Blog Tours

{Blog Tour}The Slayer (Legend Chronicles #2) byTheresa Meyers: Excerpt & Giveaway!

 

 
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Welcome to Mother/Gamer/Writer for The Slayer Blog Tour.  The Slayer is the second book in Theresa Meyers’ Legend Chronicles steampunk romance series. Check out a couple of excerpts from the book and make sure you enter the awesome giveaway!

 

 

 

 

 

 
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  • ISBN-13: 9781420121254
  • Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corporation
  • Publication date: 4/1/2012
  • Pages: 352
  • Series: Legend Chronicles, #2
  • Find it: Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble
  • Purchase:10% Discount / APMA12 Coupon Code / Book Depository

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Overview:

Brothers Winchester, Remington and Colt know the legends—they were trained from childhood to destroy demon predators, wielding the latest steam-powered gadgetry. It’s a devil of a job. But sometimes your fate chooses you…

CHASING TROUBLE

Winn Jackson isn’t interested in hunting nightmares across the Wild West—even if it’s the family business. Unlike his rakehell brothers, Winn believes in rules. As sheriff of Bodie, California, he only shoots actual law breakers. That’s what he’s doing when he rescues the Contessa Drossenburg, Alexandra Porter, a lady with all the elegance of the Old World—grace, beauty and class. And then he sees her fangs.

Alexandra isn’t just some bloodsucking damsel in distress, though. She’s on a mission to save her people—and she’s dead certain that Winn’s family legacy is the only way. Luckily, aside from grace and class, she also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. So like it or not, Winn is going to come back with her to the mountains of Transylvania, and while he’s at it, change his opinions about vampires, demon-hunting, and who exactly deserves shooting. And if she has her way, he’s going to do his darnedest to save the world…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
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The Slayer Excerpt 1:

 

 

 
Outside Bodie, CA

1883

 

“Put down the gun, Hoss, fore I blow that oversized melon of yours to kingdom come.” Winchester Jackson’s cold, steady voice cracked through the canyon sure as a shot. Although Hoss Dalton, seated on his horse, had his rifle stuck under the leather flap of the stagecoach window, Winn knew the outlaw never robbed alone. Somewhere, hidden by the rock walls, sagebrush, and dead grasses of the canyon, Hoss’s ragged band of fellow thieves lay in wait.

The stage perched precariously on the shaley edge of the dirt road leading from Carson City to Winn’s town of Bodie. Inside a woman whimpered and a small dog yipped.

This was getting old. It really was. And it was unlikely this would end well. Hoss was two bricks shy of a load and perpetually half-drunk. But then anyone who’d seen and done the things an old Hunter like Hoss had would want to drown themselves in whiskey most of the time. “Hoss? You hear me?”

The female whimper was cut off instantly. Even the hot desert air scented with creosote and sagebrush in the rocky chute of the canyon stood still.

Hoss, turned slowly. His rifle, which was pointed at the occupants hidden within the dark interior of the steam stage, wavered at the I-won’t-tell-you-again tone of the sheriff’s voice.

Attached to the front of the stage, the mechanical horses, big copper beasts the size of Clydesdales, pinged, hissing steam through their venting nostrils as the metal and gears cooled.

Winn kept Hoss in his sights. The old man’s eyes, rheumy from too much rotgut whiskey, flicked to the star-shaped silver badge on Winn’s chest, but his rifle didn’t waver. Sonofabitch, was the old fool going to shoot a stage full of people right here, ten minutes from town, for a measly payroll?

The brilliant sun hung white hot overhead in a cloudless field of brilliant blue.

“Countdown is at three, Hoss. Drop that, or swear to God, I’ll shoot you where you stand! Tommy Sutton? You stay right where you are!” he yelled. He didn’t know if Sutton was there or not. Didn’t have eyes in the back of his head either, but the rustle in the grasses off to his right stopped.

“Damn, Winn. You ain’t nothin’ like your old man.” Hoss’s tone conveyed his deep disappointment born of familiarity.

Winchester Jackson peered down the length of his rifle barrel aimed at his quarry’s heart. “Thank you for the compliment.” Fact was, anything that distinguished him from his notorious outlaw father and supernatural Hunter, Cyrus “Black Jack” Jackson, pleased him enormously. He didn’t want any part of that life. Not now. Not ever again.

“Cain’t you jest let me go, for old time’s sake?” Hoss and his group of bandits had once been Hunters alongside his father. But tough times had turned them from protecting humanity to protecting their own self-serving interests. They’d robbed this stage four times in the last month, hoping for a payroll run for the Black Gulch Mine.

