Here's my stop of #StrangeLit: Killer Seasons Blog Tour, featuring an excerpt from Resto Rescue by Maira Rue. Vengeance: The Awakening by yours truly is also included in Killer Seasons Bundle. Enjoy the excerpt!
BTW, I'm doing the #AprilBookBash giveaway, in case you might want to win a paperback edition of 'Yearning for the One', it's a poetry anthology. Giveaway link below. :) Thanks.
#STRANGELIT: KILLER SEASONS
by Various Authors
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Available on Buqo app!
Links I Goodreads I Buqo I
by Various Authors
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Available on Buqo app!
Links I Goodreads I Buqo I
SYNOPSIS
All werewolf Rafe Redmoon really wanted was to cook real food not host reality food shows. Thirteen seasons in Resto Rescue has made him cranky and moody. Resto Rescue is a food reality show where Rafe uses his supernatural skills to ascertain what was wrong with the food and remodel the restaurant as a whole. His boss/alpha/aunt Vivian made him a deal. Make a killer season thirteen ender and she will personally fund the dream restaurant Rafe wanted. Easy, right?
EXCERPT
Resto Rescue
by Maita Rue
I. Season 13
“You turning Vegan on me, werewolf?” The devil asked him.
Rafe Redmoon, werewolf food host extraordinaire, made a face. His aunt Vivian was the said devil incarnate. She was also a werewolf and she was a rare alpha female. His alpha. Werewolves, sharing some genetic similarities with their wolf cousin, need sixty percent of protein in their diet. A vegan or even a vegetarian werewolf was unheard of. But that wasn’t what Rafe Redmoon wanted.
“It is my restaurant concept. It uses a lot of natural and whole ingredients not vegan and not vegetarian. I plan to do a cooking show in it,” he said. Rafe wanted his restaurant to have nothing but clean and healthy food. He didn’t want sponsors mucking it with seasoning and instant processed products.
“What’s wrong with your job now? Your shows are unique. Most people would kill for your job,” she pointed out, presenting her polished red nails at him. It looks like she had blood on her hands all the time. They were in her spacious office in Redmoon Roaring Studios, her private television and internet Production Company. True, he had a killer job. He was heralded as the Yummiest Reality Show Host Alive!
“I’m not most people,” he sniffed. “I’m not even most werewolves.” True. Most werewolves would have been contented to join politics. They spent their pent up energy making trouble for the humans- political trouble that is. Their other option is sports, hardcore sports.
Rafe Redmoon was the hottest food show host in the planet. He hosted a wide variety of food documentaries and food reality shows all across the globe. His latest show, Resto Rescue, was at the top of the charts. Resto Rescue was a restaurant rescue show with a supernatural twist. Using his werewolf senses, he’d tweak the recipes better and give the restaurant a full make-over. Sponsors were lined up to do every show. Rafe made it big because he had striking good looks and a grumpy persona. He was tall and had the body to die for.
He knew people watched his show to ogle at him or see the reactions people have in the show. Not many people watch the show for the food advice. Still, his aunt marketed his body like a commodity.
His aunt raised an eyebrow. “Well, I think your mother said your star charts dictated you’d be the most contrary werewolf in the family.”
“Ha-ha. Werewolves don’t believe in astrology. That’s the reason why most of us are either in sports or in politics,” he said. Most werewolves didn’t look at the horoscopes. They didn’t consult palmistry. They don’t even do the Feng Shui thing.
“Why the restaurant thing? I thought you were contented hosting food shows?”
“I am not. I told you my passion was to cook. Hosting is not the same as cooking. I want to cook my own recipes my way. There will be no food stylist or food enhancers from sponsors,” he said. “The whole world is going for organic now,” the errant werewolf pointed out.
Vivian sighed. She didn’t want to get into another argument with her delectable little talent, even if he was her nephew. Happy talents did a better job. Happy talents left her to enjoy her morning latte. She eyed the piece of candy standing before her. She built him from ground zero and she was proud of it. Not because he was her scrumptious little nephew but because he showed promise. Also, he didn’t let fame get to his head… much. “I’ll make a deal with you, Rafe.” That always got him to listen.
