Showing posts with label YA Horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YA Horror. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Author Spotlight: T.W. Luedke

THE SHEPHERD by Travis Luedke

Release Date: September 27, 2014

After saving a mysterious girl from a hit and run, 16 yr. old Mike Evans soon finds his life spiraling out of control. Facing clairvoyant visions of grisly death, Mike struggles to avert disaster and make his way through the chaos.

 ~Synopsis ~

Skate punks, kleptomaniacs, clairvoyant visions and reincarnation...
THE SHEPHERD is unlike any other Young Adult novel you have ever read.
For me, Mike Evans, a skate punk living in a white-trash trailer park, high school blows.
My dad's an out-of-work drunk. My ex-girlfriend avoids me like the plague. My best friend, Anita, won't keep her hands off me...then there's Moses Lake's champion wrestler. The a-hole is waiting for an excuse to beat my face into the skate park concrete.
Worse, my visions of grisly death are back again, and if I tell anyone what I've seen I might actually cause these terrible events to happen.
I'm in way over my head, and Natasha? The girl I rescued from a hit-and-run? The girl who's stalking me nightly and climbing through my window? There's something seriously wrong with that girl.
Sharp, witty, dark and gritty, The Shepherd is a paranormal thriller for all ages. Get your copy now! 

Chapter 4

Monday, September 16th
Apart from worrying about Hoodie Girl, who had disappeared for an entire week, I now had a big fat problem with Justin.  He was not happy about the video I posted to my Facebook.  Though I had called him every day, left voicemails and text messages asking how he was doing, he ignored me.
And then a few days ago the text war began.
Justin:  WTF?  (What The Fuck)  I cant believe U sent that video 2 every 1!
Mike:  Sorry dude, it was pretty cool.  You screamed like a girl.  Did U see all the comments it got on my FB?
Justin:  PBIAB!  (Pay Back Is A Bitch)  Im gonna stomp UR ass when I see U!
Mike:  Come on! U got 2 admit that was some funny shit!  ROTFLMAO  (Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Ass Off)
Justin:  U better run the next time I see U!
Mike:  Sorry Jus, Im only playing around.  U posted that pic of me pissing on the roadside and that video when I railed my nuts at the skatepark.  What’s the big deal?  I’ll take it down.
Justin:  Im not playin bitch!  Im gonna beat you like the white trash U R!
I tried calling Justin several more times to apologize.  He ignored me, the wicked silent treatment.
Silent indifference is pure evil.  It means they don’t even care enough to rise to the bait.  Silence takes away all your power.  I had always enjoyed getting a rise out of Justin.  He handled it so poorly.  Made for great entertainment.
So, I had stopped by Justin’s house on Northshore drive.  I’d never seen him so mad before.  I had hoped to calm the situation down.  Justin answered the door in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, a scowl painted on his face.  “What the hell do you want.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.  I wasn’t trying to be cruel or anything.  I thought it was funny.  I guess it wasn’t very funny to you.”
“Ha, ha, ha.  Really fuckin’ funny.  See how I’m laughing?  You know what else is gonna be funny?  Me and Tommy and the whole friggin’ wrestling team are gonna beat the shit out of you in front of everyone.  I’ll be laughing really hard then.”
“Dude, I’m sorry, I deleted the video.  I was just playin’ around.  Look, you can check my Facebook page. It’s gone.”  I held out my cell phone to prove it.
“Gimme that.”  He snatched my cell out of my hand and threw it across the yard.  “You’re not sorry, but you will be.”
I chased that phone like a dog after a Frisbee.  I had saved up for two months to buy that phone.  Luckily it landed in the grass, nothing broken.  “Asshole!”  I had a mind to put a foot up his sore ass.
“Get the hell off my property!”  He stood there pointing his finger out to the street, Mr. Righteous.
“You wanna be an ass?  Fine!  Send your gay wrestler buddies after me.  See if I give a shit!”  I stomped off.
“Better watch your back Mikey!  Moses Lake is a small world!”
“Did they test you for drugs at the hospital?  I bet they’d like to know how much of your mom’s Xanax you were on.  Butt plug.”
“Go fuck yourself, Mikey.  Post that on Facebook.”
He used to be my best friend.  We used to tease each other all day long, joking.  Nothing was ever really serious.  So why was he being so serious?
After stewing on the situation for a day, I decided I didn’t owe Justin anything.  And if he was really planning to jump me, why should I be apologizing?  And what made him so special that he could treat me this way?  So what if he had money, and a nice house on the waterfront.  So what if my Dad doesn’t have a dime, and we live in a white trash trailer park.
What gives him the right to treat me like trash when he’s climbing up the side of the damn playcenter high on drugs?
I don’t have very many friends.  I can count them on one hand.  I was so angry with Justin.  I couldn’t leave it alone.  They say you shouldn’t text when you’re angry, but I was too pissed off to care.
The text war resumed.
Mike:  What up Jus?  R U still walkin funny?  Maybe U should stock up on the hemorrhoid cream.
Justin ignored me.
Mike:  Hey ramrod, what up?  A couple extra inches in the pooter?  Have U been able to take a crap yet?
Justin ignored that one too.
Mike:  I hope this has been an enlightening experience.  Im sorry U had to fall on a fence post 2 finally realize U R gay J.  R U planning on coming out of the closet now?
He couldn’t let that one slide.
Justin:  Stop calling me! Im never talking 2 U again!
Mike:  S2BU  (Sucks To Be You)
Justin:  RUFKM? (Are You Fucking Kidding Me)  SFT2M! (Stop Fucking Talking To Me)
Mike:  ILT? (It’s Like That)
Justin:  ILT!
Mike:  Whatever J  Hope U get well soon.  U don’t want to miss out on the video shoot next week because UR ass hurts.
The group of skate punks we hung out with had planned a skate video shoot for the following week.
Justin:  mlm (digital middle finger)
Mike:  BIOIYA! (Break It Off In Your Ass)
Our friendship was officially cancelled for the season.  And I guess it was serious, Justin missed two weeks of school after his playcenter adventure.
As friends we had been somewhat competitive, especially when it came to filming skate videos.  We had constantly tried to outdo each other, to prove who was better.  As enemies, the friendly rivalry morphed into a bitter war.
Friends make the worst enemies.  They have all that personal, inside knowledge to hurt you with.

