A.R. Kahler's Blog, page 4

Changeling

Hello lovelies,

Two days after the release of MARTYR, and I can now announce another project that’s stealing my heart. I’ve been very, very excited to share this with you. It’s an idea I’ve had ever since the Final Act, and now, it’s ready to take the stage.

Presenting, the SPINOFF FOR THE IMMORTAL CIRCUS!

You heard right! The first book, tentatively titled THE CHANGELING, is set to debut from 47North in August of 2015.

[Potential Immortal Circus spoilers ahead. Don't read on unless you've read The Final Act]

 

Used w/ permission, Kindra Nikole Photography

 

The book follows Claire, who is Queen Mab’s royal assassin (and looks a lot like the photo above). Although the demons have been vanquished, trouble still stirs in the heart of Faerie, deep in the lands neither Mab nor Oberon can touch. The Dream is being sucked dry, and rumors spread of a brewing revolution. It’s up to Claire to venture through mortal and Faerie to find and destroy the threats to her mother’s kingdom. The greatest danger, however, might be coming from within.

Old allies (including one tattooed magician) and new loves, familiar places and seedy nightclubs (sex, Dream, and rock and roll!), all mixed with a dose of kickass magic and razorblade wit. Claire is a force to be reckoned with. Then again, so are the evils she’s bound to face.

I cannot WAIT to share more of this exciting project with you.

And I will.

Soon.

The Circus is coming back to town….

Martyr — Chapter 3

The last week before MARTYR launches! Who’s excited!? I’M EXCITED!

And here’s the third teaser chapter for Martyr. As always, click the image to download or ‘read more’ to view on site.

Chapter 3 PDF

 

three

†

The rain was barely a drizzle that night. Tenn stood on the hotel roof, watching water pool and stream below. He was soaked all the way through and far past the point of caring. Dinner had been a somber affair. Nowadays, there wasn’t much in terms of funerary rites. People died too often to keep up. So Jarrett had stood in the old conference hall, cleared his throat, and announced to the half-dozen or so troop members in attendance that they’d lost one of their own that afternoon. He didn’t have to say anything about Tenn’s use of magic in the field; every Hunter was attuned to at least one Sphere, which meant every one of them had sensed someone using the power. It was the things Jarrett didn’t say that had the most impact—that because of all that, the battle would most likely be soon. And because of all that, a good number of those present would be dead by the next nightfall.

The rest of the meal was in silence.

Tenn turned at the sound of footsteps. Audrey, the other scout. The hotel offered the best view in town—quite literally—and without magic to guide their sight, they needed all the vantage they could get. There was a small, guttering torch on the ground, the only source of light in the darkness.

“Anything?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. Like him, she was going stir-crazy waiting in silence. He shook his head. There was a look in Audrey’s eyes that told him she wasn’t just coming over to make idle chatter. Maybe the rumors of her and Michael had been true. That was the thing about dating in the field—romance happened, but no one talked about it. No one wanted to have to offer condolences after the inevitable loss. Even he and Jarrett kept their relationship under wraps.

“What happened out there?” she asked after the seconds dripped by in the rain.

He bit his lip. Shame made him crave silence, but he knew she deserved the truth.

“Exactly what you’ve been told,” he said, his words a little more biting than he wanted. Shit. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t a Water user. She didn’t know what it was like to have those last moments churning over and over again in her mind. “He died in battle.”

She looked out to the field. “I know Michael. He wouldn’t have gone down like that. Not by kravens.”

“There were hundreds,” he said. “And there were bloodlings, too.”

“All the way out here?” she asked. “There haven’t been bloodlings in these wilds for years.”

Tenn just shrugged. “Things change.”

“I don’t like it,” she whispered. “The packs were never that big, not last year. They’re getting stronger.”

“That’s what happens when we’re feeding their armies.”

She cast him a glance. It had been the wrong thing to say. Insensitive. But she was hitting points he liked to ignore. Two years ago—a year after the Resurrection—Howls ran wild over all the U.S. Then, when their food supply dwindled, so had they. Lately, the opposite seemed to be true. He had no idea how the necromancers were getting more converts. It wasn’t something he liked to think about.

“At least you took care of his body,” she said.

He nodded. The alternative was something they tried to prevent at all costs.

“Next thing you know,” she continued, “we’ll be finding breathless out here.”

The very thought sent chills down his spine.

There were five Spheres of magic—Earth, Water, Fire, Air, and Maya—and five types of corresponding Howls. The higher the Sphere, the deadlier and rarer the Howl. He’d only ever faced kravens and bloodlings. The rest were as good as fatal legend.

“Well, I’m just winning at this conversation thing. Are you hungry at all?” she asked, clearly trying to change to a lighter subject. “I was going to run down and grab something from the storeroom. I think they still have Twinkies hidden somewhere down there.”

“I’m good,” he replied.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back in five.”

She turned and walked over to the stairwell, disappearing behind the heavy metal door. Tenn turned back to his watch.

It was impossible to see anything in the darkness, but he knew he was out here to sense more than see. Necromancers were mages turned to the Dark Lady, and there was a good chance they’d be using magic to lead whatever Howls were in their army. Most turned to the goddess of death for power, to be on the winning side, or because they were forced into servitude. Every Howl and necromancer was Her devotee. But like most religions, She was just a myth to scare kids at bedtime. It was those who took Her too seriously that had caused the Resurrection in the first place.

Footsteps sloshed through the puddles behind him. He didn’t turn around. Audrey must have run down and back.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it, Tenn?”

It wasn’t Audrey. It wasn’t any voice he knew.

He spun around, staff raised and ready.

The man in front of him was a stranger. Despite the freezing rain, he wore faded jeans and a thin white shirt opened to his waist. The fabric clung to his body like a Harlequin cover model, accentuating his perfectly chiseled chest and stomach, his smooth olive skin. Chin-length black hair hung in loose waves and twined over his ears. Everything about the man screamed sex and desire and danger. Even his copper eyes glinted seduction. His smile highlighted the clean lines of his face, the perfect teeth and sharp canines. Tenn’s heart raced, but whether from fear or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He took a half-step back, then realized he was already near enough to the edge. Thunder rolled overhead, but he could barely hear it over the thunder in his own blood.

The man cocked his head to the side, the smile never slipping, as though he were examining a plaything. Or a tasty appetizer.

“My name? How civil.” He ran a hand through his hair, and even that movement seemed perfectly executed. “He asks not what, but who.”

