Showing posts with label Post-Apocalyptic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Post-Apocalyptic. Show all posts

January 28, 2016

Excerpt & Giveaway! Mercury Striking, The Scorpius Syndrome #1 by Rebecca Zanetti



With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynne Harmony has trekked across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious, damaged legend who protects the weak and leads the strong. He’s more than muscle and firepower—and in post-plague L.A., he’s her only hope. As the one woman who could cure the disease, Lynne is the single most volatile—and vulnerable—creature in this new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax Mercury…

Danger has never looked quite so delicious…



Slowly, like prey, she rolled over to face Jax Mercury, bare chested, cascading heat. A jagged tattoo made up of complicated lines and sharp edges wound over his left shoulder. She could make out a 20 in the center, covered and crossed over by lines. A special ops tat with a 44 in it shifted in the muscle on his left arm. A military designation of some type? “You promised,” she whispered.

He opened one brown eye. “I’m not attacking you, am I?”

“Well, no.” She inhaled, trying to slow her heart rate before a panic attack swamped her. She eyed him, tousled and relaxed. His right bicep held a tattoo with sharp lines, a shield, and the word Vanguard written through a heart. A dark lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and a bristly shadow covered his square jaw, giving him the look of a lazy panther.

Panthers didn’t really get lazy, now did they? 

He sighed and reached for the comforter, frowning when she flinched. Sighing, he pulled up the threadbare fabric to her neck, covering her completely.

“I need to know what I’m dealin’ with here, darlin’,” he rumbled, opening both eyes and focusing on her.

She curled her knees up toward her chest, hitting his hip bone on the way. “What do you mean?”

His gaze roamed her face, lingered on her lips, and returned to her eyes. “The world turned shitty-times-ten for women without the ability to fight.”

She blinked. “I know.” Predators always found the weak.

“What really happened when you disappeared from the CDC? Kidnapping or escape?” he asked.

Apparently the questioning would begin in bed. She tried to move back, but the wall stopped her. “I’d rather discuss this later while clothed.”

“That’s unfortunate, because we’re discussing it now.” His tone remained gentle.

She’d have to crawl over him to get to the floor, and no way was she getting in a tussle in bed with him. “I escaped.”

“Three months ago.”

“Yes.” She plucked at a string on the comforter. “The contagion spread, and soon the people in control weren’t the people who should be in control. I ran.”

He nodded. “Right about that time, the news stopped.”

So many people had succumbed to the illness, the world had seemed to stop. “I know.”

“Where have you been for three months?”

She tightened her jaw to keep her lips from trembling.

“Before the Internet crashed, the battles in L.A. were broadcast continually. I saw you fight, and I later read about the group you’ve formed here. Even the worst of the worst know not to come within five miles of inner Los Angeles, or they face the wrath of Jax Mercury.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Those reports were exaggerated.”

“Of course.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes, her heart rate finally slowing. “The remaining doctors at the CDC tried to contain me, but I got loose. I knew I needed to get here, that with your vitamin B stores and fighting troops, maybe I could be safe and help find a cure.” That wasn’t the whole story. But she couldn’t trust him with it yet.

“Did you meet trouble on the way?”

“Of course.” There was always trouble, and she’d seen too much. “But I made it here.”

He touched her cheek. “Did anybody hurt you?”

She frowned. Oh. “No. I traveled with my uncle Bruce, who was a hell of a cop in his day. He helped me to break out of the CDC—the center we created in the nation’s capital the second Scorpius got out of hand.”

“Wasn’t the CDC branch in DC just policy oriented?”

“Yes, but we took over a hospital and started researching there, and once I was better, I worked there. It was supposed to be temporary, but as you know, everything happened so quickly, so we never returned to the main CDC hospital in Atlanta.”

