Are you ready to see the beautiful cover Amber McNemar came up with this time? I just love it!
How about an excerpt?
Blackness swirls around me. No light exists, yet I’m aware of the varying degrees of darkness. The air singes my nose with putrid scents speaking of decay and death. All around me, moans pierce my senses. Disembodied voices cry out for help . . . others in ecstasy.
I curl in on myself to cover my nose sure I’ve been transported to hell. The damned take shape before me as my mind sees what my eyes cannot. Bodies litter the ground, only inches from where I crouch. I pull in a gasp, only to gag on the stench.
Up ahead sits a man on a throne settled high above us. His beauty can only be described as grotesque. Deep black hair cascades over his shoulders, sleek and alluring. His eyes, dark as ebony should be soulless, but rich emotion pours off him as he takes in his subjects, who creep toward him in a slow moving wave.
One man, I think it’s a man, beats the others to the throne. He raises an arm toward the king of this world, moaning. So much need in one tiny sound.
Lightning fast, the king touches the tip of the man’s outstretched finger. His subject groans in an odd acknowledgement of pleasure that makes my stomach lurch. I gag, and the sound ricochets through the space.
The king snaps up, searching the darkness until his gaze rests on me. Defiant, I stand, staring at this abomination.
In a matter of seconds, the man at his feet screams in agony, writhing on the floor, only to be tossed aside by another soul who lurches up, outstretching her hand toward the king.
He ignores her, and she wails in a piercing cry, making me cringe. Others join in. The king moves from the throne to descend the steps. I recoil away from him. Step by agonizing step, I retreat.
While all these people beg and plead for his attention, I cannot get away fast enough. I take another step back, crunching something under my boot. What was that? Even though I shouldn’t look away from the king, I glance behind me. A gasp slips out of me when I recognize the thing under my foot as a hand. The person, who should be screaming in pain, merely stares at me in what looks like wonder. Something sparks in the eyes. Recognition?
I shift my weight to escape, but only manage to step on someone else. Tissue gives and squishes, yet they make no noise.
The king smiles, brilliant white teeth flashing in the darkness. He stops his trek toward me, but sweeps his arm my way. His heavenly voice sends a shockwave of raw desire through me, yet his words set my insides quaking. “Behold . . . your new queen.”