The blink of an eye and the man stood an inch before Tenn, his face so close their lips nearly touched. Copper irises filled Tenn’s vision. The man’s heat sent sweat dripping down his skin.

“My name, young Tenn, is Tomás.” The man’s voice was a bedroom whisper, and it made Tenn’s heart beat with lust.

For some reason, the name rang a bell Tenn didn’t want, a tone tolling destruction. The man was like a radiator; Tenn could see the waves of steam shimmering off him. In spite of this, shivers raked down Tenn’s skin. He knew he should push the man away, should use the staff lodged between them to force a retreat, but he couldn’t move. Tomás was still as stone and just as immovable. Worst—a part of him didn’t want to push Tomás away. A part of him wanted to pull the stranger closer.

In that moment, in the far corners of his mind, something clicked, and Tenn knew precisely what he was facing and just how screwed he was.

“Incubus,” Tenn hissed through clenched teeth.

Tomás’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?” The words dripped venom.

The copper eyes. The high heat. The perfect seduction. He was a Howl birthed from the Sphere of Fire, a demon craving human warmth. And like all incubi and succubi—their female counterparts—they preferred feeding through more lascivious acts.

“You’re…an incubus.” Even before the words left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Tomás’s eyes sparked red.

“Incubus?!” His composure cracked. Model became monster, and Tenn’s intrigue turned to fear. “You dare call me incubus? Monster? Demon?” In the blink of an eye, Tomás grabbed a fistful of Tenn’s hair and yanked his head back. Where Tomás’s flesh touched his, Tenn’s skin turned to ice.

“I am more than any incubus,” Tomás whispered. His lips just brushed the nape of Tenn’s neck, sending ice and flame across his skin. “And you would do well to remember this.” His breath burned like frostbite.

He let go, and Tenn stumbled, nearly careening off the roof’s edge. When he steadied himself, Tomás was a step back, hands clasped behind him and an insidious smile slashed across his perfect face.

“The army is coming,” he said. His words were deadly calm, a frightening juxtaposition to the rage that seemed to lurk within. “They will be here before dawn. You cannot stop them. If I were you—and I’m most assuredly glad I am not—I would be gone before they arrive.”

Tenn tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized just how fast his heart was pounding, just how much he wanted to run. But whether he wanted to run away from or toward Tomás, he couldn’t tell. Fucking incubus. They were renowned for their ability to draw desire from their victims. He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

Howls didn’t reason. They didn’t talk and tell you their names. Howls killed. The fact that Tomás didn’t follow any of these rules scared the shit out of Tenn.

Again, Tomás’s head cocked to the side. The grin didn’t slip, and for a moment, he just stood there, considering, as rain dripped down his delectably disheveled hair. Tenn kept his focus on the man’s eyes; he couldn’t be trusted to let them wander anywhere else.

His pulse doubled every time he considered it.

“Because,” Tomás finally said. “My sister has an interest in you. And what she desires, I too shall keep an eye on.”

Tenn opened his mouth to speak, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close.

“Run, little mouse,” Tomás whispered into his ear. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you’re alive long enough to play with.”

Then he was gone.

It took Tenn a moment to recover, to regain his bearings. He put a hand to his neck and felt the handprint burn ice-hot. It was only then, after staring into the space Tomás had occupied, that he realized what had put him so on edge. It wasn’t the fact the Tomás hadn’t killed him. It wasn’t his help or the promise they’d meet again.

It was the fact that he had seen a flicker of light in Tomás’s throat just before he’d vanished. Pale blue, paler yellow. Tomás could use magic. No Howl could use magic; that was part of the whole undead package, unless… Shit.

The name clicked into place.

Tomás wasn’t just any Howl. He was one of the Kin, one of the six most powerful Howls in human history. The stories of his deeds—whole cities reduced to frozen corpses, harems of half-dead men and women kept on the brink of life for his own hungers—had bled through the fabric of humanity.

And somehow, he knew Tenn’s name.

Want more? Other teasers coming soon.

Make sure to pre-order your copy (wherever you buy books, or at http://amzn.com/1939392780 ) by 10/28 to receive a signed bookplate! Just email alexrkahler@gmail.com a snapshot of your receipt for some great MARTYR swag.

Follow and share @ARKahler and #fearthehunted

Martyr — Chapter Two

As it says, here’s the next chapter in Martyr!

Click the image for the pdf, or select after the cut to read on.

Third chapter coming soon!

 

 

 

two

†

He didn’t know how long he lay there. The wind and rain were a constant roar, but their sound was distant compared to the throb of blood in his ears. He couldn’t open his eyes against the screams of memories raging in his head.

An empty house, lines of blood streaking the halls. The bedroom door, perfectly clean. It opens under his fingertips with a slow, forbidding creak. Inside, everything is pristine. His skin crawls with the emptiness. Mom? Dad? Where are you?

Something brushed his cheek. Frayed nerves snapped into life, and his eyes fluttered open.

Katherine knelt above him. Blood stained her skin, and long gashes webbed across her in leaking lines.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was angelic, if only because he had been certain he’d killed her.

Tenn could only nod.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Badly.”

He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to sitting. His bones screamed in defiance. He was covered in cuts and bruises, some gashes most likely fatal if he didn’t act fast. Her wounds were just as bad.

“So are you,” he managed.

“You’ve already broken orders,” she said, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “We might as well live to face Jarrett’s wrath.”

He nodded.

Then he closed his eyes and pushed deep into the pit of his pelvis, to the place where the Sphere of Earth rested. It was the second and last Sphere he’d been attuned to. He coaxed it awake and sank his focus into the rich soil of it, to the heavy power that rooted him to the earth. Energy filled him with green light, with the warm, calming sap of gravity and flesh. When he opened his eyes, he could still see the light vining through his pelvis. He reached out and placed his hands on Katherine’s arm, feeling every cut and injury in her body. With the gentlest of touches, he pushed the energy through her and began to heal her wounds.

She winced as flesh knitted itself back together. If his connection to Earth had taught him anything, it was that dying was easy; healing was the painful part. When her wounds had closed, he turned his attention to himself. Arcs of fire lanced across his skin. He didn’t grimace. This pain, this physical hurt, couldn’t hold a candle to the hell that Water dragged him through. An old Monty Python quote flitted through his mind, and he had to force down a manic chuckle: “It’s just a flesh wound.”

