Title: Darkness Brutal
Series: The Dark Cycle
Author: Rachel A. Marks
Publisher: Skyscape
Genre: YA, Urban Fantasy
Release Date: 1st July 2015
BLURB supplied by Xpresso Book Tours
Aidan O’Linn’s childhood ended the night he saw a demon kill his mother and mark his sister, Ava, with Darkness. Since then, every three years the demons have returned to try to claim her. Living in the gritty, forgotten corners of Los Angeles, Aidan has managed to protect his sister, but he knows that even his powers to fight demons and speak dead languages won’t keep her safe for much longer.
In desperation, Aidan seeks out the help of Sid, the enigmatic leader of a rag-tag group of teens who run LA Paranormal, an Internet reality show that fights demons and ghosts. With them, Aidan believes he’s finally found a haven for Ava. But then he meets Kara, a broken girl who can spin a hypnotic web of passionate energy, and she awakens powers inside of him he didn’t know he had―and unleashes a new era of war between the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness.
With the fate of humanity in his hands, can Aidan keep the Darkness held back and accept his terrifying destiny, or will he and his sister fall to the same fate as their mother?
With the fate of humanity in his hands, can Aidan keep the Darkness held back and accept his terrifying destiny, or will he and his sister fall to the same fate as their mother?
PURCHASE LINKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Rachel A. Marks is a cancer survivor, a writer and artist, a surfer and dirt-bike rider, chocolate lover and keeper of faerie secrets. Her four kids and amazing hubby put up with her nerdiness with tremendous grace, even when she makes them watch Buffy or Smallville re-runs for days on end. She was voted: Most Likely To Survive A Zombie Apocalypse, but hopes she'll never have to test the theory. Darkness Brutal is her first novel.
AUTHOR LINKS
EXCERPT
:I
let the pulse of the music coat me and mute my surroundings. A mass of people
crowd the dance floor of the club, and I sit on an abandoned couch in the
corner. The lights beat at the air in blues and greens, and bodies twist and
merge to the thunder. I lean back, close my eyes, and try to get lost in it,
the smells and sounds of people and their collective high.
Something
moves next to me. I look over to find a girl sprawled on the seat beside me,
trying to catch her breath. She’s not dressed in the usual club gear, more like
a girl who got lost on her way to a beach party: Hurley T-shirt, jean skirt,
and red Converse. Her cheeks are flushed pink; her throat and forehead glitter
with sweat. She glances at me like she didn’t know I was there. She licks her
upper lip, her eyes not leaving mine. Then she says something I can’t
hear.
I
point to my ear and shake my head.
She
smiles and laughs, lighting up the space around her. She rests her hand on my
arm, like we’re friends and I just told her the most hilarious joke, and then
she gets up and disappears into the mass of bodies again.
My
arm tingles, my body reacting to the moment of contact in a sudden and
disconcerting way. I think I’ve had my fill of watching people indulge their
baser instincts. I need to get out of here.
The
beat of the music speeds up, vibrating faster as I move through the crowd. I
try not to touch anyone, which is nearly impossible. All the emotions and
appetites are overwhelming, as if the rising rhythm of the music makes their
yearnings rise, too. Lust buzzes in the air. A hunger stirs in me, a gaping
hole, needing to be filled. With touch.
The
touch of female fingers. A hand on my arm, taking my wrist, pulling me into the
fray, into the pressing bodies. And I don’t try to escape. I let her take me.
Because
I’m tired.
Because
I’m a dumbass.
A
girl moves in front of me—not the Hurley girl, not the one I was hoping for.
She presses closer, so close I can almost taste the salty perspiration on her
skin. She has thin, birdlike shoulders, a swan neck, a heart-shaped face, and
black hair, long and tangled, turning blue and green with the light. Her hands
slide up my chest. She wraps her arms around my neck and tilts her head to look
up at me.
Her
lips are full and painted dark purple. There’s a dimple in her left cheek that
gets deeper with her growing smile. And her eyes . . .
Fog
fills my head for a second, interrupting my thoughts.
“Hi,”
she mouths, calling attention to her lips again.
And
then she’s rising up on her toes, pulling me down to her, twisting her fingers
in my hair, her lips smashing against mine.
My
body buzzes from her touch, and my hands react, drawing her into me. I drink
her in. She tastes like the air around me, hunger and urgency, and—
Green
apple Jolly Ranchers?
I
grip her sides, her ribs so delicate beneath my fingers. The sweet tang of her
teases me, the hunger becoming a monster deep inside. I have to press her
closer, tighter, try to feed it, as I feel the fire of her need link with mine.
She
pulls back a little and looks at me with wide eyes, like she’s shocked. That’s
when I see the mark, a glowing, blue-inked line of what looks like Chinese
symbols, trailing down the nape of her neck to her shoulder blade. Symbols that
I’m suddenly sure mean: touch this girl at your own risk.
It’s
the only thing I see for a second: Beware. Beware.
Until
her energy reaches for me, wispy tendrils of blue light wrapping their way
around my wrists and snaking up my chest.
I
jerk away, into the guy behind me, stepping on his girlfriend’s toes. I get
shoved— thankfully farther from the hypnotic girl—through a space in the crowd,
saying a hundred excuse-me’s even though I know no one can hear them. I find my
way out of the press of bodies to the edge of the room again where it’s safe.
It’s
time to leave. I should’ve left an hour ago.
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