Sunday, October 21, 2012

Edge of Oblivion by J.T. Geissinger: Interview and Excerpt: Bewitching Tour Stop

 


 
 
 
 

Edge of Oblivion
Night Prowler Novels, Book Two
J.T. Geissinger
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Montlake Romance
ISBN: 1612184197
ASIN: B007SX0246
Number of pages: 384
Word Count: 98,000


Intended for Mature Readers 17+

Book Description:

Morgan Montgomery is waiting to die. Branded a traitor by her tribe, the Ikati shape-shifter has no hope for mercy—until Jenna, the Ikati’s newly crowned queen and Morgan’s former ally, offers one last chance for redemption. Morgan must infiltrate the Rome headquarters of the Expurgari, the Ikati’s ancient enemy, to destroy them once and for all. The beautiful renegade has just a fortnight to complete her mission or forfeit her life. Because she does not travel alone… 

Xander Luna is a trained assassin and the Ikati’s most feared enforcer, famed for his swift brutality and stony heart. Fiercely loyal, he is prepared to hate the traitor under his watch—until they come face to face. For Morgan Montgomery arouses something unexpected inside of him, something that threatens everything he believes in and the fate of the tribe itself: a love as powerful and passionate as it is forbidden.
 
Sensual, thrilling, and action-packed, Edge of Oblivion will enthrall readers with nail-biting suspense and heart-pounding passion.

 
 

“Come,” barked Leander from behind the closed door. Matthew pushed it open. Not satisfied to merely enter the room with her trailing behind, he turned, grasped her by the arm, dragged her over the threshold, then released her abruptly, as if he’d been burned by touching her.

So of course she fell. Of course she did.

Caught on one of the heels of her shoes, the hem of her dress tangled beneath her feet. The delicate fabric gave way with a soft ripping noise and she pitched forward, unable to throw her arms out for balance because they were cuffed tight behind her back. She fell to her knees on the cold marble floor with a bone-crunching jolt that startled a pained gasp from her lips, but just before she fell flat on her face, something stopped her.

A pair of hands. Strong and warm at her shoulders.

She was caught and steadied, pushed gently back to her knees where she rocked, finding her balance. Then she lifted her head and looked up—

—into a pair of eyes, brilliant amber rimmed in kohl, that stared out from a sun-darkened face of such cold, savage beauty it sent a thrill of pure fear humming along every nerve. Adrenaline lashed through her body, primitive and chemical, and abruptly awoke the animal inside that bristled and hissed and screamed danger! at the top of its lungs.

He was huge—tall and thickly muscled, far larger than any of her lithe, sinewy kin—and had shoulders so wide she crouched in a pool of thrown shadows at his feet. His black hair, tipped on his wide forehead to a widow’s peak, was cropped close to his head. His clothes were black as well, simple and form-fitting, made for ease of movement. On his back was a pair of crossed swords, sheathed in leather scabbards. On his belt and boots were more weapons, gleaming wicked in the light.

But all this paled in comparison to the more imminent threat of his eerie, amber eyes.

They fixed on hers, unblinking, unfeeling, and she realized with another jolt that this man staring back at her in absolute stillness with that beautiful face and those scorching, fire-lit eyes wasn’t anything she’d ever seen before. He was alive, his body was alive, but behind that mask of perfection, there wasn’t a shred of humanity or mercy or kindness or feeling. There was nothing. He was dead.

Soul dead.

He was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen.

“Xander,” said a voice from her right. Leander’s, she supposed, aware on a molecular level of her thundering heart, her frozen muscles, the stranger’s gaze that had dropped to the pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her neck. His nostrils flared with an inhalation, and for one wild, horrified moment, she thought he might lean down and tear out her throat with his teeth.

But he didn’t. He only lifted that piercing gaze back to hers and, in a motion of fluid, predatory grace, drew her to her feet. He released her and stepped back, never blinking, his attention never wavering, those piercing dead eyes never leaving her face.

“Xander,” Leander said again. “This is Morgan. Your flight for Rome leaves at one o’clock.”



 
 

Tell us about your current release.

Edge of Oblivion is book two of the Night Prowler novels. It follows Morgan Montgomery, a rebel shape-shifter who’s been accused of treason and sentenced to death. She has no hope for mercy--until Jenna, the Ikati's newly crowned queen and Morgan's former ally, offers one last chance for redemption. Morgan must infiltrate the Rome headquarters of the Ikati's ancient enemy to destroy them once and for all. She has just a fortnight to complete her mission or forfeit her life, and she’s accompanied by Xander Luna, a trained assassin and the Ikati's most feared enforcer, famed for his swift brutality and stony heart.

When Xander meets Morgan, he’s prepared for anything, except the unexpected attraction he feels, which threatens everything he believes in. And as they race against time into the ancient heart of Rome, suddenly more than justice is at stake: so is love. 

Do you have any suggestions for beginning writers? If so, what are they?

