’t adults until they were twenty‐two, I was currently one of the few sophomores at King Hall University slinking down on my seat as Mr. Busk — or, Mr. Beak, as I “intellectually” called him — strolled in front of me, dropping two condoms on my desktop.

Mine wasn’t the only lucky desk he added this stunning addition to. He placed two condoms on everyone’s desk. To add insult to injury, Mrs. Fowler — I had no mental nickname for her because I actually liked her — lifted a basket and began placing an extraenormous banana and a normal sized banana on each person’s desk.

Rambling to the front of the room, Mrs. Fowler sat the basket on her desk and dug into it. She cleared her throat, lifting an extra‐large banana high into the air. “Mysticals are naturally more endowed than Commoners.” With her other hand, she raised a regular sized banana, holding them side‐by‐side. Point made.

“In review of last year, and in case you go against our teachings,” the entire class got the hairy eyeball, “abstinence, if you’ve already forgotten,” a look at the bananas in her hands, “you need to be prepared for the variation of sizes.” She used the huge banana to point at the regular one. “Just because it’s smaller doesn’t mean you won’t contract a germ.” Her glare encompassed everyone. With restrained silence weighing heavily, Mrs. Fowler’s hand flicked: a silent order to commence the condom application.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, since Mys were known for their…friendliness. Plus, she had called it a germ. While diseases couldn’t touch us in any serious way, a Com STD did give us flu‐like symptoms for two weeks if one was contracted from them, instead of the lifelong consequences (or possible death) Coms would face.

Last year, we even had the pleasure to view the videos, and snapshots, of these Com diseases. Fun times were had by all. I hadn’t eaten for two days straight after those horrific shots. Did parents seriously know their “kid’s” teachers were showing X‐rated pictures with disgusting and disturbing things wrong with Com private parts?

I was betting “no”.

Elly sat to my right, lifting her smaller banana, her white eyebrows raised. “You really think Coms are this size?”

My lips twitched. “Sometimes smaller.”

Elly’s already raised brows shot to her identical white hairline. “How do you know that?” She paused before her mouth widened into an ‘O’. “Lily, you’ve been holding out on me!” Of course, this comment earned attention from others and she leaned loser. "Who  was he?”

I slunk down further while most stared. “Just some Com I saw at a party once. I didn’t do anything with him. He was busy doing it with someone else.” I barely held back a sigh of relief as my classmates went back to their project when they heard I didn’t have anything impressive to say.

Elly’s short white curls hung over one of her eyes, and she brushed it away impatiently, flashing her pink‐painted fingernails. She waggled the regular banana. “They’re really smaller than this?”

I shrugged, lifting the first condom packet when Mr. Busk walked by my desk, watching me. “Probably not all Coms, but the guy I saw would have loved being that big.”

Elly’s face fell for a moment before she glanced away, lowering the slighter banana with a nod and grabbing one of her own condom packets. Elly wasn’t a virgin — I seriously doubted that anyone in my class would be, being nineteen‐year‐olds — and friendly, so she expertly put the larger condom on the larger banana. Her hand hovered over the smaller packet and I began to wonder why, but my train of thought was interrupted when Mrs. Fowler asked loudly from the front of the room, “Is there a problem, Ms. Ruckler?”

My attention snapped to her. “No. No problem.” If her blue eyes weren’t watching kindly from her crinkled face, I might have been tempted to have her put the stupid condoms on my gifted bananas herself. Glancing away, I opened the condom packet and peeked at the clock. It was only my first hour of classes back from our month of summer vacation and already I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

* * *

I barely kept my eyes open as I listened to Mrs. Fowler and Mr. Busk drone on for another thirty minutes. Finally, the clock ticked its last round. Everyone jumped from their seats, a few of the guys finishing the remains of their bananas, which they had no issues about eating even after condoms being on the peeals, and Mrs. Fowler harped, “Don’t forget! Abstinence is the key against germs!”

I snorted as I bustled to the door. They should be teaching that alcohol made you forget about abstinence, losing all inhibitions, instead of harping about it to my overly friendly classmates. Not that I was against alcohol consumption, seeing as my first drunken encounter resulted in the delicious man now leaning against the wall outside the classroom. My heart warmed as I glided to a stop in front of him. I hummed quietly, “Miss me already?”

Dominic pushed off the wall, aligning our bodies. Towering over me at six feet, five inches, I had to tilt my head back to stare into his fathomless dark eyes. His Prodigy wolf emblem ring glittered on his thumb as he lifted his hand, cupping my cheek gently. His words were soft. “What do you think?”

Scrunching my nose, I rolled my shoulders, glancing at the fashionably attired women and men gossiping. “They’re all staring.” Again.

Dominic dipped, his smooth black hair brushing his strong cheekbones as he nuzzled his face against the crook of my neck, kissing it lightly. Barely breathing, he spoke words only for my ears, no Vampires. “They’re only jealous.”

Yeah, that was what I was afraid of. The Shifter women were glaring under their perfect lashes, and if this hands‐off hostility was all I would have to endure, I would be doing well. “We should have leaked the news of our mating this summer.”

“Our friends knew.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Dominic sighed quietly, his warm breath rushing against the tender flesh of my neck, his sweet lips caressing once more. “The assembly will take their minds off it.” Straightening slowly, he slung his arm over my shoulders, keeping me tucked tight against his solid strength as we weaved our way through the gawkers. “How was class?”

“It was fine,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. “I did learn an interesting fact.”

“That would be?”

I kept my voice down. “To another Shifter, your sexual fluids taste, and smell, of your animal’s essence when you’re close to your Awakening, not only after it.” My brows lifted at my mate. “In other words, you knew what I was going to be before my Awakening.”

His gaze was pure innocence. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

I sniffed. Lie. The bastard. “You suck.”

He merely grinned, glancing behind us. “Where’s Elly?”

“Meeting me in the gym.”

