Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Heather Kenealy

Introducing award winner, Heather Kenealy! She is another great author joining in on the Pandora Box Set.

Blurb:
The greatest betrayers of Myth, Religion and Legend are released from hell, returned to the world, to use this second chance to clear their name, to receive the adulation that should have been theirs, to be loved... but what price does the Devil demand for His generosity?

Excerpt:

The three had been here for longer than they themselves knew.

There was no ceiling to this round room, or if there was it was so high that it could not be seen. The walls were pocked with blackened windows that filled with demons now and then that watched the trio and laughed and mocked. Gnarled creatures with eyes like coal and twisting horns ringing their heads like sham crowns. Each of these men saw them differently, and each man heard their taunting cries in their own language. 

But they didn't know this. The language of the damned is always the same.

Screams echoed through the room, sometimes. The tormented souls outside suffered differently than the three who waited in here. They were Betrayers, afforded a special place in the Eternal Confinement, for was their Jailer not a Betrayer, Himself? Did He not rise against one who trusted Him, and was He not cast down for it?

There was a bonfire in the middle of the room and the three reclined around it on hard marble benches stained black with the soot that did not touch these damned souls.

They were stained enough already.

Loki Shapeshifter, Judas Iscariot and Mordred Le Fey.

Loki was long and thin, fair in the manner of his people. His hair was red as the flames that surrounded him and there was a fine network of scars around his red and green eyes from where the serpent dripped its poison on his face in the time before Ragnarok. His lips too were scarred where once Brokk the Dwarf sewed them shut as punishment for an insult. His legs and arms were shapely but the ankles and wrists bore red never-healing burns from where he broke his chains when the time came for him to end the world.

Sometimes in this place, he became a woman, who batted flirtatious eyes at the others with mocking laughter on her lips. Sometimes, he was a horse, who nickered softly and paced the room, restlessly. Sometimes he was a bird, who flew upwards, looking for the way out of this room. He could never maintain these forms for long, that power had been limited here in this place, restricted by being reduced to myth. It was how he was chained here, though there were no chains to be seen. Loki was the only one to ever sleep here but when he did he woke up in the middle of a nightmare, flailing at the serpent that was no longer there, feeling the poison's burn on his face, calling for Sigyn, his good and godly wife, who had gone into exile with him. 

She was at rest now, now that Ragnarok has come, rewarded for her devotion to an unworthy man who never said a nice word to her. She was at peace but Loki never would be.

He was forever dressed in only a white fur trimmed tunic and high-laced sandals that he had worn for eternity, a gold torque about his throat the only ornament. He was here in this place longer than the others, longer than this place was even known of. Once upon a time, this place was ruled by his little daughter Hel, but no more. She died at the World's End and this place was given to another.

Judas was next to him, Judas dark and bearded, reddish highlights in his deep brown hair. He did not look at the others. He did not speak to the others. He lay on his back, his brown-almost-black eyes seeking the Heaven that he would never see, the mark of the rope that throttled the life from him burning red on the tan skin. Now and then, his lips moved in prayer, but always they stopped again, as if he had forgotten the words.

Sometimes despair came upon him and he wept, beat his chest, pulled his hair and tore the pure white robe he wore. Always the rips were mended and the scratches his nails left in his cheeks were healed. The angry welt on his throat would burst and the black blood dried quickly in the heat of this place, but that would never heal. It was the mark of his death.

"Why?" Judas sometimes murmured. "Why me? My Lord, forgive me." 

Mordred, who called himself Le Fey, was the last. He was a Pendragon by birth, though Arthur never recognized it. The youth who should've been a prince didn't acknowledge it either. He looked like Arthur, though, strawberry-blond and handsome, blue eyes that reflected only pain and heartache. He was small and delicate, barely twenty years of age when he died, well formed except for the one shoulder that raised itself the tiniest bit higher than the other.

Well that, and, the hidden deformity in his chest.

Beneath the white and gold velvet tunic that he wore, there was a gaping hole. His heart had been there, but Arthur's rejection had ripped it from him. He had plunged his pike through that empty space, and Mordred's hatred had given him the strength to pull himself up the length of the shaft to kill his murderer.

