'The Deep End of the Sea' by Heather Lyons Excerpt Blast!

We are thrilled to share an excerpt for Heather Lyons' THE DEEP END OF THE SEA! THE DEEP END OF THE SEA is a New Adult Fantasy set for release February 13, 2014 and definitely one you need to add to your TBR pile!

 

About THE DEEP END OF THE SEA:

What if all the legends you’ve learned were wrong?

Brutally attacked by one god and unfairly cursed by another she faithfully served, Medusa has spent the last two thousand years living out her punishment on an enchanted isle in the Aegean Sea. A far cry from the monster legends depict, she’s spent her time educating herself, gardening, and desperately trying to frighten away adventure seekers who occasionally end up, much to her dismay, as statues when they manage to catch her off guard. As time marches on without her, Medusa wishes for nothing more than to be given a second chance at a life stolen away at far too young an age.

But then comes a day when Hermes, one of the few friends she still has and the only deity she trusts, petitions the rest of the gods and goddesses to reverse the curse. Thus begins a journey toward healing and redemption, of reclaiming a life after tragedy, and of just how powerful friendship and love can be—because sometimes, you have to sink in the deep end of the sea before you can rise back up again.

  Excerpt:

I let it happen again.

The temple settles into that stagnant silence I’ve long learned to loathe, and these are the most cohesive series of words I can string together for many long, desolate minutes. I let it happen again. Resolutions apparently mean nothing, even if crafted under the best of intentions. Had I not, just this very morning, recited a daily pledge held dear to my heart: I shall not let myself be used for death?

And yet, a man is dead, and I was the weapon that slayed him.

I move closer to where he now stands, forever frozen in terror, and press my shaking hand against his outstretched stone one. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, though he cannot and never will be able to hear my words. “So, so sorry.”

His eyes, wide and mercifully detail free, offer me nothing in return. Once I commit his features to memory, I construct a life history with a name worthy of his sacrifice. Walt was single (I can’t bear the thought of spouses and children, thus my collection of singletons) and a bit of a daredevil when he wasn’t volunteering to teach literacy to adults in poverty stricken urban areas. He’d gone spelunking at least a half-dozen times, sky diving twice, and bungee cord diving off some crazy bridge in Colorado just once, on his thirtieth birthday. Walt liked to write poetry; how could he not, when his now-deceased parents had named him after one of the greats?

Walt liked to talk about poetry, too, which means he needs to be with others like him. I strip off my flannel work shirt, down to a tank top, and get to work. Shoving stones around when half of one’s body is reptilian isn’t the easiest of tasks, requiring a great deal of precision and care.

As I always tend to do when placing a new statue, I can’t help but flash back to the one and only time I’d broken one of my victims. I’d been tired—he’d snuck upon me when I’d been sleeping—and an overestimated shove sent poor Nikolaos face first against the temple floor. I’d spent most of that night collecting the pieces which once made a whole man, blubbering in misery. As penance, his head, missing an ear and part of his nose, still sits on a shelf in my bedroom. Treat us gently, I like to imagine him telling me nightly before I sleep. We deserve your care.

I have not failed Nikolaos since. Over the ages, I’ve developed a routine to transfer the statues around the island that includes wrapping the bodies in a thick quilt before putting them up on casters. It takes a painstaking amount of time to shift them short or long distances, but each person deserves nothing less from me.

Walt’s group sits just outside the temple. They are the philosophers of our island; it only seems natural they would find much to appreciate in both the sun and the stars. I struggle with his body over the stairs—they are tricky to maneuver for me even without hauling a two hundred pound statue—but eventually, I get him exactly where he’ll fit in best.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Walt,” I tell the still faces forming a cluster near a non-functioning fountain. “His poetry is as beautiful as his namesake’s.”

I angle Walt so his eyes face theirs. It’s late afternoon, and there is soft orange light filtering down upon their features. It’s a beautiful sight, which only saddens me, because all of that talk about death and beauty being intertwined is one of the biggest loads of crap I’ve ever heard. Death isn’t beautiful. Too often than not, it’s messy and brutal; even when done in sleep, there’s still that theft of breath, that failure of a heart. Death is an act of violence.

I should know. I am one of the most prolific murderers in history. And I think about death constantly.

I often wonder what my own death will be like, if I am ever blessed to embrace it. I’m not too picky in my imaginings; I’ll take any sort by this point. Logically, I’d prefer a less painful exit, but, knowing my luck, it’ll be as ruthless as once reported and still widely believed.

It ought to be noted I have some of the most wretched luck to ever be doled out, so there is that.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore sends my eyes to the horizon. I’ve tried to drown myself in those waters more times than I ought to admit over the years, but the sea always spits me back out.

I’ve also tried overdosing on pharmaceuticals, stabbing myself in the chest and eyes (which was just as painful as you’d imagine), and throwing myself off a cliff. Melodramatic, yes, and all ineffective for an immortal cursed with impenetrable skin and a digestive system apparently filled with acid.