About the Author

Travis Luedke is a NY Times & USA Today bestselling author of urban fantasy and paranormal romance, best known for his violently sexy NIGHTLIFE SERIES. Travis can be found catching a third degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, while arm-wrestling a bottle of red wine. Though often defeated by merlot and shiraz, he never gives up the fight.
As the author of the Nightlife Series novels, Travis lives very vicariously through his writings. He invites you to enjoy his macabre flights of fancy, but be warned: The Nightlife Series is violent, sexy, and occasionally violently sexy.

Guest Post
Is Teen Fiction Loyal To Teens?

As an author, I write both teen and adult fiction.  Though there are many similarities between the two styles and novels, there is one major difference that seems to be missing from some of today’s teen fiction:  teenage life and issues.

Teens live in a world dominated by school, peer pressure, raging hormonal drives, bossy adults (parents?) and on many occasions, a highly dysfunctional family setting.  Teens are mostly dependent on these family members who may not be very trustworthy or dependable.  Teens have all the thoughts, feelings and urges of adults, but they haven’t quite adjusted to that world yet.

Their existence is a purgatory floating between childish carefree abandon and the weight of responsibility and freedoms of adulthood.

These young adults are told to behave, as though children, and yet, at the same time, they are expected to tackle adult tasks like college applications, job hunting, dating, driving, and all the pressures of the real world.  It’s no wonder they seem schizophrenic at times.  The constant mixed signals are enough to confuse anyone.

Do we expect them to act like adults while treating them as children?  Yes, we do.
In the world of teen fiction, there are many novels today that seem to have forgotten what it means to be a teenager.

