Introducing Jennifer Loiske - Excerpt from Black Coven

Jennifer Loiske lives in Finland in Naantali, which is a small sunny town on the southwest coast. She is a Teen/YA paranormal fiction author, with four exciting series available

worldwide. The McLean Twins series for teen readers, the Immortal Blood series for mature young adult readers, the Blood Hunters series, also for mature young adults, which is a follow-up for the Immortal Blood series and is created by the readers’ requests, and the Shape Shifter series for anyone aged 16 and up. 

      Jennifer’s stories are full of creatures of the night. Vampires, demons, witches, shape shifters… but even if they are mostly fiction you can find a hint of truth in every story. Jennifer loves to research, so every time she gets an idea or a new story she has a crazy Google session, looking for places, old myths, names, folklore, magical items… anything that could spice up her story and make it more real for the readers. Jennifer is also part of Authors For Charity, an international author alliance, and a team member of Epilepsy FI magazine. She is a pre-school teacher by profession.

Excerpt

Black Coven:

The house was beautiful, and emanated timelessness. It was a masterpiece from another century, a place that should be crawling with life, happiness, and joy, rather than being this quiet grave, a place so similar to a cemetery. No one was to be seen in or outside the house. Nothing moved. Not even the leaves of the ivy covering the gray stone walls. Shannon looked up to the sky. The sun was peeking through the clouds, warming her skin, filling her with false hope and the illusion of being safe. The sun and the beautiful landscape would probably have looked inviting and calm to any mundane traveler, but witches saw the world differently. Shannon could point out at least three possible traps within twenty feet of where they were standing. She knew that the silence was not a sign of peace but of danger, and that the lack of people didn’t mean no one was home. Quite the opposite.

“Nice try,” she cried, laughing out loud. A crow joined her with its raspy voice.

A car door opened close by and a man leaped behind them.

“Simon,” Shannon said without looking at the man. “I was wondering whether you’d show up or let us deal with this mess on our own.”

Simon growled. This was the last place on earth he wanted to be, but there was no way he’d leave those kids without proper back-up. A devilish grin flashed across his face. Yes, they might be witches, but he was a demon. He placed his heavy hands on their shoulders.

Ian stole a quick peek at Simon’s grim features before focusing on the house again. Simon’s black eyes were hollow, the scar across his face unnaturally visible on his pale skin. The demon in him raised its head, making the tattoos entwining his muscled arms squirm as if they were alive. He could sense the evil inside, the devil lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to strike down Shannon and Ian. His grip on the kids’ shoulders tightened. He knew he shouldn’t go into the house. Not when the darkness was whispering in his veins, urging him to do terrible things. The pull was nearly unbearable and yet he knew there was no power, in or outside this world, which could force him to harm a hair on his protégées’ heads. He would rather die than hurt them.

“Let’s do this,” Shannon said to no one in particular.

Ian nodded. “I’ll go first.”

“No.” Simon stopped him before Ian could move. “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure?” Shannon asked, worried.

“Positive.” Simon pushed them aside and strode to the door. “Ready?” He glanced at them.

They nodded and, without saying a word, grabbed each other’s hand, preparing to cast a protection spell over Simon if needed.

Simon opened the door carefully and stopped to listen. Nothing. He moved to the doorway, ready to fight in a blink, but there was no sound or a person anywhere. He stepped inside slowly, Shannon and Ian right on his heels. The silence was disturbing. Candles were burning on the tables and in the chandeliers. The spotless floor gleamed, so clearly someone had cleaned it recently, and through the open door of the living room at the back of the hall they could see a fire dancing in the fireplace. On her left, Shannon saw a pair of boots and an umbrella leaning against the wall, and on the small table near the umbrella was a leather leash. A dog’s leash, and yet there was no dog nearby. No barking or the sound of an approaching animal could be heard. Not even a sniff. The only sounds were their soft footsteps as they carefully moved deeper inside the house.

“Connor?” Shannon whispered.

Nothing.

“Connor?” she tried again a bit louder.

