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Book Info-
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.
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.”
You can find Sacrifice-
Amazon Paperback-
Barnes & Noble Paperback- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sacrifice-st-rourke/1113582628?ean=9780988633445
Barnes & Noble Nook- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sacrifice-st-rourke/1113582628?ean=2940016688077
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.
Follow Stacey Rourke:
Anchor Publishing- http://anchorgrouppublishing.com/Home_Page.html
Think you Stacey!!!! I love your books!!! I am hoping to write one as well. I have learned how challenging it is to write one.
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