HERE'S HOW THE
"BLOOD BETRAYAL ORACLE CONTEST" WORKS
1. Read the epilogue in Blood Ecstasy (book #8 in the Blood Curse Series) ~ this will introduce the characters and "plot" for Blood Betrayal (it will show you what's coming next).
2. Put on your oracle hat (or get out your crystal ball), and make a wild guess as to what will happen in the upcoming novel!
Specifically, come up with at least three predictions. These may be events, outcomes, plot twists, or wild-guesses: the more the merrier, and the more-detailed, the better!
For example:
"There's going to be a Blood Moon" is probably not going to be a winning "prediction," or set you apart from other entrants -- it's fairly obvious and far too general.
"Character A will kill character B, right before s/he drives an ATV off a seventy-foot cliff, shape shifts into a bald eagle, and flies away to the Bahamas" would be much more specific and, thus, more likely to win the contest (assuming such bizarre, random events had anything whatsoever to do with the series -- which they don't -- but it's great example of being specific). :-)
The point is, come up with three specific things, and just have fun with it!
3. Post your predictions (or "wild guesses") right here on this blog -- I'm trying to avoid having to search all over Twitter and Facebook for various entries, and this will leave a clear, unambiguous time-stamp with a date. :-)
4. The contest will close on release day -- June 5, 2017 -- and I will wait one-full-month to notify the winner directly (if I have your email), and also ON THIS BLOG.
Why am I waiting to announce a winner?
I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, including the contest winner, by confirming or denying any predictions.
Why must we post on this blog, instead of Facebook or Twitter?
Again, to keep entries all in one place and to avoid involving readers who would rather not see any "prediction-posts." :-) Rest assured, there will be zero spoilers - the contests is safe. :-)
What if someone has the same answer as me?
"Oh, no! S/he plagiarized my answer!" -- Rolling on the floor laughing. :-)
Odds are, he or she did not -- folks often come up with the same ideas. However, should there be two or more "winning" posts that are exactly the same (and that's where adding a detail might help you ;-)), then I'll check the time-stamps, and the person who posted it first will win.
*** A QUICK WORD ABOUT SPOILERS ***
DO NOT WORRY - THERE WILL NOT BE ANY!
I will not respond to any predictions in any way, other than to say, "Thank you for entering ~ good luck!" However, feel free to respond to each other -- no one knows anything about the upcoming book. :-)
*** A QUICK WORD ABOUT PRE-ORDERS ***
Blood Betrayal will be available for pre-order as soon as possible; however, each vendor has their own requirements and restrictions. Therefore, the eBook will appear at different times -- and on different dates -- depending upon the vendors. I am not sure whether or not the print-book will be available early. And the audio book will follow in July/August.
Please check my website for updated information -- you can always go straight to the BUY A BOOK PAGE and click on your vendor of choice (if the buy link works, it's available); if it does not click through, it's still coming to that store...
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Finally, for those who need to "revisit" the story in order to make a prediction, I will post the upcoming Blood Betrayal back blurb, and the previous, Blood Ecstasy Epilogue (same thing) below!
GOOD LUCK & HAVE FUN!
Tessa
Blood Betrayal Back Blurb
Saxson Olaru
is one of the select, the few, the elite...
As a ruthless
sentinel sworn to protect the ancient Vampyr king and the house of Jadon, he
has “HOJ” literally inscribed on his heart: a heart that was tragically broken
centuries earlier, when human hunters slayed his mother and Dark Ones murdered
his father. Having survived the unthinkable, he never dreamed he would come
this close to another human predator, let alone a female pretending to be his destiny.
Kiera and
Kyla Sparrow are twin sisters: humans, living very different lives. While Kiera
is selfless, clever, and talented, Kyla is dark, duplicitous, and damaged—she
belongs to a secret society of vampire-hunters, and she has sworn to destroy as
many as she can.
When Saxson’s
Blood Moon appears in a February sky, and the
matching constellation, Cetus the Sea Monster, appears on Kiera’s wrist, Kyla knows
exactly what it means: The celestial gods have chosen her beautiful sister to
be the eternal mate of an immortal vampire—she just doesn’t know which one.