Bit by bit, his brow furrowed, and he stopped us, turning me to face him. “Let me know if you need me today.” His tone was low and grave, his wolf peaking as he bent to stare directly in my eyes. “I’m serious, Lily. Those predator classes you’re taking are brutal, and we only have one together.” Yeah, I may have been earning my degree in Creative Writing, but my schedule wasn’t all peaceful imaginings. The mere silver lining was that the hand‐to‐hand combat was grouped together for Shifters and Vamps — all grade levels — while the Mages and Elementals did their own thing. “Promise me.”

I winked, trying for joviality. “Only if you promise to ask me for help in staying awake during your boring political science classes.”

“Lily…” Dominic growled, not liking my humor.

I sighed. “Fine, but I’ll be okay.” Having gone through my Shifter Awakening, I had added strength, and could sniff out a truth or lie. But I still had to be careful not to show my Vampire speed.

With the constant fear ever‐present between us, a trickling of death hovering, he stared a moment longer. He never pulled alpha crap on me, even though I knew he could. He just didn’t, respecting me. “I love you, babe. Be careful.” He pulled me in tight and kissed me in a way that really shouldn’t be done in front of others.

I went with it.

* * *

Sitting high on the bleachers next to Elly, I ignored those closest who were eyeing me and peered down at the masses. I took in the different Mys groups, which consisted of the Elementals with their pure green, blue, red, or yellow hair, the Vampires with their red and black streaked hair, the Mages with blond to golden hair, and the Shifters with their different variations of hair color, like their animal. I hardly knew any of them.

Besides Dominic, Elly was my one friend here at King Hall. Her white hair pegged her as a weak Shifter, and because of my own freakish, solid red hair we stuck together, since no others would have us in their inner circle. I hadn’t actually wanted to be in any inner circle, but I knew she had. Even after we had been attending this school for a full year, they still stared, so I didn’t hold it against her.

Being noticeably different only worked when blending in with Coms. Here, I only stood out with my whopping five foot, two inches, to their Amazon‐tall. My blue eyes were normal enough, but my hair turned more than a few heads, especially when no other Mys — other than an Elemental — had red hair like mine. The only common ground I found with these people was the money my mom had left for me in her will. It still sent shudders down my spine that so many Mysticals named this the best school in the world.

They called it: Choep, New York.

I called it: My Own Personal Hell.

No one wants to glimpse Hell, much less be there in the first place, so it figured my bastard uncle would be the one to throw me in this pit when he had become my legal guardian. My only solace — and stupidity, I knew full well — was that being mated to Dominic now kept me under King Kincaid’s roof. It was a definite risk of exposure, but I was thrilled to be out of my uncle’s sadistic home.

Sighing softly, I tried to focus over the constant noise, pushing myself to relax on the uncomfortable bleacher. This wasn’t a normal assembly. All four Kings stood in dark Armani suits behind Mrs. Jonas, our Head Administrator at King Hall who was positioned at the podium trying to quiet everyone. For the first time since I had walked through the school doors, Dominic and I weren’t the main topic of gossip. Instead, everyone was aflutter about the soon‐to‐be‐revealed Prodigies.

Mrs. Jonas sighed heavily. “If you want to see them, then you need to be quiet!” The room went silent. Even the adults packed onto the gym floor. The place was filled to overflowing. It wasn’t just the students who wanted to know their next Rulers. All Mysticals were waiting for the news. There was even press standing in front of the elevated stage ready to air the announcement. This was definitely a big deal.

Plus, these were the new Rulers who could end my life with a simple command.

I squirmed and Elly grabbed my knee to stop me. The Mage to my left snapped an irritated glance in my direction, but quickly looked back to the stage when Mrs. Jonas started speaking again (pleasantly, now that everyone had shut up). With a smile, she stated clearly, “First, King Kincaid will introduce our next King Shifter.”

Dominic’s dad strode forward, appearing tough with a debonair flair, his features serious as he adjusted the microphone to better accommodate his height. “Good morning, world.” I glanced down to the press and saw Coms here, too, not just Mys. This was worldwide. “As some of you may or may not know, every twenty years four new Rulers are born. We’re here today to introduce them to you. Within the next four years, these Prodigies will take over,” he gestured to himself, and then to the other three Kings behind him, “in our stead.”

He cleared his throat, and a smile lifted his lips. “The next King Shifter will be my son, Dominic Kincaid. Dominic already has vast experience in political relations, having been raised in the current King’s home.” He went on to list all of Dominic’s leadership and predator skills, and I listened politely to his proud speech even though I already knew all of this. Dominic was a badass. “And without further ado, my son, Dominic Kincaid, the next King Shifter.”

The side of the backstage curtain shifted and Dominic emerged to a raucous round of applause. He gave a polite wave. I almost laughed out loud. Dominic’s dad had argued with him about wearing a suit for this, but that wasn’t Dominic’s style. Although, he had agreed to wear a tie. Too bad it was wrapped tightly around his wrist next to his platinum watch, and instead of a traditional suit, he now wore an outfit consisting of a simple crimson suit jacket with a white‐collared shirt (untucked), the sleeves of both rolled up to his forearms, paired with black leather pants and his black boots. Savvy sexy.

Looking good, I mentally hummed.

I saw his lips twitch and he peered up into the bleachers where I sat, winking as he reached the podium to stop beside his dad. Standing side‐by‐side, they looked so much alike it was uncanny. His dad barely appeared a few years older than him thanks to our lifespan being hundreds of years longer than Coms. Dominic’s large, pitch‐black eyes, with thick lashes, altered to the cameras, his lush, red lips smiling softly.

“Hello, everyone,” Dominic’s voice growled to address the world, ignoring his dad’s scowl at his outfit choice. “I’m Dominic Kincaid. I thought I would start by telling you a little about myself. I’m a senior at King Hall University, and have resided in New York my entire life. I’ve recently become mated,” masculine cheers erupted so loudly he had to wait a second to continue speaking, “and we’ll live here for the remainder of my ruling.” He continued on, and I pinched my lips together, deciding to be a little ornery.

