RANDOM POSTING # 74 - BOOK SPOTLIGHT - RELEASE ME by J KENNER - RANDOM HOUSE

For fans of Fifty Shades of Grey and Bared to You comes an erotic, emotionally charged romance between a powerful man who’s never heard “no” and a fiery woman who says “yes” on her own terms.

He was the one man I couldn’t avoid. And the one man I couldn’t resist.

Damien Stark could have his way with any woman. He was sexy, confident, and commanding: Anything he wanted, he got. And what he wanted was me.

Our attraction was unmistakable, almost beyond control, but as much as I ached to be his, I feared the pressures of his demands. Submitting to Damien meant I had to bare the darkest truth about my past—and risk breaking us apart.

But Damien was haunted, too. And as our passion came to obsess us both, his secrets threatened to destroy him—and us—forever.

Release Me is an erotic romance intended for mature audiences.

Would you like to read more?

Well, this is your lucky day.

Release Me by J. Kenner (an excerpt)

RELEASE DATE: 1/1/2013

I will be reading this shortly . Big Thankyou to Random House USA, much appreciated. Review will come closer to release date. 

Please note that ICED by Karen Marie Moning is now released. So all you FEVER fans, and for those of you who haven't started FEVER series by Karen Marie Moning, ( adult genre) .....you is missing out, people!!!!

Michelle

SNEAK PEEK - A TEMPTATION OF ANGELS by MICHELLE ZINK

Hi Everyone.....here's a treat for fans of Michelle Zink .  Michelle Zink has posted up on her web the first chapter and cover of her soon to be released 

A TEMPTATION OF ANGELS 

Due for release March 20, 2012

Even angels make mistakes in this page-turning epic romance…

When her parents are murdered before her eyes, sixteen-year-old Helen Cartwright finds herself launched into an underground London where a mysterious organization called the Dictata controls the balance of good and evil. Helen learns that she is one of three remaining angelic descendants charged with protecting the world’s past, present, and future. Unbeknownst to her, she has been trained her whole life to accept this responsibility. Now, as she finds herself torn between the angelic brothers protecting her and the devastatingly handsome childhood friend who wants to destroy her, she must prepare to be brave, to be hunted, and above all to be strong, because temptation will be hard to resist, even for an angel.

CHAPTER ONE

Though it was late, it was not the sound of arguing that woke Helen in the dead of night.

She lay in bed for a long time after retiring, listening to the rise and fall of voices coming from the library. It was a familiar sound, comforting rather than worrisome. Her mother and father often met with the others, though the meetings had become more frequent and heated of late. Yet, there was something about this night, the cadence of these voices— however familiar—that made Helen’s nerves tingle, as if they were humming too close to the surface of her skin.

At first, she tried to decipher the words drifting through the vents set into the floor of her chambers, especially when they sounded in her father’s familiar baritone or the strong, clear voice of her mother. But after a while, Helen gave up, opting instead to let her mind wander as she stared at the canopy above her head.

Her thoughts settled on the morning’s fencing exercises and her argument with Father. It was not the first time she had rebelled against the recent addition to her curriculum. She still failed to see how fencing could contribute anything to her schooling, but Father’s word was law when it came to her education. He knew well that Helen’s prowess lay in the strategy of chess, in the logic problems and cryptographs she could solve faster than he, not in the agile movement required of her on the ballroom floor where they practiced fencing.
Still, he pushed. Using the foil out of deference to her inexperience was his only concession. Were Father working with one of his usual sparring partners, he would, without question, have used his saber. Now, in the muffled quiet of her bedchamber, Helen vowed that in time Father would use a saber with her as well.

She didn’t remember slipping into the emptiness of sleep, and she did not awaken gently. It was the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall that caused her to sit up in bed, her heart racing. She did not have time to contemplate the possibilities before the door was thrown open, candlelight from the sconces in the hall throwing strange shadows across the walls and floor of her sleeping chamber.

Scooting to the headboard, she pulled the coverlet to her chin, too frightened to be ashamed for her childish behavior. 

“You must get out of bed, Helen. Now.”

The voice was her mother’s. She moved into the darkness of the room, the strange shadows disappearing as she crossed to the dressing table. She fumbled with something—the glass jars and scent decanters atop the vanity clinking noisily together.

“But . . . it’s the middle of the night!”

Her mother turned then, and a shaft of light from the hall illuminated the valise in her hand. The realization that her mother was packing, packing Helen’s things, blew like a hurricane through the confusion of her mind. Her mother was across the room in seconds, leaning over the bed and speaking close to her face.

“You’re in grave danger, Helen.” Her mother pulled the coverlet from Helen’s shivering body. Her nightdress was twisted around her thighs, and the cold air bit her skin as her mother’s hand encircled her arm, already pulling her from the warmth of her bed. “Now, come.”

The carpets were cool under Helen’s bare feet as she was led to the wall next to the wardrobe. Her mother reached into the bodice of her gown, pulling from it a chain with something dangling at its end. It caught the light spilling in from the hall, glimmering faintly in the darkness as her mother removed it from her neck. Fear coiled like a snake in Helen’s stomach as her mother pushed aside the large mirror in the corner, bending
to the paneled wall behind it. She continued speaking as she worked something against the plaster.

“I know you won’t understand. Not yet. But someday you will, and until then you must trust me.”

Helen was oddly speechless. It was not that she had nothing to say. Nothing to ask. She simply had so many questions that they washed over her like waves, one right after the other. She had no time to formulate one before the next carried it away. She could not make out what her mother was doing, bent forward in the darkness, head tipped to the wall, but she listened as something scratched against the wallpaper. A moment later, her mother straightened, and a door swung outward, revealing a hole in the plaster.

Even in the dark, Helen saw tenderness in her mother’s eyes as she reached out, pulling Helen roughly against her body. In her mother’s hair, Helen smelled roses from the garden, and on the fine surface of her mother’s skin, the books to which her head was always bent. They were a memory all their own.

“Helen . . . Helen,” her mother murmured. “You must remember one thing.” She pulled back, looking into Helen’s eyes. “You know more than you think. Whatever else you discover, remember that.” 

Voices erupted from downstairs, and though the words themselves were indistinct, it was obvious they were spoken in anger or fear. Her mother dared a glance at the door before turning back to Helen with renewed fervor. 