His stomach rumbled and his limbs shook the moment he closed off to Earth. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. That was the main drawback of Earth—when it filled you, it made you feel invincible. The moment it left, you were reminded just how weak your body truly was.

Tenn forced himself to standing, using his staff as a crutch. Katherine was either too preoccupied or too polite to try and help him up.

“Michael?” he asked.

She just shook her head and continued looking off into the distance. The rain hid whatever tears she might be shedding. He bit back an apology; apologies wouldn’t bring the guy back. Idiot or no, he had still been their companion. He was still important.

For a while, they stood there, looking out over the massacre. The field was covered in grey corpses, blood pooling like an oil spill. Even through the deluge, the scent of death and decay was thick in the air, cloying and coating his lungs. Michael was probably underneath the bodies somewhere. It didn’t seem right. He deserved a better burial.

“We need to burn them,” Tenn said.

She looked at him. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place what she was thinking or feeling. She didn’t look lost or frightened or sad. If anything, there was a resignation, a determination he knew all too well. Death left you hollow. Many deaths left you expecting more.

She didn’t say anything. Red light flickered in her chest as she opened to the Sphere of Fire. Heat shimmered around her, made sweat break out across his skin. Then, with tendrils of flame snaking around her fingertips, she screamed.

The fields erupted into flame. Tenn hid behind his arm as the world around him roared with heat and anger, and beside him, screaming every curse she could, Katherine called forth Hell, her clothes whipping in the maelstrom like an angry god.

It lasted only a minute, but when the power died down and the fields were nothing more than smoldering ash and steam, she was sobbing.

“Goddamn you,” she cursed through her tears, dropping to her knees on a pile of ash. Fire winked out in her chest. “Damn you all.”

Tenn reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The rain still steamed off her skin, but he didn’t flinch from her heat. He welcomed the pain. It let him know he was still alive.

He didn’t say anything when she started to laugh. Fire had that effect on the mages that used it.

“It’s gone,” she said. She chuckled and looked up at him. “The fucking deer. It’s gone. They ate it.”

Tenn let out a long sigh and turned around. Sure enough, the cart with the deer was no more. Hell, there was nothing on the road save the steaming remains of car skeletons and pools of the dead that streamed like magma.

“Michael would be so pissed,” she continued. Then her laughs became a hiccuped sob. “We should have let him eat the tongue.”

*

The walk back to base was long and silent. Tenn didn’t stop scanning the fields, but both he and Katherine kept their Spheres closed off. There was a slim chance that the approaching army was still too far away to sense their magic. A slim chance, but he would hold on to it while he could. The idea that he’d singlehandedly sabotaged their entire mission—all for nothing—wasn’t a notion he could entertain. One thing was certain—the Howls they’d faced were one of the many wild bands that roamed the States. It wasn’t the group of monsters they’d been sent out here to intercept. When the army they were waiting for approached, they’d know.

They reached the town before nightfall. The scattered houses were empty, the lawns overgrown and tangled with forgotten toys and shadows. Lake Michigan flanked one side of the harbor town, while the other met rolling fields and scattered woodland. Even without Water open, Tenn could sense the great lake stretching out in the distance. Ever since he’d been attuned, he’d been able to feel those sorts of things, like ghosts of limbs he didn’t know he was missing.

Katherine said nothing as they walked the empty streets, stepping over rusted bikes and piles of old refuse, dodging craters and overturned cars. Both her swords were clean and bared, and Tenn’s grip on his staff was just as tight. No matter that the rest of their troop was only a hundred yards away—anything could be hiding in the shadows.

It was nearing nightfall now, and the houses reared up on all sides like hungering beasts. It looked like a tornado had hit, but the damage done was no act of nature. Some houses were perfectly intact; others were torn apart, with roofs blown off, façades ripped open like scabs to reveal abandoned dining rooms and unmade beds. Everything had that sick old stench of antiquity, like a sodden vintage store. Even in the dying rain, Tenn couldn’t help but feel the dust of the past creeping through his nostrils. It made him feel unclean. Shadows shifted over the rubble, and he jerked his staff to the ready. Then the shape stepped into the road: a small fox, its ribs horribly pronounced with hunger. The creature didn’t flinch as he and Katherine walked past. It watched them intently before finally turning and slinking back into an alley.

When houses gave way to the broad downtown avenue, he felt his nerves calm. Their hotel rose up from the buildings on the other side, one of the few structures still intact. Uprooted trees stretched like black veins across the concrete. Marble slabs and pillars tumbled on the road in piles of white bone. The hotel stood strong and seemingly deserted, the clean red brick and white marble an anachronism in the destruction surrounding it.

Something shifted from the corner of his eye, and Tenn turned on the spot, ready for another attack. A girl in black stepped out from the crumbling post office. Tenn exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he recognized the red hair and compact frame.

“Audrey,” he said. He lowered his staff. “I nearly killed you.”

“Jesus H,” she said. There were two daggers in her hands, the kris blades glinting like wolves’ teeth. “I thought… We thought you were in trouble. Jarrett’s had us on high alert since noon.” It was then she noticed Michael was missing. Her voice became a whisper, and her shoulders slumped. “What happened?”

Tenn hung his head. If the troop had felt their use of magic all the way back here, there was no way the necromancers had missed it. How the hell had Water opened like that?

“Kravens,” he admitted. The word was bitter on his tongue. “And at least one bloodling.”

“Shit,” she whispered.

“He died fighting,” Katherine said. She sheathed her blades, trying to sound nonchalant, but Tenn could sense the waver in her words. “It’s all any of us could ask for.”

“Where’s Jarrett?” Tenn asked. The last thing he wanted was to stand here in the rain, mourning the loss of someone whose death warrant he had as good as signed and sealed.

Audrey nodded to the hotel.

“Executive suite,” she said. “He’s meeting with the twins now. Everyone else has been stationed in the field in case…”

“In case we brought anything back,” Katherine finished.

“Yeah.”

“How pissed is he?” Tenn asked.

Audrey gave a small grin, though it was more forced than anything.

“Well, I wouldn’t go near him. Though maybe he’s cooled down by now.”

“Right,” Tenn said. He very much doubted it.

He gave them both a quick nod and walked to the hotel.

*

Tenn didn’t knock when he reached the door to Jarrett’s makeshift office. The twins and Jarrett sat around a large oval table in the center of the room, papers and maps spread across the mahogany in an organized disarray. Whatever conversation they’d been having cut off the moment the door creaked open. Their intent gazes made his skin tingle.