Mentally, I hummed, Oh, Dominic! The way you talk to them…a groan…it’s so hot!

He stuttered, glancing down, clearing his throat.

I added breathlessly, Dom, I want…I want you! Those cameras are turning me on.

He made a quiet choking sound. 

Please, Dom, please! I groaned.

He snorted, and I knew people were watching him strangely. Feeling I had done my job properly, I stopped. His eyes met mine. I knew there would be retribution involved. Probably a little good and a little bad.

“What’s wrong with him?” Elly whispered, her golden eyes swinging to me.

I tapped my temple and grinned.

Her mouth fell open. “That’s just mean.”

I chuckled. It was funny stuff.

The King Elemental, King Fergus, went next, speaking fluidly and easily to the assembly, his green hair shimmering in the light. “Our next King Elemental will be Jack Collins. He’s lived in Tokyo for his entire life and, like the other Prodigies, he’s thrilled to be here at King Hall for his senior year. His experience is immense…” Yada, yada, the same junk all over again. It sounded like they had all been through the same experiences since being chosen at a toddler’s age through a spell that let the current Kings know who the next Rulers were. “And here’s the next King Elemental.”

Jack Collins came out of the side curtains like Dominic had. I clapped right along with everyone else but didn’t add in the hoots like some of the girls were doing. He was hot. No doubt about that. He was about six foot, two inches, with a touch of Asian ancestry, and had bright blue hair that he wore stylishly over his right eye. He was dressed in a black suit that was fitted and trendy — not stuffy like the Kings’ — and his blue, extra‐thin tie matched his hair. I could see his eyes were brown and his features bordered on pretty, but his muscled body was anything but slight.

He waited politely for everyone to quiet, then began with a slightly accented voice.

“My name’s Jack Collins, and it’s a pleasure to be here…” More yada, yada.

Next to come forward was King Nelson, the King Mage, and he began with a soft grin, his hand brushing back his golden hair. “This is a monumental day, because for the first time in over five hundred years we will have a woman as our Ruler.” There were gasps throughout the audience. I had no clue a female Ruler was such a big deal, but clearly it was. “Our next Queen Mage will be Pearl Cooper. She’s lived in London for the entirety of her life, and her experience…” Heard it all before.

When Pearl Cooper walked out the crowd went wild. Especially the females. You would think the men would have been cheering the loudest but, I swear, women’s rights were taking a firm grip on every female in the place as Pearl took the stage. She appeared to be six feet tall, curvaceous, and with golden hair and golden eyes. She was drop‐dead gorgeous, more than a normal Mys. She was so flawless she reminded me of a doll. She wore a black, checkered dress like a retro version of a 1950s house wife, except she paired it with a wide, glistening gold belt and gold platform shoes, to perfection.

I glanced down at my own jeans and plain white t‐shirt with a smidge of disdain, thinking that perhaps I should pay a little more attention to my attire instead of just worrying if it was from the clean pile.

“Hello, everyone.” Pearl greeted the world with a celebrity wave, her English accent really freaking cool. “I’m so happy and honored to be your next Queen Mage…” She went on, and in her speech I noted she also had been recently mated. There were many groans from the men. Couldn’t blame them. She was that attractive.

Up next, the King Vampire, King Venclaire, nodded to the audience pleasantly and stated simply, “Our next King Vampire will be Ezra Zeller. He’s originally from San Diego, California, and has lately been traveling the world; his most recent location was South America. His power is truly remarkable.” The King smiled a little at his words, then turned toward the curtains. “Ezra, if you would, please.”

When the King didn’t drone on about his Prodigy’s experience, I asked, He’s done?

Guess so, Dominic replied, intently watching the curtained area.

Ezra Zeller walked onstage.

The first thing I noticed was the deep sapphire, hooded velvet jacket he wore. He had its hood up so I couldn’t see his face, and its hem was so long it skimmed the floor. It was unbuttoned, and he wore a simple white t‐shirt under it with a pair of faded jeans, trendy holes in the knees. He had paired those with a clunky black belt and boots that looked identical to Dominic’s.

I clapped with everyone else, though my gaze was rapt on his size. He was as large as Dominic, at least six foot, five inches, his muscles massive. That was a little odd because, normally, Vampires were as tall as Shifters but were usually leaner, like a swimmer instead of a brute. His velvet jacket appeared worn, with patches at the elbows, and I was unsure if they were for fashion or economy’s sake. His vast biceps looked like they weren’t helping the stitching any, straining the material. His white t‐shirt showed every ripple of muscle in his pecs and abdomen, and his faded jeans hugged his thighs flawlessly. You couldn’t even see his face, and I could already imagine the women in the audience licking their lips.

“Oh,” Elly whispered, leaning forward. “For a Vamp, he’s delicious.”

My best friend was one of them.

King Venclaire sighed and his hand flashed out, yanking back Ezra’s hood.

Flashes went off as everyone got their first decent view of him. He had skin like smooth mocha and he wore his red and black hair about three inches long in styled spikes all over his head. His features were perfectly sharp: high cheekbones, a straight nose,
arched, black eyebrows, wide red lips, and an angular jaw. He wore a pair of unusual sunglasses — black and thick with round, platinum pieces on the front — and I stared at them, wondering what color his eyes were.

King Venclaire’s lips pinched, and he leaned toward Ezra, whispering.

Ezra shrugged a shoulder, lifting the sunglasses on top of his head. Expressive, almond‐curved, glaring green eyes stared out at the audience as he tilted to the microphone, stating in a deep voice, “I’m Ezra,” a nod of his head. “Pleasure.” Fluidly, he turned, walking away from the podium to stand beside Pearl.

King Venclaire appeared completely exasperated until he pivoted fully to face the crowd, smiling charmingly, and said evenly, “He’s a man of few words and firm decisions. Let this be a reminder to the Vampires who’ll be under his rule.” He nodded once then left the podium to stand next to the other Kings, who had all raised their brows in silent question.