Deep silence. They could’ve heard a needle drop in the room, as even the air seemed to be still. Weird.

Simon walked to the living room door and pushed it open a bit more with his foot. He gestured to the twins to wait. Shannon nibbled on her bottom lip, her hand tightly in Ian’s. Simon peeked carefully into the room. His back stiffened and he quickly withdrew back into the hall.

“What?” Shannon asked as quietly as she could.

Simon closed his eyes for a brief moment, his mouth tight.

“Simon, talk to us,” Shannon demanded. “What’s in there?”

 

Author links:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJenniferLoiske
https://twitter.com/jenniferloiske
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5821849.Jennifer_Loiske
http://www.amazon.com/Jennifer-Loiske/e/B0054QIXPY
https://jenniferloiske.wordpress.com
https://fi.pinterest.com/authorjloiske/ 

Come back Monday for an excerpt from Deamon's Touch. 

First Easter: Excerpt from "Swinging Bridge"

First Easter

Easter Sunday dawned pink, and blue, and yellow. Glorious sunshine streamed through the window to my right. I stretched, trying to relieve cramped muscles, which had been restricted throughout the long, seemingly endless night.

I gazed through foggy, smudged plastic at the bright sunlight, just six feet away. I parted the curtain and gazed out of the window. It was going to be a beautiful Easter Sunday, the kind you pray for: warm and bright with iris and daffodil-scented air.

I imagined my friends and neighbors preparing for the day. Easter hats, bright dresses, and new suits, bought for the special Easter services, would soon adorn Mother and Father, Daughter and Son.

Multicolored eggs, hidden throughout sun-lit lawns, nestled beneath bush or tree in anticipation of the eager searching of little girls in starched dresses and little boys in blue suits. Scrambling upon newly sprung lawns in the quest of brightly colored treasures, young voices would cry out in triumph as one jeweled egg after another made its way into colorfully woven Easter baskets. It was the kind of day I had planned for you, on this, your first Easter.

I turned and looked down upon your sleeping face. Such a beautiful, sweet face with its chubby baby cheeks, downy skin and clear-cut brows. I pressed my lips to your forehead and felt a thrill run through my heart. No fever!

My mind traveled back to the Friday morning before. Good Friday began just before dawn for us. I awoke to hear a strange noise coming from your room: a kind of barking noise, mixed with attempts at crying. I rushed in to find you struggling for breath, your lips outlined in blue. “Mark!” I cried, rousing your father from a deep sleep. He stumbled in confused, but not too muddled to take immediate action. Throwing on a pair of sweats, he wrapped you in a quilt, and rushed you to the deck outside where a cold pre-dawn breeze might bring you some relief.

The frigid air seemed to help your breathing. Your daddy kept you there until I could scramble into some clothes. We then rushed you to the emergency room, still wrapped in the quilt, the windows of the van down, so that the cold air would continue to help you breathe.

They told us that it was the croup, implying that you might not survive. I remember grabbing the intern’s tie and pulling his face down to mine: “What do you mean IF he makes it?” I cried. Surely, this was some kind of wicked nightmare and I would awaken soon. You were not going to be taken from us! Not you! Not my son!

Thus began the ordeal. You were taken to the contagious ward and placed within a tent-enclosed crib in which medicated mist was pumped. I crawled in with you and held you. I could feel your little body, burning with fever, trembling in between spasms of breathing. I ached watching you! I was reminded of my last moments with my mother, the grandmother you had never known. I had watched her as she lay dying, fighting for breath, just like you were doing now…watched as her chest heaved with the effort to breath. The memory terrified me! Certainly, a rib cage would break under such effort! Surely, a small child could not survive such suffering! I stroked your forehead and murmured words of comfort throughout your struggle, as I continued to hold you within the circle of my arms. You didn’t cry. I don’t think you had the strength. I cried for you.

Saturday dawned sunny and warm. I remember thinking that if the day before had been this balmy, we may not have made it to Children’s emergency room in time, as the frosty temperatures of the morning before had eased the swelling in your throat and allowed you just enough of an airway to breathe.