And it really
doesn’t matter.
If Kyla can
recreate the sacred emblem on her own inner wrist, she can take Kiera’s place
and commit the ultimate Blood Betrayal.
When duty, obedience,
and honor clash with a deep, gnawing intuition, an honor-bound warrior will be
forced to choose between allegiance to the house he loves and the quiet voice within,
whispering: “Warning!”
One wrong
move.
One wrong
choice.
And all will
be lost forever.
BLOOD BETRAYAL, Book #9 in the Blood Curse Series
Blood Ecstasy Epilogue/Blood Betrayal Prologue
Saxson
Olaru sidled up to the bar in Denver’s infamous LoDo, a native, urban term for lower downtown, and he tried to
make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
It was a losing proposition.
At six-foot two, he had soft hazel-eyes,
the color of swirling caramel, and light-ash hair that was neat on the sides,
wavy and wispy at the front, tapering softly down a strong, masculine neck. The
eye immediate caught a strong, angled jaw and chin, beneath a
perfectly-groomed, silken goatee and features so pristine, so precisely
sculpted, that his high-cheekbones looked as if they’d been carved out of
marble: In other words, Saxson Olaru usually caught every eye in the room. He
dripped sensuality, oozed masculinity, and practically radiated primal
confidence. He was the muscular epitome of power, lethality, and grace; and
women were drawn to him like moths to a flame. As for men? Well, they felt his
presence like a blast of virility and a whirlwind of dominance, sweeping
through the room like a twister, devastating everything in its wake.
Intimidating was a mild word for Saxson.
But yeah, his goal was to remain
inconspicuous.
Good luck with that.
He ordered a second shot of Elijah Craig,
Single Barrel Whiskey from the female bartender, gave her a
gentle-but-effective mental command to go about her business—since she happened
to be staring at him like a dolt with her mouth hanging open and drool rapidly
pooling along the corners of her mouth, about to leak onto her chin—and turned
to glance at the seemingly average business man, wearing an overly-expensive
tie with an extremely cheap suit, in the farthest, corner-booth of the bar.
Anthony Beckman.
Kate Beckman’s ex-husband.
The one who had broken her jaw and was this
close to molesting their three-year old daughter, during one of his
court-approved visits.
What the hell…
Saxson repressed a growl: Anthony was one
of the human males on Rebecca Johnston Lacusta’s hit list, and he was only too
happy to take him out.
Okay,
so it wasn’t supposed to be a hit list.
At least not necessarily…
But try explaining that to Nathaniel
Silivasi. The Ancient Master Warrior had already removed Ely Thomas’ fingers
for breaking Nancy’s arms; dismembered Rollo Jones, for causing Sheila to have
two miscarriages—and yeah, Rollo didn’t live through the ordeal—and gouged out
Hugo Gonzales’ eyes for refusing to leave Teresa alone. Apparently, Nathaniel
figured that would put a dent in Hugo’s stalking.
The “list” was supposed to be at least
somewhat benign: The warriors were supposed to scrub their brains, implant new
suggestions on how to live a kinder
life, insure that these miscreants would never threaten a woman again, and
Saxson supposed that Nathaniel had met that criteria…in his own, creative way.
After all, three down; two to go.
As it stood, Nathaniel was off stalking
Julius Schaffer, Patricia Sykes’ one-time, one-date, NFL player, and Saxson was
hunting in LoDo, handling Anthony Beckman, or at least he was about to…
Problem was: Saxson had already searched
Anthony’s soul, and it was nothing but black, murky, sludge. The man was as
evil as evil came and as sociopathic as a serial-killer. He possessed zero
capacity for remorse or empathy, and he would never, ever stop
terrorizing Kate. It was stamped all over his demented brain, and that meant
only one thing—
This one had to be put down.
For good.
