Virtual Book Tour Dates: 7/1/14 – 7/29/14Genres: Paranormal/Paranormal Romance/Horror
Blurb:What does one say when they realize their child is gone? Better yet, what does one say when that child returns, but is different? This is the question Pryor must ask himself after his daughter, Lily, is dragged into the woods by a wolf and her body is never found. It isn’t until he sees a wolf in the woods with eyes that resemble Lily’s that he feels hope. And then something is whispered from deep within the woods, a promise for him to see Lily again.
One day…
But which day and for how long?
And then Pryor meets Ned, a silversmith who brings out desires that Pryor hasn’t felt in years and helps him hatch a plan to keep Lily with him. Now the question isn’t about how much time Pryor will have with Lily, it’s about how far he’ll go to keep her with him.
Excerpt:
I smelled her. I knew that sweet smell, the smell of her hair, wild and white—blonde. I would never see it turn darker, she would always be golden to me. I flung myself from my bed and dressed quickly. “I’m here, I’m coming, baby!”
I remember tripping over my damn sneakers and cursing violently as I stumbled over something else on the stairs. I’ve learned that in instances like these, one remembers horrible little details like the sneakers, like the stairs, and a wild, beautiful smell I knew but couldn’t place.
On instinct, I opened the blinds and threw open the sliding doors, then made my way out into the backyard. Lily wouldn’t be anywhere else.
We have a large weeping cherry tree in the backyard and in June, it is at its most magnificent. The smell coming off the tree was lurid and the flowers rained down in a pink shower when an errant breeze moved through the branches. The moon was stark and white, sending shivering silver light onto everything it touched. The night was alive with so much excitement that it was almost too much to bear. The woods appeared to be moving, a great looming mass of shadow and scent. The insects chorused, calling out in honor of what I hoped was my daughter.
“Lily?”
I ran down the deck stairs. She had to be there! My eyes darted from one end of the yard to the other. The silver light of the moon cast everything in a strange glow that begged a ghostly encounter.
“Lily?”
I said again, and this time looked to the trees where I thought I had heard ragged breathing; human, and yet not. There was movement, quick and furtive, a padded whisper of something pacing, searching, and then I saw eyes staring up at me from the darkness of the woods. Eyes that burned like a thousand fires, they were as blue as I remember, but now translucent and lit from behind.
It was then that I heard the call, chilling and ancient, that brought clouds to the sky as if they ached to protect the moon from such a hellish shriek.
“Lily,” I whispered, “baby, it’s your daddy, your father.” I held a hand out, wanted to go toward whatever it was that had my daughter’s eyes. Before I could move, I heard a voice, odd and quick; a fast whisper that sounded like the undertone of the trees, as if the forest was speaking to me.
But those eyes, I knew those eyes.
“I will return for one day. One day.” The voice stopped. There was the
sound of movement nearby. The ragged breathing stopped and the eyes vanished.
“When?! When, Lily? I know it’s you, please tell me when you will come back. Why not now?” I was trying not to yell. I could feel her presence—the smell was still there—she was close. I ran forward, but stopped when I heard her voice again.
“The day that I was taken will be the day I return.”
I was alone. Where there had been eyes, there was darkness; where there had been movement, there was nothing; and where there had been clouds, there was only silver light.
I felt a helpless rage swell within me until it erupted into the still night air in a primal scream that, once expelled, forced me to the ground, muscles shaking as I clawed at the earth.
As I struggled to my feet, I could still hear the voice echoing in my ears, fighting against my furious pulse.
The day I was taken will be the day I return.Buy Links:About the Author:
Xavier Axelson is a writer living in Los Angeles. Xavier’s work has been featured in various erotic and horror anthologies. Longer written works include “The Incident”, “Velvet,” and “Lily.” www.xavieraxelson.com
Connect With The Author:
Why Write?
Xavier Axelson
I don’t know why I write.
I’m definitely in no position to give advice to other writers aside from, if you want to write, write. It’s a torment and a commitment, I enjoy neither. Being tormented by characters, committing your ass to a chair for unlimited amounts of time when there are stars to be named, dishes to do…reruns to watch over and over again…
I have no idea why I write. I fight fatigue, there is never a time I wouldn’t rather be in bed sleeping, reading, meditating…whatever. I suffer from physical discomfort with joints and chronic muscle pain and dislike raw tomatoes. There are a million reasons and excuses NOT to write. But I still do it. Give me a deadline and I’m there submitting a month before its due, a round of edits, zip bam boom, I get it back as quickly as I can. I enjoy a red pen and the process of editing is something I can get behind. As an avid botany lover (I was raised on a farm with garden greenhouses and plants everywhere) there is a writing lesson in the garden, from my Mother in fact, she came to visit me in CA, looked at my straggling tomato plants and shook her head.
“But I like vines,” I said as I handed her the clippers.
Without another word she cut all the plants down to their base.
I looked on, aghast.
Later as we sipped gin and tonics, she surveyed the carnage. “You need to learn to make the cruelest cuts if you want things to grow.”
Indeed.
I don’t know why I write.
Erotica, romance, romantic comedies are not my thing. I’d rather have my eyeballs removed than watch Notting Hill. Torment. In 2010 when my first short story was published, it was a lark, a ball thrown out into the universe by a half cocked pitcher. Not only did I select a genre I never read, but I chose to submit a Christmas Story. Christ, I was out of my depths. You can imagine my shock when the ball got thrown back with a contract attached. The story was inspired by a Golden Girls episode. Blanche mentions her father sold donuts to departing WWII troops, and suddenly I had my Christmas Story, “Christmas Eve at The Powers That Be Café”.
Worst title ever.
At the time I worked at a hardcore fetish boutique and when I told a female coworker the story over a case of cock and ball torture devices she shook her head.
“Wait, that’s not a happy ending, you need to have him come back. They need to be together at the end!”
Pouting, I decided to change the ending. My young war hero got off the train heading to WWII and returned to the café, throwing caution to the wind and going AWOL, to be with the beefy café owner. I still think about them, four years later and hope their lives turned out. I should write a sequel.
A Valentine’s Day story followed, most people hated it. Almost every review stated my story ruined the collection. Oddly, it’s my favorite piece. It’s dirty, and the hero is an asshole, but he spends his professional time working people’s loves life’s out by selling them seductive chocolates. I wrote it in one sitting and don’t regret a single word.
Critics are everywhere and I don’t mind. I love reading crappy reviews on Yelp (I’ve been the target of crappy reviews on Yelp) and nasty movie reviews and scathing book reviews…haters gonna hate. If Anne Rice can take it, if Tori Amos can take it, if Alfred Hitchcock can take it…Xavier Axelson surely can take it. It’s the way the cookie crumbles.
I don’t know why I write.
Now, 2014 is here and going strong. I suffered a crippling shoulder injury forcing me to give up my career as a columnist and am just now getting back into the swing of things. Lily, a reissue of one of my favorite stories, is back in print with Seventh Window Publications and is emotionally dark, scary and sexy, three of my favorite things. Just when I thought I did no writing to speak of last year, I find three short stories are about to be published (one being a best of collection) and the first book in a series of dark fantasy/horror to come out sometime this summer.
Boy, I don’t know why I write, but am so glad I do.
Oh look, there’s a rerun of Judging Amy on…gotta go.
Giveaway:Author Xavier Axelson
is giving away five e-book copies of Lily! Open internationally, must be
18 or over to enter. The giveaway will run the length of the tour.
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