The Tour Stop
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Dead City
-- EXCERPT: The door opened, and the object of my reflections strode in. Black vest today and gray yoga pants. He kicked off his shoes and rolled his head on his shoulder to stretch the muscles. “You ready?” he asked. Terse tone, check. He always started out this way. “Yep.” “Okay, let’s see what you remember from the other day.” I launched myself at him, not giving him a moment to think, but he grabbed me around the waist easily and flung me to the ground before landing on top of me, arms braced on either side of my head, body in plank position so it was mere inches from mine. “Not good enough.” His eyes glittered, and his gaze fell to my lips. “Try harder.” There was a bite to his words, and then he’d pushed off me and leapt to his feet. Shit, the man was agile. Large and muscled like a wildcat, like the panthers we’d seen on the documentaries at the cinema if panthers were silver and blond with twilight eyes. He circled me as I stood. “I’m going to attack you now, Echo,” he warned. A shiver went up my spine, because hell if that wasn’t a hint of glee in his tone. “I’m going to attack you, and you need to defend.” His hair had fallen forward into his eyes, and he peered at me from behind the tendrils, his eyes super dark beyond his spectacles. My pulse fizzed, and adrenaline leaked into my limbs. “Wait, what?” We hadn’t played this game before. “You know the moves. If you lose your staff if you’re up against the Breed, what do you do?” Was that a growl to his tone? “Um, Emory.” His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Run.” Run? And then he was charging me. I leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the crash of his body and launched into a run; the room was big, but with him in residence, it felt way too small. I leapt over the horse and grabbed hold of the rings hanging from the ceiling, using them to swing myself over to the rock-climbing wall. My fingers grazed the nooks, gaining purchase long enough to hang and drop, turn and twist to kick him in the gut. My foot connected but didn’t come away because he had my ankle. My gaze shot up to meet his, and his lips curled slowly. It was a primal smile, a smile of triumph and ownership. “Okay, you win.” I hopped on one leg while he continued to hold the other. “I do?” He kept hold of my ankle with one hand and grabbed my calf with the other, pulling me closer. “Shit.” My heart was thudding faster now, but not with exertion, with fear, because when I looked into his eyes, the Emory I knew wasn’t there. “Emory? You win. You can let go now.” He canted his head and released my ankle to grab my thigh. “You think a Breed will let you go? You think a scuttler will let you go?” My pulse was hammering in my throat now as I scanned the face I’d known for years and found nothing familiar aside from the features. His fingers tightened on me. “The Breed will catch you, and they’ll fuck you.” He yanked my leg suddenly and hard enough to knock me off balance and bring me to the ground. He came with me, his weight landing on my body, pushing it into the mats. A growl vibrated against me, and my fear spiked and twisted into something else, something untamed and dangerous. He inhaled, and the pupils behind his glasses dilated. His gloved hand slid up my body to tangle and fist in my hair almost painfully. Tears stung my eyes, and my body began to tremble, but this … this wasn’t fear, it was anticipation. What was this? What was happening right now? His thigh slipped between mine, pushing up against my crotch, and my body was suddenly on fire. “Emory?” His name was a breathless explosion. He tensed, and the hand in my hair flexed, tearing a gasp from me. He blinked slowly as if waking from a daydream, and then his face, his beautiful face, contorted in horror. “Echo?” “Emory?” He leapt off me as if he’d been burned and turned away, bracing his hands on his head. He took several steps away from me and then lowered his arms. His back straightened, and when he turned to face me, his expression was closed. “Get up.” He looked down on me coolly. “Training is done for the day.”
GIVEAWAY!
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by Kathy Kimbray Genre: YA Fantasy Release Date: May 28th 2019 Summary: A squandering emperor. A handsome stranger. A reluctant heroine. And the ancient magic that will capsize a kingdom. Seventeen-year-old Meadow Sircha watched her mother die from the wilting sickness. Tormented by the knowledge that the emperor failed to import the medicine that would have saved her, she speaks out at a gathering of villagers, inciting them to boycott his prized gladiator tournament. But doing so comes at a steep cost. Arrested as punishment for her impulsive tongue, Meadow finds herself caught up in the kind of danger she’s always tried to avoid. After a chance meeting with an enigmatic boy, she’s propelled on a perilous trek across the outer lands. But she soon unearths a staggering secret: one that will shift her world—and the kingdom—forever. Filled with longing and heart, surprise and wonder, A SHIFTING OF STARS is the first book in Kathy Kimbray's gripping Of Stars trilogy.  AMAZON LINK: https://tinyurl.com/
CHAPTER ONE
I should not be here. I’m foreign to this village of broken rooftops and dull stone walls. I brush my fingers over a pillar. Its coldness burns my skin, makes me pause.
Go home.