Saxson tossed back the second shot of
Whiskey, slammed the glass on the bar, and made his way toward the back of the
room, trying to saunter past the booth as seamlessly as possible. There was no
need to create a scene. No need to grab the bully by the scruff of the collar
and drag him out of the establishment in order to…handle the business…in
a dark, secluded alley. The way Saxson saw it, he could simply snap the idiot’s
neck in the space of a heartbeat, leave him propped up like a drunkard, still
sitting in the booth, and close his eyelids, if necessary, with the sweep of
his hand, make it look like he’d simply passed out.
It might be an hour or more before anyone
noticed.
Then again, it might only be five minutes.
Saxson grimaced.
Damn, he hated to cause that kind of drama for the employees or
the establishment, but when he weighed their angst against the threat to Kate
Beckman’s daughter, it just didn’t seem that bad. Besides, humans could deal
with their own affairs. After all, they had created the laws that allowed such
injustice to continue in the lives of so many women; they had devalued their
females and their children, in spite of what they claimed, in every penal code
they wrote; and they still viewed outright violence, assault, and terror as
domestic disturbances in nature—whatever the hell that meant—by slapping
perpetrators on the wrist, releasing pedophiles from prison, and viewing rape
in the context of sex…as if that had anything to do with it.
Violence was violence.
Assault was assault.
And crime was crime.
And a society that wielded a harsher
penalty for stealing money than destroying virtue deserved a little mess in an
otherwise pristine booth.
It was what it was.
As Saxson sidled by Anthony’s table, he
met the human’s gaze with a nod, and then he felt his own eyes turn feral—he
knew they were glowing red—it was simply a natural instinct. The human’s jaw
dropped open, as if he were about to scream, and Saxson squelched the sound in
an instant, turning it off with a simple, mental command. A sweet, primal
moment, laced with terror and imbued with fear, the knowledge that something
horrific was about to take place, flashed in Anthony’s pupils, but it never had
a chance to reach his twisted brain.
Saxson grazed the human’s cheek with his
thumb, anchored his jaw with his palm, and placed the opposite hand on the
opposite cheek as if in a lover’s embrace. With a sharp, swift rotation, both
wrists working in tandem, he twisted to the right, then back to the left,
listening for the tell-tale pop that indicated the broken vertebrae.
It was swift.
It was effective.
And it was finished.
Anthony Beckman was dead.
Saxson pressed the human’s heavy body back
against the seat, using one hand to steady his torso, the other to secure his
balance. As the man’s head fell forward, suspended above his chest, he allowed
him to slump into a resting position, and then he closed his eyes.
Smoothing his right hand through his hair,
Saxson swaggered past the booth and instantly muted his appearance as he turned
on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, toward the establishment’s
front door—he wasn’t completely invisible, and he wasn’t crystal clear. His
presence was like an impression, a ghost or a breeze—others would feel him,
they would know he was there, but they would not be able to see, touch, or
discern his presence in a way they could actually place. He wouldn’t seem real
or tangible.
As he stepped outside into the crisp night
air, he drew in a deep, cleansing breath, rolled his shoulders, and stretched
his neck, before deciding to take a stroll around the block: Nathaniel was
hunting on the opposite end of town, taking care of Mr. Sykes—it might be
another fifteen or twenty minutes before they could head back to Dark Moon
Vale.
Might
as well see the sights.
********
Kyla Sparrow stood behind her identical
twin sister in the tiny, one-room bathroom at the back of the LoDo bar,
watching as Kiera reapplied her liquid eyeliner in the murky mirror, creating a perfect, symmetrical line; and she
pretended to listen as Kiera talked.
Blah, blah…blah, blah, blah.
It wasn’t that Kiera wasn’t funny,
interesting, and smart—or even beautiful—she was, inside and out. But that, and
a nickel, would buy Kyla a gumball, something she didn’t need.
Kyla Sparrow had much bigger concerns on
her mind.
She had much bigger fish to fry than
petty, every-day, monotonous affairs.
And because of that, she and her twin
sister really didn’t vibe.
In fact, they hadn’t vibed for years.
