Showing posts with label Heather Letto. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heather Letto. Show all posts

Tuesday, 9 June 2015

Book Blitz + Giveaway - Implanted by Heather Letto




Implanted by Heather Letto
(Ascension #2)
Publication date: June 2015
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult

Synopsis:

After a narrow escape from the city of Impervious, Fran’s heart aches for the ones she left behind. Will her brother ever connect the dots? And, what about Pete? Could he, along with the remaining Rebels, have survived the Council’s violent oppression?

As Fran ponders the fate of her friends, an even more disturbing revelation drops into her world—the knowledge that she, along with anyone who had lived underground remains implanted with the sinister presence of the Council. A fate rendering her powerless to save.

Yet one with pure blood, untouched by the Council’s defiling, lives among them. Could he be the new lifeline of hope? Is salvation of the city worth risking the life of this one-and-only?




Purchase:
  





Excerpt:

Suddenly, another bellow filled the air, causing tiny bumps to rise on Ret’s forearms. He dumped the bowl and swiped an extra rock from the dirt, tossed it into his pouch and took off in the direction of Sophie’s wails.
As he raced along the river’s edge, Sophie launched another battle cry. If she was this upset, her cubs must be in danger. Ret broke into a full run, loading his sling as he followed the sound.
But when he reached the clearing, the cubs appeared safe, wrestling and rolling in the meadow as usual. Sophie, on the other hand, stood on her hind legs, knee deep in the river, with the rapids splashing up high on her furry form. Her cry of distress continued and Ret wondered if she’d been injured.
He slowed to a walk as he approached, clucking his tongue in a soothing manner. What had always worked in the past, however, didn’t seem to faze the mother bear. Once near enough, Ret assessed her from head to toe. No obvious wounds. She stood upright and strong, and bellowed again, filling the air with thick vibrations.
Ret’s gaze whipped along the raging river and a swatch of color caught his eye. Had someone fallen into the rapids? Ret knew the villagers opted not to enter the river this time of year claiming his sport of rapid riding to be a bit extreme. Yet, his gut—and Sophie—told him something wasn’t right.
He scanned the shoreline with Sophie’s desperate cries as a backdrop. On a nearby river rock, Ret saw a torn cloth clinging to the rock’s edge. His eyes darted from one rock to another while searching the foamy islands.
He saw her hand first. Laying casually on top of a boulder as if she’d simply stopped for a rest while swimming. Her body, wedged between the boulder and mass of sharp stones, lifted and dipped as the water passed over and under her form.
Like the rushing of the water before him, adrenaline cut through Ret’s veins. He thrust himself, waist deep, into the freezing water. Before he could even wonder what had brought Wolf into these dangerous rapids, the current yanked at his body. He carved a trail to the high boulder, the roar of the river drowning out Sophie’s wails.
The torrent labored to hamper his progress, but Ret pushed back. Would the ferocious waters dislodge Wolf, sending her downriver before he could reach her? His mind reeled with calculations—percentage of submerged mass in relation to the speed of the current—as if he could determine the number of remaining moments before she launched. She bobbed on the water’s surface, and Ret swallowed back lumpy fear. He reached out and lunged, catching her around the waist. Relief lasted a short moment, as Ret rolled her over to face the sky.
Her skin was ashen grey.
Ret looked back at the shore. Could he maneuver her back in time? He couldn’t risk losing a precious second. Instead, he hefted her limp body fully onto the boulder that had served as her temporary refuge. After crawling to her side, he placed a finger on her carotid artery, and a wave of relief exploded through him. He felt a feathery pulse—but she wasn’t breathing.
With a supportive hand beneath her skull, he pulled down on her chin, rolled her head back, and opened her mouth. Without hesitation, he performed as he had been taught. He covered her lips with his own, pinched her nose and sent a strong breath into her lungs. He watched her chest. No movement. He repeated the process.
No rise. No fall. He pinched off her nose, covered her mouth with his own and released another breath before sitting back on his heels.
“Come on, Rebel. Breathe!”