That hole had never healed.

He did not look at the others, either. Why should he? He did not trust people. People turned on him. People judged him. People betrayed him. What good would it do to place his faith in these two? After all, they were betrayers already. That's why they were here.

There was only the confinement, the mockery, and the waiting.

So, forever, the three waited. They didn't know what they waited for. They didn't know how long they would wait.

But, they waited.

For there was nothing else for them to do. Myth, faith and legend joined in their evil, joined in their betrayal, awaiting redemption—maybe---awaiting an end--certainly.

About Heather:

Heather Kenealy is the Winner of Cinescape's Short Story contest, and of the Stan Lee Presents The Seekers contest held by MTV Geek and POW! Entertainment. She is an avid comic book reader and writer, and besides short stories has written several screenplays and other entertainment based media.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Conner Kressley

I have featured Conner and the Breaker's Code before, but it's such a great book and part of Pandora that I'm going to do it again.

Blurb:
Three weeks shy of her sixteenth birthday, Cresta Karr wakes to find she has a pimple the size of Mt. Vesuvius, that the necklace her father left her is mysteriously missing, and that her house is minutes away from exploding. To top it off, Owen, the enigmatic, if slightly off-kilter guy of dreams, tells her that not only is he NOT interested in going out with her, but he's also a superspy sent by a clandestine organization to keep tabs on her.

Turns out Cresta is the subject of a 500 year old prophecy, and if Owen and the other “Breakers” can't find a way to circumvent the future before she turns sixteen, Cresta is destined to bring about the end of the world -- something she'd rather not have on her college applications. That is, of course, if the gun-toting cult members piling onto her front porch don't get to her first.

Happy birthday, Cresta.

My Review:

The first chapter drew me in and didn't let go. I think it was the fast pace of the novel. I LOVE fast paced novels. Of course, fast pace can't completely hold my interest. The story itself was intriguing. It was based on the debate of free will vs. destiny. Can one really fight the events that unfold and seem to lead them down one path?

The characters themselves were pretty deep and enjoyable. I would ahve liked to a little more about some of the antagonists, but that was minor. I can say I am a major Casper fan and can't wait to see more of him in the next book.

In fact, I'm really looking forward to the next one. Get to writing, Mr. Kressley.

Excerpt:

I stared at myself; half in shock, half in horror. A wedding dress, an honest to God wedding dress. It fit perfectly, hugging all the right places, and flattering all the wrong ones. I almost looked like a woman. I almost looked beautiful.

“You forgot the veil.” A man’s voice sounded from behind me. I spun, the fabric of my gown ruffling, to find Allister Leeman leaning against the doorway. He smiled a wide, dark smile. The raven at his throat seemed to caw and move; its wings flapping against his Adam’s apple. His dark hair was slicked back, and a toothpick peeked out from between his lips. His eyes cut into me. A delicate white veil danced around in his fingers, and he was dressed in a tuxedo that, sickeningly enough, seemed designed to match my dress.

“Where are my friends?” I asked, trying to steady my voice. 

“You don’t have any friends.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth. “If you mean the people that were captured with you; they’re fine.”

“And my mother?”

“She’s fine too,” he answered, and started to make his way toward me.

I flinched away. “I want to see them. I want you to let them go. I’m here. I did what you asked.”

“You did part of it,” he thumped his toothpick onto the floor in front of him. “I’ll let them go when you do the rest. “ He reached for me, and ran his disgusting hand through my hair. I shivered and slapped it away. “Though, I don’t know why you’re so attached to them,” he grinned. “They don’t care about you, my darling. Not really.”

“They risked their lives for me,” I snorted. 

“They don’t even know you. To them, you’re something to kill, something to change. Even your mother-Or, more appropriately, the woman who calls herself your mother, has only the most conditional of loves for you. None of them accept you for what you are. They would never try to understand you, or embrace the truth of who you are. That’s why they’re here, Cresta Karr. Not for you; it was never for you. They’re here because they can’t stand the idea that you are more than them; that we’re more than them. I’m the only one who understands you, Cresta. Because I know what it is to be called for something so monumental. I share your pain and your exhilaration in the same way that I will soon share your bed and your life, because it is mine as well.”

