Thursday, 15 August 2013

Featured Author: Amanda Lyons News


Want to find out more about Amanda? Check out these great interviews!


http://authoressentials.virtualwritersinc.com/2013/05/eyes-like-blue-fire-by-amanda-m-lyons/

http://jillmsanders.com/amanda-m-lyons/

http://lauriethoughts-reviews.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/eyes-like-blue-fire-by-amanda-m-lyons.html?spref=tw

http://themyesterioumuslimahshaven.blogspot.ca/2013/06/interview-with-amanda-lyons.html?m=1

http://sumikosaulson.com/2013/05/15/interview-with-amanda-lyons-author-of-eyes-like-blue-fire/

Want a sneaky look at Eyes like Blue Fire? Read on!

As he sat up, he heard soft dripping sounds from the bathroom, little plips like water slipping over the edges of the tub and into the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he realized where he'd last heard that sound.

His muscles tight with strain from his earlier exertions, he stood and walked warily toward the half open bathroom door and the tub beyond it. Slipping quietly past the door, he saw that the curtain was drawn, and again the shadowed figure lay behind it.

One long, slim, leg dangled from the end of the tub, beads of water gliding down its length and off the polished toes. At the other end he saw a mass of auburn curls, matted deep red near the porcelain of the tub. It was the dream and the vision again, more real now, too strong to deny.

Shaking, he moved toward the curtain, gagging on the sickly smell of rust and roses, feeling the thin nylon glide between thumb and palm as he pulled it back to reveal his darkest nightmare and deepest regret.

He could see the crimson water now, blood bubbles gliding over its surface and clinging to the legs dangling over the tub's edge. When he'd pulled the curtain completely away from the tub and around to its opposite side, he saw her face.

Her eyes were closed and he saw that her lids were bruised and purple against the translucent paleness of her face, drained completely dead white under the makeup she'd brushed on before she'd died. Staggering by the sight of her, he knelt by the tub and extended one shaking hand to touch her cheek.

It all seemed as if he'd walked into a horror film and once again he needed to prove to his mind that this wasn't real. His hand shook as he lifted it nearer to her flesh, waiting for the corpse, the supposedly dead and buried to move.

He touched his quivering fingers to her face, feeling its claylike reality. The sensation caused an immediate shudder of revulsion and he fought not to vomit. Even as the moment came, the sight of her moving in the water startled him and he jumped away from the tub.

It wasn't an obvious movement at first, only soft breaths moving in and out of her nostrils, but then her chest rose and fell with it and he quaked, feeling unstable where he knelt on the floor.

Her eyes opened next and he felt the blood fall out of his face, wanting to scream but too afraid he would cause her to take some action, to reach out and touch him, proving well and forever that he was indeed insane.

Scream and you might as well slit your own throat.

He swallowed the scream like a rock and stared as her eyes moved slowly in their sockets, locking on him. Slowly, as if she'd lost control of her muscles, she rose from the tub and looked down at him, smiling. Blood water slid down her bare body, over her neck, down her back and the smooth ridges of her breasts, to slip slowly down her thighs and down over her calves. A puddle spread on the floor, and as it extended toward him he struggled to his feet, skittering away from it.

As he watched it spread, he shivered, weak as he started to cry frantic, horrified tears. Breaking down, he looked back up at her face and slipped to the floor once more, his knees incapable of sustaining his own weight. The smile grew wider as she strode to his shivering form, thrown on his side and struggling to rise.

The blood water seeped into his clothes, making him sick, a drop of it trickling along the lobe of his ear and into it. And then she leaned down, holding those dim, stained curls of auburn out of her face and tucking them behind her ear. Her lips parted, blue beneath the strong crimson red of her lipstick, and she spoke into his ear with the chill breath of the dead.

His eyes grew wide and horrified as she spoke, the hair on his neck rising, sending a maddening shiver of fear through him. “I‟ve returned, Raven.” She whispered “And I want what is mine.” The last thing he saw before his mind, finally, thankfully, shut down was her face in front of his pursed for a kiss.

CLICK HERE FOR AN INTERVIEW WITH RAVEN AND KATYA!
 http://www.michelleabbott.com/katjaraven.html


Coming in 2014, the sequel to Eyes like blue fire! It is called Cool Green Waters and Amanda has kindly given us a sneak preview!

Here's the sample for Cool Green Waters coming in 2014:

He’s not a foolish young man, he knows there are dangers which multiply for every alley he takes away from the main streets and throughways, but he takes the same path anyway. Those eyes in that face haunt him in some immediate way pulling him toward whatever it is that lives inside the other man. How strange it is to have forgotten Erzabeta who seemed so very important only a short while ago. He is a live wire burning from within. There has never been anything which caught his attention and his unquenchable thirst for knowledge like something mysterious and unknown. The man and his eyes burn within him, pulling him along like a dog nosing some powerful animal musk.

When he charges down the next alley he’s less careful, afraid of losing the trail of the other man. A certain immediacy is eating him up and he can’t help but feel frantic about keeping proximity. His pace quickens, each step a counterpoint to his own pulse throbbing away in his neck. He slips down another alley and then another looking for some sign of the man growing more and more frantic as every moment brings him that much closer to the conclusion he’s long gone.

And then finally there is only true dark and the thin rays of the moon shining down from above. Here there is no sound from the street and no light to carry him away from his disappointment. Instead he must go back to his boredom and back to his melancholy considerations.

He sighs, adrenaline still riding him as he starts to walk back, uncertain of the way but not terribly concerned he will be lost. For the first few moments he sees and hears nothing but the plink of dripping water and the skitter of what must surely be rats. Then there is a hiss and he has been rammed into, carried over the three or four feet between him and the wall to be pinned firmly under the weight of another man, the very one he’d been looking for a moment before.


There is pain and for a moment a certain breathlessness as he looks at the other man under the shadowing darkness. His breath shudders in hitching bursts, the other man’s fists caught tight in his clothes and his snarling face very, very close to his.









No comments:

Post a Comment