So, as you scour the shelves for YA/teen novels, ask yourself, how many books have you found that are loyal to teens and the challenges they face?  Many of these books are simply a platform for some adult to talk down to teenagers in an attempt to preach adult values and morals.

In writing for teens, please remember that acne-ridden, awkward, voice-breaking, hair-growing time in life when very little made sense, especially if it was coming from a math teacher, but somehow, someway, we survived to adulthood.  Remember how it felt when some adult started preaching about making choices and taking on responsibilities, and growing up, and then proceeded to tell you that you cannot have the shoes you want, and you cannot go out past 10:00 p.m., and if your hands ever touch that girl’s ass again, they will be hacked off with a blunt instrument.

In writing my first ever YA novel, I endeavored to craft a story about teens, for teens, a snapshot of that insane, difficult time in our lives when nothing makes sense, but we are expected to understand it all anyway.

Ten books that should be made into films:

The Dark Tower Series by Stephen King – One of those HBO series like True Blood.

The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester – An epic scifi-adventure feature film

Under By Treaty by Kayla Stonor – Epic space opera BDSM romance film (It would probably turn out far better than the upcoming 50 Shades Film)

Rogue Genesis (Shimmer In The Dark Series) by Ceri London – Epic military scifi series on Syfy network like Stargate

The Waeld Fae Journals by Christopher Shields – A trilogy of young adult fantasy films (would be awesomely epic)

Anita Blake Vampire Hunter – another one of those HBO series like True Blood.

A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught – a hilarious romp medieval adventure romance film

Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons – epic space opera series like Star Trek

Bill The Vampire by Rick Gaulteiri – awesome comedy horror film

And of course: THE NIGHTLIFE SERIES by Travis Luedke – another HBO series like True Blood. At least 6 seasons long.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Virtual Book Tour and Guest Post: Devils in the Dark

Devils in the Dark
(The Devil in Miss Drake's Class, 1)
Marcus Damanda

16+ / horror/paranormal/27K

To most of the Facebook 15, bullying Audrey Bales was just a game—until two deep cuts with a Swiss army knife changed everything forever. Audrey didn’t want attention anymore. After five weeks at Fairview High School, Audrey wanted to die.

The doctors did the only thing they could with her: they put her away.

But in Fairview, Virginia, the nightmare is only beginning. The chat session had not gone unobserved. The Facebook 15 have drawn the attention of an ancient evil that lives only to punish those who would prey upon the weak.

They are the ghosts of 1,000 dead children—1,000 suicides—and their master…

Their master likes Audrey Bales.

Buy Links:     Evernight Teen    Amazon


Underneath the blackened veil of her powered-off monitor, the comments kept coming, kept taunting her.

The observer had stopped watching. He leaned back in his chair, head upturned to the ceiling, eyes closed, still eating. The overripe apple had a worm in it, and he sucked it down.

He projected his sight outward, miles and miles from his little home. He didn’t know where he was anymore.

Somebody’s house. An empty room. A closet.

Here he first saw the girl, the one they were tormenting. Her Facebook icon had shown only a skull and crossbones. In real life, she might have been pretty, if she had not worked so hard to hide it.

Familiar too. Something in her eyes and her lips.

She was close, very close, to a bad decision.

She was imagining the ghost of her brother and talking to it, opening boxes that contained his possessions. She listened to him speak words the observer could not hear. Oh, he wished he could. From this distance all he could hear was the pain inside of her, the loneliness, screams within whispers. An oncoming storm.

It made him angry on her behalf.

He returned his gaze to the real world of his apartment. The five of them were still chatting, their cruel banter punctuated by internet abbreviations and emoticons, calling for Audrey-Bear to say something, say something….

More joined the chat.

He shook his head.

You deserve to die, he thought. All of you.
Audrey returned to her bedroom and closed the door. This time, she broke a house rule and locked it. She put the blanket back in place and thumbed the monitor back on.

It was nearly one in the morning, yet the number of people on Cody’s page had tripled. Stranger still was the activity coming through on her end.