Rafe waited. What could his aunt offer him now? He already sold his soul, so to speak.
“Make me a great Season 13 ender and I’ll fund your restaurant. It has to pull the ratings up.”
“The ratings for Resto Rescue are good. They’re up. We are at the top,” he pointed out.
She shook her head. “Gorgon Ramses’ ratings are still high. High enough that he could dominate the charts if you aren’t careful. His show, Kitchen Conundrum and The Chef From Hell are still kicking and screaming. I want him taken down until he’s not even an afterthought. That raging beast is getting old yet he still at top ten. A young buck like you should have toppled him years ago.”
Rafe made a face. Gorgon Ramses was about a hundred years of age as well but he’d been in the industry for seventy years. Rafe started at werewolf puberty, seventy five human years.
“I don’t know who’s temper is worse, yours or his? He always claimed the devil spat him out of hell because he had his famous temper,” Vivian commented.
The young wolf grunted. He was sure he had a different temperament from the gorgon. Rafe was more the aloof kind of wolf but he took no bullshit from anyone. His aunt kept saying she patterned his first few shows after Gorgon Ramses’ shows. It grabbed at the same audience. From there, they expanded their audience by transforming Rafe into his own persons. Still, they loved his fiery temper in the shows.
“Maybe we should shoot in the US not in Asia? Most countries watch Hollywood only. Why’d you have to throw me to Asia anyway?” Five years ago, he was sent to Asia to shoot exotic food documentaries and now food reality shows. He was already making a killing in the States. His aunt insisted that every other season of Resto Rescue be shot in Asia. Why did Vivian have to uproot him and ship him to nowheres-ville?
“Asia is a rising market that I want to corner. It’s not that backward. They are more obsessive there than the States. The population of Asia is bigger than all the US territories,” she said. Also, production cost is lower. “Do we have a deal? Make this how I want it to be. I’ll put your restaurant anywhere in the territories. We’ll shoot Season 14 alongside your new restaurant concept. Sky’s the limit. Satisfied?” Vivian offered.
“Maybe,” he spat.
“You’re not satisfied?” She baited him.
Rafe knew there were always strings attached. “I want it in writing.”
Vivian growled. Not trusting your alpha was like a challenge. “Make me proud, Rafe. Otherwise, I’ll throw you back to your mother’s pack and you’ll be stuck doing sports. Maybe you ought to join your father’s pack in Budapest. They’ll force you into a suit and put you in politics. I heard King David needs a babysitter.”
Rafe roared in protest. Yup, his stars were right. He was contrary to the norm. When his mother chose to rejoin her original pack, he didn’t. He didn’t join his father’s pack either. Instead, he broke convention and joined a whole new pack, Vivian’s. In pack dynamics, you worked for your alpha. Vivian was in television. She owned forty TV stations, four cable channels and twenty two internet channels in most territories.
Vivian snarled back, showing him who was alpha and who was too young. “Get to work, pup! Or I might decide to cook you myself!”
When your alpha commanded you, you pretty much had to do it. Breaking an alpha’s command was like a challenge. Rafe couldn’t challenge her, not yet. He was only a hundred years of age, much too young. Vivian was already two hundred fifty. She was also too strong to challenge. Other pack tried to challenge her only to be handed their asses on a silver platter and recorded for her viewing pleasure. Yeah, she put it on live TV and made money out of it. She knew how to play and she played rough.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meet Maita Rue, author and designer. She loves romance and happy endings. Her love of words has pushed her to write and publish her books. She's a single mother of four dogs and an aunt of one grumpy cat.
I'm doing this on my birth month, it's called #AprilBookBash. It has a 'bash' word on the hashtag though it isn't big as the hashtag is trying to convey. This is just a start maybe in the future I can give away more than one copy of my book. I'm giving away a copy of Yearning for the One which has been set to be released on April 13, 2016, from different online bookstores (and the paperback copy is a direct order from me). Yay for that!
Yearning for the One is a poetry anthology about unrequited love, crushes, and random clichés in life. Each and every
one of us experience yearning. Looking and waiting for someone who can be
with you forever. Someone who will accept you despite your imperfections.