AUTHOR BIO

 I’m a book-writing, selfie-taking, latte-drinking, social media gal. I’m living a good life on the road as a full-fledged Bedouin (Well, except, my tent is actually a fully-equipped RV.) Me and my partner-in-crime (Benj) tend to hunker down wherever the skies are clear and the temps stay in the 70’s. We call ourselves Gypsy Nerds because we aimlessly wander the U.S. with glasses perched upon our noses and faces jammed into computer screens (for the first half the day... The second half of the day is typically devoted to playing because we’re also somewhat immature.)

Like most authors, the characters I create are my extended family.  And like most readers, when the story ends, I get a little sad. In real life, I have two handsome, hardworking, grown-up boys who know how to make their Mama proud! *Waves to Joey and Mike!*

The Ascension Series is my debut into the world of YA fiction.

I’m living what I love and loving what I live! 


Author links:









Blitz-wide giveaway

Open internationally




Thursday, 19 March 2015

Book Blitz + Giveaway - Impervious by Heather Letto




Impervious by Heather Letto
(Ascension #1)
Publication date: April 29th 2014
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult

Synopsis:

The residents of Impervious are the remnant, the survivors of the war of Annihilation. And though the city is chockfull of pleasures to tantalize and entertain, a beast lurks in the corners, haunting the residents with its presence. The Beast, a mysterious and terminal illness killed off most of Generations One, Two, and Three. And as Gen-Four prepares to take the stage, a provocative, yet questionable, new method to avoid an untimely death incites a cultural rage. But Fran lives counter-culture, off the grid in true rebel fashion. With a life far from opulent, she scurries through dark tunnels, searching for hot meals with Pete while ditching the holographic security team. To her, it's a healthy trade-off. Unaccountability means The Council can't steal her sliver of hope, a belief that she'll see The Epoch arrive before The Beast can pull her into its Fetid embrace.




Purchase:

Note that the book will be FREE on Amazon for one surprise day during the blitz!





Excerpt:

Fran spied Gillius, third in line, in front of a girl with a sleek chestnut mane. Like the others, Gillius’ left fist rested on his chest, pinky pointed upward as he gave honor to the great city of Impervious. His glassy stare screamed of the venom already snaking through his veins, soon to bring an end to his life.
A shudder shook Fran as she wondered about corporeal termination. Rumors spoke of an excruciating end where the forfeitures dropped into agonizing spasms of death during the final pageant. Fran shivered again and reminded herself that sensationalism stemmed from useless gossip which, in turn, always led to melodrama. Then again, the entire event was absurd, so why not?
She questioned whether she and Pete should even be there, gawking like a typical resident as the parade worked their way down the stairs from center stage to the outside rim of the circle. They began an official promenade moving as one unit, soundlessly, like a snake slithers through tall grasses. Right behind Gillius, the girl—what’s her name?—moved with the grace of a dancer, while glowing hair cascaded about her shoulders like the velvety train of her robe.
Chestnut Peak―that was it.
As the procession moved closer, Fran could make out their facial features with better clarity. Chestnut’s obvious youth surprised her. As far as she knew, no one under twenty-five had ever forfeited, yet this girl still had the look of a mid-lifer, like Fran.
The line swayed with rhythmic motion, and soon snaked only fifteen feet or so away from the venting where Fran and Pete hid. The eerie silence which enshrouding the promenade morphed into the sound of rushing air. A dozen pairs of slippers moved in a whisper just a few inches from Fran’s eyes. When the fourth set of feet swished into her line of vision, Fran noticed a hesitation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, would you please bow your heads as Sasha Lee Dees surrenders, and we give honor to her name.”
Sasha? Fran sucked in her breath.
The entire march halted. A deafening silence reverberated through the courts followed by horrific gurgling sounds. Then, Sasha dropped to the floor. Not more than a few feet from where Fran sat tucked into the venting, her chestnut head rolled from side to side and her eyes shone like polished black orbs.
Back when Fran still lived in the Old East Wing, Sasha had visited their pod once or twice to work with Ted on his macros. Fran remembered spying on them from her doorway, hoping to catch her brother making a move or something. She could almost hear Sasha’s easy laughter and witty remarks.
Now, however, her eyes locked onto Fran’s as if screaming for help. Her face contorted, and her body trembled. Fran felt a vibration move through her own body as her nerves quivered in sympathetic pain. Sasha’s arms and legs splayed and spasmed as her back arched and head thrashed about. A sickening, acrid odor, like a mix of poison and death, wafted from the velvety robe, and bile rose in Fran’s throat. Finally, Sasha’s eyes rolled back into her head, and her movement terminated.
A cheer erupted from the crowd who loitered on overhead balconies and platforms, and Fran clasped her hands over her mouth stifle the scream that roared through her body. All Accountable residents of legal viewing age watched the event. It was a big deal. Although some probably scrutinized from a small screen in the comfort of their living pods, too many just couldn’t resist the sick urge to watch it live.
The cheers finally died down, and when reverence returned, the swishing slippers resumed. The seven forfeitures in line behind Sasha tiptoed over the fallen body and continued the march, leaving Sasha where she dropped. 





