Hello awesome readers! Welcome to my stop on the tour for Dark Glitter by C.M. Stunich & Tate James.
Publication date: January 24th 2018
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Thriller
Ciarah O’Rourke was born into torture.
A human spirit reincarnated in the body of an ancient fae goddess, she’s spent the last five years in iron shackles, her mind poisoned with magic for secrets she doesn’t know.
Waking up in a dirty alley with no memory of her escape, Ciarah finds herself in the hands of The Wild Hunt Motorcycle Club–a ruthless and violent group of bikers with faerie blood in their veins.
Arlo. Reece. Killian.
Three men drenched in death, sin, and old magic.
From their clubhouse in the middle of the Louisiana bayou, they’ll offer Ciarah the keys to unlock her memories and control the veil between worlds. But even her knights can’t erase the twisted scars that remind her they aren’t the only ones who hunt.
When The Wild Hunt rides, the souls of the dead join their parade.
All that’s missing now is their queen.
Tate James was born and raised in the Land of the Long White Cloud (New Zealand) but now lives in Australia with her husband, baby and furbaby.
She is a lover of books, red wine, cats and coffee and is not a morning person. She is a bit too sarcastic and swears too much for polite society and definitely tells too many dirty jokes.
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn’t mind – especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she’s not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s the author of over thirty novels – romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There’s a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She’s already looking forward to it.
My years of torment ended with a sharp gasp, my first breath of freedom tainted with the stench of rat shit and stale urine. That’s what woke me from seemingly endless torture, the urban stink of a city.
Of course, I couldn’t remember any of it.
As I blinked myself awake, my damaged mind pulled a curtain over the memories, a veil to shroud me from the pain. It wasn’t something I had the energy to fight—or that I’d even want to if I could.
I peeled my heavy lids apart, the motion like the scraping of sandpaper against eyes too used to absolute darkness. It had been a long time since I’d seen even the dim, depressing lighting of an alleyway. How long, I didn’t know. My memory was fractured glass, the pieces scattered and sharp.
I let out a small soundless scream when I came face-to-face with the wicked dark eyes of a rat. My back hit a dumpster as I scrambled frantically to get away from the small creature, my panicked gaze flicking around my new environment like a trapped animal. Tall brick walls rose up on either side of me, framing the navy velvet of a night sky.
Where the **** am I?
It was dark, but streetlights and glowing neon signs lit the neighborhood outside of the alley I was crouched in. Shadows shrouded me, giving me a temporary feeling of security while I frantically searched my memory for where I was … or who I was.
My wrists and ankles ached and I could see thick bands of bruising and raw wounds around them, like I’d been held prisoner somewhere. Surely that would be the sort of thing that was impossible to forget? What the **** had I done to deserve being held prisoner? It must’ve been something awful though, for me to feel this sick, this detached from my own body.
Hot iron, burning my flesh, scalding me, making me bleed.
I blinked and the random flash of memory was gone, tucked safely away from my fragile mind. It wouldn’t do to dish up the demons of my past just yet. Closing my eyes against a wave of fatigue, I sucked in shallow breaths of the stale air, the scent of garbage tainting my tongue, and put a hand to my side. There was a burning sensation there, like a blade buried between my ribs. It made bile rise in my throat as I fought to control the churning of my stomach.
It was hard to decide which was worse off: my body … or my mind.
Fractured memories from different times and places assaulted me in waves. A rowdy bar, a peaceful glade, the sun shining on the sea. But they were puzzle pieces with no reference, just bits of color and shape I had no clue what to do with.
Had I been in jail, punished for a crime? That would explain the marks on my wrists and ankles, wouldn’t it? But my clothes weren’t like any sort of prison uniform I’d ever seen, just a dirty, bloodstained cotton dress and no shoes. The clothing didn’t seem anywhere near appropriate for the weather; it was cold enough that I could see my breath misting in front of me, so I clearly hadn’t planned to be out here …
My quiet panic was abruptly intruded on by a heavy metal door clanging open just feet from where I was crouched. A young girl in a greasy waitress uniform stepped out and propped the door open with a stray brick before lighting up a cigarette.
Terrified, I remained frozen to the spot, both figuratively and literally, praying she wouldn’t see me. How on earth would I explain what I was doing out here? It was clearly the middle of winter and I was dressed in little more than a nightgown.
Oh yeah, and I had no memory of who I was let alone who it was I was running from.
“Hey, girl,” she said, spotting me, “what the hell are you doing lurking in this sh*t-filled alley?” The woman took a drag on her cigarette, blonde hair gathered back in a messy ponytail, stray strands curling wildly around her face.
She took a couple of steps closer to me, and I found myself preparing for a fight, awaiting the first blow with pursed lips and a defiant lift to my chin.