Someone who can stand all your tantrums and put an end to all of them. Even an
NBSB (No Boyfriend Since Birth) has this yearning. More so that most of them
spend their lives waiting for the one. But don't fret! God has a plan. It's a
perfect plan. Reserve yourself for that special one. The one that God has put
His grace with and deserves to be with you. Forever... Not the modern fairy
tale ending, but the traditional one, so both of you can live happily ever
after! So save yourself!
by various authors
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Available on
Buqo app!
SYNOPSIS
I Melt
By Chen Cabaluna
Rick is predictable, organized & doesn't like to take risks because of his condition. His clothes are color-coordinated. His books are arranged by height. He only eats & drinks cold stuff. He's very cautious to avoid human touch because he might melt. But then he met Alice, his new too perky lab assistant who helped him to overcome many inhibitions and open up more to the world. There's only one problem--he thinks Alice will melt him.
EXCERPTS
I drink cold coffee in the morning.
And when I say cold, I mean literally like my coffee has ice cubes and the water used is from the fridge. I like coffee. And I’m pretty sure that I like it cold given the fact that I’ve been drinking coffee since my high school days (ten years ago perhaps?) . Though someday, I wouldn’t mind having it hot. If ever that “someday” would come.
And I don’t just stop from cold coffee. I only eat cold food too. I always buy cooked food and place it on the fridge to have its temperature lowered before eating it. It has always been the drill since time immemorial. You see, when my parents are still here, they did the same thing and I just copied them—because I don’t like taking the risk. I am afraid of the unknown. Of what could happen to me if ever I experimented, if ever I go against the norms of my kind…of our kind.
And that’s the funny part. I am afraid of the unknown & experimenting, but that’s exactly my job—the thing that I deal with everyday. I am a chemist and I work for a famous ice cream company as a Quality Assurance Analyst. I make sure that the company’s products are safe for consuming and meet the highest standards. I perform a series of test and lab works everyday—in guess what—in a fully air conditioned room. My lab assistant of four years, William, often complained to me that he’s going to get a frost bite due to my air conditioning setting, but he can’t do anything about it because I’m his senior, and I exercise my utmost authority over him( just for the air con settings though)
Like my laboratory, my home’s temperature is pretty much the same since I have a centralized air con installed in my house. Every room, every nook and cranny is undeniably cold. As I’ve said, I can’t take the risk.
Like my car is also blasted with the cold temperature whenever I ride it to work. You see, it is very risky for our kind to live in a tropical country like the Philippines but we have no choice. We’re running out of options on where to hide, and being here is perhaps one of the best choices my grandparents did because for three generations, we managed to flourish, unlike our counterparts in European countries and other cold countries. I believe that they already perished. And the sons and daughters that they might have wouldn’t happen anymore. So lucky and unlucky me--I’m still alive, and like what I’ve said before, for my kind, the unknown and the risky choice is not even an option.
I like things that are predictable and already tested, mainly at first because of my condition. But that mentality soon affected basically most of my lifestyle – up to the extremes (I guess). If I give you a tour in my room, you’d see that my books are stacked according to size. My polo shirts, suits, ties, pants, socks and practically every clothes that I own are color coordinated. The book (that I’m currently reading) on my bedside table is placed in such a way that it is one inch away from the edge. And I make sure of it. I use a ruler (and make it a bookmark of that book afterwards).
And that’s not the only thing that I measure. I measure almost anything that would interest me or catch my attention. There’s this one time, out of curiosity, I measured all of my ten fingers. I recorded the measurement in my notebook just because. I also measured my cat’s tail during one time while it’s drinking milk. I guess I acquired this habit from measuring things in the office and comparing them to the standards.
In my kitchen, you’d see that I folded plastic wrappers and grocery bags neatly into small squares and I stacked them accordingly inside the drawer. My canned goods are displayed from tallest to shortest. I make sure that the walis tambo’s hair is properly trimmed. The tiles in the bathroom are squeaky, you-don’t-want-to-step-into clean.
I also had three locks for my door and two locks for my house gate. I don’t know if it is part of my quirky personality or if I’m just taking an utmost precaution.