“Take this.” She thrust a piece of crumpled paper into Helen’s hand. “Take it and sit very quietly, until you know they’re gone. There is a stair that will lead you beneath the house and back up again farther down the road. Join with Darius and Griffin. The address is here. They will take you to Galizur. You have everything you need, but you must be silent as you make your escape. If they hear you, they will find you.” She paused,
forcing Helen’s chin up so that she was looking straight into her eyes. “And this is important, Helen: If they find you, they will kill you.”

“I won’t leave you!” Helen cried.

“Listen to me.” Her mother’s voice became firmer, almost angry as she grabbed hold of Helen’s shoulders. “You will do this, Helen. You will get out of here alive, whatever else happens. Otherwise, it’s all for nothing. Do you understand?”
Helen shook her head. “No! Mother, please tell me what’s happening!” But she already knew her mother would not. Already knew, somehow, that they were out of time.

Her mother lifted the chain from around her neck, placing it around Helen’s. A key at the end of it fell to the front of her nightdress.

Holding her daughter’s face between her hands, Helen’s mother leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Lock the door from the inside. Use the pendant to light your way—but don’t make a move until you are certain they won’t hear you. And be safe, my love.”

Helen was shoved into the hole in the wall, the valise pressed against her until she had no choice but to wrap her arms around it. She ducked, stumbling through the small doorway, trying not to smack her head. Her mother paused one last time, as if reconsidering, and then, without another word, she began to push the door closed. She became a smaller and smaller sliver, disappearing bit by bit until she was gone entirely in the small click of the door.

“Lock it, Helen. Now.” Her mother’s voice was a hiss from the other side of the wall. Helen fought a surge of panic as she heard the wallpaper smoothed over the keyhole, the mirror dragged over the opening to her hiding place.

It was worse than dark inside the wall. It was as if she had fallen into nothingness. She set the bag down, feeling for its clasp in the darkness. She had no idea what was on the piece of paper her mother had given her, but it was damp with the sweat of her palm. She couldn’t read it now if she wanted to, and she pushed it inside the bag.

She reached for the chain around her neck until she found the key at its end. Grasping it in one hand, she fumbled around the edge of the wall in front of her with the other, trying to locate the lock she knew must be there. Her hands shook with rising panic. The door cut into the wall was almost seamless, making it nearly impossible to find in the darkness. She was on her third pass when she finally felt a slim line in the plaster.
Running her fingers slowly over it, she felt for the keyhole. It seemed like far too long before she finally came upon it.

She was trying to fit the key in the lock when noise burst from somewhere beyond the chamber. She could not fathom its direction, for she was wrapped in the muffled cocoon of wood and plaster that was her hiding place. Still, she strained to decipher the sound. She thought she heard shouting . . . weeping. And then a crash that caused her to startle. The key dropped from her hand, falling with a clink to the floor. She hesitated only a moment.

Whatever was happening was going to get worse before the night was over.

Feeling along the floor for the key, Helen tried to ignore the noise from the rest of the house. Her hiding place was not large, and it only took a few moments for her fingers to close around the chain attached to the key. She grasped it carefully in one hand and felt again for the keyhole. This time, it didn’t take long.

Using both hands, she lined the key up with the hole in a couple of tries, turning it quickly and scooting away from the hidden door until her back stopped against a solid block of wood. She had only a few moments, a few precious moments of silence, before she heard the thud of boot steps.

At first the footfalls were distant. Helen thought they would pass her chamber completely, but it wasn’t long before they grew louder and louder and she knew they were inside her room. She had a flash of hope. Hope that it was Father coming to get her. To tell her that whatever danger had been in the house had gone. But she knew it wasn’t him when the boot steps slowed. There was no rush to the door of her tiny room to free her from its darkness.

Instead, the footsteps made a slow pass of her chamber before stopping suddenly in front of the hiding place.

Helen tried to slow her shallow breathing as she waited for the footsteps to move away, but they didn’t. Whoever had entered her chamber was still there. She held as still as possible, attempting to calm her mind with the knowledge that she had spent many hours in the room, and there had never been any hint of the secret door, even during times of bright sunlight. Surely this stranger would not be able to see the opening in the dark of night and with her great dressing mirror pushed in front of it.

For a few seconds, it worked. She began to breathe a little easier in the silence.

But that was before the room outside exploded into riotous noise. Before she heard the dressing table cleared of its bottles and jars, the glass thudding against the carpets and shattering against the wood floorboards. Before she heard the bureau overturned, the armoire pushed over. And yes, before she heard the heavy carved mirror guarding her hiding place tipped to the floor, the glass shattering into a million pieces.

Be sure to check out Michelle Zink's  web page on Thursdays as she will be offering further sneak peaks and some surprise character studies.  http://www.michellezink.com/

Now I am definitely looking forward to reading this book! 

ENJOY!

MARISSA

BOOK TEASER QUOTES FROM THE GOLDEN LILY by RICHELLE MEAD - BLOODLINES # 2

BLOODLINES # 2

3 Teaser quotes from The Golden Lily

I am having trouble thinking who would say these out of Adrian, Jill, Sydney , Dimitri, Eddie.....I may have the third quote??

The Golden Lily due for release 19th June 2012

 From RazorBill , Penguin.

If you haven't read Vampire Academy, I highly recommend it. I have all my reviews up on the blog, just click on Vampire Academy. Bloodlines is a spinoff series. Dimitri will have your heart breaking.

Michelle

CLOCKWORK PRINCE TEASER by CASSANDRA CLARE - THE INFERNAL DEVICES SERIES # 2

“Must he be here?” Gabriel growled to Tessa the second time he had nearly dropped a knife while handing it to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, showing her the sight line for the target she was aiming at a black circle drawn on the wall. She knew how much he would rather she were aiming at Will. “Can’t you tell him to go away?”



“Now, why would I do that?” Tessa asked reasonably. “Will is my friend, and you are someone whom I do not even like.”


She threw the knife. It missed its target by several feet, striking low in the wall near the floor.


“No, you’re still weighting the point too much—and what do you mean, you don’t like me?” Gabriel demanded.

Teaser taken from Cassandra Clare's Teaser Page

Awww....now what's Gabriel doing with Tess, where is Will or Jem?

Due for release December 6th 2011, not soon enough!!!