Her uncle Bruce had visited her many times in the hospital, and when it became evident that several of the CDC doctors had been infected and were considering making Lynne a prisoner, he’d come up with a plan to get her out. “He posed as a lab technician to get me out of the facility, and then he had an elaborate scheme that included three stairwells, one secured lab, and finally a row of windows.” She smiled and then faltered. “We’d been on the run for months, and he’d taken great pains to protect me. He died a month ago.” The pain was fresh and almost doubled her over. She’d lost so many family members and friends, as had any survivor. God, it hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Jax ran a knuckle across her chin. “Scorpius?” It’d be easy to just nod and lie. “No. Bruce was killed by one of the groups seeking me. Many people still are hunting me, believing I either started the apocalypse on purpose or I have knowledge about a cure.”

She had knowledge about Myriad but no cure. “After my uncle’s death, I continued my search for you and safety, meeting stragglers on the way and staying away from most encampments. Foraged for food when I could.” Of course they were hunting her now. It was amazing she’d survived, considering she could trip over a smooth floor, she was such a klutz.

Her former lack of grace was the least of her worries. At some point, she’d need to tell Mercury everything, especially if he wouldn’t let her out of the room. But not now, and definitely not while in such a vulnerable position. “I haven’t been attacked, Jax.”

“Good.” His smile seemed almost sinful. “Then you can relax here in our bed and not flinch when I pull up the covers.”

Heat flared through her. Our bed? “Oh, hell no. I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

He glanced at her, at the bed, down at his chest, and then back at her. “I believe you are.”

She shoved him. “Absolutely not.” When he didn’t move or respond, she coughed out air. “Why? Why would you want to share a bed?”

He sighed. “It’s not personal. You’re a danger to people, and some of them might be a danger to you. So you stay with me, under guard, where I can protect everybody.” He pointed to the stacked locks on the door, which she’d failed to study the day before. The door was metal, huge, and obviously not native to the building. “There are locks on both sides, and I have all the keys. One of us could take the couch, but frankly, it sucks.”

What should’ve been the worst come-on she’d ever heard actually sounded like the truth. It was a pretty cage, but a cage nonetheless. She needed freedom. “I want my own place.”

“You’re not safe, and I can’t have guards on you twenty-four

seven. Sometimes it’s just me, and I need sleep. So you sleep when I sleep, and everybody stays safe. Period.” He stretched an arm above his head, showing that amazingly cut chest. “Like I said, I won’t force you. You want the couch? It’s yours.”

She eyed the cold-looking, rather worn pleather. It was a freakin’ luxury compared to sleeping on the hard ground, but even so, now she’d had a taste of a real bed again . . . “A gentleman would give me the bed.”

He scratched the stubble next to his scar. “All the gentlemen are dead, baby. Soldiers and survivors are what we have now.” 

She pushed up to one elbow, discreetly eyeing the locks on the door before studying him. “How dangerous is it here for me?”

“Very.” His eyes darkened from bourbon to Guinness. “We have many who haven’t been infected, and you are a carrier.”

“Anybody who survived the fever is a carrier.”

“As you know, there are rumors that you carry a new strain of the disease.”

More lies meant to force her away from other people. “We already discussed that. Either you believe me or you don’t,” she whispered. 

His expression didn’t gentle. “There are so many rumors and ghost stories out there; I don’t pay attention to them.”

She swallowed, her throat clogging. “Good. There is no new strain of the bacterial infection. I’m no different from anybody else who’s survived Scorpius.”

“You’re the only one with a blue heart.” 

“I know. I was infected with the main strain, and then we used one of the many experiments to save my life, turning my heart blue. We were never able to duplicate the exact concoction again, although since it didn’t cure me, I’m not sure it matters.”

“You’re different. How can it not matter?” 

She sighed. “My heart is blue, as are a few veins around it. I have both photosphores and chromatophores in my heart, which without the initial bacterial infection would be impossible. Squids and octopi have the same materials, essentially, and they can turn different colors—usually blue.”

“So you have squid genes?” His brows furrowed, and his gaze pierced her.

She snorted. “Not exactly, but close enough.”



USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner - only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.
Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.


January 20, 2016

Excerpt & Giveaway! Kahayatle, Apocalypsis #1 by Elle Casey




NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY, brings readers Book 1 of 4 in the YA Dystopian APOCALYPSIS Series, suitable for older teens and adults.

KAHAYATLE. My name’s Bryn Mathis. I’m seventeen years old, and I live in a neighborhood outside of Orlando, Florida. I live alone because my dad died almost a year ago, along with all the other adults in the world. I’m almost out of food and the gangs of kids that roam around my town are getting more vicious by the day. It’s time for me to leave and find another place to live … a place where I can find food and shelter … a place where they won’t be able to find me. Alone, it might have been possible, but now I’ve got company. I’m worried that I don’t have what it takes to get from here to my final destination, and I have no idea what might be waiting for me when I get there.

Content Warning: Mild violence and some foul language. Meant for older Young Adult readers (age 15+). This book is in the Dark Science Fiction / Horror / Post-Apocalyptic genres, featuring teen characters only.



I had eaten all the rations that were left in my house, except for five cans of baked beans and two bags of noodles. It’s all I’d been eating for a week, and if I had to have another bite of starch I was going to puke. I didn’t like the idea of going through my neighbors’ houses to find food, but the choice was being made for me now. I was desperate. 

Morning would be the best time for me to make my move. I’d heard the sounds of other people - teens like me - moving around in the daytime; but usually it was in the afternoon or at night. Groups of them had gotten together, looking for stuff in the houses that didn’t have kids in them. None of the houses had adults in them anymore. 

I needed to move without being seen. Leaving my house unprotected would be a very bad idea. I knew that these gangs were soon going to stop showing respect to the houses with kids in them like me. It was only a matter of time before the resources left in these neighborhoods dwindled down to an amount so small, it would no longer be enough to support the number of growling stomachs that roamed the streets; not without the hungry breaking into the occupied places too. 

I hadn’t heard them hit the house behind me yet, maybe because there was someone living there. I’d never met that neighbor, though, and had never seen any sign of a kid there. There were two other houses on my street that used to have kids my age in them, but they had left - I assume to join one of the roving gangs. I guess they figured they had better chances of surviving in a group. 

I didn’t feel that way at all. Before the world had gone into the crapper, I’d been pretty much a loner anyway. I liked my music and my books and didn’t bother with after-school clubs or hanging out at the local cafe. Besides, my dad had me in martial arts training every weekday and most weekends, practically my whole life; it didn’t leave much time for socializing. I’d only moved to this town six months before my dad was suddenly gone. He’d hoped to outrun the apocalypse, but it eventually caught up with him like it did anyone who wasn’t going through puberty.

The guys I trained with at various dojos over the years - I was always the only girl - were as serious as my dad about their skills. They lived for the feel of total control and absolute domination, in any situation. I appreciated the power, but it was never really my thing. I did it to make my dad happy. I’d advanced through the ranks, but didn’t get as far as he’d wanted me to. Now he wasn’t here to help me move forward, and I wished like hell I’d tried harder. For him and for me.

I decided to go to the house behind me to search for food. Maybe there was a kid there, maybe there wasn’t. It was worth checking out, at least. I could get there by climbing my backyard fence, and no one who might be out on the street would be able to see me. Up until now, no one had bothered to try and come into my house. I’d put a note on my door that said to stay the hell away and that I had a gun - which was the truth. But in doing that, I’d essentially become a sitting duck. Eventually, they would come for the things they hoped were in my house - food and fresh water. It was going to be time to leave soon. But until that day came, I needed something else to eat. My hunger was gnawing a hole in my stomach.

Two more hours and I’d go over the fence. My hand went nervously to the ring on a chain that hung at my neck - my dad’s old wedding ring that he’d given me just before he went away for good.



Elle Casey is a prolific, NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling American writer who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and several furry friends. She writes in several genres and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.