Re-released Recently under Vamptasy Publishing

Brand new cover under a new publishing house. Pick the ebook up on Amazon now!

http://smarturl.it/TheGuardians1

Facebook Fanpage- https://www.facebook.com/theguardiansvampnovel

 

I thought I had life all figured out. We live. We suffer pain. We die. Death never bothered me much. It was love that scared the hell out of me, because love made you weak, and in my line of work there was no room for that. My name is Gianna Botticelli. I am the daughter and only female employee of a Los Angeles mafia boss. Today was supposed to be like any other day until Caleb walked into my life. He is sexy and mysterious and knows things he shouldn’t. I don’t like it at all, but I can’t help the way he makes me feel inside. There is something different about him. What is he? All I know is that after meeting Caleb things will never be the same as he introduces me into his world. A world unknown where the battle of good versus evil rages on. Sacrifices will be made, hearts will break and lives will be taken. How far am I willing to take this journey I keep asking myself? If I have to sacrifice myself to save everyone and everything, then the answer is easy. All the way.

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Welcome Author Brad Stevens

 

 

Brad Stevens - Biography

Brad Stevens is a film critic based in the UK. He is the author of Monte Hellman: His Life and Films (McFarland, 2003 - http://www.amazon.com/Monte-Hellman-His-Life-Films/dp/0786414340/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396390056&sr=1-3) and Abel Ferrara: The Moral Vision (FAB Press, 2004 - http://www.amazon.com/Abel-Ferrara-Moral-Vision-Directors/dp/190325406X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396390031&sr=1-1&keywords=abel+ferrara). He writes regularly for Sight & Sound: his 'Bradlands' column appears every month on the magazine's website. (http://bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/comment/bradlands)
He has also contributed to Cahiers du Cinema, Video Watchdog, The Dark Side, The International Film Guide, the Senses of Cinema website and Chris Fujiwara's Defining Moments in Movies (Cassell Illustrated, 2007 - http://www.amazon.com/Defining-Moments-Movies-Greatest-Scenes/dp/1844036049/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396390105&sr=1-3&keywords=chris+fujiwara). He recorded commentary tracks for the Masters of Cinema DVDs of Nosferatu and Tabu, has appeared in several documentaries (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0828282/?ref_=fn_al_nm_6), and can be seen interviewing Christopher Lee on VCI's DVD of The City of the Dead. He has also written many DVD sleeve notes. He co-authored the English subtitles for F. J. Ossang's Dharma Guns (2010), and was on the jury at the Oldenburg Film Festival in 2007.
The Hunt is his first novel. He is currently working on a sequel entitled A Caution to Rattlesnakes.

 

The Hunt

THE HUNGER GAMES meets FIFTY SHADES OF GREY in this dystopian science-fiction novel.
Great Britain in the year 2068. A totalitarian government has passed laws victimizing racial minorities, prohibiting homosexuality, and preventing women from voting or having abortions. When a feminist group launches a terrorist attack, the state responds by creating the Hunt, a weekly contest in which ten randomly selected females are pursued by ten male Hunters across an abandoned district of London.
Mara Gorki is a successful crime novelist trying to keep her lesbian relationship with film critic Yuke Morishita a secret. Horrified by what is happening in the country, she seldom leaves her apartment, attempting to create a private universe in which she and her lover can hide. But the external world comes crashing in when Mara is conscripted into the Hunt. After discovering what Hunters do to the women they capture, Mara enters the contest determined to elude her pursuers. The odds may be against her, but the consequences of failure are too terrifying to contemplate.

Excerpt from The Hunt.