You slept though most of Saturday. The fight to live won, you lay as you had since we arrived, within my arms, quiescent, gathering strength for the day when you would be released from the hospital.

The room began to brighten with light from the window. I stroked your cheek and brushed your hair from your brow. My beautiful son! How could I survive without you, my baby?

Easter Sunday…your first Easter; I thanked God for returning you to me. Today, there would be no Easter egg hunts, no brimming Easter baskets. Instead, today held life renewed and returned, and it held rejoicing!

Easter Sunday is a day of reflection and joy, representing the end of suffering and the promise of salvation. I lay down beside you, still holding you in my arms as my thoughts turned toward another mother: one who had watched her son suffer, had stood beneath His cross and bled within her heart as each drop of His blood was shed. How had she endured it? How had she borne it?

I saw her clearly in my mind’s eye, watching her son’s chest heave with the effort to breathe. Knowing that the very position the soldiers had placed Him in would cause asphyxiation. She had stood vigil throughout her child’s struggle for breath, watched as His lips slowly turned blue, as He fought for oxygen. How she must have longed to hold Him, to murmur a mother’s words of comfort. “My baby! My sweet boy!”

I felt her pain as her son was lowered from His cross and finally placed within her arms. Now she could stroke His bloodied head. Now she could kiss His cooling brow and murmur those words she had longed to murmur while He hung above her. I saw her rocking Him, cooing to Him, her voice choking as she perhaps attempted a broken lullaby. I saw her whispering words of love, her heart aching with the torment she had witnessed and with the death of her beautiful boy.

I envisioned her on the second day. Her child lay within His tomb, His personal ordeal now over. She must have felt comfort in this: her son was no longer suffering; He was at peace.

I then imagined her on that first Easter Sunday. I heard the others shouting, “Here is the Lord! Here is the Savior! Here is the Messiah!” But, I heard her voice exclaim with joy: “Here is my baby! Here is my child! Here is my heart!”

What gratitude she must have felt! At that moment in time, I could not imagine that she was thinking of the salvation of mankind. I could only visualize a mother, who had just the night before, cried out in anguish to the heavens above, “I want my son back!” weeping now in gratitude and relief at her child’s return.

I turned onto my side and gave you a gentle hug. My heart filled with gratitude that I had not lost you, that you were again healthy and alive, that you were here, within my arms, my sweet son.

Kissing your silken cheek I sent up a prayer of thanksgiving: “Thank you for giving me my son back,” I prayed, “and tell your mother for me, please – I’m glad she has her son back too.” I closed my eyes and at last slept.

99 ¢ on Amazon: http://goo.gl/R4ezds

Jennifer Loiske - Immortal Blood Series - Blood Master

Jennifer Loiske lives in Finland in Naantali, which is a small sunny town on the southwest coast. She is a Teen/YA paranormal fiction author, with four exciting series available
worldwide. The McLean Twins series for teen readers, the Immortal Blood series for mature young adult readers, the Blood Hunters series, also for mature young adults, which is a follow-up for the Immortal Blood series and is created by the readers’ requests, and the Shape Shifter series for anyone aged 16 and up. 

      Jennifer’s stories are full of creatures of the night. Vampires, demons, witches, shape shifters… but even if they are mostly fiction you can find a hint of truth in every story. Jennifer loves to research, so every time she gets an idea or a new story she has a crazy Google session, looking for places, old myths, names, folklore, magical items… anything that could spice up her story and make it more real for the readers. Jennifer is also part of Authors For Charity, an international author alliance, and a team member of Epilepsy FI magazine. She is a pre-school teacher by profession.

IMMORTAL BLOOD SERIES (For mature YA readers, NA)

Lucas (Book 2)

Excerpt:

Blood Master

A light, satisfied smile was playing on his lips as his eyes moved from man to man, woman to woman, as if he were a general inspecting his troops. All of them stared straight ahead, with their backs straight and eyes full of emptiness.

