OK, so I’ve been an awful webmistress here. I swear I’ll do better in the future. Shall we start with an excerpt from book two? Now, keep in mind this hasn’t been through edits yet, so it may very well change before it gets published and there will obviously be minor changes to sentence structure here and there. Nonetheless, here you go, a little bit from Blood of Adoria:

Hothrendaire, to mortals, and even some immortals—those who’d never ventured to see for themselves, was mistakenly believed a place of intense heat, full of eternally burning fire and searing flame. Azrian had never bothered to discover the reason for this misunderstanding, nor did he care from whence it had come, but it did serve to amuse him.

The cold seared—burned—and it would for eternity. He thought at times that the ice was a sort of flame, solid and unforgiving, as slight as snowflakes or as sharp as blades. It, the cold, took so many forms—survived as so many things. Then again, so did Azrian.

He sat with his back against the wall of the window seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and stared into the darkness beyond the unadorned glass pane. The only sound in the room, the constant hiss of sand as it sifted in the hourglass; its carved base a thing of beauty. Eanna had sat with him, by the fire, as he’d shaped the wood by hand. He could have done it without the effort, instantly, but she hadn’t often spent time away from her chambers and the longer it took him to fashion it, the longer he’d have with her. They’d spoken of all sorts of things those few precious evenings.

It wasn’t truly an hourglass because it didn’t measure a mortal hour. What it did measure, however, was far more important: the time Eanna and Irial had been given before the coming of the Oni. A third of the time remained.

Since he’d been with Eanna’s mortal friend, his dreams had been fitful—not full of nightmares, for what sort of things would qualify as nightmares for the father of darkness? They were full of lost moments. Seeing Bronach at the grave had made them all the worse.

Do you not know that I also grieve for you?, he’d said.

Azrian leaned to press the pane open and took a breath in, eyes closed, remembering what it had once been like to feel wind and rain and air. It surprised him that he could still recall it. No matter where he was, be it a mortal or immortal realm, he no longer had the capability to experience those things in the present. And eventually, enough mortal time would pass, that he would no longer know at all the feel of anything besides the chill of true death—the cold that can only be found in eternal darkness.

He opened his eyes to the staggering emptiness that existed in the distance—a black expanse bereft of the elements, devoid of sound, life, and light. “Who are you to mourn me?”

You must know she will hate you for what you have done to Sara. You’ve let Sara witness so much cruelty and darkness, and now you’re allowing her to bear what is to come?

“Let us see how unconditional your goodness really is.” An idea came to him then—a cruel and senseless gesture. “Consider your wish granted.”

***There is actually a better excerpt under the Blood of Adoria tab above. I just added it.