Ever since their freshman year in
high-school, Kyla had known she was different: While Kiera had been a
straight-A student and a practical virtuoso with her violin, impressing
classmates and teachers alike with her vibrant, intelligent personality, Kyla
had been morosely withdrawn. Not only had she shown very little interest in
making friends, pleasing her teachers, or pursuing some extravagant talent, she
had become more-and-more distrustful, increasingly pessimistic, and decidedly different
as each new day dawned.
And it wasn’t just a matter of
extrovert-versus-introvert or social-versus-anti-social, it went a whole lot
deeper than that. Kyla had harbored an internal rage: She was prone to fits of
violence; often envious, resentful, or just plain combative; and to most of the
people around her, she was an oddity, a rebel, and even a threat. Sure, she
shared her identical twin’s genes, good-looks, and even her uncanny
intelligence, but it manifested in a completely different way.
Kyla needed to know why.
Why were people to stupid and unteachable?
Why did nations let their enemies win?
Why didn’t leaders employ any means
necessary to achieve their individual goals, establish collective dominance,
and create a hierarchy where the strongest would always survive?
Why did they make so many excuses for the
sick, the defective, and the simple among them?
Why didn’t anyone else see that they were
all just a bunch of dumb, mindless goldfish, swimming around in a bowl, waiting
for someone to feed them, take care of them, direct them as to where to go,
what to say, and how to live, repeating the same tiresome routine, day after
day, year after year, life after meaningless life? And that’s when she had met
Owen Green, the handsome, charismatic leader of the Denver Militia, a secret
society of vampire-hunters, engaged in a much grander cause.
At first, Kyla had thought Owen was full
of malarkey, with all his fanciful tales of fanged creatures who stalked the
night, Dark Ones and Light Ones, opposing houses, and moons that turned the
color of blood. But Owen had made her a believer, over time, over a lot of
shocking, revealing, and illuminating time. And more than that, he had shown
her things—photos, diaries, gravestones—as he had increasingly gained her trust,
all of which left little room for doubt that vampires were definitely real.
Now, thirteen years later, Kyla was more
than a believer: She was a full-fledged initiate in the metropolitan area’s
secret cell. She was honor-bound and one-hundred-percent obedient to a Head
Hunter she had never met, a regional leader by the name of Xavier Matista, the
male who had recruited Owen. In fact, not only had she gone through all the
secret trainings, attended all the late-night briefings, and followed the
societies’ every clandestine move, she had committed herself fully on December
1st of her twenty-fifth year by submitting to a full, irreversible
hysterectomy in order to become eligible for field work.
The society paid very well.
And they took excellent care of their own.
They were all that was standing between
humanity and the monsters, and she was ready to make her first kill.
Knowing that any creature she hunted could
very well be a Dark One, a powerful and dangerous aberration, from what they
called the house of Jaegar, the hysterectomy had been a must: No pain, no gain.
No risk, no reward. Kyla wasn’t playing a child’s game, and she understood that
on a deep, intrinsic level. Keeping up with her old life, pretending to be an active
member of her family, meeting with her twin from time to time to engage in the
mundane was all part of a necessary front. She had to pretend to be functioning
member of society, as a whole, even as she knew she was the race’s defender.
Slowly, and over time, Kyla, and others
like her, would help to usher in a new age, a purer society, where the strong
ruled the weak, and the mighty inherited the earth. Their goal was simple:
First, cleanse the earth of the Vampyr; next, claim dominance over unworthy humans.
“So what do you think of this color
eyeliner?” Kiera asked, in her usual, welcoming tone. “It’s kind of a
blue-green…maybe aqua. I’m not sure if it goes with my eyes.”
Kyla plastered an insincere smile on her
face, and glanced at Keira’s makeup. “I think it looks gorgeous on you.” What
else could she say? Her identical twin was a stunning beauty, just as Kyla was.
In the end, what did any of that triviality matter?
She was just about to suggest that they
leave the bar, perhaps try to find a good movie—at least, then, they wouldn’t
have to talk through a show—when she noticed something both curious and
intriguing on Kiera’s left arm.
Kyla stepped closer to the mirror and
stared into the glass.