Michelle

FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT FOR - RECKONING by LILI ST. CROW - STRANGE ANGELS SERIES # 5 ...SADLY THE LAST.

Click on this link RECKONING FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT if you want to have a sneak peek at Reckoning. I am still deciding if I want to read this chapter. I read all the other excerpts. Let's face it, I know I am ......oh the excitement!!!

If you haven't started this series, I highly recommend it. Check out my reviews from the side bar for :

Strange Angels # 1

Betrayals # 2

Jealousy # 3

Defiance # 4

Michelle

Will's POV - Clockwork Angel Holy Water Scene by Cassandra Clare

Cassandra Clare promised , upon reaching 40,000 twitter followers she would write Will's POV during the infamous  Holy Water Scene from Clockwork Angel, the link was tweeted. Here it is...

 

Of Loss

Of Loss: Will’s perspective on the events of Clockwork Angel, page 285-292

Will Herondale was burning.


This was not the first time he had consumed vampire blood, and he knew the pattern of the sickness. First there was a feeling of giddiness and euphoria, as if one had drunk too much gin — the brief period of pleasant drunkenness before the morbs set in. Then pain, starting at the toes and fingertips, working its way up as if lines of gunpowder had been laid across his body and were burning their way toward his heart.


He had heard the pain was not so great for humans: that their blood, thinner and weaker than Shadowhunter blood, did not fight the demon disease as Nephilim blood did. He was vaguely aware when Sophie came in with the holy water, splashing him with the cool stuff as she set the buckets down and went out again. Sophie’s hatred of him was as reliable as fog in London; he could feel it coming off her whenever she got near him. The force of it lifted him up onto his elbows now. He pulled a bucket close to him and upended it over his head, opening his mouth to swallow what he could.


For a moment, it doused the fire burning through his veins entirely. The pain receded, except for the throbbing in his head. He lay back down carefully, crooking an arm over his face to block the dim illumination coming from the low windows. His fingers seemed to trail light as they moved. He heard’s Jem’s voice in his head, scolding him for risking himself. But the face he saw against his eyelids wasn’t Jem.


She was looking at him. The very darkest voice of his conscience, the reminder that he could protect no one, and last of all himself. Looking the way he had the last time he had seen her; she never changed, which was how he knew she was a figment of his imagination.


“Cecily,” he whispered. “Cecy, for the love of God, let me be.”


“Will?” That startled him; she appeared to him often, but rarely spoke. She reached her hand out, and he would have reached for her, too, had not the clang and clatter of metal brought him out of his reverie. He cleared his throat.


“Back, are you, Sophie?” Will said. “I told you if you brought me another one of those infernal pails, I’d—”
“It’s not Sophie,” came the reply. “It’s me. Tessa.”


The hammering of his own pulse filled his ears. Cecily’s image faded and vanished against his eyelids. Tessa. Why had they sent her? Did Charlotte hate him as much as all that? Was this meant to be a sort of object lesson to her in the indignities and dangers of Downworld? When he opened his eyes he saw her standing in front of him, still in her velvet dress and gloves. Her dark curls were startling against her pale skin and her cheekbone was freckled, lightly, with blood, probably Nathaniel’s.


Your brother, he knew he should say. How is he? It must have been a shock to see him. There is nothing worse than seeing someone you love in danger.


But it had been years, and he had learned to swallow the words he wanted to say, transform them. Somehow they were talking about vampires, about the virus and how it was transmitted. She gave him the pail with a grimace — good, she should be disgusted by him — and he used it again to quench the fire, to still the burning in his veins and throat and chest.


“Does that help?” she asked, watching him with her clear gray eyes. “Pouring it over your head like that?”


Will imagined how he must look to her, sitting on the floor with a bucket over his head, and made a strangled noise, almost a laugh. Oh, the glamour of Shadowhunting! The warrior life he had dreamed of as a child!


“The questions you ask . . .” he began. Someone else, someone not Tessa, might have perhaps apologized for asking but she only stood still, watching him like a curious bird. He did not think he had ever seen someone with eyes the color of hers before: it was the color of gray mist blowing in from the sea in Wales.


You could not lie to someone with eyes that reminded you of your childhood.


“The blood makes me feverish, makes my skin burn,” he admitted. “I can’t get cool. But, yes, the water helps.”


“Will,” Tessa said. When he looked up again, she seemed to be haloed by light like an angel, though he knew it was the vampire blood blurring his vision. Suddenly she was moving toward him, gathering her skirts out of the way to sit by him on the floor. He wondered why she was doing that, and realized to his own horror that he had asked her to. He imagined the vampire disease in his body, breaking down his blood, weakening his will. He knew, intellectually, that he had drunk enough holy water to kill the disease before it could burrow into his bones, and that he could not put his lack of control down to the sickness. And yet — she was so close to him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body.


“You never laugh,” she was saying. “You behave as if everything is funny to you, but you never laugh. Sometimes you smile when you think no one is paying attention.”


He wanted to close his eyes. Her words went through him like the clean slice of a seraph blade, lighting his nerves on fire. He’d had no idea she had observed him so closely, or so accurately. “You,” he replied. “You make me laugh. From the moment you hit me with that bottle. Not to mention the way that you always correct me. With that funny look on your face when you do it. And the way you shouted at Gabriel Lightwood. And even the way you talked back to de Quincey. You make me . . .”


His voice trailed off. He could feel the cold water trickling down his back, over his chest, against his heated skin. Tessa sat only inches from him, smelling of powder and perfume and perspiration. Her damp curls curled against her cheeks, and her eyes were wide on him, her pale pink lips slightly parted. She reached up to push back a lock of her hair, and, feeling like he was drowning, he reached out for her hand. “There’s still blood,” he said, inarticulately. “On your gloves.”


She began to draw away, but Will would not let her go; he was drowning, still, drowning, and he could not release her. He turned her small right hand over. He had the strongest desire to reach for her entirely, to pull her against him and fold her in his arms, to encompass her slim, strong body with his. He bent his head, glad she could not see his face as the blood rushed up into it. Her gloves were ragged, torn where she had clawed at her brother’s manacles. With a flick of his fingers, he opened the pearl buttons that kept her glove closed, baring her wrist.
He could hear himself breathing. Heat spread through his body — not the unnatural heat of vampire sickness, but the more ordinary flush of desire. The skin of her wrist was translucently pale, the blue veins visible beneath. He could see the flutter of her pulse, feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. He stroked the softness of her wrist with the tips of his fingers and half-closed his eyes, imagining his hands on her body, the smooth skin of her upper arms, the silkiness of the legs hidden beneath her voluminous skirts. “Tessa,” he said, as if she had the slightest idea the effect she was having on him. There were women who might have, but Tessa was not one of them. “What do you want from me?”