She gazed in bewilderment.

Benny Talbot has sent you a friend request.

Heather Roberts has sent you a friend request.

Ally Watson has sent you a friend request.

Gabriel Daniels has sent you a friend request.

Eleven requests, all kids from school. Most of them had sent her personal messages too. Some were fake-friendly, some openly mocking. Most pretended to rally in her support, as if they had somehow stumbled upon this Internet lynching by accident, all at the same time, and were offended by it. A virtual party had gathered in Cody’s little corner of cyberspace, and Audrey was the game they were playing.

Had Maggie called or texted them all out of bed?

“Creative,” she said. “You’re really good at this.”

She wasn’t crying anymore. In fact, she was perfectly calm. With the ghost of her brother standing by her side, she set his old Swiss Army knife—he’d gotten it for Scouts, before he had quit—next to the keyboard.

Click Accept, her brother said. For all of them. Now, before they give up and start to log off.

She accepted them all, and the result was chat room bedlam. The comments came faster than she could read. Evidently this was the very height of hilarity.

And, naturally, as soon as she had accepted them all, one-by-one, they unfriended her, and posted.

Just kidding!

Sry! Changed my mind!

What an idiot!

Inspired, she clicked the Like button over every comment. Then, ignoring the perplexed responses to that maneuver, she got to work.

She retrieved the gym shirt from under her bed. Most days this particular item of attire would have remained a crumpled ball in her P.E. locker after school, but she’d had to wear it all day, and so it had come home with her.

“Turn your head, Alex,” she said, as if he were really there.

And as if he were really there, he answered. Not looking, not looking.

Once she had the shirt on and smoothed it out, she sat back at her desk, got out her cell phone, tied her hair in a tail, and took a picture of herself.
When the first picture appeared on Cody’s page, the observer knew exactly what was coming. He’d seen it before. The details differed each time, but the common threads were easily picked out: theatrics, spite, spectacle—and from the other end, disbelief. Then there would be panic, frantic attempts to undo the damage, and afterward, there would be remorse.

From most of them.

The picture was off-center. The girl was smiling, posing. The mascara tracks on her face looked like war paint.

Val: OMG, she’s postin selfies!

Cody: Give us a twerk, emo.

How they didn’t see what was coming, the observer could not fathom. But that was part of the pattern too. Bullies, as a rule, didn’t get it until it was too late—for the victim, or less frequently, for themselves.

The observer was truly torn. On the one hand, if she went through with it, she’d set him free. He had made contact with her, though she didn’t know it, and he was the oldest within the host. After many, many years, it was his turn, and he would finally learn what lay beyond this purgatory. But on the other hand, he felt bad for her. He really did.

“Let’s go,” he said to the screen. The suspense was killing him. “What’s next, Audrey?”

A second picture came up even as the first was being liked and shared by nearly everyone on the page. This one silenced most of them.

Audrey was holding an unfolded pocket knife against her cheek with one hand while the other took the picture, still smiling, tilting her head.

At first, the only comment came from Maggie: Drama. Whatever.

Audrey responded: Stick around. This is for your benefit.

Everything slowed down, then. Time rolled out like an empty rug, the Facebook page inert and dead. Minutes passed with nothing.

Then, Val: Audrey?

Still, nothing.

Val again: Audrey, don’t be dumb. Come on.

Five minutes became ten.

Maggie: She went to bed. She wants us to worry all night. As if we would.

After fifteen minutes of relative inactivity, the final picture appeared.


Author Bio:

Marcus Damanda lives in Woodbridge, Virginia with his cat, Shazam. At various times throughout his life, he played bass guitar for the garage heavy metal band.

Mother’s Day, wrote for The Dale City Messenger, and published editorials in The Potomac News and The Freelance Star. Currently, while not plotting his next foray into fictitious suburban mayhem, he spoils his nieces and nephews and teaches middle school English. 