Winn was damned if he was going to let it be five. He had a murder a day, sometimes more than one, to contend with in the rowdy mining town. Having the miner’s pay stolen and travelers threatened on a regular basis was a pain in his ass. He’d stuck Hoss and his cronies in jail three times for doing exactly this. And every time, Hoss’s nefarious connections had gotten them out. But enough was enough.

“If I let you go, then I wouldn’t be doing my job, now would I? Get your hands where I can see them.” Winn pulled down the lever on his repeating rifle preparing it to fire.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Four other guns cocked and pointed at Winchester’s head as the rest of Hoss’s group emerged from the jagged tan rocks of the canyon. A perfect place to stage a hold up.

Damn.

“Not this time, Winn.” His wide smile a mess of gaps and yellowed teeth, Hoss stepped forward and pulled the rifle from Winchester’s hands. “No one would have figured you for the rotten apple in the barrel. A lawman!” His lip curled with contempt. “That would jest make your pa spit nails.”

Winchester resisted the urge to tug on the hardened tips of his heavily waxed black mustache, a habit he’d developed when agitated during his last five years as sheriff of Bodie. “My pa would have spit anything he could chew.”

A metallic clink and rattle of gears alerted Winn that the steps of the coach were being lowered. “Stay inside,” he shouted to the fool preparing to alight on a mountain pass with five armed men holding mere feet away.

A rustle of taffeta accompanied a length of silky calf and dainty half boot onto the first step. From the dim recesses of the stage stepped an elegant woman.

Winn felt a rush of unwanted heat as she emerged into the dusty sunlight. Dark, glossy curls were capped with a jaunty little top hat sporting a cloud of black feathers. Her expensive-looking bustled gown, the blue-black iridescent color of raven wings, hugged her slim waist and suggested a silhouette that was amply curved by nature rather than artifice. But more stunning than her figure was her face.

Seeing her beautiful, exotic features made Winn’s heart knock uncomfortably, and caused his palms to sweat. Sure he’d seen women. Plenty of them. But nothing like this roamed the likes of Bodie. Lips, a shade too full to be fashionable, and high cheekbones accented a pair of piercing whiskey-colored eyes that stole his breath away.

The woman’s dusky beauty was both dark and alluring, but the undercurrent of danger surrounded her like a storm cloud charged with lightning. Upon the black kidskin leather of her gloved hand was a large ruby ring, which matched the blood-like droplets of rubies at her ears. Her every mannerism screamed wealth and privilege.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Her voice was soothing and rich like warm honey, and her heavy Eastern European accent made “gentlemen” sound more like “zhentlemen.”

Hoss gave an impatient jerk of his head toward the stage, even though his gaze lingered on the woman. “Wait your turn missus. Get back in that coach. We’ll have us a fine time when I’m done with my business.” His suggestive tone made Winchester want to punch him—hard, and preferably more than once.

“I think not,” she replied smoothly.

The hair pricked up porcupine fashion on the back of Winchester’s neck as the scent of sulfur tainted the air. Something about this situation wasn’t right.

He turned away from the woman, focusing instead on taking down Hoss. Sure, he’d probably get shot by one of the Dalton gang, but if he did it right, it wouldn’t be more than a flesh wound and Hoss would take the brunt of his gang’s shots. He bent his knees slightly, preparing to lunge at Hoss’s middle, but before he could even move, all hell broke loose.

The woman’s face warped, her brows protruded, her eyes turned crimson, and her full lips bracketed a pair of perfect pearly fangs. She hissed and every head turned.

“Vampire!” Hoss yelled to the others.

Taken off guard, they fumbled with their weapons, trying to exchange regular bullets for silver, but they weren’t fast enough. In a blink she had stripped the men from their horses and savagely ripped out their throats with her delicate gloved hands and razor-sharp fangs.

Winchester grabbed his rifle out of Hoss’s loose grip and trained the weapon on the monster in taffeta. She turned back, facing them, her lips slicked with bright red blood. The tip of her soft pink tongue stroked one fang, making Winchester’s gut contract involuntarily.

“A bit rustic, and a little too well marinated in whiskey, but substantial,” she said, as if discussing the vintage of wine. She pulled a black silk handkerchief from the sleeve of her gown and dabbed at the blood remaining around her lips and chin, removing the last traces of her unladylike activity.

“Well don’t just stand there, goddammit, shoot her!” Hoss yelled, shuffling behind Winchester. Winn stood his ground, the rifle pointed straight at the vampiress’s heart. Not that it would do much good. What he really needed was a machete or a broadsword to lop that lovely dark-haired head from her slim shoulders.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned.

She tilted her head slightly like an inquisitive bird of prey, her eyes returning to their original amber color and her face returning to its regal profile. Only the fangs still remained.