“I—I want to understand you,” she whispered.
The thought was quite horrifying. “Is that really necessary?”


“I’m not sure anyone does understand you,” she breathed, “except possibly Jem.”


Jem. Jem had given up on understanding him long ago, Will thought. Jem was a study in how you could love someone entirely without understanding them at all. But most people were not Jem.

FOR THE REST CLICK ON LINK    http://cassie-claire.com/cms/loss1

Michelle

BOOK EXCERPT CLOCKWORK PRINCE ...AND IT'S AWESOME!!!

The Prologue : The Outcast Dead

 

Think , ghost, Will, rings , powder and a potion

Click on link to Cassandra's The Infernal Devices page.

I don't get tired of looking at Jem, he's perfect:D

HERE

Enjoy!!

Michelle

JUNE TEASERS - CLOCKWORK PRINCE by CASSANDRA CLARE TO BE RELEASED 6TH DECEMBER 2011

June Teasers:

1) The Clockwork Prince Chapter titles

Prologue: The Outcast Dead
Will visits the Cross Bones Graveyard in London.

Chapter One: The Council Chamber
Pretty literal — the Council meets to discuss whether Charlotte is fit to run the Institute; we see a bit more of the Lightwoods, not to mention the Waylands and some other familiar families.


Chapter Two: Reparations
“Mr. Bane has been awaiting your arrival, sir,” said the footman, and stepped aside to let Will enter.


Chapter Three: Unjustifiable Death
The term, under the Accords, for a Shadowhunter killing a Downworlder without provocation.
"This was the first time she had been alone with Will in weeks."


Chapter Four: A Journey
Tessa, Will and Jem leave the Institute and in fact, London entirely.


"Gabriel Lightwood strode across the room to meet them. He really was quite tall, Tessa thought, craning her neck to look up at him. As a tall girl herself, she didn’t often find herself bending her head back to look up at men."


Chapter Five: Shades of the Past
This one is a pun that will probably only make sense upon actual reading. Althpugh one of the themes of the book is how the past affects the present.


Chapter Six: In Silence Sealed
Again the theme is hidden secrets. The title comes from a Charlotte Bronte poem. "In secret kept, in silence sealed." Tessa begins to uncover the secrets of her own origins.


Chapter Seven:
 I had to redact the title of this chapter. It's a spoiler. :)
“When Will truly wants something,” said Jem, quietly, “when he feels something — he can break your heart.”


Chapter Eight: The Purposes of Wrath
The title here comes from Thomas de Quncey's (yes de Quincey!) Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. The paragraph is about addiction, and both the pleasures and the pains of opium, and the chapter is not dissimilar. Also, we meet Ragnor Fell.


Chapter Nine: Fierce Midnight
This chapter ends the night begun in the previous chapter. And has some pretty hot kissing. Titled after a Swinburne poem.


Chapter Ten: The Virtue of Angels
The virtue of angels is that they cannot deteriorate; their flaw is that they cannot improve. Man's flaw is that he can deteriorate; and his virtue is that he can improve. —The Talmud


Someone rather unexpected hits Gabriel — who, really, was asking for it.


Chapter Eleven: Wild Unrest
This chapter title comes from the poem "City of Dreadful Night" by James Thompson. It's really about taking on the suffering of someone you love. Will wanders about London at night. "He had reached Fleet Street. Temple Bar was visible through the mist in the distance" — Temple Bar is the structure Jem is standing in front of, on the cover of the book.


Chapter Twelve: The Ball
This is somewhat self-explanatory. There is a masquerade ball. And a balcony. And Magnus.


Chapter Thirteen: The Mortal Sword
We finally see the Mortal Sword put to its actual use: extracting the truth from reluctant Shadowhunters. And it is not pretty.


Chapter Fourteen: The Silent City
“Ah,” said a voice from the doorway, “having your annual ‘everyone thinks Will is a lunatic’ meeting, are you?”


Chapter Fifteen: Thousands More
From a poem by Charlotte Mew: There are thousands more; you do not miss a rose.


"Will has always been the brighter burning star, the one to catch attention — but Jem is a steady flame, unwavering and honest. He could make you happy.”


Chapter Sixteen: Mortal Rage
In which there are automatons and vengeance and explosions. The title comes from Shakespeare: "And brass eternal slave to mortal rage."


Chapter Seventeen: In Dreams
There is the famous "in dreams begin responsibilities" but this title is actually from a poem by Matthew Arnold. The chapter from which this deleted scene was taken:
http://twishort.com/acljr


Chapter Eighteen: Until I Die:
This chapter title has really freaked people out. So I will be nice and say that it is from a poem by Christopher Brennan (no relation to Sarah Rees)


Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.


Chapter Nineteen: If Treason Doth Prosper
Betrayals and misunderstandings come thick and fast. And Magnus may have a new boyfriend. The title is from a poem attributed to Sir John Harrington:


"Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason?
Why if it prosper, none dare call it treason."


Chapter Twenty: The Last Dream
This is the chapter that made me cry! I rarely cry so I felt good about that. The chapter title comes from A Tale of Two Cities.


Chapter Twenty-One: Coals of Fire:
I guess if you're paying a lot of attention you'll recognize this as part of something Jace quotes in City of Fallen Angels. Endings, beginnings, new characters, and, I promise, not too bad of a cliffhanger.





2) From Clockwork Prince:

The ghost screeched with laughter. “Love potions? For Will Herondale? T’aint my way to turn down payment, but any man who looks like you has got no need of love potions, and that’s a fact.”



3)  3 bits of dialogue from City of Lost Souls:

1) “You’re a Lightwood,” she said. “Your family never gives up. I knew you wouldn’t let what I said to you that night well enough alone.”


2) “You have a dark heart in you, Valentine’s daughter,” he said. “You just won’t admit it. And if you want Jace, you had better accept it. Because he belongs to me now.”