Trouble in paradise? I probed.

There’s always one, Dominic grumbled, glancing down the line at Ezra, who placed his shades back down as more flashes erupted, all four of them now standing side‐by‐side.

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DAY 3 : FINDING HOME by LAUREN K. MCKELLAR - EXCERPTS & GIVEAWAYS - HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO ESCAPE PUBLISHING DIGITAL IMPRINT OF HARLEQUIN AUSTRALIA

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY 

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In celebration of Escape's Birthday they have kindly donated some giveaways for y'all to be in the running to win.

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Today I am showing you an excerpt from :

FINDING HOME by LAUREN K. McKELLAR

Moody, atmospheric, and just a little bit punk, Finding Home takes contemporary YA to a new level of grit...

When Amy’s mum dies, the last thing she expects is to be kicked off her dad’s music tour all the way to her Aunt Lou in a depressing hole of a seaside town. But it’s okay — Amy learned how to cope with the best, and soon finds a hard-drinking, party-loving crowd to help ease the pain.

The only solace is her music class, but even there she can’t seem to keep it together, sabotaging her grade and her one chance at a meaningful relationship. It takes a hard truth from her only friend before Amy realises that she has to come to terms with her past, before she destroys her future.

Chapter 1

‘Amy, we need to talk,’ Dad said.

I sat across from him at a table in a crowded restaurant that was full of the usual Sunday morning types. Dad looked completely different to the man I’d seen onstage the evening before. Then, his look had been slick: ripped jeans, designer shirt; now, he appeared a lot older than his 37 years and more tired. His hair looked a mess, sticking up in all the wrong places, and his clothes were dated.

‘About what?’ I sipped my orange juice. The cool liquid helped my head, which throbbed from my efforts of the evening prior.

‘Your behaviour at the show,’ he finished. It hadn't happened yet, but — oh, yes, there it was — the sigh. That inevitable exhalation that always seemed to occur just before Dad did something he didn't want to do. ‘You’re seventeen. You know full well that you
shouldn't be drinking.’

‘I’m 18 in three months. And so what, anyway?’

‘So you can't keep acting like this.’ A frown creased his face.

I twirled my straw around. Little flicks of juice spun up the sides of my glass, creating a tiny, orange mosaic. ‘It's not like I do it all the time.’ I shrugged.

‘Just every time you come and see the show. And when you're not at the show, you're in a hotel room by yourself.’

‘And?’

‘And it's not normal, it’s not healthy, and I want you to stop.’ He ran his hands through his thick black hair and stared me down. His craggy face was a minefield of peaks and troughs, and he had the sort of distinguished nose that would make an actor on The Bold And The Beautiful jealous. It felt weird to think of the thousands of middle‐aged women who had worshipped him onstage the night before. To me, he was just my dad and a pain in the ass, at that.

A lady strutted her way over to the table. ‘Excuse me, but can I please get your autograph?’ She threw her blonde curls over her shoulders until they were resting on her double D‐sized boobs, and then shoved a piece of paper under Dad's nose. Two tables away,
a group of women in their early thirties were giggling, whispering, and pointing in our direction. I averted my gaze. It was enough to make me sick.

‘Can we get out of here?’ I squirmed in my chair.

Dad ignored me, signing the napkin and making polite small talk with the lady. She leaned forward again and touched his shoulder, tossing her head back when she laughed. It would only be a matter of time before she would reached across the table to grab something and ‘accidentally’ brush her breasts against his chest. I think a tiny bit of vomit actually began to work its way up my throat and into my mouth.

‘I'm leaving,’ I said, grabbing my bag from the floor beneath me.

‘Amy, wait.’

‘What?’ I spun around. The blonde had retreated to her table, and Dad was now indicating I should sit. I did, rolling my eyes and letting my bag slump to the ground. I’d had enough.

We sat in silence for a while, studying each other.

‘I think you should go to your aunt’s.’

‘For a holiday?’ I asked, my brow furrowing.

‘No, Amy,’ he said, sighing. That brought Dad’s total count for the day to two. ‘To live.’

The words resonated in my head, sounding over and over again, like I was in a church hall or a bad horror movie. To live, live, live, live.

Dad was sending me away.

‘What? Why?’ The questions tumbled out of my mouth. Why was he doing this? Was leaving me for his fans not enough?

Dad almost whispered the words. ‘Just until the end of high school.’ He leaned over to put his hand on my shoulder.

I shook it off. ‘But…but why? I’m getting good grades!’

‘It’s not grades I’m worried about,’ he replied.

My voice rose in panic. ‘You don’t care about my education?’ People had started to stare.

‘I didn’t say that. I just…I think you should go to your aunt’s and finish your studies at an actual school.’ He clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers as if he was praying. Clearly he hadn’t thought he’d be getting this reaction.

‘But I barely see you as it is.’

‘That’s not true. We spend all day, every day together. It’s just nights that I have to work.’

‘Sitting in the back of a bus while we drive all over the country hardly strikes me as quality time, Dad.’

‘Then what difference does it make if you’re at your aunt’s instead of here?’

‘You're trying to get rid of me.’ His question hurt, stabbing at my insides. How could he hate me so much that he’d want to send me away?

‘I’m not trying to get rid of you, but this behavior is unacceptable and you just don’t listen to me,’ he said. ‘Maybe staying with Aunt Lou will do you some good. Plus, this means you can hang around people your own age again.’

‘I can’t believe you,’ I blurted out.

‘It’s for the best. I’ll visit you, and —’

‘It’s for the best?’ I asked. ‘Sure, I don’t have a mum, so what’s best for me is to not have a dad, too. You know you drove her to it, right? What happened to her was your fault!’ Silence. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened.

As far as I was concerned, it was true. If he hadn’t decided to pursue a career in music, we wouldn’t be having these problems. We would still be living in our old apartment, and Dad would be spending every spare second with me, teaching me the keyboard and singing me to sleep.