“We’re not sharing anything!” I couldn’t help it. I slapped his stupid face. I probably shouldn’t have done it. After all, he did have everyone I cared about in the entire world in his clutches. But he was just so smug, pushing all my buttons. “What the hell is the matter with you anyway?” I shouted. “What kind of lunatic actually wants the world to end?”

He put a hand up to his quickly reddening face. “The kind that knows it has to.” A broad dangerous smile crept across his face. His eyes glowed menacingly. “They haven’t told you all of it, have they?” He did a little shuffle with his feet, almost like he couldn’t wait for what came next. “This isn’t about the way the world ends. It’s about what comes next. The world has ended a hundred times before; with ice ages, and floods, and meteors that have purged this planet of everything it could find. But each time, the world has come out of it for the better, stronger, and more evolved.”

There it was, that word, evolved. 

“Just as human replaced the dinosaurs, we will replace humans. It’s the way of the world. The strong always replace the weak, my darling.” He held the veil out toward me. “And you are the one who will set it all in motion.”

I slapped it away too. “I would never hurt anybody.”

“Just as the wave would never hurt the mountain. Still, the mountain erodes. “He picked the veil up, folded it, and put it in his pocket. “They paint you as an antichrist, but you are a messiah.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not the Bloodmoon. I’m not anything. Look, I’m not going to kill anybody. So, I can’t be the Bloodmoon. The sun will be up soon, and then everybody will know. So, just give me my mom and my friends, and let me go.”

“Still, with these friends, “he muttered. “Come here. Let me show you something.”

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Christi Goddard

Today I have a great YA novel than will be a part of the Pandora Box Set from Amazon bestselling author Christi Goddard.

Blurb:
When a smartass magical creature invades Kathleen’s life, a boy she hates turns up dead and her mother goes missing. Then a letter she wrote for an old friend becomes a key piece of police evidence—implicating Kathleen. As she fights her way out of a web of lies, the trust she has in those closest to her shatters. In the end, she’s pushed to a terrible choice: who lives, and who else dies.

Excerpt:

My mom’s a liar.

What parents aren’t, right? They tell their kids lies about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Even the Boogeyman who crouches in the shadows beneath beds has his legend whispered into the ears of young green bean-haters.

I wished my mom would use her power of deception for good. For one, I wouldn’t have to chase down people in the dark, braving the muggers and would-be rapists who lurk in the bushes on my street. 

If she’d told the boy who came knocking I was upstairs in my room, then we could have had a quick—though unlikely civil—conversation on the front porch. Instead, she told him I was out with another boy.

And she didn’t just tell this to anyone. No, of course not. She told this to Josh Colby. 

It was the equivalent of having some celebrity knock on your door after their car broke down. Except, as far as celebrities go, Josh’s status didn’t reach beyond the doors of our high school. We’d known each other for the many years of our educational careers, and mostly succeeded with our mutual effort to avoid speaking to one another.

Mocking doesn’t count.

“Josh!”

I was too lazy to run for more than a block. To scream seemed an easier solution. When a male voice called back, I smiled at my small victory of intelligence over physical prowess.

“Yeah?”

He sounded close, within a block or so, but I couldn’t see him. The sliver of moon lacked radiance as it was smothered by dark clouds, but the streetlights were enough to confirm there was no silhouette of him on the sidewalk. He must have cut through a neighbor’s yard to head back to his house on the next street over.

“What did you want?” I winced at the sudden, sharp brilliance of lightning. Spots did flip-flops against the stretched shadows on the grass as my vision tried to recover. The scent of ozone carried on the cool breeze blended with that of a fresh cut lawn.

“That you, Elchubba?”

Elchubba is not my name. Not even close. Not that many of the kids at my school cared, and several might even be shocked to discover my real name was Kathleen. Not Kathy. Definitely not Elchubba. To my eternal frustration, I won that clever little nickname in junior high. Mostly because Ryan Dixon is a jerk, but also because I was horizontally challenged and usually clad in black from hair strand-to-toenail polish. It’s to do with Elvira. Lame, I know.