3) “I don’t do false reassurances,” Izzy said, and pushed the tequila bottle away from her. Her eyes, on Jordan, were lively and dark. “Come here, werewolf boy.”

Please note all teasers taken from Cassandra's livejournal HERE

I can hardly wait!!!!!

MICHELLE

APRIL /MAY TEASERS - CLOCKWORK PRINCE by CASSANDRA CLARE

CLOCKWORK PRINCE

http://cassandraclare.com/cms/faqs/teasers ( All teasers taken from this link at Cassandra Clare's blog)

APRIL TEASER

He reached up and unlocked Tessa’s hands from around his neck. He drew her gloves off, and they joined her mask and the hairpins on the stone floor of the balcony. He pulled off his own mask next and cast it aside, running his hands through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The lower edge of the mask had left marks across his high cheekbones, like light scars, but when she reached to touch them, he gently caught at her hands and pressed them down.


“No,” he said. “Let me touch you first.”
 
 
 
APRIL /MAY TEASER

The door to the training room opened. Tessa and Sophie turned as Gabriel Lightwood strode into the room, followed by a boy she had not met. Where Gabriel was slender and darker-haired, the other boy was muscular, with thick, sandy-blond hair. They were both dressed in gear, with expensive-looking dark gloves studded with metal across the knuckles. Each wore silver bands around each wrist — knife sheaths, Tessa knew — and had the same elaborate, pale white pattern of runes woven into the sleeves of their gear. It was clear not just from the similarity of their clothes but the shape of their faces and the pale, luminous green of their eyes that they were related, so Tessa was not in the least surprised when Gabriel said, in his abrupt manner:

“Well, we’re here as we said we would be. James, I assume you remember my brother, Gideon. Miss Gray, Miss Collins —”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Gideon muttered, meeting neither of their gazes with his. Bad moods seemed to run in the family, Tessa thought, remembering that Will had said that next to his brother, Gabriel seemed a sweetheart.

MICHELLE

BOOK EXTRACT - DEFIANCE by LILI ST. CROW STRANGE ANGELS SERIES # 4

How exciting , Penguin Australia have released an extract from Defiance, book # 4 in the Strange Angels series. I am a huge fan of this series and highly recommend it. My reviews for Betrayals and Jealousy to come shortly. I got the below extract from this link :







http://www.penguin.com.au/products/9781921518935/defiance-strange-angels-volume-4/extract

Extract


Chapter One



Stick to the plan, Christophe had said. Stick to the plan and everything will be fine.


So I had.

I'd laced up my boots - knee-high red Doc Martens, good for everything from dancing to running to kicking ass - and put on the dress. It was a silvery baby doll number with spaghetti straps, and with my hair up my nape felt indecently bare. Even my knees felt naked. My mother's locket felt naked, too, hanging out against my breastbone instead of tucked under my shirt. I was even wearing earrings, for God's sake, cute little diamond studs Christophe had insisted I needed. I'd picked out a gauzy silver scarf sewn with little seed pearl things, hoping it would take the emphasis off my lack of cleavage.


Nathalie even managed to get me into a bra that didn't have 'sports' in front of its name. An actual underwire. With padding. An­other case of someone insisting and me going along with it, but with Nat I didn't mind. At least she took all of the mystery out of shopping for bras. I'd always wondered about that. Even though there was no real need, with my chesticles impersonating gnat bites.


I mean, seriously, is a baby doll dress for the breastless? I don't know. I only ever wore a skirt when Gran made me dress up for church, and even she quit it the third or fourth time I left Sunday school and somehow got rolled in mud and whatever gingham or flowered cotton she'd put together for me was torn all to hell.


I never told her it was the other kids. I know she suspected, though.


Nathalie had actually got some foundation and powder on me too, high-end girltastic stuff she'd dragged me to some huge store downtown to buy on one of our sneak-about-during-the-day excur­sions. The effect was okay. My skin was pretty much behaving these days; any zit I felt pressing up under the surface never seemed to break free. I sometimes got a small red spot, but nothing like it used to be.

You'd think that would make me feel better.


It didn't.

I hit the dance floor, wincing a little bit as the DJ looped feed­ back through the throbbing of a useless song about someone playing poker with his face or something. Sometimes hyper-acute senses are so not worth it, even when you can concentrate and tone it down a bit. When I finally hit my blooming - the point where I got the speed and strength of a djamphir reliably, instead of in emotion-­fueled bursts - I'd be able to tone it down as a matter of course. But for right now, I was stuck.

One good thing about this, though. I like dancing. Or at least, hopping up and down on a crowded floor, people hemming me in. I never thought it was anything I'd be happy about, especially since I've got the touch. You'd think that many people in one place thinking would drive me crazy. But when they're all happy and sweating and dancing, it's like white noise. It can help you relax.


When you're not watching out for bloodsucking fiends who would just as soon kill you as look at you, that is.


I stayed on the periphery, far enough into the crowd to get some cover, close enough to the edge that I could get away in a hurry. This rave was being thrown in a huge weird building called Pier 57, full of chemical fog and cigarette smoke. And other kinds of smoke, too. Glow sticks and bare flesh and sweat, it smelled like menthol and cigarettes, the musk of weed, and an indefinable tang that's all youth. Plus the smothered salt smell of sex in dark corners. There were enough hormones in here to fuel a rocket out to Orion.

I raised my arms when the crowd around me did, colored lights flashing. It was a migraine attack of red blue orange yellow, except for when they got fancy at certain points and made it all blue and green, or all orange and yellow. The music would crest, then who­ever was doing lights would flick off everything but the mirrored ball, a tiny bit of spots to make everything glitter, and the black lights to make lipstick and synthetic fabrics glow oddly.


With the touch loose inside my head - just a little, not enough to drown me in a wash of sensation from every random stranger bumping against me - I drifted, letting my body slide through like a little fish in a bunch of water weeds. A minnow. Something too small to catch.


At least, I hoped I was too small.


Stick to the plan. Well, I was sticking to the plan.


The problem with vampires is that they don't stick to plans.


The first shard of hate, sharp and bright as an icicle under full sunlight, jabbed into my head. I kept moving, edging for the out­side of the crowd. If I timed it right, the wheeling movement of the dancers - because if you watch a time lapse of a dancing crowd, they do always go in a wagon wheel - would take me right to the best exit Christophe had shown me on the layouts, his arm warm and comforting over my shoulders and his voice just a murmur in my ear. Don't worry. You're fast enough and trained enough, or I wouldn't send you in.