“You have nothing to fear from me. Look around you, Hunter. Have I harmed the innocents in the coach? Have I harmed you? No. I took only the lives of those who were contributing nothing to your society in the first place. Hardly a crime.” She peeled the soiled black gloves from her fingers one at a time, then tossed them into the air where they disappeared in a swirl of dark smoke.

Winn’s finger rested heavy on the trigger, just needing a finite amount of pressure to fire the rifle at the vampiress. Only one thing held him back.

Everything she’d said was true.

He glanced at the wooden steam-powered stagecoach. The occupants huddled inside, whispering and peering with wide frightened eyes from behind the dusty leather window coverings, afraid to come out, but they were unharmed. Hoss’s men lay in crumpled bloody heaps and Hoss himself was still cowering behind him, but she hadn’t attacked him.

“What d’you want, vampire?”

“I am the Lady Alexandra Porter, Contessa Drossenburg, embassary of his vampiric imperial majesty, Emperor Vladamir the Fifth. I’ve come to seek out the eldest of the Chosen, Winchester Jackson. I was told he resides in Bodie.” Her gaze flicked to the cluster of sun-bleached wooden and brick buildings down in the valley below, then drifted to the star on his chest. “Do you know him?”

“Lady, I am him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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EXCERPT#3:

 

 
 
Winn slouched down in the well-padded leather seat. “Don’t know what the hell Frobisher thought he needed them for. He damn well locked the doors when we climbed in. We ain’t passengers. We’re prisoners.”

Alexa shrugged. “Prisoners. Passengers. It’s all semantics as long as we get where we’re going.”

He focused on her feminine profile. The end of her nose tipped up slightly and her full lips were dusky mauve compared to her skin.

Winn tried to ignore the stirring she caused in his blood and focused instead on thinking his question very hard in hopes she’d be able to hear him. What do we do once we get there?

She snapped around and stared at him, the dark curls about her temples, swinging with the movement. Are you talking to me on purpose?

‘Course I am. Why would I waste an advantage over those goons? He glanced briefly out the window.

It’s just that. . .

What?

Well, communication like this is usually a very personal thing done only with those you trust, even among vampires.

Winn said nothing. He’d let her draw her own conclusions. Fact was, Darkin or not, she’d proven herself more reliable than half the men he’d worked with and a damn sight more concerned with his survival than anyone else on this continent.

So what’s the plan when we get there? He asked again.

Her eyes narrowed. I don’t know. But one thing is certain. We’ll have to evade these Hunters or they will take the Book back to Frobisher before you can use it to close the Gates of Nyx.

Well, that damn sure ain’t gonna happen.

Gradually, their guard relaxed, moving further ahead to talk to the driver. They passed little hamlets, the white-washed houses with thick thatched roofs had smoke curling out of chimneys. The fields were either the dark brown of newly turned earth, or the achingly bright green of new shoots. Occasionally there were groups of wooly sheep with long tails, moving randomly about like puffs of clouds, and rows and rows of vineyards that made the rolling land look like it was a woven tapestry. Unlike a train, they were going slowly enough for him to take it all in.

“It’s kind of pretty out here,” Winn murmured trying hard to take his mind off of how sore he was getting cooped up in a carriage with no room to stretch out his legs. “Don’t look nothing like Bodie. Don’t look nothing like Missouri, either.”

The Contessa turned and looked at him, her eyes soft. In the confines of the carriage the jasmine scent of her filled the space, making every breath he took laced with a taste of her. “Is that were you were born?”

Winn nodded. “Hell of a lot flatter than this place.” He paused for a moment, his drive to know everything about her picking away at his brain. “What about you? Were you born in Transylvania?”

“No. Krakow, when it was part of the Russian Empire. It is a very large city. And flat too.” She smiled at him and glanced out the window. “Your home in the American wilderness is beautiful too, just different than this place.”

“I thought vampires didn’t like sunshine.”

She locked gazes with him. “Nor are we famed for our love of open spaces, but then I’m a bit different from the other vampires at court. I’ve never quite blended in.”

Winn’s large hand swallowed up hers and he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “You ain’t the only one who feels out of place, Tessa.”

“Well, here perhaps.”

“Nope. Even at home.”

She blinked, her long lashes fanning for a moment over her cheeks. “Why is that? You have brothers.”

Winn shrugged. “Don’t mean we’re all cut from the same cloth.”

“But you’re all Hunters.”

He tried to smile, but it ended up a more sad, half-tilting of his lips. “I’m not a Hunter. Not anymore. If I had been, I would have been able to tell Boris was something unnatural. I would have known how to defeat those werewolves. I may be the Chosen, but I’m a sad specimen of Hunter. Shouldn’t be one at all.”