I just hoped Josh hadn’t asked my mother if Elchubba was home. I wouldn’t put it past him. Instead of correcting him, I turned on my heel and headed home. I didn’t answer him on principle. 

My house was still a sadistic distance from me when I heard Josh stumble through some bushes near the sidewalk behind me. Oh, heavy black boots, how you’ve failed me again.

“Wait!”

He mumbled a curse behind me after the distinct sound of his rubber soles tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. I didn’t slow down. Maybe he would follow me all the way back to my front door so I could slam it in his face.

He outpaced me to step into my path. I considered knocking him on his boney ass. I had the weight and momentum to do it. A whiff of whatever cheap, man-scent product he used to attract girls assaulted my nose. It reminded me of dish soap and burnt popcorn.

“Please, would you just stop?” Josh said. 

“Fine. What do you want?”

A car horn blared a few blocks away, followed by the squeal of tires. Josh glanced around like a super secret spy. 

My response was an eye roll and crossed arms. If he didn’t want to be seen talking to me, then he shouldn’t have answered me. For that matter, he shouldn’t have come over.

Josh said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

The laugh that escaped me sounded more maniacal than I expected. “You’re high.”

Great. I wound up chasing a boy I hated down the street to do a favor for him. It was not the pinnacle of my existence. At least I hope not.

“No, I’m serious.” Josh leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I’ll pay you.”

“Then it’s not a favor. It’s a business proposition,” I said. “If you’re going to pay me for services—of the non-prostitutional variety—then it’s a business arrangement, not a favor. A favor I’d do for free.”

The hopeful look that passed his face prompted me to add, “For friends, not for you.”

“Okay, whatever.” Josh fished in a pocket of his too-baggy jeans and pulled out a folded bill. It was too dark for me to see which president. He smiled, his teeth a perfect picket fence of glaring white. “I want you to write a letter for me.”

My eyebrows lifted without my permission. “A letter? To who?” I didn’t ask why me. I was editor for the school paper and wrote for the quarterly lit magazine. 

“I’m not telling you unless you agree to do it.”

 

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Steven Katriel

Do you dare open the box?

Today I have bestselling author Steven Katriel. I had feature a review for his novella A Portrait of Alatiel Salazar when it was first released. You now have a chance to pick it up along with 19 other amazing stories for just 99 cents!

Blurb:

When Gabriel Holland’s beloved Helena vanishes from his life, he journeys to the home of disgraced artist Cristian Salazar, the man he holds responsible for her disappearance and the death of several friends. Once in the town of Carliton, Gabriel finds only malice and mystery in the tales told by the few brave enough to speak ill of Salazar and the sinister Cousin Beatriz. And within shadows, in the guise of night, walks Alatiel, the creature Helena has become. . . .

My Review:

Disclaimer: A Portrait of Alatiel Salazar is a Gothic Horror novella. It is for a niche audience and not what I am used to reading. So, if you read more of this than i do you may have a differing opinion. This was given to me for a fair review by Steven's publisher Immortal Ink.

The Good:

Writing Style: Mr. Katriel's choice of wording and voice give a very creepy overall feel throughout the book. He sets the horrific ambiance well. The novella is written in a Victorian style which is around the time the story is set in. I would have to say this is my favorite part about the story.

Characters: Even in the beginning which focuses on series of journal entries you can still get a feel for even the tertiary characters. My heart aches for Gabriel and what he has to endure throughout the novel. Alatiel is intriguing and horrifying all at once.

The Bad:

Confusion: This may be because I am used to reading more fantasy, but I never really understood what Alatiel or a few of the other characters were. The is a point in the story where another character tells Gabriel what he knows of them, but this still only gives me a very vague sense. Also there were a couple of times that I got confused at what was going on in the story. Still this may be because I don't read a lot of this type of story. The ones I have to compare to are Dracula and a Picture of Dorian Gray. Those two stories I knew before I read the books, so it may just be me.