The thought made me Rush all over, the healed fangmarks on my left wrist tingling slightly. At least he'd let me do something, not like some of the others on the Council. Hiro was having kittens about me being involved in an actual operation. Bruce just got That Look, the one that said I was Too Young and Too Irresponsible and Too Precious and the Hope of the Order.


It made me want to punch something.


If tonight went south, I might even get to.

The taste of rotting, waxen oranges slid across my tongue, pay­ing no attention to the fact that I was chewing on a wad of spearmint gum. Gran called it an arrah-an aura. I was calling it danger candy nowadays. I always felt like spitting it out, but spitting would only make it worse.


Plus, spitting on a dance floor is damn rude. I was raised better.


I slipped my hand into the tiny net purse hanging at my side. Nathalie said it ruined the line of the dress, but I had to have some­ place to stash lip gloss and the little thing I pulled out now, reaching up as if to brush a stray brown curl back and fitting it over my ear. It looked like a wireless headset for a cell phone, a sleek silver one. I pressed the button and let some of the curls hanging from my updo fall over it.


Noise-canceling earphones are a blessing. I just wished he'd given me two of them. Or earplugs. Earplugs would've been just jim-dandy.


'We read you, Dru.' Christophe's voice, as crisp as if he was standing right next to me, overriding the attack of the music. Now it was some retro whitewashing of an eighties song, about a girl named Eileen and how she needed to come on, over thunking, thudding bass. 'We have a visual. Primary team, move in.'


This was, he'd told me, the most dangerous part. Before the other djamphir infiltrated the building, while I was still dancing. I was just about to break free of the crowd and head for the exit when another bright shard of hate lanced through my head.


I drew back instinctively, and the exit I'd been planning to take suddenly had a flicker of movement around it. 'Shit.' I wasn't even aware I'd said it.

'What?' Christophe didn't sound worried, but I could almost see him sitting at a sleek black desk in Mission Central at the Schola Pri­ma on the Upper West Side, tense, his head cocked and the aspect slicking his hair down and back, the fangs peeping out from under his upper lip. His fingers would be poised over a slim black keyboard, and his blue eyes would be cold and far away, completely closed off. He would be coldly handsome, and I would almost feel. . .


No, I was never afraid of him. Not really. But it was easy to see how I could be, when he looked like that.


I had other problems right now. 'Primary exit's blocked. I'm us­ing secondary.'


'Dru-'


But I was already moving. It wasn't a mistake, because the flickers at the door resolved into three teenage-looking males. One blond and two dark, all of them cute enough to get a second glance from any reasonable girl. If she was smart, the girl would see the hard edges of their smiles, or the nasty glitter in their dark eyes, or even just the way they moved. And she would run like hell.


But normal people don't look too closely. They glance, slot you into whatever hole they think you fit in, and bebop along right into the jaws of whichever slice of nasty is looking to feed. Dad and August used to argue over whether or not people wanted to know about the Real World, about the things that went bump in the night. Neither of them ever won the argument.

Me? I'd had nothing to say. I'd just been a kid.


I was still following the plan. I headed for the secondary exit, Christophe muttering in my ear as he sent the secondary and tertiary teams to their backup positions and gave the primary new orders. There was an odd echo to his voice, as if the signal was getting bounced around or he was outside.


I wished he was a little closer than the Schola, to tell the truth. But he was my control for this run, and Mission Central was where he belonged, coordinating. I drew in a nice deep breath, trying to force my galloping pulse to slow down. We were about to serve the vampires hunting the rave scene a really bad plate of kickass, Chris­tophe had finally judged me competent enough to work inside a very limited seek-destroy operation, and the thought was comforting. Like I was doing something real, for once, instead of just training. Even if this was the closest thing to safe you could get when dealing with vampires.


That was when everything went bad. Because another quick movement near the secondary exit caught my eye, and the bass hit a smashing, rollicking rhythm. Everyone raised their arms, the crowd's mood turning on a dime into a breathless anxiety under all the roller­coaster fun, and I realized the secondary was a no-go too. My scarf fluttered a bit, seed pearls rasping against my suddenly damp neck.


Unfortunately, I'd just stepped out of the mass of normal kids and into a clear space, a sort of walkway for anyone who needed to escape the dance floor. I should have kept moving as if I was head­ing for the bathroom. When you freeze and stare at a rave, you stick out.


The lead vampire at the secondary exit lifted his head. His eyes shone flatly, the black of the hunting aura eating the irises and spreading into the whites, oddly like oily rainbows on wet pavement. The older ones have those black oily eyes pretty much all the time, but it takes a while for the younger ones to develop it.


He sniffed, aristocratic nostrils flaring, dark curls falling over his forehead.


Oh shit. 'Secondary exit blocked,' I muttered. 'Switching to Plan C.'


'Wait.' It wasn't often I heard Christophe sound baffled. 'What's plan-'.


The curly-headed vampire stopped sniffing. His head moved a little, and he looked right at me. His lips moved, and I knew what he was saying.


I swear to God I heard him, too, a whisper bypassing my ears and sliding right into the center of my brain.


'Svetocha.'


The name for what I was-part vampire, part human girl, poi­sonous to suckers and all kickass once I bloom and finish getting trained.


If I survived tonight, that is.


I swallowed hard, wished I hadn't. 'Plan C is where I improvise,' I said through the sudden thickness of danger candy, and bolted.



Wow!! wasn't that a great sneak peak into 'Defiance'. I could hear that rave music thumping away. I wonder how 'Plan C' will work out for Dru?

'Defiance' due for release April 19th 2011.

Other book series written by Lili St. Crow:

'Strange Angels' -  5 book series
'Dante Valentine' - 7 book series
'Jill Kismet' -  6 book series
'Watcher' -  5 book series
'Society' - 2 book series 
 
 

Michelle

TEASER TWEETS FROM CASSANDRA CLARE CLOCKWORK PRINCE

 
http://twishort.com/acihu

http://twishort.com/acib5 

http://twishort.com/acim4
 
 
All teasers taken from Twishort links provided.
 
 
MICHELLE

LATEST NEWS'!! SILENCE BOOK 3 IN HUSH, HUSH SERIES AND CLOCKWORK PRINCE

Always looking out for any Cassandra Clare TMI or TID series bits to plop up on the blog and any news that's floating about.