At nine-thirty, Mara changed into the uniform and headed towards her local church. Although British citizens could follow whatever religion they pleased, they were also required to spend at least two hours every month 'worshipping' in a Christian house of prayer. Mara usually chose Monday mornings, since they were quieter than other times. As she walked through the large doors of St. Pancras Parish Church, she placed her thumb on the scanner, which registered her attendance and collected an obligatory 'donation'.
A nun standing by one of the pillars near the entrance gave her a friendly smile. Nuns were exempted from wearing the uniform, and much as Mara despised the ideology she represented, she found this woman striking in her long black habit. Something about her suggested she might be one of those rare professional Christians who actually followed Christ's teachings, and wished to make everyone feel welcome. By contrast, the priest who conducted Monday morning services seemed to have modelled himself on the God of the Old Testament. He had a long white beard, and addressed his flock in a booming voice.
As Mara took a seat in the back row, he was declaiming a passage from Deuteronomy. A Bible lay open on the stand before him, but this section was one of his favourites - Mara had heard him recite it half-a-dozen times - and at no point did he refer to the text. "If the charge is true and no proof of the young woman’s virginity can be found," he roared, staring at his captive audience as he did so, "she shall be brought to the door of her father’s house and there the men of her town shall stone her to death.
She has done an outrageous thing in Israel by being promiscuous while still in her father’s house. You must purge the evil from among you. If a man is found sleeping with another man’s wife, both the man who slept with her and the woman must die. You must purge the evil from Israel. If a man happens to meet in a town a virgin pledged to be married and he sleeps with her, you shall take both of them to the gate of that town and stone them to death—the young woman because she was in a town and did not scream for help, and the man because he violated another man’s wife. You must purge the evil from among you."
If Mara hadn't already been a militant atheist, these mandatory church visits would have turned her into one. She sat in the back row, listening to the priest drone on, glancing at her watch every few minutes. She'd have brought a book, but reading secular texts here was a criminal offence. She noticed a pair of orthodox Jewish men sitting a few rows in front of her, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Eventually, the priest closed his Bible without so much as looking at it, cleared his throat, and delivered the day's sermon. “Many years ago,” he began, “there lived a woman who thought of nothing but the joys of this world. She drank to excess, gorged herself on food, and copulated frequently, even with those of her own sex. Worse, she loudly proclaimed her defiance of God, denying His very existence.
When death came to her, as it must to all of us, she was cast directly into Hell. There, she was hung naked in flames, her tongue removed with pincers, her eyes gouged out, her ears cut off, the flesh torn from her body, a hot poker inserted into the place from which she had derived such pleasure during her lifetime of sin. When this process had been completed, her body instantly regenerated, and the torture started anew, as it would continue to do forever. But still she defied God. She now admitted His existence, but declared this existence to be an abomination.
Was it not God who had sentenced her to an eternity of suffering? God, she decided, was an immensely powerful sadist from whom there could be no escape. And for the first time, she knew the fear of God. She feared not the unending torments to which she was subjected, but rather that even in this place, where sinners were cast out of God's sight, He might reach down and pluck her out, like a rock buried in the ground, and thus bring her face to face with Him. Hell is so arranged that those condemned to a lower circle may never ascend to a higher, but there is nothing to prevent those on the higher circles descending to the lower. And so it was that this woman, acting on her demented beliefs, made a deliberate choice to sink further into the Pit.
As she passed from one circle to the next, her agony increased, but the pain bothered her less than the idea that she was being pursued by God. Finally, she came to rest in the last of the nine circles, in the middle of which Satan himself squatted like a toad. Here, in addition to everything she had previously endured, cackling demons forced her to consume her own intestines, then her limbs, then the rest of her body. In the final seconds before regeneration occurred, her mouth turned inside out and consumed itself. But although she had now sunk as far as possible, the woman's greatest fear was that she had not sunk far enough, could never sink far enough. Even in the deepest pit of Hell, she was still not safe from God.”
     Mara wasn't sure whether to be more alarmed by the content of this vile lecture, or the priest's conduct while delivering it, for although she'd positioned herself at the rear of the church, she had no trouble seeing that he was vigorously masturbating under his cassock. Finally seeming to remember where he was, the man staggered out of his pulpit and disappeared through a door located behind the altar while the choir broke into He Who Would Valiant Be. As the congregation rose to its feet and made a desultory attempt to join in with the singing, Mara noticed that two hours had passed since her arrival. She walked back to the entrance and once more placed her thumb on the scanner, confirming she'd stayed the required length of time. For some reason, the sermon echoed in her head. She didn't believe in Hell or Heaven, but try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that this dreadful tale contained an element of prophecy.

Buy Link- http://amzn.com/B00JJYGBZG

Welcome Author Carmilla Voiez

Milla V is the more gentle alter ego of Carmilla Voiez. Milla's YA and NA novels have more universal appeal than her somewhat extreme form of horror writing. The Ballerina and the Revolutionary, to be released on April 1st, is her first full length novel that can be regarded as Magic-Realism rather than horror.

Carmilla Voiez, a British horror writer, resides in Scotland and writes from her home in Banff, where she lives with her daughters and cats. Carmilla sold her Gothic Clothing business in 2012 and has been writing and releasing top selling books and short stories since then. A Goth for over 20 years, her books are inspired by the Gothic subculture, magic and dark desires, exploring sexual obsession and violence in often hard-hitting ways.

The first book, Starblood, which has been nominated for the Commonwealth Book Prize, is set partly in the beautiful Cairngorm mountains and partly in the city where she grew up, in South West England, she finds inspiration in local beauty, stately homes, the Moray Firth and woodlands around the Scottish town where she has lived the past 10 years.
Carmilla Voiez won the title Horror Author of the Year 2013 from HFA and FearVenture Author of the Year 2014. 

 

Interview

 

 

Me:What inspired you to write this book?