The twins were roughly Tenn’s age, maybe around eighteen. He’d never bothered to ask for specifics, and they’d never told him. Not that they’d ever really spoken to him. Dreya and her brother Devon were fraternal twins, their resemblance extending only to the tilt of their light-blue eyes and the sharp lines of their high cheekbones. According to Jarrett, their ancestry was Japanese, though prolonged use of the Spheres had altered their appearances drastically. Dreya’s skin was paler than ivory, and her hair was waist-length and silver-white. She was thin, wisp-like, with graceful limbs and willowy fingers. Devon, on the other hand, looked like some Peruvian mystic. His hair was short and black, his skin the color of burnt earth. Tenn had never seen Devon’s face, not fully; the guy wore a burgundy scarf wrapped all the way up to his nose. If he ever took the scarf off, Tenn hadn’t seen it in the two years he’d known them.

Dreya’s eyes narrowed the moment he walked in. He felt like a mouse stuck under a falcon’s gaze. He couldn’t look away, and whatever words he had meant to say when entering were stuck in his throat.

Not that he had much chance to say anything.

“What the hell did you do?” Jarrett asked.

Tenn tore his eyes from Dreya and looked at their commander.

Jarrett stood on the other side of the desk. He was nineteen and tall, with lithe Scandinavian looks brought on by Air. His hair was long and golden-blond, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, one side shaved close. Pale scars laced his skin; one in particular crossed from the stubble at his jaw to the edge of his blue-grey eyes. When those eyes caught Tenn’s, his breath hitched.

“I’m sorry…” Tenn began, but his words faltered. Sorry isn’t good enough.

“Damn it, Tenn!” Jarrett yelled, slamming his fist into the desk. Air flickered in his throat and sent the papers swirling. Neither of the twins flinched, but Tenn took a half-step back.

Jarrett took a deep, slow breath and closed his eyes. His next words were carefully composed, only a hint of strain at keeping his frustration in check.

“What happened out there?”

“We were attacked,” Tenn said. “There were hundreds. I swear I didn’t mean to use magic. We were holding them off, but then Michael went down and Water… I don’t know. It fought back. It opened before I could stop it.”

Tenn caught the quick glance between Jarrett and the twins. He couldn’t even begin to guess what it meant, but he knew what they were thinking—the Spheres didn’t just open on their own. Magic didn’t have reflexes or thoughts of preservation. The Spheres were energy centers, nothing more.

But Tenn wasn’t lying. He had fully intended on going under. When he had heard Michael scream, Water had taken over.

“Leave us,” Jarrett said. It was only when Dreya stood up that he realized Jarrett wasn’t talking to him. He kept his head bowed as Devon and Dreya left. He couldn’t meet their eyes. Not right now. All he caught were the trailing hems of their light-blue jeans.

When the door closed behind them, Tenn risked a glance at the table. One of the pages—one of the few not scattered on the floor—was a map, showing the continental U.S. Only on this map, there were no states. The new territories didn’t go by that anymore. Half of the West Coast was shaded grey. It was the Deadlands, an area controlled by Leanna. The rest of the states were divided into smaller sections, areas controlled by Hunters or the Church, small sanctuaries surrounded by nothing but waste and ravenous monsters. This was humanity. This was what the Hunters were trying to protect.

“You betrayed my orders,” Jarrett whispered.

“I know.”

“You put our entire mission at risk.”

“I know.”

“If Cassandra ever found out, she’d have you skinned alive.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tenn looked up. Jarrett’s eyes were soft, the tempest over, and his words were softer.

“What?” Tenn asked.

Jarrett moved from behind the desk. He was in dark, ripped jeans and a loose T-shirt, his coat folded over the chair and his sword by the window.

“I shouldn’t have sent so few of you out there,” Jarrett said. “It was reckless.” He was closer now, only a few steps away. “I…”

For one of the few times since Tenn had known him, Jarrett was speechless. Not a trait Air users usually exhibited.

“I could have lost you,” Jarrett finally said. He reached out and touched Tenn’s face. His fingertips were warm and sent a current across Tenn’s skin.

Tenn reached up and put his hand over Jarrett’s. They just stood there, staring into each other’s eyes. He could have fallen into that touch, let all the pain and bloodshed fade away into the static of Jarrett’s fingers, the warmth of his eyes. The screams in Tenn’s head never went away, but when Jarrett was nearby, they fell into a hush.

“Michael’s dead,” Tenn whispered. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but Michael’s image weighed on his mind like a stone.

Jarrett’s eyes tightened.

“You did what you could,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Then Jarrett leaned in and kissed him.

They pulled each other close, Tenn’s free hand lacing through Jarrett’s hair, both of Jarrett’s hands on Tenn’s face. The kiss made Tenn’s heart hammer, the embrace filled with more than love. In Jarrett’s lips, Tenn tasted need and fear and hope, the mix that permeated everything resembling a relationship in this new, fucked-up world. He pulled his boyfriend closer, and in that moment, he was grateful—grateful it hadn’t been his own body burned beneath the kravens, grateful he’d never been turned into a Howl, grateful for every bloody battle that kept him pushing forward. So long as he had this, life was worth living. If only his gratitude wasn’t laced with the guilt of what he’d done.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against Jarrett’s. For the longest time, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, hands pressed to cheek or hair, holding on to the only thing that really made sense anymore. Everyone had lost hope after the Resurrection, but in Jarrett, Tenn had found a new reason to live, a new chance at finding peace or home—whatever he could afford, whatever he could take. So long as Tenn had that, he had a reason to keep fighting.

“I’m putting you on first watch,” Jarrett finally said. His breath was quieting, but it was still heavy.

“Okay,” Tenn replied. He wasn’t scheduled for guard duty, but if that was the worst punishment he got from this, he wouldn’t complain.

“The twins think the attack will be soon, especially now that our location is compromised. I’ve tripled the guards in case.”

Tenn squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about the coming battle, about the bloodshed waiting on the other side of sunrise. His fingers clenched tighter in Jarrett’s hair, snagging the ponytail loose.

“What if the Prophets were wrong?” he asked.

“They’re never wrong,” Jarrett replied. His words dripped regret. “If they were, we’d all be dead by now.”

Tenn didn’t try to protest. Jarrett was right. The Prophets were never wrong. They just sucked at time frames—thus, the week-long wait in this empty rats’ nest.