And Mum would still be alive.

Finally, he spoke. ‘It’s only going to be for a few months. Nothing between us will change.’

‘You’re right,’ I replied. I stood up and grabbed my bag again. ‘Because you don’t really act like much of a father now, anyway.’

‘Oh, Amy. My life isn’t normal. I only want the best for you, and I promised your mum I'd give you that.’ His dark eyes were drawn and red. Lately, severe wrinkles had begun to develop at the corners, even though he was only 37. My dad, the aging chart‐topper.

I hated him and his stupid job. How could he just ditch me after all we’d been through together?

‘Dad, I promise I'll stop drinking,’ I said, trying to bargain. Don't send me away.

‘Good.’ He smiled.

‘Don't leave me,’ I whispered. But he was already on the phone, responding to Joe, or his tour manager, or his sound guy, or possibly even the president of the Stevie D fan club.

It was done. I was leaving. Even though a few months ago this had been exactly what I’d wanted, things were different now. Mum wasn’t by my side, and we weren’t leaving to escape the madness together. My dad, the only immediate family member I had left alive in the whole world, didn’t want me. Now, I’d have no one.

One thing was for sure — there was no way I was ever going to forgive my father for this.

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DAY 2 : AWAKENING by LARA MORGAN - EXCERPTS & GIVEAWAYS - HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY TO ESCAPE PUBLISHING DIGITAL IMPRINT OF HARLEQUIN AUSTRALIA

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY 

ESCAPE PUBLISHING

In celebration of Escape's Birthday they have kindly donated some giveaways for y'all to be in the running to win.

I am going to be showing you an excerpt every day for the next five days and giving you the chance to not only win a digital copy of that book but also to go into the running to win a digital bundle of all of them from Escape Publishing. 

Here's a look at the banner showing the bundle giveaway. 

Escape Publishing is an imprint of Harlequin Australia.

This is for digital reads only.

Click HERE To read more.

See all the wonderful Aussie Authors on display. 

All genres.

Escape Publishing is Global so all giveaways are international.

Today I am showing you an excerpt from :

AWAKENING by LARA MORGAN

High fantasy and romance mix with adventure and magic in the first of Lara Morgan’s Twins of Saranthium series.

For two thousand years, the serpents of Salmut and their riders have kept the people of Saranthium safe — but the pact between human and serpent is failing. Rogue serpents are attacking villages, and rumours abound that the banished god of the serpents, Azoth, has returned to resurrect his empire of slavery.

Orphan, thief and survivor Shaan works in the serpent yards of Salmut and wakes from dreams of blood and death. The surprising discovery that she can speak with Nuathin, the oldest serpent of the yards, brings her to the attention of sept leader, Balkis. Handsome, arrogant and seductive, Balkis is also a man with powerful and dangerous alliances and Shaan becomes the target of the city’s most feared arms men: The Faithful.

Meanwhile in the deserts, a young man named Tallis defends his clan against rogue serpents, driving them off with supernatural force. When he faces becoming an outcast because of his power, the truth of his birth is revealed and he embarks on a journey to understand the strength locked within his mind.

Drawn together, Shaan and Tallis become ensnared in the resurrection of an ancient conflict, but on whose side will they stand — that of the serpents or the people?

Chapter 1

The city of Salmut, Saranthium Shaan jerked awake, her breath coming fast and sharp; she’d been dreaming of fire and death again.

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the cracks in the ceiling.

It was just after dawn and already the heat and humidity were
building. Sweat covered her limbs, making the bedclothes stick,
and in a fit of irritation she kicked them to the end of the bed,
running unsteady hands through her short, dark hair.

The dream had been more vivid this time and unwelcome images crowded back. Burning flesh, screams, fire devouring the strange city and that voice following, tormenting her. She shivered. She could still hear his sibilant whisper.

Outside, a refuse collector clattered down the street making her start. Annoyed, she pushed the remnants of the dream away. What good did it do to dwell on it when she had troubles enough already. Getting out of bed, she crossed to the window and pushed open the wooden shutters. The stench of rotted cargo and damp wafted up from the street two stories below and, with a grimace, she lifted her head to try and catch a fresh breeze.

The sky was washed pink with the dawn. Beyond the flattopped
roofs of the city, the warehouses and jetties of the Great Port jutted out into the dark water of the bay. The massive main pier was like a stone arm pointing to the rim of the world and the sea a sheet of dark silk. The ships at anchor barely moved in the low swell.

She looked to the mass of whitewashed buildings that sprawled across the red cliff at the opposite end of the bay. The yards, home to the serpents and their riders. She bit her lip her insides churning. The riders’ trials were only two months away. Would yesterday’s mistake go against her? Would he remember it?

She should have been dreaming of that rather than a burning city. Failure at the trials would mean another two years of cleaning up after the sons and daughters of the city’s elite who practically had their rider positions handed to them. Fail the trials and all her effort would be for nothing.

She leaned on the windowsill, the splintered wood scraping her skin. Sept Leader Balkis had barely noticed her before, now there was no doubt he’d remember her. Thinking of the way he’d looked at her made Shaan feel ill. She’d given him a real blade instead of a blunted sword. The Fledgling rider he’d been training had needed seven stitches in his thigh. It was the dreams, the lack of sleep. If she hadn’t been so tired it wouldn’t have happened.

She needed every advantage she could get to win a place as a
Fledgling, and irritating the man who could decide her fate was
not going to help. Balkis was the youngest person to make sept
leader in more years than she could count, and she had to draw
his ire. She stared at the yards as though she could sear his brain
with her look. Choose me, she thought, choose me.

A far ranging fishing boat, its sails bright white against the red cliffs, tacked slowly in toward the jetties distracting her and she watched it for a while and then suddenly swore as she remembered she’d promised to get some fish for Torg that morning. With a groan, she pulled a sleeveless, green dress over her head and shoving her feet into sandals, stepped out into the narrow hallway, fastening a wide belt around her waist as she went.