Death is not my friend. At least, not yet.

     

About Heather Lyons:

Heather Lyons has always had a thing for words—She’s been writing stories since she was a kid. In addition to writing, she’s also been an archaeologist and a teacher. Heather is a rabid music fan, as evidenced by her (mostly) music-centric blog, and she’s married to an even larger music snob. They’re happily raising three kids who are mini music fiends who love to read and be read to.

Links:

Website: http://www.heatherlyons.net

Author Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/heatherlyons

THE DEEP END OF THE SEA Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18844839-the-deep-end-of-the-sea?ac=1

Twitter: https://twitter.com/hymheather

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/heatherlyonsbooks?fref=ts

A chat with Teresa D'Amario, author of 'Visions of Fire & Ice (A Petri Novel)'

Tell us about your latest release.

Visions of Fire & Ice, a Petiri novel is my brand new series, and I am very excited about it. It starts in Egypt, and tells the story of a very long lived race who’ve hidden in the deepest recesses of Egypt for the last several thousand years. They each have their own special talents, and their goal is to return home. But when Ramose meets up with Tamara, he realizes his focus has to change, for the one and true Kha-Ib (Soul mate) is already here on this world. Things are more complicated when his evil brother takes an interest in Tamara, and before long they are caught in a battle between good and evil, gods and goddesses. I do love Egyptian mythology and the more this series develops, the more mythology will be incorporated.

What have you got coming soon for us to look out for?

I’m working now on the second in this series, though I haven’t titled it as of yet. When Amunkha heads to America to rebuild his life after the devastating events of book one, he does so to be alone. The gods of Egypt have come to remind us of their existence, and have other ideas of who and what Amunkha really is.

What song would you choose for Karaoke?

“I Will Survive”… however, you might want to run and hide or else your ears will bleed.

Which Star Trek or Star Wars character are you most like?

Probably more like Doctor Crusher. I’m independent, yet feminine, and ready to admit if I need help. But I like her strength, and remember seeing that spine of steel in my own self when I was in the military.

Who would you most like to be stranding on a desert island with? Least? Why?

That’s not fair! I’ve already been stranded on an island. Not exactly a desert island but it was deserted. Oh wait, it wasn’t even an island, it was a coral reef. Had the sunburn to prove it! I was there with hubby. Thing is, he’s no fun to be stranded with. He’s quite irritable! Me, I was sitting there imagining all kinds of plot ideas. He was standing at the edge of the reef glaring across the water at the rental agency across the way supposed to be coming to rescue us. By the way, did you know if you get really really badly sunburned, your knees can turn green? Who’d have thunk?

But it’s true. We were out on a sea doo, and the thing sunk. We ended up stranded on a reef in the Atlantic Ocean. Bad part of it (other than the sun burn and upset hubby) was that the tide was rising, and by the time they finally did get there for us, there was like 1 foot of sand and the rest was all prickly reef! So much for enjoying the 4 hours on the Bahamas on THAT trip.

As for who I’d rather be with? It’s a shame Patrick Swayze couldn’t redo his Ghost script for real. I’d wait.

Visions of Fire & Ice
by Teresa D’Amario

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Trapped on a planet not their own, the Petiri spend their lives hiding the natural gifts that set them apart from the world. They live long and unfulfilled lives, unable to find their soul mates on this backward planet known as Earth. That is until the night Ramose comes face to face with Tamara, a woman whose gifts rival his own. Determined to find why this human is in possession of an ancient magical Petiri relic, he arranges a meeting.

But Tamara, embittered from past events, is wary despite lifelong dreams of Ramose and a sure knowledge he is her soul mate. Before long the couple find themselves ensnared in a battle that has raged for millennia in Egypt’s desert. Set, Egyptian God of Chaos, is determined to take his just due: the throne of Osiris.

The only way to stop him is for Ramose to put his trust in Tamara, but first must gain the same from her. The ensuing sensual relationship is filled with romance, lust and love. Their relationship is tested by an unnatural evil. Will her powers over fire, combined with his ice be enough to win the day? Or will the ancient gods and goddesses of Egypt destroy more than just their love?

Read an excerpt:

Tamara pulled out the costume with a grin. It was red. Fire red. Small bits of orange peeked beneath the folds, enhancing the image. This would be perfect for her youngest sister who always teased her about the fire she herself wielded. She held the costume before her, judging its size. A spark of energy caught her attention, and she raised her eyes to Ramose. He was moving toward her, his muscles tight, his face pale in the darkened light. But his eyes, they burned with unfettered need.

Tamara swallowed. Hard. Never in her life had she expected to see any man, much less Ramose, look at her the way he did now. What had she done to trigger such a response? Maybe he thought shopping was sexy. Hell, it didn’t matter. He had the look of a man ready to cross to the next level in their relationship. No, not the next level. He looked ready to leap all the way past and into a new relationship. His eyes were filled with need, but other emotions glimmered beneath the surface. Possession. Relief. Stark, irreversible hunger.