Finally, Jason let go of my shoulder and spoke. “Brothers. Sisters. Today is a day of joy. Today is the day when you will have a new sister. A sister that will continue Lucas’s work as my protégée.” He drilled his eyes into them and made sure everyone understood exactly what he was saying. When they lowered their heads murmuring ‘aye’, he continued. “Today is the day when Samantha Catherine Green will learn the true way to be a child of the darkness.”

I wanted to scream hell no, but I knew my only way to survive at his hands was at least to try to do whatever he wanted me to do and think about the consequences later.

“Bring me the servant,” said Jason.

Before I could react I saw someone leading a young girl towards us.

“No,” I breathed.

True, a second ago I had been prepared to do whatever it took to keep Jason happy, but I hadn’t known he would drag me into his devilish games this fast. I thought I had time to prepare and at least create a decent conspiracy against him. Maybe even write ‘Sam’s handbook of surviving the impossible’ or something like that, but forcing me into his cruel world this fast was just malicious. He’s Jason, a small voice said inside my head; what else did you expect? I gritted my teeth. I had no idea what I had expected but certainly not this.

I stared at the girl and shook my head. “No,” I breathed again, as I had a pretty good hunch about what would happen next.

Jason ignored me completely. “Colleen,” he said, his voice like a caress.

“My lord.” The girl curtseyed.

Jason took her hand and lifted it to his lips. His eyes were gleaming and I swore there was a hint of red in them. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from him. I wanted to. I did. But I just couldn’t.

Slowly, he turned her hand, revealing the pulsing veins on her soft wrist. “Here,” he said, turning his eyes to me and smiling slightly, “we drink straight from the vein.”

I felt my mouth get wet. Gross, I know, but I couldn’t help it.

“Here,” he said, revealing his fangs, “I am the master.” He sank his teeth softly into her wrist, not drinking, just making her blood flow. “Samantha.” His voice was pure velvet. “Drink with me.”

I swallowed and stared at the wrist. He moved it closer to me. My eyes widened and my mouth opened slightly. My fangs ached and without even noticing I touched her wrist.

The air around felt heavy but the girl didn’t seem to be afraid of us. On the contrary. She seemed eager and quite willing. I pressed my fingers to my lips and tasted the blood on them.

Jason’s eyes were on me. “Drink,” he urged gently.

But something in his eyes made warning bells ring in my head and I couldn’t make myself do it. I let my hand drop and took a step away from him. I almost waited for him to grab me and force me to drink, but instead he just smiled and pressed his lips to the girl’s wrist. His eyes never left me. Not even when his fangs pierced her flesh again and he drank the blood she so willingly offered.

I couldn’t look at him anymore so instead I looked at the people around us. They weren’t staring ahead anymore. They were staring at the girl before me and they looked hungry.

When Jason was done he licked the blood from his lips and quickly grabbed my hand, and before I knew it his hand was on my neck, pressing my mouth to the girl’s wrist.

“If you want to survive, you must drink now,” he whispered, so quietly I doubt anyone else heard him.

A sound, half cry, half sigh, escaped from my mouth. I knew he was right but I still couldn’t make myself do it.

He pressed his mouth to my ear. “You promised to obey me, did you not?”

I nodded.

“This,” he hissed, his breath hot on my face as he let his lips rest on my skin for a while, “is not obeying. Drink.”

I pressed my eyes closed. This is your life now. Suck it up, I ordered myself. An image of Dane flashed into my mind but I quickly pushed it away. Forcing my eyes open I turned my head slightly. He stared right into me. Tears stabbed the back of my eyes but I couldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing me cry. So I glared daggers at him and smiled scornfully.

“Yes, sire.”

 

Author links:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJenniferLoiske
https://twitter.com/jenniferloiske
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5821849.Jennifer_Loiske
http://www.amazon.com/Jennifer-Loiske/e/B0054QIXPY
https://jenniferloiske.wordpress.com
https://fi.pinterest.com/authorjloiske/ 

Come back Monday for an excerpt from Deamon's Touch.