‘Tuon! Tuon, wake up.’ She called down the corridor and knocked loudly on a door at the end. Without waiting for a reply she pushed it open and stuck her head in.

‘Tuon, you awake?’

The room was twice as large as her own. In the far corner a woman was lying diagonally across a wide bed, the sheet pulled up over her head. Only her pink toes were visible, poking out from under the crumpled sheets.

‘Tuon, wake up.’ She let the door bang against the wall.

A tousled blonde head appeared from under the sheets followed
by a hand, which flung a pillow in her direction. ‘Leave me be.’

Shaan watched as the feather-filled sack hit the doorframe. ‘You’ll have to aim better than that.’ She strode across the room and stood over her, hands on her hips. ‘Come on, I have to go fishing. Come with me for a swim, it’ll wash some of that stink off you.’

But Tuon didn’t move and Shaan looked down at her in irritation
then stooped and ripped the sheet off. ‘Come on, dung worms move faster than you!’

‘Aah, all right!’ Tuon rolled over and blinked, leisurely rubbing her naked belly. ‘I see yesterday’s mishap is going to make you pleasant company.’

Blonde and all curves, Tuon was a favourite with the sailors who came to the Red Pepino. Her skin was pale compared to Shaan’s, she was a head taller and ten years older and was the closest thing Shaan had to family.

Shaan wrinkled her nose, ignoring her comment. ‘Goddess, it’s stuffy in here!’ She went to the window and opened it with a bang. ‘Why don’t you air it out sometimes?’

‘Well, aren’t we in a fine mood today.’ Tuon hoisted herself up to a sitting position. ‘It’s a good thing Torg doesn’t have you making coin for him on your back, looking like that you’d earn him less than a street boy.’

‘As if I’d let some sweaty, stinking pig of a sailor mount me.’ Shaan flicked at a sliver of flaking paint with her fingernail.

‘Is that right? But you’re not above lifting a purse or two from them.’

‘So what?’ Shaan shrugged. ‘They were drunk and stupid, it served them right.’ She picked at more paint, choosing not to notice the eyebrow Tuon was raising at her. She must be losing her touch if Tuon had seen her. When she’d run with the street packs she could lift a purse from a merchant in a crowded market and no one would suspect a thing. Not that she did that anymore.

‘Torg won’t be happy if he finds out,’ Tuon said. ‘It makes it harder for the customers to pay his girls – me included.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Shaan shrugged, glancing at her, ‘that sailor was too drunk to get it up anyway.’

Tuon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You only steal when there’s something
wrong. What is it? You not sleeping again, or are you still worrying yourself over that sept leader?’

‘I’m not worried.’ Shaan flicked paint at a cart trundling past below.

‘No, of course not.’ Tuon crossed her arms over her bare breasts. ‘Getting shouted at by the man who could decide your fate at the trials is nothing, happens every day. And of course,’ she gave her a knowing look, ‘it doesn’t help that that man is also outrageously pretty.’

‘And knows it,’ Shaan snorted.

‘Don’t they all,’ Tuon said dryly. ‘But still, a sept leader . . .’

‘Is hardly going to look twice at a worker,’ Shaan interrupted her. ‘Not that I want him to.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you did.’ She gave her a penetrating look and Shaan felt a touch of heat rise in her cheeks. ‘I was going to say,’ Tuon continued, ‘that a sept leader being angry at me, if I was the one who wanted to be a rider, would make me worry. Or is there something else that’s making you spit like a cat caught in a trap?’

Shaan looked away to stare out of the window. ‘I’m just tired. I have to report to the yards to help serve the mid-meal as well as get some fish for Torg, so if you’re going to come with me then get up, or I’ll just go alone.’

Tuon didn’t move. ‘Have that dream again, did you?’
Shaan leaned back against the window frame, looking at her in frustration.

‘You better tell me, ’cause you know I’ll get it out of you.’

Tuon’s blue gaze pinned her to the sill. Shaan tried to stare back but she was too weary to keep it up. ‘All right!’ she sighed. ‘Yes, it’s the goddess-cursed dream again.’

‘And there was nothing different this time?’

‘No, nothing different. There was the burning city and people and . . .’ she hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about how real it had felt; the smoke filling her lungs, the pungent smell of singed flesh and the voice. ‘It was just a dream, Tuon. The same one I’ve been having for weeks. The same one you’ve heard about over and over.’

‘Just a dream?’

Shaan pushed a hand through her hair, regretting she’d said anything. ‘Yes, just a dream. It was nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ She flapped the front of her dress against her skin. ‘Come on, it’s
getting hotter. Let’s just go.’

But Tuon didn’t move. ‘You have to go to a dream seer, Shaan. These dreams, these nightmares, are becoming more frequent. You should see someone. Maybe even Morfessa.’

‘The Guardian’s Advisor?’ Shaan almost laughed.

‘He’s the best dream seer in the city.’

‘No. And anyway, I’ve no coin and I hardly think Morfessa would see just anyone. I’m a yard worker, a nobody.’

‘I’ll pay for it,’ Tuon insisted. ‘You should see someone. These dreams must mean something, they . . .’

‘They mean nothing; it’s just the heat. Come on and get dressed I have to get this fish.’

Tuon sighed. ‘All right, all right, pass me my clothes.’

Thankful she had backed down, Shaan retrieved a blue dress
embroidered with flowers from the cupboard.

But Tuon looked up at her as she took it. ‘Promise me, Shaan, that you will at least think about consulting a seer. Will you do that?’

‘All right!’

Satisfied, Tuon dressed quickly and they clattered down the stairs together. In the kitchen, the Red Pepino’s owner, Torg Fairwind,
was energetically punching and kneading bread dough, his bald head covered with a kerchief. A thick ring of gold hanging from the top of his right ear glinted as he moved.

He grinned as the girls entered the room, his teeth white against the blackness of his skin. ‘Morning.’

Both women recoiled from the heat coming from the stove.