“I need to go divvy out the rotation,” Jarrett continued. He leaned forward and gave Tenn another quick kiss. “First watch,” he repeated. “That way I’m not sleeping alone tonight.”

Tenn forced himself to smile, but he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink.

He hated the night before battle. He never knew if, the next evening, he’d be going to bed alone.

Or at all.

Want more? Other teasers coming soon.

Make sure to pre-order your copy (wherever you buy books, or at http://amzn.com/1939392780 ) by 10/28 to receive a signed bookplate! Just email alexrkahler@gmail.com a snapshot of your receipt for some great MARTYR swag.

Follow and share @ARKahler and #fearthehunted

Martyr sneak peek!

Hey friends,

As you may have seen over at www.fearthehunted.com, I’m releasing the first chapter of MARTYR on my blogs to entice you into pre-ordering the book which comes out 10/28. Click the image for the pdf or click below the cut for the full text!

 

 

 

 

part one

the road to hell

“And with our greed, a great sin was born unto this world

and like Eve to the apple

that sin shall consume us.”

– Caius 8:22

2 P.R. (Post-Resurrection)

†

one

†

It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the clean kill he had hoped for.

Tenn ran across the field, rain soaking through his leather coat, mud squelching up his boots. His breath came out in clouded puffs as he chased the staggering shadow a few yards before him. In the heat of that moment, the world seemed dulled to shades of grey—light-grey sky, dark-grey fields, black shadows. Grey and black and cold, and as he ran he tried to ignore the red oozing across the palette. If he didn’t hurry, that red would damn them all.

The shadow staggered. Tenn’s heart leaped as his prey fell to the ground. A moment later he was at its side, knees pressed to the mud and his dagger in hand. Then, before his quarry could look him in the eye, before he could feel any worse about its agonizingly slow death, he brought his blade across the warm, heaving neck.

The buck twitched. Tenn kept a hand on the cut as the deer’s lifeblood throbbed out in steaming spurts. It wouldn’t be right to look away, to let the poor thing die alone and cold out here in the field. The thought sent memories and magic raging through him, the Sphere of Water churning anguish through his gut—alone and cold, alone and cold, how many have died alone and cold?

He pushed the thoughts and the power away. Now wasn’t the time to give in, either to the weakness or to that glorious strength. When the deer’s rolling eye found his, he felt his stomach knot. He almost laughed from revulsion; years ago, he’d been a vegetarian.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. Not that it mattered. Not that those apologies ever mattered—not to the dying, not to the dead. The deer spasmed and fell still.

The sound of his approaching comrades slowed. Tenn couldn’t break his gaze with the deer’s eye. It didn’t matter that the last three years of his life had been grislier than any nightmare; killing still turned his stomach. At least the blood staining his hands was usually far from innocent. Usually.

“Shit,” Katherine said when she stopped beside him. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Tenn just swallowed and pulled his hands away, washing off the blood in a puddle before sliding his dagger back in his boot

“I thought you said you were a clean shot,” Katherine said, turning back to their other companion.

Michael stepped forward, his shoulders hunched and a bow held loose in hand. He was built like a linebacker, but right then he looked like a puppy caught pissing on his master’s Persian rug. Five arrows jutted from the deer’s hide, and another half-dozen were scattered throughout the field.

“I am,” Michael said. His words didn’t hold much conviction as he gestured to his throat. “It’s just been a while since I had to shoot dry.”

Katherine ignored him. There wasn’t time for apologies. She pulled a set of nylon cords from her backpack and handed one to Tenn.

“Excuses,” she muttered to herself. She wrapped one cord around the buck’s neck while Tenn tied up the hindquarters. Her movements were smooth, well-practiced—her hands were used to dealing with the dead. Like Tenn, she was seventeen. Unlike Tenn, she didn’t seem bothered by the buck’s sightless glare. She nudged him. “Yo, you okay?”

He nodded. But his nerves were on edge, and the Sphere of Water pulsed in his stomach like a wound, one that desperately wanted to be touched, to inflame. Over a week had passed since he’d been allowed to open to that energy center, that source of pain and power. Every day made the ache worse. Like an abused child, it sat there and wept and begged to be noticed. But they had their orders—no magic. Not until the enemy army arrived.

“If we don’t move fast,” he said, ignoring Water’s pull, “they’re going to smell the blood.” He turned to Michael and spoke a little louder. “And if that happens, it’s all on your head.”

Had they met five years ago, Michael would have probably shoved Tenn’s head into the school toilet just for making eye contact. The guy was a nineteen-year-old tank, with broad shoulders and short brown hair and tattoos from eye to collarbone. His face was a plane of white scars and black ink. Tenn, on the other hand, was tall and lithe—years of using Water had crafted him a swimmer’s build, rather than the hulking muscle of Earth. He was built for speed, for grace. But now, when Tenn spoke, Michael shrank into himself a little bit. The Resurrection had changed everything; this little role reversal was about the only perk. Michael bit back his response and shouldered his bow. Then he grabbed two straps and hoisted the deer nearly off the ground. Tenn and Katherine each took a strap and helped him drag the deer toward the highway. Tenn kept his eyes trained on the countryside. He didn’t want to see the way the deer’s head lolled to one side, its tongue curled out and its eyes wide with static fear.

“We should be okay,” Michael said, his voice cutting through the rain like rumbling thunder. “I mean, rain dilutes blood, right? And there’s no way its cries carried in the storm.”

“Just shut up and keep your eyes open,” Tenn said.

Yes, there was a chance the rain had diluted the blood and hidden the buck’s wild cries of pain, but there was also a chance the rain was just helping the blood spread. He wasn’t about to test his luck, especially since he’d been sent out with Michael. That alone was a sign the fates weren’t on his side.

Michael shut up, and Tenn went back to watching the fields, brushing his choppy black hair aside so he could see. Nothing set off his nerves and imagination like waiting to be attacked. Not that they were unprepared. Katherine’s katanas were strapped at her waist, and the hilt of Michael’s mace thudded against his thigh with every step. Tenn’s own bladed quarterstaff was embedded in the earth beside the highway, where he’d been forced to leave it to chase down the deer. In all, the three of them were an imposing sight. If only physical weapons were enough; battles were lost and won by magic now. Without it, they were like lambs to the slaughter.

Not an emboldening thought when lugging a two-hundred-pound sack of meat through the wilds.