AUTHOR BIO

 I’m a book-writing, selfie-taking, latte-drinking, social media gal. I’m living a good life on the road as a full-fledged Bedouin (Well, except, my tent is actually a fully-equipped RV.) Me and my partner-in-crime (Benj) tend to hunker down wherever the skies are clear and the temps stay in the 70’s. We call ourselves Gypsy Nerds because we aimlessly wander the U.S. with glasses perched upon our noses and faces jammed into computer screens (for the first half the day... The second half of the day is typically devoted to playing because we’re also somewhat immature.)

Like most authors, the characters I create are my extended family.  And like most readers, when the story ends, I get a little sad. In real life, I have two handsome, hardworking, grown-up boys who know how to make their Mama proud! *Waves to Joey and Mike!*

The Ascension Series is my debut into the world of YA fiction.

I’m living what I love and loving what I live! 


Author links:









Blitz-wide giveaway

Open internationally





Monday, 17 March 2014

Book Blitz + Giveaway - Impervious by Heather Letto




Impervious by Heather Letto
(Ascension #1)
Publication date: April 29th 2014
Genres: Dystopia, Post-Apocalyptic, Young Adult

Synopsis:

The residents of Impervious are the remnant—survivors of the War of Annihilation. And though the city is chockfull of pleasures to tantalize and entertain, a beast lurks in its corners haunting the residents with its presence. The Beast—a mysterious and terminal illness--has killed off most of Generations One, Two and Three. And as Gen-Four prepares to take the stage a provocative, yet questionable, new method to avoid an untimely death becomes a cultural rage. 

But Fran is counter-cultural. And living off the grid in true rebel fashion, her life is far from opulent. Scurrying through dark tunnels, searching for hot meals and ditching the holographic security team encompass most of her day. However, she views it as a healthy trade-off. Unaccountability means The Council can’t steal her sliver of hope--a belief that she’ll see The Epoch arrive before the beast can pull her into its fetid embrace. 

After losing her mother and then her Rebel mentor, however, she grasps painfully onto the splintered sliver, until a new hope is born. First through Pete. And then through a miraculous discovery. 

But the question still haunts her…

Can she outrun The Beast? 
----


AUTHOR BIO


 Heather considers herself but a worker in the field with a desire to share truth through the art of good story.  In real life, she’s the proud mother of two grown sons and lives part-time in Northern Illinois with her husband, but scurries off to warmer climates when the mercury takes a dive on the thermometer. As well as The Ascension Series, Heather contributes to WHOAwomen magazine, The Fit Christian, Tween Girls and God, Devotion Magazine as well as Swagga for Christ Ministry.



Excerpt: 
Fran thought for sure they would notice the hum when every venting slid open. She at least assumed there might be shouts from onlookers as thirty-one rebels emerged into the barren courts.

And she really hadn’t counted on hearing Pete’s voice. “Wolf. Go back!”

She her feet froze in place, and her head turned to view the expanse of The Agora. It didn’t make sense. What was going on? Not one Graphie emerged. Not a single pixelated presence or computer generated voice declared each rebel become accountable.

Every tiny hair on Fran’s body rose, and her head buzzed with an intense electromagnetic manifestation. Overhead lights dimmed, and a holographic scene unfolded. The smooth flooring of the shopping courts morphed into a desert-like terrain―just like the scene when she watched Nissa perform Mission Perdition for Ted. The Lunch Hut became a jagged butte with sharp rocks jutting out from its face. Hot wind burned her cheeks while pelting sand blew through the air. Artificial warmth engulfed her body. Her hands glowed.

