Title-Sacrifice
Series- Gryphon Series Book #3
By Stacey Rourke
Blurb:
Celeste
Garrett has finally found a happy balance in her life as the Chosen
One, thanks in large part to a certain hunky Irishman. But if there’s
any lesson she should heed since receiving her calling it’s that
everything can change in the blink of an eye. Soon a terrible new
threat, unlike anything she’s ever encountered, causes her to make a
gut-wrenching choice that will strip her of someone she holds dear.
As
much as she’d like to have a pity party for one, there’s no time for
that now because wedding bells are ringing in Gainesboro! In between
dress fittings and rehearsal dinners Celeste will have to fend off
attacking demons and leering pirates. As if the Dark Army wasn’t scary
enough our heroine is faced with the horrifying trauma of attending a
bachelorette party with her mom and watching Grams do Jello shots. Is a
walk down the aisle even possible for a member of the Garrett family
when the Dark Army is out to destroy them? More importantly, will the
Dark Army Glee Club sing at the reception?
Raise your glass to the happy couple, and get ready for a wedding…Conduit-style.
You can find Sacrifice-
Get it here:
Excerpt:
Bernard banged his cane against the floor in six rapid-fire successions. His round face flushed red, then . “Training time isn’t over!”
Caleb glanced over his shoulder at the glowering . “What’s with the hostile envir’ment?”
“Oh you know, same old, same old. I don’t respect my duty
of pummeling inanimate objects, blah, blah, blah. Maybe Gabe will train
with me to appease Mr. Sunshine.” I looked to my brother with a hopeful
expectation.
Bernard folded his arms over his chest and scowled.
“Sorry,
Cee,” Gabe raked a hand through his recently grown-out hair. He usually
kept it buzzed, but Alaina insisted he grow it out for the wedding. He
fiddled with the whole inch of it almost as much as Kendall did with
hers. The two of them had daily scuffles over ‘mirror time’ in the
bathroom. My low maintenance ponytail and I were very by this.
“I don’t need to train,” he said with a cocky smirk. “I’m a lion. It doesn’t get any more than that.”
Gabe
ignored my eye-roll and circled his hands around Alaina’s slender
wrists to pull her into his waiting arms. She giggled and wrapped her
arms around his neck.
“Couples suck,” Kendall grumbled and tossed the bridal magazine aside.
Against the far wall of the garage—flanked by Gram’s flamingo lawn ornaments—Bernard’s pinched up face warned of an impending gnome-sized embolism.
Just as he opened his mouth to unleash what was sure to be a nasty verbal bashing, Caleb intervened, “I’ll spar with her.”
Bernard’s beady eyes narrowed. “I don’t know ... ”
“I think it’s a heck of a lot more effective than me fighting a bag.” I matched Bernard’s arm fold and raised him a sneer.
Bernard
took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out through pursed
lips. “Fine. Do not hold back,” he barked at Caleb, then pointedly
turned his glare to me, “at all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Caleb shot me a wink.
Gabe
unchained the punching bag and leaned it against Grandpa’s dusty old
work bench, then took a seat on the floor with Alaina and Kendall. Caleb
and I faced off in the center of the garage. He yanked off his hooded
sweatshirt and tossed it to his sister (That would be Alaina, by the
way. Long story. He was abducted by a demonic army as a child and she
joined the good guys as a Spirit Guide. Huh, look at that. I made a long
story surprisingly short.)
He brought his hands up and struck a defensive pose. The thin material of his t-shirt tightened across the muscles
of his torso. That visual stimuli caused a wandering gaze that couldn’t
be helped. With his knees slightly bent, his jeans hugged his thighs in
a way that proved very distracting.
“Ahem ... I’m up here, . Not that I don’t appreciate a good oglin’.”
I hurriedly assumed a fighting stance, my cheeks and ears bright
red. “Sorry. I’m good. Let’s do it. This! Let’s do this!” Gabe, Alaina,
and Kendall all snickered from the sidelines. “Crap. Let’s just get
this over with.”
Caleb’s face folded in mock hurt. “Ya say it like that and I’m inclined tah think ya won’t enjoy it at all.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.” I grinned.
“Well then...” He jerked his head to the side to crack his neck and blinked hard. When his eyes opened the was gone. In its place blazed red irises. Visible red flames danced beneath the surface of his skin. “Give us a kiss.”
About the author:
Writing
is something I have always done. I can remember in elementary school
creating stories that I would stand up and read aloud to my
classmates…whether they liked it or not. As I grew older I didn’t
flaunt my writing as freely. It became something I did just for me to
vent my teenage angst, or chronicle my journey to adulthood. I never
thought about becoming a writer because that title prompted the visual
of a grey-haired man in a tweed smoking jacket with suede elbow patches,
slaving over an old fashion typewriter while puffing away on a pipe. No
way was that stuffy kind of life for me. (Plus tweed is itchy.) Instead
I wanted to be in the spotlight! I wanted to be–pause for dramatic
effect–an actress! I gave it my best shot, too. Got about as far as any
aspiring actress can get in Flint, Michigan. Which is exactly no where.
But I did get two great things out of my time delving into the
theatrical world; I gained the ability to act out the scenes I write to
make sure they’re believable (yes, I really do that and no, you can’t
watch) and I met my amazing husband.
My
theater ambitions behind me, I decided to do the “mature,” “grown up”
thing and went back to college. As I worked toward my Bachelor’s degree
in marketing I did a lot of writing. Essays, research papers,
PowerPoint presentations. All of it mandatory, none of it what I would
ever call fun. Even then, becoming a writer never entered my mind. No,
then I was going to be a business tycoon…or somethin’. Truth be told, I
never picked writing. It picked me. During my time as a stay at home mom
I needed an outlet to give me a mental break from diapers, formula and
midnight feedings. That’s when my hands found their way back to the
keyboard. Story ideas began coming at such an incessant rate that my
rapidly clicking fingers couldn’t keep up. Post-It notes and scrapes of
paper with story ideas decorated every inch of our house. In
mid-conversation with my husband I would dart off to jot down things
that would come to me. Sweet guy my hubby is, he would just shake his
head at my obvious rudeness and hold my place in the conversation.
My
first book was completed for an entire year before I told anyone about
it. I outed myself as an author and then sent out my first round of
query letters to literary agents. Surely, it would be picked up
immediately and become an overnight success! Yeah, not so much. For two
years I got rejection, after rejection, after rejection, after
rejection…you get the idea. Thankfully with the ever increasing pile of
rejections came feedback. I digested all the suggestions and applied the
usable ones to my manuscript. Little by little, the rough edges were
chipped away and the diamond shone through. The work paid off when I
received an email from a publisher offering me a contract on The
Conduit.
It’s been a long road, and it ain’t over yet. But now, at thirty-mumble, mumble years old I finally know what I wanna be when I grow up–-a writer.
Check her out here:
Scavenger Hunt Word: RED
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