I rarely make friends because of my condition. I can only count three—William, my lab assistant, Celia, my trusted house cleaner and my cat, Snow. And people around me tend to judge me because of this. They say I live a boring, monotonous life. They say my life is on repeat and maybe I would like to try some excitement in my life once in a while. If only they knew that again, I can’t take any risk.
And maybe I’m already contented with this kind of lifestyle. Maybe up until I leave this world or up until they find me—whatever comes first. And even though I don’t feel like it, maybe, I’m a legacy. Who knows that after my parents were found missing, I’ll be able to still thrive…continue the battle for survival (I know, I sound cheesy).
I thought because of my uncanny ability to keep a low profile, to keep a repetitive (boring) lifestyle, to stay away from normal people as much as possible and have the privilege to live in a tropical country, my life would progress in the most normal state it could. Never did I guess that everything would turn upside down this particular day that I went to work.
XXX
William, my trusted lab assistant was gone.
I came to work that particular day just to find out that he already submitted a resignation letter. He didn’t even tell me. For a few minutes, I was staring blankly at the office’s plain white wall, assessing myself, assessing my feelings if I feel sad or betrayed. I took a deep breath and I realized that I cannot put a finger to what I’m feeling right this very moment. I guess knowing my true feelings would be forever one of my weaknesses. I always can’t gauge what exactly what I’m feeling when drawbacks like this one comes into my life. I remember the day that my parents were nowhere to be found—I just sat on the corner of my room, stared at the ceiling and felt numb. I wanted to cry, but it didn’t happen. Up until now, I haven’t cried yet for my parents and I don’t know if it is a good or bad thing considering that there’s no proof that they’re already dead.
I quickly got my phone out from my pocket and fired a text message to William. Y didn’t u tell me? Wt’s d matter? Am I 2 bossy? I’ve waited for a couple of minutes for him to reply but he didn’t. And I know that he’s quick to respond to my text messages so I knew that something’s not quite right. Is it because I’m no longer his boss that’s why he didn’t bother anymore to answer my text asap? My heart sank deeper into my ribcage and I just hope that this is a legit feeling of loneliness, and if ever it is not, then I don’t know anymore what it is called.
I tried calling his number but I got nothing—only the operator telling me that the number I called is out of coverage area which doesn’t happen before. I put down my phone on the table and gave a big sigh. I guess I just have to move on completely that William already resigned and I’m all by myself starting today. Maybe I’m just paranoid of him not answering my text and call and maybe, he might fire up a reply later. Who knows? But for now, I’m up to some serious work.
Before I went to my laboratory, I’ve went to the dressing room like always where we, lab personnel wear our PPE or personal protective equipment. It is the SOP of our company to wear a lab gown, gloves, hair net, mask and goggles before entering the lab and the production area. As I’ve opened the door of the dressing room, I was taken aback— a female specie is standing besides my PPE cabinet.
“Hi Sir Rick!” The female specie squeaked. Her pitch is too high for my taste or maybe, I am not accustomed to hear a female talk in such a confined space?
“Uh..hi?” I managed to mumble unintelligently. “Who the hell are you?” Those words slipped into my mouth not because I wanted to attack her but because I was astounded. I am not a fan of the female populace—never as long as I can remember. Even during my grade school, high school and college. I’ve went to a COED school for all of my life which allowed exposure of the females but never did I’ve become close to anyone. Even a single one.
I remembered my closest encounter with one. Perhaps it can be called an encounter. It is during my 2nd year college. We had volleyball for P.E. and I’ve participated in a match between two sections. This particular female hit me with a ball, straight into my unsuspecting face, and the next thing I knew is I’ve kissed the floor.
When I opened my eyes, it is true that I’ve seen a multitude of stars. I thought that cartoons were just exaggerating when they make their characters’ head swim in stars when they hit their head. But the very same thing is happening to me that moment.
“Are you alright?” A high pitched voice echoed in my head. When I’ve gained enough consciousness to have a care with my surroundings, I’ve seen the female’s face dangerously nearing my face and I’ve felt hot—and that’s not a good thing.
I managed to get up quickly on the floor—away from the female while mumbling incoherently that yeah, I’m okay, no need to be that close (if you wanted to prolong my life, at least)
And that same life threatening condition is happening in my office
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chenley Cabaluna is a registered nurse by profession. She is a fellow of the first batch of the eros atalia writing workshop. She already had several of her short stories published in books and online. You can read her other works at her Wattpad account with the username @Chenaciousley.