Find Marcus Damanda here:

Guest Post by Marcus Demanda
The Idea Behind The Novel & The Perfect Dream Cast

DEVILS IN THE DARK, and the trilogy it launches, was written shortly after an agent rejected my work, saying, “You’re a talented writer. I might sell you, but I won’t sell your vampires.”

It’s the first non-vampire book I’ve written in ten years, and my goal in its composition was simple: tell a story no one has ever heard before. I knew it would be a horror story, and I knew the target audience would be older teenagers—but at the outset, that’s all I had.

Real-life issues with family, along with similar issues I have to deal with as a teacher, led me to the idea of cyberbullying being at the story’s core. What if a kid was driven nearly to suicide? And what if that kid had unknowingly attracted the attention of a thousand ghosts that really had, as children, taken their own lives?

Oh, yeah, I thought. Let’s go with that.
If I could cast THE DEVIL IN MISS DRAKE’S CLASS, the whole trilogy, as a movie, I'd love to see Maisie Williams in the role of our bullied hero, Audrey Bales, and Thomas Brody-Sangster in the role of Jack Maddox, master of the thousand ghosts. I know those are both GAME OF THRONES choices, but honestly, that's who I see. Williams has the full range of pathos and spunk in her acting repertoire, and Brody-Sangster conjures mystery and dread like he simply sweats it out on a hot day.

In a few years, I imagine Shailene Woodley would be old enough to play the relatively young teacher, Miss Drake. She’s the most popular teacher in the school, even though there are secrets and dark shadows in her past, and I can totally see Woodley pulling off both of those character aspects in her performance.

Give me the old, creepy rock star Meatloaf to play the equally creepy Mr. Downing. Meanwhile, Amandla Stenberg would be absolutely terrific as Monica Adams.

In my fantasy world, I'd take Linda Blair back to her 13th birthday and ask her to play Gale Hastings. Such possibilities, both with her sweetness and her ... other side.

A guy can only dream, you know?

***Giveaway:  1 ecopy of Devils in the Dark to a lucky commenter on any of the participating blogs.  

Friday, October 31, 2014

Guest Post on Sexy Villains by Catherine Stride

Catherine Stine

Contemporary/Paranormal Teen Romance
Released October 24, 2014

Internet followers, beauty, power. It all sounded good. Until it transformed into a terrifying reality Dorianna couldn’t stop. 

When her father is jailed, her mother ships Dorianna to her aunt’s house. Dorianna yearns to build a new identity, but the popular Lacey bullies her—mostly for getting attention from her ex, Ander.
Ander takes Dorianna to Coney Island where Wilson, a videographer, creates a stunning compilation of her. She dreams of being an online sensation, tired of being plain and lonely, and vows she’d give anything to go viral. Wilson claims he’s the Prince of Darkness and offers her the beauty and fame she's dreamed of—warning her that a pledge has its downsides.  Dorianna has no idea of how dire those consequences might be.