‘What are you doing?’ Tuon gasped, fanning her face. ‘There are bread makers for that you know!’

‘Yes, but I don’t trust ’em.’ He slapped a large lump of dough onto the table. ‘No one makes bread like Torg.’ He winked at them and punched the dough so hard the table wobbled.

‘You off for my fish?’ He looked at Shaan and she nodded.

‘Just getting my gear.’

‘Good. And make sure you have yourself a good wash. I can smell the stink of last night’s wine on you! You know, if you washed your hair and put meat on those bones, you could make a little more coin, just like Tuon.’

‘No thanks,’ Shaan scowled. ‘I’d rather stick my head in that oven.’ She picked her fish bag off the hook near the back door. ‘Come on Tuon.’

The sound of Torg chuckling and the steady thump of the dough followed them as they crossed the courtyard and went out through the back gates.

The streets were mostly empty and the walk through the usually crowded seafarers’ quarter was easy going, but as they neared the market square, the streets became busier. Shouts of stallholders calling out their wares came from ahead and carts loaded with vegetables trundled past pulled by snorting muthu. The market was in a huge square, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings of commerce, eateries and kaf houses. A ring of carts and makeshift stalls filled the open central area, the goods shielded from the sun by multi-coloured cloths strung up on poles. In the middle was a shady garden and water fountain.

The scene was chaotic and familiar, but Shaan felt a touch of
uneasiness in the air as she and Tuon wound their way through the maze. People were not as raucous as usual. Vendors huddled
together in groups, frowns on their faces, casting nervous glances at the cloudless sky and muttering to one another, and buyers picked half-heartedly through the goods, their haggling muted and lacklustre.

‘Wonder what’s got into everybody,’ Shaan said.

Tuon glanced at her. ‘Haven’t you heard the rumours?’

‘What, of rogue serpents attacking villages? Of course.’ Shaan shrugged.

‘But it can’t be anything more than troublemakers telling tales.’

Tuon frowned at her. ‘Why would anyone lie about that?’

‘I don’t know. But serpents don’t kill people, Tuon. They made a pact long ago to protect us. Besides, I haven’t heard of any of the serpents here in Salmut doing anything and, working in the yards, I think I’d be one of the first to know.’

Tuon gave her a dark look. ‘As if they’d tell a worker what was going on. And you know that the histories say the first warning of His return is the serpents changing. We would be better off to take heed of any warnings than dismiss them. If the Fallen one were to return . . .’

‘The skies would be painted black with despair,’ Shaan interrupted. ‘I know the words of the Foundation Scroll as well as anyone.’

But Tuon was not going to be put off. ‘It also says,’ she continued,
‘that serpents turning on humans would be one of the first signs of His return. And the rumours say it is serpents that attacked those villages in the north.’ She frowned and picked up a length of maroon silk from a nearby stall then tossed it back down. ‘I think it would be prudent to heed any warning signs, that’s all.’

‘There’s no proof it was serpents,’ Shaan said. ‘It’s probably
Scanorians.’

‘Scanorians are just dirty little cave dwellers, Shaan. They don’t eat people. They say there were bodies half eaten and others ripped apart. Whole villages were burned to the ground.’

Shaan shook her head. She’d heard the rumours as well, but the serpents were their protectors, their allies. It didn’t make sense and she was surprised Tuon was taking the talk so seriously. Usually she was the first to dismiss anything she didn’t know for herself to be true. It wasn’t like her. The possibility that the attacks might herald the Fallen’s return was not something she, or anyone, wanted to believe. He was a legend, a myth, a monster of children’s nightmares. To spread rumours about him coming back was . . . She shook her head and pushed the thought of it firmly to the back of her mind, not wanting to dwell on it anymore. She had enough problems already.

Her stomach rumbled as they passed a fruit seller setting up her stall. ‘I’m hungry, did you bring any coin?’ she asked, stepping over a box of carefully wrapped apples.

‘No. Whoops!’ Tuon grabbed for her hand as she almost tripped over another box of fruit a young boy had suddenly shoved into her path.

‘Hey, you two!’ A huge woman in a flowing red dress was making her way toward them. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get away from my fruit. You ruin it and you’ll be paying for it with your skinny bones!’

Feeling suddenly reckless, Shaan bent down and pretended to fiddle with her sandal, glancing up at Tuon with a grin. It was an age-old thief ’s trick and it only took her a moment to snatch the fruit.

‘Stop it!’ Tuon gripped her arm. ‘She looks big enough to throw us both in a refuse cart.’ She tugged at her elbow, pulling her away.

‘Oh, come on! That fat sea cow would never catch us.’ Shaan
followed Tuon at a jog, deftly lifting some hot morsels off a tray of pastries as a man carried it past her.

‘Here,’ she caught up and handed her a pastry then pulled the apples from the front of her dress. ‘We’ll eat the evidence.’

Tuon shook her head with a smile. ‘You are a thief, Shaan.’ She looked back to see that the large woman’s way had been blocked by a couple of fighting boys. ‘But you are a lucky one.’

The woman glared at them over the heads of the boys, but could not get past and, flinging a few choice insults at them, she turned and went back to her stall. Catching Tuon’s eye, Shaan laughed and they pushed further into the maze of stalls until they reached the gardens, stopping under the shade of some trees by the fountain to eat the food. In the centre of the bubbling pool was a statue of a naked woman holding a fish and, on the far side, partly obscured by the statue, three richly dressed men were talking, their heads close together. Standing near them, a tall man in a black leather jerkin with a sword at his waist watched the area around them with a keen gaze. His skin was tanned and dark hair hung to his shoulders, a day or two of beard growth shadowing his jaw.

Shaan’s stomach dropped when she saw him and she quickly
averted her eyes and kneeled by the fountain, sluicing water over
her face, feeling him scrutinising them. Tuon give a sharp intake of breath as she kneeled next to her. Men like him made them both nervous. The black jerkin marked him as a member of the Faithful, the city’s band of elite armsmen.