The words sing loud like a taunt as moonlight slithers across my shoulders. The parchment digs like thorns in my palm. I imagine its shape, every fiber and ink blot.
Something moves near my feet and I jump. It’s just a rat, one of hordes from the city. They’ve grown bolder during these past few seasons, always darting out of alleys and running by arches, desperate—like us—to fill their bellies.
As it squeaks away, nails tapping in rhythm, I inspect the darkened street before me. Lamplight glows from a crooked post, but the shadows are still and the windows are empty. A leaf-strewn house looms in the distance, enticing me over the cobblestone ground. That house is the reason I’ve ventured so late into this weary part of town. Beside me, buildings cringe with moss. Walkways glisten with dirty puddles. Teetering balconies slouch from walls with garments strung between casements like cobwebs.
But that smell.
I halt to sniff the air. It wafts from the dwelling ahead of me. It winds from beneath its splintered panes—the pungent scent of broth and ale.
I wish it were stew.
Saliva brims on my tongue at the thought of meat cooked with spices and oils. The last time venison passed my lips, my mother was alive, my father smiled, and the future stretched before us, unending. Those were the days of Emperor Komran, a king who lived and bled for his people. I barely remember the white of his beard or how he limped through the fields during harvest. And it’s the same with my mother. I’m losing her, too. The curve of her cheek. The shade of her tresses. When she died, we set her afloat in the Geynes, and I sat on the bank with my toes in the water, not wanting to break that connection to her.
It’s a year tonight.
My chest starts to cave, but I fight and I fight to be still, to not cry. At least the dead are not hungry, not in turmoil. They do not see what Centriet has become.
I urge my feet toward the house. Komran would never have driven me here. When he reigned, our streets were routinely swept, and fountains dotted the well-kept pavements.
And medicine was--
A loose stone clacks. Forgetting my thoughts, I dart to an alcove. Since Komran’s son became our emperor, soldiers lurk where you’d least expect them.
In the dark, I steady my breaths, in and out. Not that I’m breaking any laws—that I know of. I listen to the night: crickets chirping, a soft breeze, and the whinny of a horse that’s so indistinct, perhaps it’s from Sledloe, the next village over.
I wait longer, just to be safe. Many of the soldiers are kind, though not all. Father says they’ve been granted more powers, but that we won’t know what it means for a while.
I hate not knowing. Just like tonight. I hate not knowing what awaits in the house. When the street remains silent, I rejoin the road, but my ankles wobble when I try to walk.
So I jog.
It soothes my jangled nerves, and I reach the house, breathless and flushed. Planks board the four square windows; rust from the nails seeps into the woodgrain. The stones are all different sizes and shapes, charred by the remnants of a long-ago fire. Ivy clings to the rutted surface, its end pieces curling like ribbon from the door.
You should leave, Meadow.
But I raise my fist. All I need to do is knock. I’ve already abandoned my stonebrick at dusk without letting Father know where I have gone. The loss of my mother hits me anew—the pain a reminder of why I have come here. That I’ve come to move on, to at last let her go. Even though I’m not sure what that means anymore.
Or if I can.
“Are you here for the Gathering?”
The question shatters the bracing air. Someone’s behind me and I spin to face him, shrouding myself with my long dark hair. But I’m wrong. There are two. One’s tall and strapping. The other is smaller in every way. As they chance another step, I notice that they’re young—about my age, seventeen.
“Why I’m here is not your concern,” I say.
“We do beg your pardon,” the smaller boy says. He has a scar on his brow like a cutlass. And another on his forearm, dark as molasses. He gestures to the vacant street behind him. “Have you ever visited Yahres before?”
“Yes,” I say, though my words are false. It’s safer to make them believe I’m a local.
“And your name?” asks the boy, but I shake my head at the same time his companion lets out a grunt.
“Don’t bother,” he snaps. “We leave tomorrow.”
The smaller boy nods, looking slightly embarrassed.
“We watched you for a bit,” he tells me.
“And what did you see?” I ask.
He smiles. One of his teeth is chipped. “We assumed you’d turn back many times.”
My pulse quickens at their presumption, especially since it’s mostly true. The slums of Yahres are outside the walls. My home lies inside in the village of Maytown. In Maytown we’re warned to always tread wisely in places like Yahres, Florian, and Sledloe. Perhaps that’s why I’d appeared so unsure. Yet neither of the pair looks remarkably dangerous.
“You proved us wrong,” the boy continues.
“No hard feelings,” I say.
He laughs. “Come inside with us.”
He holds out a hand, but I back away.
“Forgive me,” he says, withdrawing swiftly, color blotching his cheeks. “We lodge with the man who hosts these gatherings . . . and I noticed you had a parchment to read.”