Carmilla: I had been reading a book about freestyle shamanism by Jan Freis and it made me wonder about how much one might achieve by travelling into the mindscape in the way that happens in The Ballerina and the Revolutionary. I was also living with someone suffering from schizophrenia at the time and writing Vivienne's character helped me deal with what was happening in my own life.

 

Me:Were any characters based off of real people and if so- which character?

Carmilla: None of the characters were based on real people, however they all have aspects of myself and the people around me to give each of them a spark of life.

 

Me:Was there any part of the book you had a hard time writing?

Carmilla: It took me from 2008 to finish this book. I suspect that answers your question.

 

Me:What one song would sum up this book?

Carmilla: Tainted Love

"Sometimes I feel I've got to Run away I've got to Get away From the pain you drive into the heart of me The love we share Seems to go nowhere And I've lost my light For I toss and turn I can't sleep at night
(chorus) Once I ran to you (I ran) Now I'll run from you The tainted love you've given I give you all a girl can give you Take my tears and that's not nearly all Oh...tainted love Tainted love
Now I know I've got to Run away I've got to Get away You don't really want any more from me To make things right You need someone to hold you tight And you think love is to pray Well I'm sorry I don't pray that way"

 

Me: How to you deal with writers block?

Carmilla:Writers block definitely caused me to move onto other projects like the Starblood Trilogy before returning to finish this one. Usually I will take a shower or go for a run or a walk to stimulate my creative juices. If that doesn't work I'll usually switch to research for a while, but if I still find myself blocked I'll switch to a different story until I'm ready to tackle this narrative again.

 

Buy Links-http://smarturl.it/Ballerina

http://smarturl.it/CarmillaOn Amazon

Facebook page for Milla V - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Milla-V/151766008361857?ref=hl

Blog for Milla V and Carmilla Voiez – http://carmillavoiez.wordpress.com

 

Readings can be heard on Room 13 Radio Podcast - https://soundcloud.com/carmillavoiez/carmilla-voiezs-room-13-radio

 

Blurb - Vivienne realises she is dying. All she wants to do is see her daughter Giselle one last time and apologise. But Giselle no longer exists and it is Crow, a gender-queer anarchist, who returns to a family home that is plagued by ghosts and violent memories. Crow unravels terrifying secrets, hoping to find closure at last. But can anyone survive the shadows that lurk behind the fairy tales?

 

 

Excerpt

 

My body was like flotsam, tossed about in the crowd. My throat, dry from shouting, felt full of razorblades. Where was everyone? The bodies, bouncing beside me, crashing against me, were strangers. All my friends scattered in the first surge, not long after the rioting started and the police descended. Above our heads, damp with sweat and water spray, towered a dozen mounted police. Glossy, chestnut mares gazed haughtily down at the crowd as their riders tapped batons against body armour, menacingly. The bodies of fellow anarchists and others pressed in around me. The tide was turning. We were moving back, retreating, scurrying away like frightened rats. A sweaty chest crushed my face. As the man moved so my jaw and nose moved too, pinned between it and an arm behind me. I gasped for breath.

It was always the same. Two steps forward, one step back. Our comrades had been occupying the closed school for months, providing free education to adults and children alike in this deprived area of London, but the landlords wanted them out. Answering their call for help, we stood with them. Dressed in black and red, we created a buffer between those grass-roots heroes and our moneyed oppressors with nothing other than property values, profit and fast turnarounds on their minds. Our standoff displeased the Metropolitan police, and here they were again, determined to move us on. Comply or die – that should have been their motto.

Amidst the chaos, I heard a shout and recognised the voice. Jumping, I accidentally bludgeoned a man’s ear with my elbow as I rose. He yelped in pain and shock then acknowledged my existence, at last.

‘I need to see,’ I told him.

He supported my weight, lifting me proud of the crowd. Outside the tightening ring of protestors was Chrissie. She was being tackled by three policemen and wrestled to the ground.

The man withdrew his support and I slid between bodies and dropped to my knees. Beyond the forest of legs, Chrissie’s face was being pushed against concrete, a heavy boot pressed between her shoulders. Our eyes met. Wrapping my fingers around a rock from the ground, I rose to my feet, leaned forwards and pushed my way towards the front of the crowd, weaving between hot bodies. The smell of anger and fear tainted the air. Sweat and tears dripped like rain.

At last, my body fell clear of the crush of protestors. Chrissie craned her neck and stared back at me. My shout of rage was cut short as a riot shield slammed against my cheek and I crumpled on the ground beside her.

In the flashing lights of my dazed vision, her face faded. I reached out and grasped her wrist. A smile lit up her face and she mouthed one word, ‘Crow,’ before all light extinguished and I passed out.

 

Promo video - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CJ_MXjDjeg&feature=share