On the way to my new school, I catch a glimpse of my face in a shop mirror. Even though I hate mirrors, I force myself to look. No one needs to remind me I’m plain.
Leaning forward, I examine my pale skin with its tracery of blue underneath. It looks like granny spider veins. And I never smile all the way. That would expose my wonky teeth—one front tooth slightly over the other. 
My hair’s limp, but it’s auburn with peachy highlights. I’ve got that going for me, at least. Lifting up a lock, I admire its warm glow in the September sun. And there’s still a hint of eagerness in my eyes––they haven’t knocked that out of me. It’s hope, whispering, “Maybe this place will be different. Maybe they won’t walk past me as if I’m floating dust.”
I’ve been here in Brooklyn for four days, shuffled away from family chaos to my Aunt Carol’s house. She’s nice so far, but I don’t really know her. It’s too bad we could never afford to fly east for family reunions. I do know she’s a fundraiser for a public radio station, and owns one floor in a brownstone. And that she eats vegetarian, and neatly folds the nubbly throws on her earth-tone Pottery Barn couch.
And she’s the sister of my screw-up father.
I’m not sorry I left Wabash. School there was a train wreck. It got so lonely, watching the reigning couples kissing their way down the halls. I wanted someone’s arms around me, too, or at least another good friend after Jen. But it wasn’t meant to be, after gossip spread that my father was sent to jail for committing moral turpitude. My mom took to her bed, and I took over. We were struck with loss and horror and shock all at once. Mom needed me last spring. I tried to help in any way I could, until she insisted that I needed a total break from the family. Or was it Mom who needed the break?
I’m going to suck it up. I am. If she needs the break, she can have it. Maybe I need one, too. I’m determined to pump myself up to face a different army of kids.
Ambling down Montague Street, past the cute boutiques, I soak in the balmy September sun and survey my new stomping grounds. These Brooklyn streets are as delicious as strawberry shortcake. The narrow shops are a wonder of necklaces, handmade with glass bits and bottle tops, and leafy bracelets fashioned from green computer chips.
The caffeine-laced scents wafting from the cyber café draw me in. As I walk by, I sneak looks at the lean, fox-quick boys with scruffy hair, low-slung belts, and tees that read Neon Pandas and Oubliettes of Onyx. Bands I’ve never heard of, since out in Hoosier Land they mostly play country music.
I smile, picturing myself talking to a slinky boy who makes me my very own playlist—he’d call it Songs for a Brooklyn Beauty. A girl can dream, right?
Turning down Court Street, a woman breezes past me in a black jumpsuit. Another dramatic beauty in thigh-high boots floats by, with two dachshunds tugging against their pink leashes. As I glance back at her, I imagine her working as a Broadway actress, dancing across a stage in those fancy boots.
Just then, one of her dogs works free of her grasp, and streaks into the street. “Hey!” I call. “Hey, pup!” I dash after it, grab the pink leather strap, and coax it back toward the curb as a bakery van careens around the corner, the driver pounding on his horn.
The booted lady runs over to me. “Thanks so much!” she says, breathless.
“Happy to help. Couldn’t let your sweet dog be hit.” Our eyes meet as I hand her the leash, and her smile touches me. I watch for another moment as she walks demurely on.
Everything here vibrates with possibility, if I block out my dread of school. It’s my chance to figure out who I want to be, which I couldn’t quite do back home. I can’t wait to let my old, stale-kernel life rot on the vine, and start over.
Reading the sign on a red colonial stone building, I sway with sudden trepidation: School. Ivy sprints up its scholarly walls, and its walkway is marked with marble planters. Each one bursts with purple chrysanthemums, as if this is the cheeriest high school ever. I’m here, no turning back. Look, you’re smart, I tell myself, you tested in and even got a scholarship here. Maybe private school kids are easier on new students. Unlikely, but I’ll give it my best.

Guest Post on Sexy Villains

I like my villains smart, sexy and devious
by Catherine Stine

I like handsome, hot villains. And I tend to like them almost better than the good guys. They need to be every bit as shrewd as the heroes. Because if they’re not, it’s too easy a struggle to overcome them, and we want the battles between protag and antag to be hard won, bloody, and brimming with breathtaking plot twists.

Why sexy, you ask? The real question should be, why not? All the more intrigue and eye-candy to capture your imagination! The hero shouldn’t hog all the good looks and muscles. Besides you never know when a bad guy might turn into a flawed yet alluring anti-hero and actually win over the fair lady’s heart. Sexy rogues abound: the Joker from Dark Knight, Loki in Thor, the Avengers; Khan in Star Trek into Darkness and Alex De Large in a Clockwork Orange. The list goes on and on.

From the very early days of badassery, both real and fictitious villains like Dracula, Jack the Ripper and Blackbeard the Pirate were outsmarting god-fearing folks all around them, and doing it with magnetism and edgy swag. Here’s a telling quote about piracy from the Smithsonian:

“Out of all the pirates who trolled the seas over the past 3,000 years, Blackbeard is the most famous. His nearest rivals—Capt. William Kidd and Sir Henry Morgan—weren’t really pirates at all, but privateers, mercenaries given permission by their sovereign to attack enemy shipping in time of war. Blackbeard and his contemporaries in the early 18th-century Caribbean had nobody’s permission to do what they were doing; they were outlaws. But unlike the aristocrats who controlled the British, French and Spanish colonial empires, many ordinary people saw Blackbeard and his pirates as heroes… fighting a rear-guard action against a corrupt, unaccountable and increasingly tyrannical ruling class.”