Winn leaned his head back against the cushions and stared up at the diamond pattern of golden threads woven through the red brocade lining the interior of the opulent traveling coach.

“Why is that?” she coaxed, softly.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

Alexa turned to fully face him and laid her free hand upon him, sending a ripple of awareness up his arm. “We all have.”

Her sensual fragrance was driving him insane. Winn turned his head and looked at her. He’d certainly been wrong about her. Hell, in just a short span of time he’d come to think of her as an equal. He valued her bravery, her judgment, her keen intelligence and her refined manners. She was beautiful not in some flowery way, but in a lush, carnal fashion that made him think of what her curves would look like beneath silk sheets.

Beneath him.

She moved in closer, the soft swell of her breast over the edge of her bodice pressing against his arm, making him rock hard.

“Why do you hold yourself back?” she whispered. She caressed his cheek with her smooth, gentle fingers. Winn moved enough to be able to bring the tips of her fingers in contact with his mouth and lightly kissed them.

How could he possibly explain that every time he’d let someone get close to him, they eventually paid a terrible price? And while all the situations and people had been different, there’d been just one consistency – him. His mother, Colt, his Pa. All of them at one time or another had suffered because of him. “Trust me, Tessa, you’re better off not linking your train to my engine. We aren’t even on the same track.”

He should have known by now she wasn’t one for taking suggestions. She leaned into him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. Alexa’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mouth forming an all too kissable pout.

“Your mouth says no, Mr. Jackson, but your eyes say da.” His heart beat loud in his ears as she slowly closed the space between them, her lips touching his, in a slow sensual kiss that burned. Winn put his hands on her shoulders to push her back, but the contact started a warm fizzing sensation in his blood that quickly turned to a heated rush, burning away all sense of what was right and what was wrong.

The instant her slick tongue slid against his in invitation to deepen the kiss, all hell broke loose inside him, opening the gate to temptation. He used his hold on her shoulders to pull her into his lap, then let his hands travel down the arch of her back to knead the soft curve of her hip as pure male need took over.

She wriggled on his lap, but her voluminous skirts, petticoats and bustle made truly enjoying her assets almost impossible in the confines of the carriage. But between the two of them he thought they could find a way to manage. Her hands fisted in his hair and her kisses turned demanding. The smell of her, spicy and floral at the same time, filled his senses, making him wonder what her most secretive places tasted as sweet. The buzzing sensation in his system almost canceled out the sharp swift nip at his lip. But he didn’t miss the slow, lazy lap of her tongue against the cut.

He pulled back from their kiss, his breathing harsh and fast. “You just tasted my blood.”

Winn tore his gaze away from her looking at the scenery outside the windows as it changed from rural to the outskirts of the city. He tried to gain his bearings while his heart thumped loud and hard against his ribs.

“You have no idea how good you taste.” He could hardly fault her when he’d been thinking the same damn thing, albeit in a different manner. He turned and stared at her. Her eyes were luminous.

“Maybe this ain’t the time and place for us to try that out right now, seeing how it’s only fair if I get to taste you in return.”

Her skin flushed with pleasure. “Is that a promise I can hold you to?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone husky with need. He pulled her in for one more kiss and broke it reluctantly.

 
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~Giveaway Time~

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Enter to win an Advanced Reader Copy of Theresa Meyers’ second book in her Legend Chronicles steampunk romance series, THE SLAYER, along with an autographed cover flat and an antique china cup (cups will vary) accompanied by an assortment of teas and decadent Bliss chocolate.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Theresa Meyers:
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Raised by a bibliophile who made the dining room into a library, Theresa has always been a lover of books and stories. First a writer for newspapers, then for national magazines, she started her first novel in high school, eventually enrolling in a Writer’s Digest course and putting the book under the bed until she joined Romance Writers of America in 1993.

In 2005 she was selected as one of eleven finalists for the American Title II contest, the American Idol of books. She is married to the first man she ever went on a real date with (to their high school prom), who she knew was hero material when he suffered through having to let her parents drive, and her brother sit between them in the backseat of the car. They currently live in a Victorian house on a mini farm in the Pacific Northwest with their two children, three cats, an old chestnut Arabian gelding, an energetic mini-Aussie shepherd puppy, several rabbits, a dozen chickens and an out-of-control herb garden.

You can find her online on Twitter, Facebook, at her Web site or blogging with the other Lolitas of STEAMED!
 
http://www.theresameyers.com/
http://www.theresameyers.com/blog/
http://twitter.com/Theresa_Meyers
http://www.facebook.com/TheresaMeyersAuthor
http://www.ageofsteam.wordpress.com/
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 

 

 
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