Chills raced across his skin as he peered deeper through the curtains of rain. He couldn’t tell if the unease was from the late-December cold or the fear of being watched. The sooner they were back to camp, the better. Food-gathering expeditions were far from exciting. They’d spent a good four hours on the road, and the deer was the first and only creature they’d found. The fact that they’d found it at all was lucky—no jerky and stale cheese tonight. Having to walk it all the way back, in the cold and the rain, and pray that nothing discovered them en route, was not.

Tenn grabbed his bladed staff the moment they reached the highway. The road home was far from pastoral—cars lay scattered and broken like some kid playing God with his Hot Wheels. Shattered glass littered the ground, shards jutting from windows like open jaws. Rust coated exteriors in a sheen of bloody stains. And everything, everything, was quiet and empty, the only sound the rain and the occasional moan of wind through hollow hoods, a cacophony of and for the dead.

They walked up to the wooden cart and unceremoniously dropped the deer on top. The sick sound of flesh thumping on wet wood was a noise Tenn had grown accustomed to, which almost made it worse. How easy it is to get used to dead things. He nodded to Katherine.

She withdrew one of her katanas and raised it high above her. Then, with a quick slice, she lobbed the deer’s head off. It fell to the pavement and rolled away, settling in a pool of its own steaming ichor. Tenn turned; its eyes were trained straight on him, and he’d had enough postmortem glares for a lifetime.

“Still seems like a waste to me,” Michael said. He threw his bow beside the carcass, not caring if the string got bloody, and picked up the handles at the front of the wagon. That was the problem with food-scavenging missions—no cars, not unless you wanted to scare off prey or attract predators. “I thought the tongue was supposed to be a delicacy.”

If not for the fact that Michael’s sole purpose was to be a pack mule, Tenn would have cursed Jarrett for sending him along. The world might have turned on its head in the three years since the Resurrection, when the monsters appeared and magic went south, but Michael was still the same old, brain-dead jock. Some stereotypes, apparently, never changed.

“What—and risk being followed?” Katherine asked, cleaning her blade with a spare bit of cloth. “Are you a fucking moron?”

Michael shrugged and began pulling the cart down the highway. Tenn bit back his smirk. At least Katherine’s wit made up for Michael’s lack thereof.

“I’m just saying, kravens aren’t known for their big brains.” The way Michael said it, it was like he was discussing an opposing sports team, not a mob of creatures who’d happily rip him limb from meaty limb. Tenn wouldn’t have been surprised if that’s precisely how Michael saw things. Michael often complained about missing his football days, like that was the greatest of his worries.

“They think like animals,” Tenn said. And who are you to talk about big brains? He tried to keep his voice even. “If they find blood and no body, they’ll go searching. You know this. They’re starving their asses off and won’t stop chasing us until they either find a meal or die. And we already have enough on our plate.”

The last statement sent memories coursing through him that he’d tried his best to forget—hordes of kravens, tearing apart towns and cities as they desperately sought out flesh of any kind—animal or human, cat or dog or bird or child. He’d seen it, first on the television, then right in front of him. There was a reason the wilderness was nearly empty; the Howls had devoured everything they could get their hands on.

Tenn made sure no blood dripped down from the cart. There was no way in hell he’d give a Howl any Hansel-and-Gretel breadcrumb trail.

“We could have at least kept the tongue,” Michael muttered, then fell back into silence.

The highway cut a straight line through the fields, sharp and bleak as a razor. Their camp was still a dark blur on the horizon, a few miles and a few hours away. It wavered like a mirage in the rain, a smear of black-inked buildings on pale grey paper. Every step toward the city was a tick against Tenn’s nerves. The creaking cart was too loud, the rain too deep. There was no way they could walk fast enough for his comfort. He just wanted to be back and dry and warm, preferably with Jarrett, preferably pretending they weren’t waiting for battle.

Denial had never served him well, but out here in the freezing cold with no comfort from the Spheres, it was better than reality.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed Katherine stop. She didn’t say anything, just stood there with her eyes wide and a slight part to her lips. There wasn’t time to ask what she was searching for.

A second later, he heard it. A howl. A scream. It sliced through the fields like a scalpel, high-pitched and dragged from the depths of Hell.

No living thing could make that noise. Apparently the fields weren’t as abandoned as he’d hoped.

“Shit,” they whispered in unison.

The sound came from their left. Tenn shielded his eyes and tried to see further out, but through the rain and the haze, all he could see was shifting grey. The fields had grown high enough to be hiding anything. His only consolation was that the scream sounded distant.

Michael lowered the cart handles to the ground, slowly, gently, making sure not a sound or creak was made. When he stood, his mace was already unbuckled and held ready in one hand. Tenn looked over to Katherine, who quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail and unsheathed her katanas. His fingers were white-knuckled on his staff.

“Stay very, very still,” he whispered. “Maybe they’ll pass us by.”

“Not likely,” Michael muttered, but he held his position.

Seconds passed in silence. Each raindrop froze into his skin, each heartbeat promised devastation.

There was a chance—a small chance—that it was a single kraven. Just one lowly, lonely monster seeking its next meal. And there was a small chance that the kraven had found the deer’s head, taken the bait, and was on the run for fear its brothers would discover the bounty. It was a small chance. Luck was a devilish mistress.

Silence stretched across Tenn’s nerves like a noose. Blood pooled against his gums from a fresh-bit wound in his cheek. He tried to relax his jaw, tried to breathe slow and deep. At least thirty seconds had passed, right? They would have known if they were spotted by now. He took another deep breath and started to relax his grip.

A second howl split the world, closer this time. And this one wasn’t alone. Another voice picked it up, high and piercing as shattering glass and nails on a chalkboard. It rang in his ears like a death knell. Now he was certain the fields weren’t just moving from the storm. They were

surrounded. He knew the scream of a kraven like he knew his own voice, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t other types of Howls out there. The quiet ones were often the deadliest. Without magic or a clear line of sight, he also had no way to estimate how many there were. Could be dozens. Hundreds.

It didn’t matter.

Without magic, even a handful of kravens could be deadly. He crouched down, brushed his fingers atop the cold asphalt. Blood thundered in his ears, louder than the rain. He counted his heartbeats in the back of his mind, wondering how many more he had left before his blood stilled. The Sphere of Water roiled in his gut. It could sense the upcoming battle, could feel it in the pulse of the rain—so much water was about to be shed, and his Sphere yearned to be a part of it.