The Infernal Devices , book # 2 Clockwork Prince has a book cover reveal in MAY 2011. My understanding is Jem will be on the cover.

Placeholder for the Clockwork Prince cover; the background shows Temple Bar, on Fleet Street, near the Institute.


"What desperation drove you to me, in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm? What has changed at the Institute? I can only think of one thing..."

Another teaser from Clockwork Prince.

Halloween Special: Clockwork Prince teaser:



From mid-book:


Will looked at Jem. His eyes were bluer than blue, his cheeks flushed. He said, “Then you have wasted your time.”


Jem stared back at him. “God damn you,” he said, and hit Will across the face, sending him spinning. He didn’t lose his footing, but fetched up against the side of the carriage, his hand to his cheek. His mouth was bleeding. He looked at Jem with total astonishment.


“Get him into the carriage,” Jem said to Tessa, and turned and went back through the red door — to pay for whatever Will had taken, Tessa thought. Will was still staring after him.


“James?” he said.



Taken from Cassandra's live journal blog http://cassandraclare.livejournal.com/47369.html

ALSO!!

'SILENCE'  is the official title of Becca Fitzpatricks 3rd and final book in the Hush, Hush trilogy. (formerly tentatively titled TEMPEST)
Can't wait to see what the book cover looks like and read it. 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  Be sure to grab your copy of 'City Of Fallen Angels', 4th book in The Mortal Instruments series ( TMI) I'll be ripping my envelope open when mine arrives, especially to read the 'Dirty Smexi Alley' scene .

December teaser for City of Fallen Angels. This is the LAST TEASER. Jace and Clary, midbook.


The alley and the music all fell away, and there was nothing but her and the rain and Jace, his hands on her. . . He made a noise of surprise, low in his throat, and dug his fingers into the thin fabric of her tights. Not unexpectedly, they ripped, and his wet fingers were suddenly on the bare skin of her legs. Not to be outdone, Clary slid her hands under the hem of his soaked shirt, and let her fingers explore what was underneath: the tight, hot skin over his ribs, the ridges of his abdomen, the scars on his back. This was uncharted territory for her, but it seemed to be driving him crazy: he was moaning softly against her mouth, kissing her harder and harder, as if it would never be enough, not quite enough —


( teaser taken from Cassandra's live journal   http://www.cassandraclare.com/cms/faqs/cofateasers   )



 
 
MICHELLE

JESSICA'S GUIDE TO DATING ON THE DARK SIDE by BETH FANTASKEY - CHAPTER 1 EXCERPT

SPOILER ALERT!!!!!
Excerpt taken from Beth Fantaskey's site:
http://bethfantaskey.com/guide.html

Excerpt:

Chapter 1


The first time I saw him, a heavy, gray fog clung to the cornfields, tails of mist slithering between the dying stalks. It was a dreary early morning right after Labor Day, and I was waiting for the school bus, just minding my own business, standing at the end of the dirt lane that connected my family’s farmhouse to the main road into town.


I was thinking about how many times I’d probably waited for that bus over the course of a dozen years, killing time like any mathlete would, by doing the calculations in my head, when I noticed him.


And suddenly that familiar stretch of blacktop seemed awfully desolate.


He was standing under a massive beech tree across the road from me, his arms crossed over his chest. The tree’s low, gnarled branches twisted down around him, nearly concealing him in limbs and leaves and shadows. But it was obvious that he was tall and wearing a long, dark coat, almost like a cloak.


My chest clenched, and I swallowed hard. Who stands under a tree at the crack of dawn, in the middle of nowhere, wearing a black cloak? He must have realized I’d spotted him, because he shifted a little, like he was deciding whether to leave. Or maybe cross the road.


It had never struck me how vulnerable I’d been all those mornings I’d waited out there alone, but the realization hit me hard then.


I glanced down the road, heart thudding. Where was the stupid bus? And why did my dad have to be so big on mass transit, anyhow? Why couldn’t I own a car, like practically every other senior? But no, I had to “share the ride” to save the environment. When I was abducted by the menacing guy under the tree, Dad would probably insist my face only appear on recycled milk cartons…


In the precious split second I wasted being angry at my father, the stranger really did move in my direction, stepping out from under the tree, and I could have sworn – just as the bus, thank God, crested the rise about 50 yards down the road – I could have sworn I heard him say, “Antanasia.”


My old name… The name I’d been given at birth, in Eastern Europe, before I’d been adopted and brought to America, re-christened Jessica Packwood…


Or maybe I was hearing things, because the word was drowned out by the sound of tires hissing on wet pavement, grinding gears, and the whoosh of the doors as the driver, old Mr. Dilly, swung them open for me. Wonderful, wonderful bus number 23. I’d never been so happy to climb on board.


With his usual grunted “Mornin’, Jess,” Mr. Dilly put the bus in gear, and I stumbled down the aisle, searching for an empty seat or a friendly face among the half-groggy riders. It sucked sometimes, living in rural Pennsylvania. The town kids were probably still sleeping, safe and sound in their beds.


Locating a spot at the very back of the bus, I plopped down with a rush of relief. Maybe I’d over reacted. Maybe my imagination had run wild, or too many episodes of America’s Most Wanted had messed with my head. Or maybe the stranger really had meant me harm… Twisting around, I peered out the rear window, and my heart sank.


He was still there, but in the road now, booted feet planted on either side of the double yellow line, arms still crossed, watching the bus drive away. Watching me.


“Antanasia…”


Had I really heard him call me by that long-forgotten name?


And if he knew that obscure fact, what else did the dark stranger, receding in the mist, know about my past?


More to the point, what did he want with me in the present?

Michelle

SNEAK PEEK OF CHAPTER 1 MOCKINGJAY, READ BY SUZANNE COLLINS HERSELF!!!

Michelle

SNEAK PEEKS FROM LISA DESROCHERS NEW NOVEL , PERSONAL DEMONS

BELOW ARE SNIPPETS FROM LISA DESROCHER'S NOVEL , ''PERSONAL DEMONS''.

PLEASE NOTE ALL THESE SNEAK PEAKS/SNIPPETS HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM LISA'S BLOG PAGE AND PLACED ON OUR BLOG TO PROMOTE 'PERSONAL DEMONS' THE BOOK.