 “Ladies and Gentleman. Welcome to the Desert…”
The voice boomed like thunder and echoed off of the high ceiling.
“Tonight’s debut performance, brought to you by way of The Council, is the ultimate in the gaming experience. Be prepared to go to the brink. Ready yourself for the show of a lifetime. You will find yourself on the edge of your seat as fantasy becomes reality and reality turns to fantasy.”
Every rebel lit up like a glowing Graphie. Her mind reeled.
What the….?
A gritty substance scratched at her skin. She rubbed the heated surface and recognized the smell of magnetized dust—the technology that turned a live man into a gaming avatar. Highly-charged metallic receptacles pelted her skin, not desert sand as she assumed earlier.
Although from her vantage point, Fran clearly recognized each Rebel housed within the glow of the holographic cameras, she realized that on the video screens, to the spectators watching in the stands, they were nothing more than gaming pieces.
Thirty-one vents hummed closed as Zombies emerged—dreadful holographs with open wounds and rotted flesh. Fetid odor permeated through the courts; their shrieks and groans became a nightmarish audio backdrop as the announcer continued.
“Tonight, the battle of Behemoth and Queen Xyphon continues, as well as the fight between the dead and the Unaccountable. The Queen will rule with the Zombies, and the dreaded Behemoth will wreak havoc with the Rebels. Sit back and enjoy the entertainment as we present to you, Mission Perdition II–Nightmare of a Rebel.”
Music sounded as the words “Mission Perdition II” floated through the air.
This can’t be happening.
Fran’s head whipped from side to side. A few Rebels scurried back to the openings from where they had emerged. Fran shook herself from the shock-inflicted paralysis. A human instinct, as basic as breathing, overtook her senses.
Fight or flight.
She ran to the venting and swiped in the code.
Nothing.
Her hands shook. Maybe she swiped the wrong numbers. She tried it again.
Nothing. The grating remained stone cold. Unmoving. Locked up tight.
She looked around as her comrades struggled for the safety of the dark maze. They scurried as they tried to dodge the ethereal light draped over them to no avail.
About twenty-five feet away, Derrick, one of the newer Rebels, huddled against his venting and pounded on the opening with balled fists. His face contorted, and his mouth moved as he screamed. The crowd cheered when growls of death rang out from the hidden speakers, drowning out his desperate cries.
A grisly, yellow-faced Zombie lunged at the rebel brother and covered him in a mound of snarls and rotting flesh. Holographic blood squirted out from beneath the Zombie, painting a nearby wall with red pixelations.
Fran’s heart stopped.
But it’s not real.
She closed her eyes.
It’s not real. None of this is real.
She repeated it over and over. In their insane minds, The Council believed they could use The Rebels as human avatars. Fran knew it took more than holographic teeth and claws to kill a real man.
Finally, the Zombie stepped away from Derrick. He lay on the ground in a helpless pile. Unmoving. A pixelated stream of blood trickled from his body.
Fran screamed, “Derrick, get up!”
Her cries couldn’t be heard over the surrounding roar as the crowd went wild. The Zombie lifted two hands over his head in the sign of victory as he lumbered away from Derrick, toward Fran.
“Derrick, get up!” She screamed the command over and over as she raced toward his body. As she lifted her hand, a spade pixelated in the air as if she held it. It stayed with her as she ran, and right when she moved past the Zombie, the spade came down onto his head. When it sunk, a deep, gloppy, squishing sound heralded through the speakers. Holographic gray matter oozed, leaving Fran sick to her stomach.
It’s not real; it’s not real.
She continued running blindly toward Derrick almost collided with Folsom as they both made the approach. Derrick still lay unmoving.
He can’t be dead. It was just a holograph.
She smelled it first―the odor of seared flesh. Her gaze locked in on his body. He remained wide-eyed as if in shock. His arms jerked once or twice, and his legs followed suit, giving Fran a moment of hope. Yet, as she neared, she saw the absence of breath— no rise or fall of his chest.
And a soft coil of smoke as it rose from Derrick’s body.
He had been cooked… from the inside out.
 

Blitz-wide giveaway

Open internationally
  


Blog giveaway

Open internationally