“Hold them off as long as you can,” he said.

“We’re going to die,” Katherine said. Her voice was too calm for comfort. Like him, she had faced death a hundred times, and each time had probably felt as final as this. Unlike him, she seemed okay with it. “There are too many.”

“You know the orders,” Tenn said. His eyes flickered to his right arm, to the tattoo he could practically feel burning against his skin. No magic. Even if the orders get us killed.

She didn’t say anything in reply, but he could imagine her nodding her head and accepting her own approaching demise. We wasn’t willing to give up so easily. There were still too many lost souls on his conscience to avenge. Somehow, he was going to make it out of this alive. He’d promised Jarrett as much.

Then the first kraven broke through the field with a banshee’s scream, and all thoughts vanished in the heat of survival.

Like all the variations of Howls, kravens had been human once, though the resemblance was sparse—two legs, two arms, a torso and head. But the conversion process twisted the host into something beyond nightmare. Bones jutted from rotting grey flesh like talons. The beast’s spine curved and twisted it into a hunched monstrosity. Its eyes were bloodshot, red as meat, and its jaw had snapped and reformed like the maw of a piranha in a bulbous human head. The very sight should have been enough to send a sane man running. None of them moved. One kraven was nothing.

More monsters leaped from the fields, scuttling toward them like spiders with snapping joints and slathering jaws. The fields swarmed with Howls, a tide of demons starved for flesh. When the first kraven reached the road, Katherine ran forward, her blades a whirl of silver in her hands.

When he was younger, Tenn had immersed himself in stories of heroes and battle. The tales were always gorgeous in a way—heart-pumping and engaging, filled with quick moves and dancing blows. The Resurrection taught him that all those books were full of shit.

Real battle wasn’t pretty. You trained to block and parry and dodge, yes, but you didn’t think about it, didn’t focus on long dancing combinations of moves. You swung. You screamed a lot. You killed as fast as you could and didn’t think about anything but the feel of flesh giving way under your hands. And if you were even a hairsbreadth too slow, if today just wasn’t your day, you were never, ever heard from again.

He gritted his teeth and prayed today wasn’t that day.

He lunged forward, meeting a kraven mid-leap and slicing its body right through the gut. Cold black blood sprayed out, but Tenn was already slashing another kraven before the first corpse fell. Michael was just out of sight beside him, grunting and yelling, the skull-shattering cracks of his mace rolling across the fields like thunder.

But more monsters were coming. The field was thick with beasts, the air alive and hellish with their screams. A shadow darted behind him. He turned just in time to parry the slash of a cleaver. He barely had time to register the opponent—male, shirtless, drenched in blood and whiter than snow—before counterattacking. The man’s head fell to the ground with a wet smack.

“Bloodlings!” he yelled, but even though he screamed it at the top of his lungs, he knew his companions hadn’t heard. The world was a living, grinding thing of scarred flesh and teeth and talons, and everywhere he turned he was slashing, dodging, trying to stay alive as the grey tide overtook him. His breath was fire as he fought, as he hacked and screamed his way through the melee. Seconds felt like an eternity, and the damage done to him and his foes was immense. A thousand cuts burned across his skin. A thousand moments he was too slow. A thousand instances he could have died, and a thousand reasons he still might.

A yell broke through the din—masculine, enraged, and in pain. Then Michael’s voice cut short in a gurgle. Tenn spared a glance over but couldn’t see anything through the kravens scrambling over corpses. Katherine screamed as well, but whether from rage or pain, he wasn’t certain. That’s when he realized, in the far-off corner of his mind, that he was going to die. They all were.

His arm went numb from a kraven’s bite. His hands were drenched red. And still, the monsters came.

Jarrett’s voice drifted through his mind as he fell to his knees: Don’t use magic, not under any circumstances. We can’t give ourselves away.

Water and blood seeped through Tenn’s jeans, his numb hand limp at his side. He could only stare at the blood and wonder at how quickly this had come, his end. At how easy it was to die. Pain seared across his back as a Howl ripped through his flesh. Blood was everywhere—black blood, red blood, red rain. Water screamed inside of him as his blood spilled forth. Memories rode the current—flashes of his mother and father the last time he saw them, Jarrett’s hand in his, and a song, his mother’s voice, a lullaby he couldn’t place. His eyes fluttered. His working hand dropped his staff.

This is how it feels to die, and I will be eaten before they find my corpse.

And as another kraven lunged for the kill, mouth wide and broken teeth bared, the Sphere of Water did something it should not have been able to do—it opened unbidden in Tenn’s stomach.

Power flooded him, rushed through in a whirlpool of memory and pain, filled every pulse with a thousand freezing agonies, a million regrets that dragged him down, down, down into the pits of his every despair.

The Sphere connected him to the element without, to the rain hammering from the sky and the blood pooling on the ground and the pulse in every vein of every creature within a mile. He could feel it, all of it, the agonizing tide slowly seeping toward death’s shore. He felt Katherine a few yards away, her heart throbbing so fast it hurt his own. He felt the kravens, all of them, and in that split second, he wrapped his fingers deep into the torrent of power and screamed.

The rain shivered. Changed. He twisted the power and twisted the elements and felt his past scream in his ears as raindrops became ice, became shards sharper than glass, became hammers that lashed from the sky with sickening velocity. His Sphere raged in joy and agony as its power unleashed, as the bloodlust filled his darkening vision and screams filled the air. Blades of ice met flesh, sliced through skin and bone. Ice spilled forth blood, and Water rejoiced as the world drenched itself in crimson agony. Power ran through his veins, and this power craved revenge.

In seconds, it was over. He felt the Howls die, all of them—felt their blood leave their bodies and pool against the sodden earth. He curled on the ground, frozen, sobbing, and forced the power away, forced his Sphere back to silence. The magic closed, but the memories seethed. Those screams would never die down. They echoed in his emptiness, chained him down and dragged him through the dark.

Nothing moved in the world.

Just the rain.

Just his breath.

Just his blood mixing with the dead.

Want more? Other teasers coming soon.

Make sure to pre-order your copy (wherever you buy books, or at http://amzn.com/1939392780 ) by 10/28 to receive a signed bookplate! Just email alexrkahler@gmail.com a snapshot of your receipt for some great MARTYR swag.

Follow and share @ARKahler and #fearthehunted

Martyr wins a Moonbeam

Hey all!