The gentle hand that held up the
eyeliner-pencil was softly rotated outward, and as inexplicable—impossible—as
it seemed, Kiera’s inner wrist was changing, metamorphosing, right before
Kyla’s eyes. She reached out to grasp Kiera’s wrist. “Let me see that,” she
whispered, suddenly feigning interest in the pencil, even as she secretly
shielded and surveyed her sister’s arm.
Wow.
Whoa!
This could not be happening!
Etched into Kiera’s flesh, and becoming
more-and-more distinct as each second passed, was a series of enigmatic lines
and cryptic dots, all of them intersecting to create a clear, discernable
pattern, a celestial constellation: Cetus, the sea monster.
Kyla swallowed a gasp and tried to remain
calm.
She knew exactly what she was staring at:
After all, she and her other vampire-hunting cohorts had learned all of the
celestial constellations—correction, they had learned all of the celestial
gods, those who ruled over the lighter vampires—and they had committed
the pantheon to memory.
Ever since the end of June, of the
previous year, the society had begun a new, intensive series of trainings,
after their formerly-indifferent, regional Head Hunter had suddenly stepped
things up…with a vengeance. No longer content to keep the lower echelons in the
dark, Xavier had flooded the militias with information about the race they were
hunting, about the history of the Vampyr, about their culture, their practices,
and their religions. Kyla hadn’t understood it at the time—if the higher-ups
possessed all this knowledge, why had they kept it to themselves for so long?
Why had they been so content to simply order the militias around, while they,
themselves, remained in the shadows, and led from afar?
Why hadn’t they shared all this history
and culture, decades ago?
While part of that equation remained
true—Kyla had never met their region’s Head Hunter, and she doubted that she
ever would—the most important part had definitely changed: The militias were
now armed with more information and a deeper understanding of the enemy than
they had ever possessed before.
Careful not to alert Kiera, Kyla sauntered
to the bathroom door and double-checked the lock—yep, the door was securely
fastened.
No one would walk in.
But that wasn’t going to hold for long.
Somewhere out there, either close-by, in
the bar, or within a few city blocks, was a vampire, gazing at the moon. And he
would be feral, desperate, and determined—searching like a lion, intent on
protecting its pride—to find the unsuspecting female who was standing in this
cubicle.
And he would not be denied.
And maybe, just maybe, if Kyla could pull
it off, she could somehow switch places with Kiera before the monster found
them—wouldn’t that just be the deception of a lifetime?
The greatest advantage the militia had
ever had?
Knowing that the moon would not be visible
to her human eyes, Kyla immediately switched her tack: She hurried to the
small, rectangular window on the far side of the lavatory and pointed at the
sky. “Kiera, come here! Quick! Look at this? Do you see what I see?” Her voice
was thick with wonder and awe.
Kiera tucked her pencil into her purse,
still unaware of her arm, and paced to the back of the bathroom. She glanced
out the window and her jaw dropped open. “Holy moly!” she exclaimed.
Yep, there it was…
Confirmation!
“The moon is the color of…blood. And the
stars? What the heck is that? I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Kyla didn’t bother to respond.
She didn’t have time.
She reached into her purse, retrieved her
cellphone, and pecked out an urgent text:
Owen! It’s Kyla. Still at the bar with
Kiera, and you’re not going to believe this—she has the mark of a destiny on her left arm! Does Travis
still own his tattoo parlor? If so, you need to get him and his tools down to LoDo,
NOW! There’s a door in the bathroom that leads to an alley (it’s behind the bar).
Kiera and I will be waiting for you. I don’t have to tell you what all of this
means. If we can pull this off, I can take out this vampire. Hell, we can
infiltrate their lair!!!
GET HERE RIGHT AWAY!
###
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Disclaimer
By entering this contest, I attest to the following: The fully-finished manuscript, Blood Betrayal by Tessa Dawn, was submitted to editorial on April 1, 2017 with all creative content (plots, characters, and story outcomes) fully complete. Any resemblance between contest predictions and the finished novel's is purely coincidental, and no such prediction(s) shall influence the manuscript in any way.