I firmly believe that the best way to learn how to write well (or better) is to read. Read everything and anything, come into it with a critical eye and really try to discern what works and what doesn’t, what inspires you and what irritates you and why.

Also, brace yourself for rejection the likes of which you have never experienced. You must solicit critiques of your work from other writers or beta-readers who are familiar with your genre and will be brutally honest with you, before you send your precious baby out to literary agents who will shred it like chum in a shark tank. Forget about getting opinions from friends and family; they can’t give it to you straight. (Unless you have a husband like mine, who starts reading the first page, wrinkles his nose and says, “What’s this mean? Why is she doing that? Who put the straw on the floor? This part doesn’t make sense!” until you rip the manuscript from his hands and go hide in the bathroom. If you have a spouse like this, I encourage you to a) Get their feedback because it will be a good approximation of how an agent/publisher will talk about your work, and b) Drink. A lot.)

Hone your craft, gird your loins for battle, and never, never, never give up.

What are the most important attributes for remaining sane as a writer?

Writers are not sane, and should not aspire to be so. The best compliment people can pay a writer is that you are “weird,” “strange,” “odd,” or any other derivative of “an eccentric writerly person who doesn’t fit into a nicely-labeled box.” Embrace it, find other writer friends who will understand you and make you feel better about yourself, and just give a Mona Lisa smile when people ask why you are wearing that lampshade on your head.

What one word best describes you?

Complicated 

Is there one passage in your book that you feel gets to the heart of your book and would encourage people to read it?  If so, can you share it?
The first of the rain began, drumming on the roof three stories above, just as he spotted a small, dark mark on her right hip: a tattoo. A fresh tattoo, he could tell from the ink. He moved to it, kissing his way down her body, then paused when he was close enough to discern it in the dim room.
In perfect, cursive letters, it read: Live free or die.
His breath left his lungs in a rush. For a moment he felt sick; he felt lightheaded. Reeling with guilt and sudden self-loathing, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her soft stomach.
And of course she knew. Beautiful Morgan, mysterious Morgan, rash, defiant, intuitive Morgan—she felt his pain and understood.
“Xander. Xander. Xander,” she murmured, as if to say stop that, stay with me, look at me. She stroked her hands over his hair and he lifted his head to stare up into her eyes. Vivid and searching, they were full of some emotion that made his heart ache. Softly she said, “We both know how to live broken. But the past is just that. Past. And the future is out of our hands. Neither one has a place here with us now. Let it all go and be with me.”
She slid down the bed when he stayed frozen with guilt and cupped his face in her hands. She said his name again, whispered it against his mouth, kissed him so gently he was gripped by a sudden, terrible urge to possess her, all of her, not just her body but her heart and her soul and every thought she might ever think and every emotion she might ever feel, all of it just so he could keep her here with him like this—soft and vulnerable and yes, loving—forever.
Drawn into the rightness of her lips, Xander kissed her back. Warm and soft and tentative, it opened a door inside him that had been locked for years.
“Love me,” she whispered into his ear, and the door blew wide open.
He was lost now; he knew it. Somewhere in the darkest corner of his heart he’d known it all along. So he no longer bothered to hold anything back.
He let himself fall.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Wow, I got seriously misty-eyed reading that question. Yes, I’d like to say THANK YOU to my readers. I’m grateful, humbled and amazed that you want to read something I have written. You inspire me to keep writing when I’m feeling lazy or low, and you give me the opportunity to do something I love passionately, which I never dreamed I’d be able to do. Readers are the only reason authors exist in the first place, so thank you for your letters and your emails and your support and you time. You guys rock.


 

A life-long lover of reading and a self-professed “book addict,” J.T. Geissinger didn’t realize her dream of writing a novel until a milestone birthday forced her to take stock of her goals in life. Always believing the right time to commit to putting pen to paper would magically announce itself, it took waking up one cold January morning with a shiny new zero as the second number in her age to kick start her determination.
 

More than a year and two unsold novels later, it was time to take stock again.
 

But her determination matched her initial procrastination, and she kept on writing and learning and trying to improve, trusting that if it was meant to be, it would be.
 

Then, during a trip to Italy in honor of their 10th wedding anniversary and the honeymoon she and her husband never took, she received an email that would change her life. It was from a literary agent, and it contained the three words every aspiring author longs to hear: “I loved it.”
 

The manuscript was sold to Montlake Romance who published it six months later. Hitting the Amazon bestseller lists in both the US and the UK within weeks of publication, Shadow’s Edge was book one of the Night Prowler Novels. Book two, Edge of Oblivion published October 2nd, and book three will follow in the spring of 2013. Three additional installations in the Night Prowler series are planned for the future.



 



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October 22 Guest Blog
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October 23 Guest Blog and Review
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October 24 Interview
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10 print copies of Edge of Oblivion
 
 

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1 comment:

Jen Haile said...

Sounds like a perfect paranormal adventure romance. Just my kind of book!