Overall: I would definitely recommend this book, especially is you want something to run chills down your spine in cerebral way. There or no cheap thrills in this book.

Excerpt:

Camden Town, 1880

THIS IS MY VOICE. You cannot hear me, but I hope you will read my thoughts . . . .

The only sign of life he found in the broken and windswept house was one of death, the outline of a body, borne on a cradle of blood-stained paper. The intruder took another page from the dishevelled bed and continued to read Helena Graham’s journal:

I will endeavour to record everything—every word, each thought and action; such is the hateful gift of insight Alatiel has forced upon me. To my regret, I am certain she will take her turn to relate our story, smiling to herself all the while, secure in her wretched vanity and the knowledge that the chances of this journal being found are slim. Besides, she may just cast these pages into the fire and all my words will have been in vain. That would amuse her, I imagine . . . if indeed she is capable of such a human trait’.

She will use my mind, my memories, to set down this tale. I hope against hope that someone discovers my journal and, having read it, fashions a way to destroy Alatiel, even if this action means the loss of what was once my life.

Spring

“I’VE FOUND HER!” Julian Paradine said. Those were his very words. But, truth be told, Alatiel found him, marked him out; well, she left her mark on poor Julian . . . on all of us, in fact.

We sat outside a small café on Thurzon Street, the men daydreaming, no doubt, that they were kindred souls of the Parisian Bohemians we had all read about; I, the token female in this circle of art lovers, was admitted only by virtue of my writing pastime and, of course, because of my brother. Although our parents had passed on, keeping company with these harmless ‘radicals’ would have been unthinkable were it not for my beloved Matthew.

Julian alone had actually been to Paris, but then, he was the only one amongst us whose career was in the ascendant; the Academy were beginning to notice his crowd-pleasing paintings. We were happy to follow his lead in so many things . . . .

He pulled away from our table, took the girl roughly by the arm and pushed her forward. She appeared to glide, or float, towards us, and even when the cause of her strange and somewhat comical motion came into view, the eerie effect remained. The girl gave the impression of perfect control—of herself and of events—although seemingly at the whim of her master. She did not stir, did not blush, as one might expect.

With his usual carefree, infectious enthusiasm—the joie de vivre which so endeared him to us—Julian presented his new plaything for closer inspection. Or perhaps that should be ‘delectation’; Matthew’s mouth fell open, and he gazed in wonderment. The poet Callum Flynn, however, flinched as though he’d been struck. He raised himself, made no attempt at excuses and simply murmured, “I must go,”; he’d always impressed me as a strange man, all the more now. My fiancé, Gabriel Holland, also stood up suddenly and left us. His seat fell to the ground, and he backed away from the table. Finally he excused himself by claiming that he was worried about Flynn. At first, we were perplexed and concerned, but once the two friends had departed, we gave free rein to our merriment. To my shame, I was too curious about Julian’s latest escapade to follow Gabriel. As it was, the remaining men resumed their scrutiny of the girl in that concentrated, trepidatious and thoroughly silly way which is the hallmark of their sex. I, of course, could stare freely at her, with no such pretence or man-made restriction. 

Certainly, she was beautiful, but in a strangely bland, indistinct way—not unlike an elder sister of Mr Carroll’s ‘Alice’, I thought. Her complexion was simply too pale, as though iced water slithered through her thin veins, and her ash blonde hair had none of the lustre of true health. 

Julian held the girl by her shoulders and addressed us again:

“Well actually, Cristian Salazar found her, or rather, he bought her. Made a gift of her to me. She is perfect, isn’t she?” he looked at each of us in turn, soliciting agreement. “Say hello to Alatiel.”

They greeted her respectfully enough, I suppose, though Daniele Navarro made a show of slowly raising his hat, a display of ironic homage unworthy of him, I thought. Perhaps I was mistaken, and this was the closest thing to chivalry he could muster . . . . Matthew stuttered a few indecipherable words, such was his amusing shyness. The girl remained silent and still. Julian Paradine stood apart from her now. 

“Ah, my apologies, gentlemen—and Helena, of course—I should have mentioned that Alatiel is a mute . . . or, at least, she claims she is.”