Part of the allure is the vigilante or outlaw aspect—the baddie gets to do all immoral, outrageous things and totally get away with it, at least for a while. Often the villain truly thinks he’s doing a service—like Dexter, ridding the world of even worse killers, or Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to spread the wealth around. Another part of the allure is a villain’s pure audacity, and let’s face it—his fabulous capes, scabbards, leather boots and gold earrings! Outsmarting someone this devious takes masterful strategy and is not for the faint at heart. 

In my YA horror, DORIANNA, the villain is Wilson, a tall, raven-haired stranger who claims to be none other than a Prince of Darkness. He’s also a videographer who, in minutes, edits a compilation of Dorianna so supernaturally beautiful it has her gasping. He paints his nails black, wears Victorian style silk shirts, and black skinny jeans to show off his long legs, and um, impressive physique. The possible tip-off to his degenerate side is his necklace with its mournful, spooky glass doll face staring out. Well, also his top hat and Voldemort cape he favors when the boardwalk in Coney is windy. Here’s a short excerpt showing just how charismatic he is to Dorianna:

As I watch the video compilation, what really throws me is that Wilson has magically changed me out of my school clothes—the pencil skirt and simple top—and into a yellow fringe bikini, barely covering my thighs. 

An immediate protest boils up. How dare he virtually strip me. But as I stare longer at the image, I realize how stunning he’s made me. This is no porn slut image. This is the masterful, painstaking work of a cutting-edge filmmaker, amplifying tenfold the glory of his muse.

“You like?” Wilson asks, clicking stop.

Muse—I roll the word silently in my mind, taste its honeyed essence. All the concerns that crowded my mind minutes ago drift off. Things like morality and conscience seem like dirty rain clouds bumping by. Life is good, I am awesome, and Wilson’s video kicks serious butt.

Placing my hand on his long, curiously delicate fingers, I whisper, “Am I your muse?” I remove my hand only when it starts to heat up, and before he gets the wrong idea that I want more. 

Or do I?

He shifts slightly in his chair, in order to line his eyes up with mine. “You could say that you’re my muse,” he admits. In his gaze, I know I could have him right now, in this room, as easily as he’s captured me on video. I could rip off his shirt and run my hands through his forest of hair. Plant a firm kiss on his lips and force them open. His tongue would taste of smoke, of musk, of infinite need. For that second, I see past his charming façade into the hunger, lodged in his soul. A lonely, desperate soul that seems to have lived for centuries, yet not quite at all—stuck in some netherworld where a virus might exist.

It takes real effort to pull away. But I have to. This is dangerous, this audacious forgetting. 

Bad guys are masters of deception, manipulation, and pure wickedness. That’s why, when the good guy finally triumphs, we truly admire and love him.

Who’s your favorite baddie and why? Do you think villains are sexy?
My Answer: Too many to name! And of course! What a silly question to ask me Muahahaha! ;-)

Author Bio:

Catherine Stine’s YA novels span the range from science fiction to dark fantasy to modern horror. Her futuristic thriller, Fireseed One was a finalist in YA and SF in the USA News International Book Awards and an Indie Reader Approved notable. Its companion novel, Ruby’s Fire was a finalist in the Next Generation Indie Awards. She also writes new adult fiction as Kitsy Clare, and her Art of Love series (Model Position and Private Internship) is about Sienna’s artistic perils in NYC. Her YA paranormal, Dorianna is her new YA horror from Evernight Teen. Catherine’s love of dark fantasy came from her father reading Edgar Allen Poe to her when she was a child. She was also addicted to science fiction as a teen. The freakier the better! She teaches workshops in writing speculative fiction and is a member of RWA, SFWA and SCBWI.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...