AFTER READING THE SNEAK PEAKS I CAN'T WAIT TO READ THIS BOOK!!!!

Monday, June 14, 2010

PERSONAL DEMONS TEASERS by LISA DESROCHER

So, tomorrow, I’ll give you the first three pages of Personal Demons, and they’re from Luc’s perspective, so you’ll get to see just how “bad” he really is…
 
**********************************************************************************
 
Tuesday, June 15, 2010


Sneak Peek: Personal Demons Chapter 1

Personal Demons is told from dual first person points of view. It opens with Luc, my honest to goodness (or badness, I suppose, is more accurate) demon.

CHAPTER 1

ORIGINAL SIN

Luc

If there’s a Hell on Earth, it’s high school. And if there’s anyone distinctly qualified to make that statement, it would be me. I draw a deep breath—mostly out of habit since demons don’t have to breathe—then look up at the threatening sky, hoping it’s a good omen, and pull open the heavy security door. The dingy halls are quiet since the first bell rang almost five minutes ago. It’s just me, the metal detector, and a hunched wisp of a security guard in a rumpled blue uniform. He hauls himself out of his cracked plastic chair, looks me over, and scowls.

“You’re late. ID,” he says in a three-pack-a-day rasp.

I stare him down for a few seconds, sure I could blow him over with a whisper, and I can’t suppress a smile when beads of sweat sprout on his pasty forehead. I’m glad to see I’ve still got the touch even though I’m getting really sick of this job. Five millennia in the same gig will do that to a demon. For this trip, though, the fact that failure will result in dismemberment and the Fiery Pit is all the motivation I need.

“New,” I say.

“Put your bag on the table.”

I shrug, showing him my hands. No bag.

“Give me your belt. Studs’ll set off the detector.”

I pull off my belt and toss it at the old man as I walk through the metal detector. He hands it back and hacks, “Go straight to the office.”

“No problem,” I say, already walking away.

I slide my belt back on and push through the office door. It bangs sharply off the cracked wall and the ancient receptionist looks up, startled. “Can I help you?”

The office is just as drab and poorly lit as the halls except for the brightly colored notices that cover every inch of plaster like psychedelic wallpaper. There’s a nameplate declaring the receptionist is Marian Seagrave, and I swear I can hear her joints creak as she pulls herself out of her chair. She’s got more wrinkles than a shar-pei and the requisite short, blue, curly hair of all hundred-year-old women. Her round body is clad in the uniform of the ancients: turquoise polyester slacks and a matching floral blouse neatly tucked in.

I meander up to the counter and lean toward her. “Luc Cain. First day,” I say, flashing my winning smile—the one that always keeps mortals just a little off balance.

She stares for just a second before finding her voice. “Oh…welcome to Haden High, Luc. Let me pull up your schedule.”

She bangs on her computer keyboard and the printer buzzes to life. It spits out my schedule—the same schedule I’ve had for the last hundred years, since the advent of the modern education system. I do my best to feign interest as she hands it to me and says, “Here it is, and your locker number and combination too. You’ll need to collect an admit slip from each of your teachers and bring it back here at the end of the day. You’ve already missed homeroom, so you should go right to your first class. Let’s see…yes, senior English with Mr. Snyder. Room 616. That’s in building six, just out the door to the right.”

“Will do,” I say, smiling. It won’t hurt to stay on administration’s good side. You never know when they might be useful.

The bell rings as I make my way out the door into the now bustling halls, and the scents of the sea of teenage humanity hit me in waves. There’s the tangy citrus of fear, the bitter garlic of hate, the anise of envy, and ginger—lust. Lots of potential.

I work in Acquisitions, but it isn’t usually my job to tag them, just to sow the seeds and start them down the fiery path. I get them going on the little ones. Starter sins, if you will. Not enough to tag their souls for Hell, but enough to send them in our direction eventually. I don’t even need to use my power…not that I’d feel guilty if I did. Guilt isn’t in the demonic repertoire of emotions. It just feels more honest when they come to sin of their own volition. Again, not that I care about being honest. It’s just too easy the other way.

In truth, the rules are clear. Unless their souls are tagged, we can’t force mortals to do anything out of character or manipulate their actions in any way. For the most part, all I can do with my power is cloud their thoughts, blur the line between right and wrong just a little. Anyone who says the devil made them do it is feeding you a line.

I stroll the hall, taking in the scents of teenage sin, so thick in the air I can taste them. All six of my senses buzz with anticipation. Because this trip is different. I’m here for one soul in particular and, as I make my way toward building 6, a crackle of red-hot energy courses through me—a good sign. I take my time, walking slowly through the throng and scoping out prospects, and am the last to arrive in class, just at the bell.

Room 616 is no brighter than the rest of the school, but at least an attempt has been made at decorating. Prints of Shakespeare’s plays—only the tragedies, I notice—grace the walls. The desks are grouped in twos and are nearly full. I walk up the center aisle to Mr. Snyder’s desk, holding out my schedule. He turns his slender face toward me, glasses perched just at the tip of his long, straight nose.

“Luc Cain. I need an admit slip…or something?” I say.

“Cain…Cain…” He rakes a hand through his thinning gray hair and scans down his class roster, finding my name. “Here you are.” He hands me a yellow admit slip, a composition book, and a copy of The Grapes of Wrath and looks at his roster again. “Okay, you’ll be seated between Mr. Butler and Miss Cavanaugh.” Then he stands, pushing up his glasses and smoothing the unsmoothable creases in his white button-down and khakis. “All right, class,” he announces. “We’re shifting seats. Everyone from Miss Cavanaugh up will shift one seat to your right. You’ll all have a new essay partner for the rest of the semester.”

Many of the good little lemmings grumble, but they all do as they’re told. I sit in the seat Mr. Snyder motions to, between Mr. Butler—a tall, skinny kid with glasses, bad skin, and obvious self-esteem issues—and Miss Cavanaugh, whose sapphire-blue eyes stare straight into mine. No self-esteem issues there. I feel the play of hot electricity under my skin as I stare back, sizing her up. And her size is definitely petite, with wavy, sandy-blond hair that she’s tied in a knot at the base of her neck, fair skin, and fire. A definite prospect. Our desks are grouped together, so it looks like I’ll have plenty of opportunity to feel her…out.