“You saw?” I jolt, clutching it tightly, blood surging through my legs and arms. Since Mother’s passing, it happens quite often. My heart beats fast, and I need to run.
“You don’t have to read it,” he says.
I swallow.
“Although you can if you want to, of course. Unless you didn’t come here for the Gathering?”
“I doubt she’s here for anything else.”
It’s much too hard to read his expression, but the taller boy speaks with a dash of disdain. He sidesteps his friend with two no-nonsense strides.
“You don’t know my business,” I say.
“Oh, please.” He comes in close, reaching past me, and the scent of leather and steel is intense. It reminds me of sitting in my father’s workroom when he’s mending quivers for the elder archers. The boy raps on the door with his knuckles. Three times, then nothing. The way we’re supposed to. “Of course you’re here for the Gathering,” he says, as metal grinds and a peephole opens.
My need to bolt escalates.
“Get in. You’re the last,” says the face inside. The cumbersome timber shifts outward before us. It breaks the leaves and they flutter in spirals.
“After you,” the tall boy says.
The parchment feels like a stone in my hand. It dawns on me how stifled this is—this narrow black corridor, deep in the kingdom.
I brush the still-dangling leaves to one side. The passageway stretches a good twenty paces. I could perish in there and no one would find me.
“Are you waiting for something?”
“No,” I say.
Ignoring the boy, I stoop to enter, trying to focus my thoughts on the brickwork. The blocks have eroded from years of scuffing. They smell like lichen and tarnished copper. Light spills through the distant doorframe, and our guide clears his throat to urge us on. I double my pace, though the boys hang back. The weight of their presence behind me is strong.
About the Author
She loves summer, dancing and dreaming up big ideas. A SHIFTING OF STARS is the first book in her thrilling new YA fantasy series.
Primal Possession
-- EXCERPT: Saskia willed herself to stop trembling but it was damn near impossible. Especially when the huge, intimidating man stopped in front of her, pinned her in place with a piercing gray stare, and went absolutely still. It was as though he were carved out of stone. His nostrils flared as if in slow motion and her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest as he inhaled and she watched his expression change from one of mild curiosity to a look of raw, primal hunger. He looked like he would devour her. She had seen one or two Alphas from a distance, but never before had she stood in such close proximity to one. Even more impressive than the trademark expensive clothing they wore, which she had only ever viewed from afar, this one up close radiated power and dominance in a way she had never experienced before. He was undeniably attractive, in his perfectly tailored gray suit, but the way he was staring at her—like a cat eyeing a mouse—was distinctly unnerving. Breathe through your mouth, her mother had always warned her. If an Alpha’s pheromones reach you and he’s a breeding match, it will all be over. He’ll go into rut, you’ll go into estrus, and you’ll be powerless to stop him. It’s imperative that you don’t smell him. Saskia squeezed her eyes shut; the only way she could think of to escape that penetrating gaze he was leveling on her. But even against the sudden dark backdrop of her closed eyelids, his face remained as though imprinted in her mind. His long, shaggy black hair. His slightly hooked nose. His full, sensuous lips. The stubble coating his square, tense jaw. And those eyes… those iron-gray eyes which seemed to see right down into her soul. Saskia concentrated on breathing through her mouth until he interrupted her with a growl. “I thought I told you to look at me.” With a supreme effort, she forced her eyes back open and herself to meet his stare head-on. Determined not to cower or show any sign of fear, she lifted her chin and took a deep breath. Too late, she realized her mistake. 
GIVEAWAY!
Crashing Together
-- EXCERPT: Addi “You’re in over your head and you know it.” Leigh lifts her frozen margarita to her lips and eyes me over the sugar rim. “I am not.” I roll my eyes and look around the smoky bar. I don’t know why I even let Leigh talk me into coming here. It’s dark, a little sketchy, and the millions of fog machines fill the place with smoke so thick you’d think they allowed cigarettes in here. “You’re in denial, Addi. You can’t even look at me.” I snap my eyes back to her. “It’s hard to see with all this smoke.” I wave my hand around for dramatic effect. I’m so in denial but she doesn’t need to know that. Leigh laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah okay girl, whatever you say.” “The drinks are delicious though.” I raise my glass before bringing to my lips to it, licking the sugar rim. It’s as if a storm is brewing, ready to take over at any minute, inside my belly. Awake at night, I stare at the ceiling as it flips and twists, growing worse. The storm named Cole. He fills my bloodstream, running through my veins, and follows me everywhere I go. No matter what I do, I can’t stop it. I was a fool thinking I could and I’m a fool now as I sit here and let it happen. I’m falling hopelessly in love with Cole. It’s unreal, consuming, and lighting me on fire from within. I’ve never felt anything like it before. The more I see him, the more I want. And Leigh is absolutely correct. I’m in over my fucking head. 
GIVEAWAY!
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