Exciting news today: I can officially announce that MARTYR has won Bronze in the YA Fantasy category of the Moonbeam Awards! These awards are presented by the Jenkins Group, an independent publishing company.  Given to bring increased recognition to exemplary children’s books and their creators, and to support childhood literacy and life-long reading, the Moonbeam is widely recognized as one of the most prestigious awards given to books from smaller publishers.

I’m incredibly honored and excited to have been considered and awarded. There were many amazing books nominated this year, so congrats to all authors involved!

For more info, click HERE.

Want a signed book?

Hey friends,

In a little over a month my new series, The Hunted, debuts, and I couldn’t be more excited for it.

I mean really, what’s not to love: you have monsters (some scary, some sexy) and twisted magic and an angsty gay protagonist. It’s kind of the perfect Halloween release. I know what you’re thinking: Alex, this sounds amazing! I just wish I could get a signed copy and some awesome swag to share.

That’s why, from now until November 1st, if you send me proof of purchase of MARTYR, I’ll send you a signed bookplate + some other awesome swag*.

Email me a screencap of your receipt (bookstore, online, wherever) to AlexRKahler @ Gmail (dot) com to get your swag.

Even better: Tweet a pre-order link and @ARKahler and I’ll throw in more swag for you.

And check out these bookplates. You know you want them.



* Swag may include: bookmarks, stickers, trading cards, tokens of eternal love, cupcakes, and more.

Fight the darkness…join my street team!

Hey loves,

Today is the three month (and a week) mark until the release of my book, MARTYR, and the release of FOLLOW ME THROUGH DARKNESS by my amazing friend, Danielle Ellison. Since we both have books that come out near other with the same publisher, editor AND the same amounts of amazing (though in different ways) we thought we’d team up to bring you: #FearTheDarkness

 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/fearthedarkness/

 

What is that, exactly?

Alex: Basically, when two books love each other very much, they mash their covers together and their titles become intertwined. Thus, FOLLOW ME THROUGH DARKNESS and MARTYR’s slogan #FearTheHunted merged to become #FearTheDarkness.

Danielle: Because we are obviously geniuses.

AND if you want to be part of this adventure – which we can guarantee will be something fun that you won’t forget – then you can sign up!

We’re going to have a team of people helping us promote our books together over the next 102 days. You’re a street team, but we’re giving you a cooler name: Shadow Guards. And your mission is clear: Tell everyone to Fear The Darkness.

Danielle: DARKNESS IS COMING! I just want to Jon Snow to appear and shout it from the rooftops.

Alex: I am perfectly okay with this so long as he pouts a bit and has his dire wolf. Shirt not necessary.

If you join our movement then you’ll get some fun surprises, some challenges to do in your real life community with *gasp people, get to read some excerpts, have contests just for you, and maybe, if you’re lucky, Alex will do a circus trick.

Alex: I shall start stretching now.

Danielle: Shirt not necessary…? Sorry. I had to.

Join the Shadow Guard by Thursday, 7/24! The Facebook group is only open until then—and only to the first twenty people who join the group! Then, we’ll close the group and start hazing. We mean, start passing out hugs and baby unicorns.

 

 

Even if you aren’t able to jump in on the Shadow Guard, there will be plenty of opportunities to share the love and help get our books out into the world.

 

But seriously. It’s going to be a lot of fun.

 

Got Swag?

In case you missed it, I’ll be signing ARCs of MARTYR at BEA this week. Spencer Hill Press booth. Friday. 10AM.

Be there or be a hexagon.

There will be swag. Including sexy stickers and a brilliant bookmarks.

There will also be me. My current goal is to take as many hilarious fan photos as possible so…if you’re going to be there, start brainstorming potentially-embarrassing photo ops. I will be the Rihanna of publishing, damnit!

 

 

Also, paperback copies of FINAL ACT are out on Tuesday! I won’t have copies at BEA but I do have bookplates!

New Books! Ravenborn!

As some of you guys know, it’s been a fairly rough few weeks on this corner of the continent. Laptop jacked from car, work lost, deadlines missed, and much more, it’s been…trying.

 

WHICH IS WHY

I’m so excited to finally announce that I’ll be working with the fantabulous Michael Strother over at Simon Pulse to publish my new YA series, Ravenborn. From Publisher’s Marketplace:

Alex Kahler’s RAVENBORN, pitched as Neil Gaiman’s American Gods meets Donna Tartt’s The Secret History as teens in an art school must solve a classmate’s murder and avoid becoming pawns in a battle royale set in motion by ancient gods, to Michael Strother at Simon Pulse, in a nice deal, in a two-book deal, for publication in 2016, by Laurie McLean at Foreword Literary (NA)
Dramatic: Brandy Rivers at The Gersh Agency
Foreign: Taryn Fagerness

 

All of my books are special to me in some way. But this one…this one’s extra special.

The opening line of Ravenborn came to me in that weird place at 3am when you’re trying to sleep but can’t. The first draft was plotted on an overnight train in Norway. The first chapters were written in European cafes and in a circus tent (more on that later). And now, a few rewrites and years later, it’s found a home. I’ve been in touch with Michael for some time and I…honestly couldn’t be happier that Ravenborn and all its quirky inhabitants have found a place under his care.

We have POC and LGTBQ protagonists, art school drama, complicated boycrushes, psuedo-intellectual conversations about art, the ironic use of the words ‘juxtaposed’ and ‘post-modern’ and more snark than you can shake a stick at.

Also, Scandinavian and pre-Celtic gods.

Because Ragnarok comes….

And more!

Apparently this is the Week of Big Writing-Related Things.

Not only is today the cover reveal, but today’s the day I can finally talk about the book I worked on last year. Presenting, CIRCUS CRUSH!

It’s completely different from anything I’ve done before. Mainly because it’s contemporary middle grade, and thus there’s no swearing or murder or magic. But it was a blast to write, and I’m so honored to be working with such an amazing team at Simon Pulse. Michael Strother and Nicole Ellul have been stellar editors, and I can’t wait to share more with you soon!

For now, the blurb from Publisher’s Marketplace.

Alex Kahler’s CIRCUS CRUSH, in which circus camp comes to town over Spring Break and the teens learn about juggling, clowning around, and the high-flying feeling of first love, to Michael Strother at Simon Pulse, in a nice deal, for publication in 2015, by Laurie McLean at Foreword Literary (World).

laurie@forewordliterary.com