Sneaking peeks of your newest novel from under
your desk at work?
For the eternal reader...here is your
Monday Morning Sneak Peek!
Enjoy.
She’s walked into a massacre, stolen a BMW, and is running from the law for a crime she didn’t commit. Nineteen-year-old Leah’s life just went from mildly abnormal to totally crazy at lightning speed. But no one will believe that the shadow creatures are framing her for the murder, because she’s the only one that can see them. At least that’s what she thought.
When Leah stumbled across a group who share her ability, she discovers they have something she doesn’t: a way to fight back. When the group offers to teach her how to kill the shadow creatures, Leah jumps at the chance. But something is brewing with the creatures. They’re tracking down the hunters like there’s no tomorrow. Leah suspects that maybe there won’t be, and it’s up to her to make sure tomorrow comes. Because she’ll do anything to stop the shadows, including risking her life—and the life of the one she loves—to keep the world from being lost to darkness forever.
CHAPTER ONE
The dead don’t blink.
My father’s blank stare seemed to follow me around the room. My mother, beside him, had a narrow-eyed glare that made me flinch. I couldn’t even bear to look at my sister. Something about her frozen expression made my stomach tighten. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be still. Ever.
The wail of a siren in the distance settled my new reality around me, like a heavy shroud. I’d called 911 when I noticed the front door ajar. I hadn’t expected to find this inside. Now, I had to get out before anyone saw me.
Blood, cool and sticky, seeped through the knees of my jeans. Hitching back a sob, I pressed my lips to the forehead of each of my family members: A silent goodbye, which should have been so much more.
With stumbling steps, I hurried through my darkened house. They’d made sure not a single bulb worked, which pissed me off enough to worm through my grief.
“Miserable, horrible, stupid, things,” I growled. My feet crunched over broken glass in the kitchen and I slid into the counter. My mother’s favorite pitcher sat there, full of iced tea, ready for dinner just like any other night. A bloody handprint streaked across the counter next to it. With shaking fingers, I pressed my palm against the print. It had to be my mom’s—her hands were the same size as mine.
A hitching sob doubled me over. How could this happen?
The siren grew louder, wailing like the beast of my grief in my chest. All I wanted to do was to huddle on the floor and whimper. But I had to get out. If I didn’t go now, I’d never escape. No time for clothes, extra cash, anything.
My father’s blank stare seemed to follow me around the room. My mother, beside him, had a narrow-eyed glare that made me flinch. I couldn’t even bear to look at my sister. Something about her frozen expression made my stomach tighten. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be still. Ever.
The wail of a siren in the distance settled my new reality around me, like a heavy shroud. I’d called 911 when I noticed the front door ajar. I hadn’t expected to find this inside. Now, I had to get out before anyone saw me.
Blood, cool and sticky, seeped through the knees of my jeans. Hitching back a sob, I pressed my lips to the forehead of each of my family members: A silent goodbye, which should have been so much more.
With stumbling steps, I hurried through my darkened house. They’d made sure not a single bulb worked, which pissed me off enough to worm through my grief.
“Miserable, horrible, stupid, things,” I growled. My feet crunched over broken glass in the kitchen and I slid into the counter. My mother’s favorite pitcher sat there, full of iced tea, ready for dinner just like any other night. A bloody handprint streaked across the counter next to it. With shaking fingers, I pressed my palm against the print. It had to be my mom’s—her hands were the same size as mine.
A hitching sob doubled me over. How could this happen?
The siren grew louder, wailing like the beast of my grief in my chest. All I wanted to do was to huddle on the floor and whimper. But I had to get out. If I didn’t go now, I’d never escape. No time for clothes, extra cash, anything.
They wanted it that way. Stifling a cry at this painful realization, I fumbled with the back door, finally releasing the lock. Run, run, run...
I hurried out the gate to the side yard as the police siren cut off out front.
I couldn’t explain to the police what happened. They wouldn’t believe me when I told them strange, horrible, shadowy creatures created the carnage. That the planted clues didn’t mean I’d killed my family. No one ever believed me when I mentioned the Shadows.
Dad’s voice whispered in my ear, so real I jerked around, half expecting his blank stare to have followed me. “You’ve always been a dreamer. It’s one of your gifts.” I’d laughed and played along every time he said it. Dreamer. Sure. I dreamed of slimy, evil monsters who tortured and killed. If I were really a dreamer, I’d dream of the fields of lavender that stretch to the horizon, like I’ve seen in pictures. I’d dream that someone knows I’m not out of my mind. That there’s some way to escape the Shadows that haunt me.
Hurrying down the darkened street, my wet jeans slapped against my skin and I succumbed to my tears. The overwhelming grief ate at me from within, taking too-large bites from my soul.
I didn’t care where I ended up, so long as it was far away from here.
Wandering in a haze, I found my way to a dingy gas station bathroom where I did my best to wash up. The soap was the horrible pink, powdery kind. It stained the water a noxious shade of red. Or that’s what I told myself. It had to be the soap. Not blood.
My fingernails wouldn’t come clean, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
It took everything in me not to hyperventilate. My breath rushed in and out as I rocked over the sink. Finally, the water ran clear.
My skin sore and raw, I turned off the tap and buried my face in my hands.
For a split second, I let myself pretend. If I left this bathroom with the phone numbers and etched gang signs on the walls, my family would be waiting in the parking lot. Maybe we would drive to the beach: Mom, behind the wheel, with my sister in the backseat, bouncing and impatient to be back on the road. Dad would have a book open, like always. They’d smile and I’d slip into the car and we’d race away from here.
I hurried out the gate to the side yard as the police siren cut off out front.
I couldn’t explain to the police what happened. They wouldn’t believe me when I told them strange, horrible, shadowy creatures created the carnage. That the planted clues didn’t mean I’d killed my family. No one ever believed me when I mentioned the Shadows.
Dad’s voice whispered in my ear, so real I jerked around, half expecting his blank stare to have followed me. “You’ve always been a dreamer. It’s one of your gifts.” I’d laughed and played along every time he said it. Dreamer. Sure. I dreamed of slimy, evil monsters who tortured and killed. If I were really a dreamer, I’d dream of the fields of lavender that stretch to the horizon, like I’ve seen in pictures. I’d dream that someone knows I’m not out of my mind. That there’s some way to escape the Shadows that haunt me.
Hurrying down the darkened street, my wet jeans slapped against my skin and I succumbed to my tears. The overwhelming grief ate at me from within, taking too-large bites from my soul.
I didn’t care where I ended up, so long as it was far away from here.
Wandering in a haze, I found my way to a dingy gas station bathroom where I did my best to wash up. The soap was the horrible pink, powdery kind. It stained the water a noxious shade of red. Or that’s what I told myself. It had to be the soap. Not blood.
My fingernails wouldn’t come clean, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
It took everything in me not to hyperventilate. My breath rushed in and out as I rocked over the sink. Finally, the water ran clear.
My skin sore and raw, I turned off the tap and buried my face in my hands.
For a split second, I let myself pretend. If I left this bathroom with the phone numbers and etched gang signs on the walls, my family would be waiting in the parking lot. Maybe we would drive to the beach: Mom, behind the wheel, with my sister in the backseat, bouncing and impatient to be back on the road. Dad would have a book open, like always. They’d smile and I’d slip into the car and we’d race away from here.
I would give anything for it to be true.
Thanks so much for hosting me!!
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