10.28.2012

Book Featrure (Excerpt) ~ Night Sighs by Emma Meade

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Today, Author Emma Meade has stopped by to graciously shared an excerpt from her book Nigh Sighs, a vampire paranormal romance

Published: November 11, 2011
Available: Barnes & Noble / Amazon / Smashwords

Blurb (Goodreads)

Meet Alex & Tristan, modern star-crossed lovers of the supernatural variety.
Alex is running-on-empty, one year on from the death of her fiancé, and the only thing that keeps her going is her romance with the young vampire Tristan. Tristan, meanwhile has a serious obsession with Bruce Springsteen, and is battling a 'can't live without you' sort of love for Alex. He's trying to persuade her to come over to the dark side but so far she's resisting his efforts.

So come and sing along to Tristan's band, The Dead Beats, the hottest group in London right now, and walk with Alex as she teeters between this life and the next. Because when you're around Tristan, you'll see, how much fun it is to be alive when you're dead....

Night Sighs is an adult paranormal romance, following the relationship & adventures of Tristan & Alex through five short stories: The Dead Beats, The Ancients, Until My Body Is Dust, Bourbon & Jazz and West of Forever.
Excerpt

From “The Dead Beats”

“She left me that morning,” Tristan spoke to his avid audience. “Crept out into the light, knowing I couldn’t follow. Saving herself and me is how she put it. Because the night was too dark for her...”

A roar rose up from the 50,000 strong crowd in the rural landscape miles outside London. Tristan stepped back from the microphone and lowered his head. His long black mane had been cut into jagged spikes. Silver crosses hung from his ears and on a chain around his neck, gleaming brightly against his black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans. A glance behind at his band told him they were good to go.

The moon illuminated the five vampires on the roofless stage, spotlighting Tristan as the opening bars on the piano sounded. His fans screamed again. Some were crying, others fainting, many more were as high as the grey clouds overhead.

Because the Night was a favourite cover the band liked to perform. Another haunting note on the piano followed and then the first strum of Tristan’s guitar. His thumb scraping well used strings was met with the wild screams of teenage girls. He satisfied them with a few more twangs.

And then. Silence. The band stopped. The crowd was unsure, excited and dizzy with anticipation.

Tristan lifted his head and stared straight ahead. The cameras focused on him for a close up and his face appeared on the dozens of temporarily erected screens throughout the park. He blinked, deliberately, emphasising his sad, wicked eyes all the more. Several young women dropped to the grassy ground. And then he sang.
The screams were deafening, yet Tristan’s gruff, melodic voice rose over their noise as he spoke of the night belonging to lovers. His mouth touched the mic as he sang, loud, strong and clear. Those closest to the stage broke out in goosebumps. The sweetness of the piano seeped into their pores and they were more aware and more alive than ever. Tristan knew what they were feeling; he shared it with them every night on tour. Haunted. He, the band and the fans were held together amidst something beautiful but fleeting, an intermingling of love with the divine. The band had been both Tristan’s salvation and damnation. For every night through the music he felt so much, too much for one being to stay sane. The loyal crowd shared his burden.

The audience sang along with him, their shouts mixing with the sultry tones that slid so seductively off his tongue and into the hearts of every woman listening to him, and some men too.

His music embodied him entirely; it was moody, sorrowful, artistic, compelling and ultimately self-destructive. And this song captured the beauty of his pain perfectly.
Tristan strolled across the stage, one bare foot stamping down hard in front of the other, feeling the wood beneath his feet and the splinters drawing blood. He moved gracefully but there was a predatory sway that always ensured the enthrallment of his spectators. He knelt on one leg and sang to a group of young girls in the first row.

                                                                 About Your Author

Emma Meade writes paranormal fiction.
She lives in rainy Ireland and loves all things supernatural. Stephen King's The Stand is one of her most loved books. Books, DVDS & TV show boxsets take up lots of space in her home and she collects all the Point Horror books she can get her hands on.
She is not ashamed to admit that Dirty Dancing and Twilight make her top ten movie list but wishes to point out that The Last of the Mohicans, Reality Bites, Dead Poets Society, Stand by Me and The Goonies are in there too.

Writing supernatural stories & watching marathon re-runs of Buffy are some of her favourite ways of escaping reality.


Emma's Website
Emma's Blog
Emma's Twitter
Emma's Facebook
Emma's Goodreads

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2 comments:

  1. Thanks Sharonda.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You're welcome Emma. I'm happy to spotlight your book ;)

    ReplyDelete

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