I felt rather ashamed as the others laughed at the girl’s expense.

“Alatiel . . . that seems familiar to me, as if it were from a book I read many years ago.”

“She has no name, Daniele,” Julian said, “so I chose one for her. I have invented her, you might say.”

About the Author:

Steven J. Katriel writes Gothic Horror, Paranormal Fantasy, and Literary Fiction. He has lived in Wales, UK all his life. In recent years, he wrote history articles for a community magazine. Steve’s literary heroes and heroines range from Oscar Wilde to Hilary Mantel. He has a passion for past times and this is reflected in his writing.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Kelly Anne Blount

Welcome to the second day of our author showcase for the Pandora Box set. Today I present Kelly Anne Blount and a sneak peak at her story, Shade.

Excerpt:

Blood dripped down my forehead and blurred my vision. I swallowed hard as I wiped it out of my eyes and on to my tattered dress. Trying to control my breathing, I focused on the dark alley head of me. I knew he was out there, but I didn’t know where.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I pressed my body against a cool brick wall. How did this go so wrong? A door slamming caused my heart to take off like a cheetah chasing a gazelle. I crouched down and frantically looked for a makeshift weapon. Finally, my hands came across a broken metal pipe. I picked it up and clutched it to my chest. 

With my fingers trembling, I took a step into the deserted alleyway. Trying to stay close to the wall, I sprinted as quietly as possible. A mixture of blood and tears dripped down my forehead as the pavement pounded under my feet. Every inch of my being wanted to scream, but I held it in. Just make it out of this alley! Then you can scream! 

A deep rumbling voice echoed off the walls and sent chills through my core, “You can run, but I’ll always find you, Abriana.” 

I couldn’t tell which direction it originated from and I didn’t stop to find out. Instead, I propelled my legs forward faster than I thought humanly possible. I chanted a one-word mantra the entire time. Survive. Survive. Survive!

A cool breeze whipped between the buildings and sent shivers down my damp neck. I could see a street in front of me. It was late, but a few people were still out and driving around. 

My chest ached and my lungs felt like they were about to burst into flames at any moment. I sucked in as much air as they would hold and pushed my body’s limits. 

You’re almost there! Just a few more feet! 

Suddenly, I felt fingernails dig into my shoulder and pull my body backward. The change in momentum caused me to fall flat on my back, knocking the air out of my lungs in the process. 

A metallic taste in my mouth and an ache in the back of my head were the last things I remembered before everything went black… 

***

I awoke to a strange noise followed by, “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

I tried to open my eyes, but panicked when I saw nothing but darkness. Goosebumps instantly covered my arms. Why can’t I see? Where am I? I wiggled back and forth, bumping into a low ceiling and carpeted walls.

“You shouldn’t have run away from me,” came the nefarious voice belonging to the man in the dark alleyway. He gave a wicked laugh. “You know who I am and you know what I look like. The blindfold is so you don’t know where we’re going.” 

My lips began to tremble and my eyes filled with tears, but I forced them to stay at bay. Struggling, I tried to bring my hands to my face, but couldn’t. My wrists burned as a rope rubbed against my skin. 

He let out another laugh that left me chilled to the core. “I can’t risk you trying to run away again, now, can I?” 

Fear quaked through my body and a cold sinking feeling spread through my core. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

The corners of his lips turned up into a wicked smile. “Because I love you.”

About the Author:

Kelly Anne Blount was born in Madison, WI. After attending university, she moved to Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands to teach elementary school. While living there, she met the love of her life and was married in a beautiful ceremony on the Caribbean Sea.

After returning stateside, Kelly started to pursue another passion, writing. She recently wrote her first young fantasy adult novel in between teaching preschoolers with special needs and taking care of her husband and their five furry rescues.

Kelly also enjoys reading in her free time. Her favorite genres are YA fantasy, MG, paranormal romance, and the occasional thriller.

Shade is going to be a part of Pandora before it's released anywhere else. Be sure to grab this amazing box set containing 20 outstanding authors on August 5th.

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