Before she could utter a word, he was there, pulling the dress from her fingers, handing it to the shopkeeper still standing beside her.

He spoke in rapid Arabic, handing the man cash. The store owner protested loudly, probably hoping for a good bartering session.

Ramose totally ignored him, his focus glued only on her. Never had he seemed so tall. Powerful. And even imposing. Tamara stepped back. Just moments before, he’d stood across the room, silent, watching. Now his scent whispered over her, dark and sensuous. Her blood rushed through her veins, heating her body in response. She bit her lip at the sudden onslaught of emotions and need building inside her. Inside, her heart fluttered in panic, while the rest of her body yearned for him. She was part rabbit, part tigress. She was terrified. She was starved.

“I can….” She could what? Pay for it herself?

Ramose leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ears, his breath feathering across her neck.

“Nanik,” he whispered fiercely.

Mine, her mind translated.

Tamara’s heartbeat spiked, and her knees weakened. She grabbed the clothing rack and struggled to breath, yet it was impossible. Not with him so close. So hungry. Did he suddenly recognize her as his soul mate? Did he have that skill as well? She tipped her face to meet his gaze. Heat coiled low in her belly. His scent stripped her of her desire for control. The fear fluttered inside her, yet she ached for more, to feel his lips against her flesh.

The hard lines of his jaw, shadowed by the late afternoon beard, combined with the power surging from his being, gave him the look of a warrior of old. Demanding. Powerful. And sexy as hell.

Her body moved of its own accord, leaning forward, blending his heat with her own. Muscles inside her softened, melting, while others drew taut, hungry for his touch. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes heavy, her mind and body drugged by this man’s desire.

“Ramose—”

But he wanted none of her words. His eyes silenced her, as though he were afraid she’d reject him. Long, warm fingers closed over hers. It was the first touch of what she hoped was soon to be more. The pulse in her throat beat a rapid staccato message. Need. Fear. She wasn’t even sure which held more power.

When the shopkeeper returned, Ramose held out his hand, not even looking at the man. His fingers closed around the plastic bag, and, without a word, he turned, escorting her out the door.

Once outside, they moved past the small shop, pressed inward by the throngs of people surrounding them. He didn’t seem to care. He stopped, right in the middle of crowd, tugging her hand until she turned to face him. His eyes raked over her, searching. With calloused fingers, he brushed away the wisp of hair now falling in her face. The heat from his fingers burned her flesh, regardless of his gift of ice.

“Kha-Ib.”

The word was so soft, so worshipful, she had to strain to hear it. Tamara shook her head. “What, Ramose, what is it?”

“Nanik,” he whispered again, his gaze softening, offering her a smile of wonder.

Oblivious to the crowd surrounding them, Tamara’s knees wobbled. She should be running, racing to her hotel to block away the world. This was too fast. Too dangerous. And, yet, the sudden possessiveness in his response only built the hunger inside her. Her gaze moved to his lips.

She wanted to feel him. Against her mouth. Hungry. God, what was wrong with her? His arm hooked about her waist, and, as his head lowered, she tipped her face to meet him. Wanting. Breathless.

His gaze held hers, even as his face inched closer.

When at long last their lips met, her heart, the one she was sure had quit beating, exploded in her chest, pounding as though to crack her ribs. The exquisite heat of his lips burned against hers. Oh, God. Please. Please what?

He groaned when she wrapped her arms about his neck, drawing even closer to him. He swept his tongue over her lips. She needed no further encouragement. For the first time in her life, she didn’t hesitate when a man touched her. She opened. And, when their tongues met, it was divine.

The inside of his mouth was hot and hungry, his taste an explosion of wild masculine heat, and, yet, he swept in slowly, as though in wonder, tasting her. The chill of his mouth drew her, cooling the overwhelming heat burning inside her. The combination of need and gentleness sent a shudder of hunger through her body, and she wanted more, needed to crawl even closer.

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Born in Atlanta, the daughter of an Army Soldier during the early stages of the Viet Nam war, I spent my childhood traveling from state to state, finally ending up overseas in Germany where I graduated high school six months early.

My writing career however began as a young Airman in the Air Force, writing monthly articles for the weekly base paper. The articles ranged from climatological data to full center fold articles on the destructive forces of hurricanes. As I increased in rank, my writing changed to more technological instruction, including such works as WSR-88D Doppler Radar Data Interpretation Guide for North Carolina Stations, and Station Operating Procedures.

But my early writing wasn’t limited only to the technological side. I’ve written multiple dog training and behavior articles for canine websites such as Sonora Canine Freestyle, and also the Ask Blackjack column, a fun training column in the voice of my labrador retriever, then a young pup.

My first book, SheWolf, won 2nd place for Best First book in RWA’s PFF&P Prism awards.

I’m married to a wonderful man named Doug, who is also retired Air Force. We live in North Carolina with our two dogs.

Links:

http://facebook.com/AuthorTeresaDamario

http://twitter.com/TeresaDamario

http://teresadamario.com

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