He was the wrong kind of person to notice you, worse than the city guards by a long stretch. It was said the Hunters of the Faithful could track and capture anyone or anything, and the Seducers could turn your mind to their will. They were the most powerful and most feared of Salmut’s law keepers, the Guardian’s chosen warriors, charged with keeping watch against the Fallen’s return.

Shaan kept her head down and wondered what such a man was doing in this part of the city. She risked a glance through dripping eyes and saw that he was now deep in conversation with the others. She gave a sigh of relief and stared down into the shallow pond, drawing circles in the water and chewing on the pastry. Beside her, Tuon sipped from her cupped hands then sat up on the lip of the fountain, her back rigid with tension.

Shaan watched a leaf sink in the water. The market used to be one of her favourite spots to work when she’d run with the street packs. Easy pickings with so many distracted by the hustle and bustle. Before the Crooked Man took over anyway, she thought sourly. She was lucky she’d gotten out of the packs before he took all of them ‘under his wing’, as he put it. She looked sideways at Tuon. She’d had a run-in of some kind with him. It was the reason she’d come to work at the Red Pepino, arriving not long after Shaan herself. But she never talked about it. She wished she would tell her; how bad could it be?

Shaan played with the leaf. ‘Why won’t you ever tell me what the Crooked Man did to you?’ she said quietly, glancing up at her.

Tuon looked at her, her face pinched. ‘For the same reason you don’t talk about your time running with the street packs, or your dead mother,’ she replied curtly. ‘It’s over. Finished. There’s little point in recounting it, so stop asking.’

Shaan pulled her hands out of the water and perched on the edge of the fountain. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

Tuon only shook her head, still staring out at the market and sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Shaan looked away, following her gaze, watching a vendor
threading meat onto sticks. Something was bothering Tuon. She
was never that curt and she especially never mentioned Shaan’s
dead mother so bluntly. She knew it hurt her to be reminded of the woman who had loved the drug crist more than her own daughter. She’d died of the addiction when Shaan was just five, leaving her to the street packs, the legion of orphaned children that thieved to survive.

Shaan rubbed at a ragged nail on her right thumb. She barely remembered her mother. She recalled red hair and pale brown eyes in a thin face. Shaan’s eyes were such a dark blue they seemed almost purple. Indigo she’d called them in her lucid moments.

‘Shaan,’ Tuon’s voice brought her back. ‘Think too much on the past and it will drown you. Didn’t you say you had fish to catch?’ She raised an eyebrow.

Shaan took a deep breath, feeling weary. ‘Yes, in a moment.’

Tuon shook her head, but Shaan couldn’t muster the energy to get up. The fish would still be there in an hour.

Behind them, men’s voices were rising and falling beneath the sound of the water. They sounded fractious and she turned a little to watch them from the corner of her eye.

Tuon suddenly elbowed her in the side and hissed, ‘Don’t look at them!’

‘Ow!’ Shaan glared at her. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘You were! Men like that are dangerous. And if they found out you’d overheard anything, how do you think they’d react?’

‘They wouldn’t know. I didn’t spend six years on the streets
without learning something.’

‘One of them is of the Faithful,’ Tuon snapped.

‘I noticed.’

‘Then you should also know he’s very high ranking. Dangerous.’

‘How do you know?’ Shaan frowned at her. There was nothing on his jerkin to claim rank.

‘I just do,’ Tuon said.

‘How?’

But her face closed up and she looked away, smoothing her skirt. ‘Don’t mess with them. It’s not worth it.’ She rose. ‘Come on, you’ve got fish to catch.’ And she started to walk away.

Shaan watched her for a moment before rising to follow. She was acting very strangely of late. She glanced sideways at her face as they walked. Tuon had been both mother and sister to her since she was eleven, but lately she’d been distant and had taken to staring pensively into space, a frown often between her brows.

A shadow passed over and Shaan looked up to see a purple and gold serpent angling in from the west. It was very close to the city. Too close. She stopped, pulling Tuon to a halt beside her.

‘It’s flying very low,’ she said.

‘What?’ Tuon still sounded irritated.

‘It’s too low,’ she repeated. ‘Look.’ She pointed upwards.

The serpent was coming closer and closer, its great wings tilted down toward them. It was so close Shaan could see the rider and hear the rushing air beneath the beast’s wings. An acrid, sharp scent rode on the wind, like oil burnt to black in a pan.

Her heart pounded as she stared up at it. Riders never brought their serpents this close to the city. Around them other people had also stopped talking and were looking up at the beast as it came lower and lower. It dropped down toward them like a stone thrown by the gods. Its hide gleamed in the sunlight and as Shaan squinted up at it, a strange numbness came over her. She watched its tail unfurling behind it like a pennant in the sky as it streaked down upon them and, without knowing why, lifted a hand to it, stretching her fingers upward.

Suddenly it shrieked, a long, low screech that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

‘It’s attacking!’ Someone shouted, and the market erupted in panic. People ran for cover, pushing each other aside as they tried to reach the safety of the surrounding buildings. But few were fast enough and the serpent fell upon them in a hiss of wind and clash of talons, like knives scraping on rock.

‘Shaan!’ Tuon grabbed her arm dragging her back toward the garden, pulling her down as they went. Stumbling, her knees
skinned as she hit the paving. All around was screaming and panic as people threw themselves to the ground or under carts. Dazed, Shaan rolled on her side and saw the man in black running, his face grim, staring beyond her. She followed his gaze to see the serpent swoop down and across the middle of the square. Sparks flew as the barbs on its tail scraped stone. Its wings, spread full, shattered carts and awnings, crushing the people beneath and knocking down a muthu fleeing in terror. The wind of its passing smelled of smoulder and ash.

It passed by them so close, Shaan saw its rider, his face full of fear as the beast rampaged beyond his control. For a moment he looked straight back at her and then he was gone as with another shriek, the serpent soared up and winged away to the east.

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