Excerpt and Giveaway: Black Abaddon (Vulcan Legacies #2) by Sasha Hibbs

Description:

Ally Watson struggles to live with the choices she made, the worst of which resulted in her soul mate's death. Michael’s sacrifice to save the girl he loved may have reversed the Apocalypse, but not the permanent damage inflicted by living with his loss.

Ally begins a journey where she soon discovers that death is not always the end, but sometimes the very beginning. With old friends, she journeys to the Nosferatu Nation where she meets with new alliances willing to help her in her quest to defeat the Devourer. At every turn, Ally unearths secrets that threaten to destroy those she loves.

The second installment of The Vulcan Legacies series will put Ally to the ultimate test, forcing her to face her fears and the true destiny she will fulfill as Azrael, the Seraph of Death.

Eighteen-year-old Ally Watson arrives home from high school graduation, more than a little annoyed that her Uncle Argyle—Ally’s legal guardian and only surviving relative—didn’t even bother showing up. But instead of berating him for his forgetfulness, Ally finds him in a life-or-death battle with a monster. Argyle manages to kill the creature, and gives Ally a parcel containing a destiny she never knew existed. 

Ally, along with her best friends Michael, Jessica, and David, hurry to Georgia to uncover the truth of Uncle Argyle’s secrets, and the meaning of the mysterious marks that Ally bears. Are the marks related to the blacksmith mythology of her ancestors? Who are these heavenly warriors who show up in the oddest of places? And will an ancient gypsy curse destroy the very things Ally fights to save? 

Black Amaranth: a simple flower, a symbol with an ancient legacy, a conduit for prophecy…while faith and hope are essential to the journey, Ally soon discovers that love is the most powerful force of all.

EXCERPT

TOUR SCHEDULE

Ally rubbed her hands in circular motions over the blanket. It was like if she rubbed the blanket enough times, Michael would appear in the doorway, smiling at her. He would be alive. Her chest throbbed and ached, like there was a cavity in her heart, the tissue slowly eroding, exposing something that was meant to stay protected because otherwise the bareness was too painful. 

Ally eased herself back, laying her head down on Michael’s pillow. The Ravenscraft sisters must have slept in the other bedrooms because Ally could still smell his cologne. Tears migrated to the corners of her eyes, their warmth spilling over her lids and traveling down her cheeks. Her tears fell on his pillow. Through the haze in her eyes, she caught a shimmer on his nightstand, the glass in a picture frame gleaming in the moonlight stealing through Michael’s curtain. 

Ally wiped at her eyes and sat up. She took the frame in her hands and her heart sank in agony. The picture of her former self staring back at her from within the frame was cruel. He had kept a picture of her close to him, right where he slept. The photo was black and white, a close-up of Ally, eyes cast down, a hand reaching up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. 

Agony soon turned to anger as Ally grasped the wooden frame in her fingers. She began rocking herself back and forth, her pain and anger swelling so high she finally threw the picture against the adjacent wall. Glass shattered and rained down, the frame broken. 

Ally stood up, but quickly sank to her knees, shards of glass cutting into her. She sobbed and cried until there was nothing left. She picked up the broken frame and brushed off the remaining slivers of glass. As her fingers moved over the picture, she could feel carvings on the side of the frame. Removing her photo and setting it off to the side, she turned the frame over. 

“Please, if anyone is listening, if anyone can hear me, let me die,” Ally whispered through trembling lips as she rubbed her fingers over the letters carved undoubtedly with Michael’s pocket knife that said, “Ally Watson Blackwell.” He had cared deeply enough for her that he secretly gave her his name. She set the broken frame down and jumped a little at the feel of something downy brushing against her fingertips. 

Ally picked up a black feather, the tip between her fingers. Suddenly she heard the soft tune of a harmonica. Her flesh erupted in goosebumps. With one hand clutching the black feather and her other hand on the floor, she pushed herself up. Navigating her way through Michael’s house quietly, Ally followed the music. She had heard the tune before. 

She halted at the front door. Whoever was playing the harmonica was outside on the porch. The music stopped. She froze. 

The door swung open as a familiar voice said, “Come on out, child.” 

That voice. It triggered a memory. That tune. A mix of Southern soul drifting through metal reeds. She recognized it. 

Stepping out onto the porch, she glanced over at the man relaxing in Grandma Blackwell’s rocking chair. 

“You….” Ally said in a whisper as she stared at the old man, the same one from Lou’s House of Blues. 

At once Miss Elma came running up the stairs, skidding to a stop at the old man’s feet. 

“Miss Elma! It’s good to see you again, girl,” he said, his fingers gliding through her black fur. “Guards from the Gates, such loyal beings.” 

“Who are you?” Ally asked. 

“I am what I am,’ he said, his gaze sliding over and resting directly on Ally. 

Ally jumped. There were no irises, only pools of blazing white fire where eyes should have been. “You were the man from Brunswick, at the bar. Why are you here? What are you?” A torrent of questions spilled from her mouth. She looked at the old man, his aged features covering up what lay under his skin. 

“His blood cried out to me. The balance has shifted,” he said, his voice now a deep baritone. 

Ally fell, her face down, nose to the porch. She trembled. “Are you the Authority?” 

“My dear child, lift your eyes to mine. Do not be afraid,” he said. 

Ally lifted her head. She felt a warm wet trickle at the corner of her mouth. She brushed her finger over her bottom lip. She stared down at her finger, its tip smeared with a trace of blood. 

“I’m dying,” Ally said, slowly standing erect.

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About the author:

By age 5, Sasha Hibbs' favorite movie was Gone With the Wind. By age 12, she completed her 7th grade book report on the sequel, Scarlett. By 18, she met and married her very own Mr. Rhett Butler and as it turns out, she never had to worry about going back to Tara to win the love of her life back. Fortunately, he stuck with her.

With a love of all things paranormal, the ambiance of the South with its gigantic antebellum mansions and canopies of Spanish moss, and a love for her husband’s rich storytelling of blacksmiths and the mythology surrounding their origins, it wasn’t long until the world of her debut novel, Black Amaranth, was born.

When not working her day job as a nurse, you can find Sasha dreaming of her next beach trip, reading the latest YA novel, and drinking more white chocolate mocha than she should.

Sasha lives in mountainous West Virginia with her husband, Tim, and their two daughters, Aeliza and Ava. She is currently hard at work on book two in The Vulcan Legacies series.

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