Are you ready to see the beautiful cover Amber McNemar came up with this time? I just love it!
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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.”