#STRANGELIT: FATEFUL TURNS
by Various Authors
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Available on Buqo app!
Links I Goodreads I Buqo I
by Various Authors
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Available on Buqo app!
Links I Goodreads I Buqo I
Tour stop on my blog of Fateful Turns: A #StrangeLit Anthology, featuring Will J. Sarm, enjoy! I love the cover of this story, sadly don't have a sample. :(
Harvesting Nightblooms
Will J. Sarm
Prom is supposedly the most memorable night of a teenage girl’s life. But when Alexis Briar wakes up in a coffin, in an entirely different world, her prom experience is about to go on a whole other level of unforgettable. Summoned to the plague-ridden world of Endor by Ash, a mysterious boy with powers over the dead, he tells her that her only way back is if she helps him save his world from a rabid disease. Not exactly the easiest thing to do. Can Alexis do the impossible and make it back home, or will she end up marooned in Endor with the necromancer with whom she has never felt more alive?
Excerpt:
With the pyre ablaze, the crowd’s bravado is restored to a level even higher than before. They raise their pitchforks in celebration. Their demonic sneers are back, and they point at me, reveling in my imminent death.“You’ll be sorry! You’ll be sorry!” I curse at them, but they all ignore me. They’re too enraptured by my roasting.“Oh Mom, I’m so sorry,” I say, dropping my head in defeat. I feel the flames getting closer. The heat licks my skin, leaving behind beads of sweat. I look up at the heavens in all its cloudiness. “Please save me!”The shrill whinny of a horse suddenly cuts through all the diabolical cheering. I don’t know if someone up there heard me but in the next second, a mare of smoke and darkness appears behind the mob with blazing embers for eyes. A trail of fire blazes on the ground in its wake. It leaps over the heads of the crowd as they all gasp in fear. The rider is a hooded figure in all black. I watch breathlessly as he bounds towards me. It looks like Death himself has come to deliver me.“Draw your swords!” cries the Priest-Commander.As soon as he says those words, the soil fractures and human hands shoot up from the ground like geysers. Shrieks of terror pierce through the night air and I join them in horrified chorus.“Oh my gosh!” I yell in disbelief.My eyes widen as I watch zombies–literally, zombies–rise from beneath the ground. An army of embalmed people with blank stares and bloodless complexion slogs its way towards the soldiers. The soldiers hack at them, limbs falling out of sockets, but they continue plodding along, undeterred.With the soldiers momentarily occupied by the outbreak, the horse reaches me without resistance. It kicks aside the burning wood, which startles me. Of course, stupid me forgot that despite all the commotion, I’m still tied to a wooden pole completely surrounded by kindling. Its rider then jumps down beside me, pulls back his hood, and takes my breath away.It’s a bronze-skinned boy, a little older than me, with a buzz cut and a chiseled jaw partially hidden by light stubble. With his gray eyes, he gives me a stare that I swear could melt butter. Maybe it’s the heat or maybe I’m just being melodramatic, but I think that if I weren’t actually fastened to this pole, my knees would’ve buckled a little. In a couple of strides, he slips behind me and I hear a knife slice through the ropes.“Follow me,” he whispers, his voice full of danger that it almost sends a shiver down my spine.The horse kneels for him and he mounts it in one motion. Then he extends his hand out, fully expecting me to take it. I gawk at him for a daft moment.“Well?” he asks, frowning at my dawdling.Let’s see, do I stay and wait to get sentenced to death again, or do I get on a smoky, black horse with a stranger who, let’s face it, is pretty smoking hot? Like that was something to think about. I take his hand and he pulls me up to his steed.
About the Author
Will J. Sarm is an introvert who pretends to be an extrovert. He has been writing ever since he was strong enough to lift a pencil. He primarily writes YA novels, usually with fantasy elements, and he occasionally dabbles in spoken word poetry. Make sure to show him some love and follow him over at twitter.com/wilj. If he finally decides to reopen the can of worms that is blogging, you’ll hear about it there.
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