Art of Death Paperback Preorders and Excerpt!
At long last, paperback preorders are up for Art of Death! I’m so excited, since I know a lot of you guys were waiting specifically for the paperbacks.
[Preorder: Amazon]
[Preorder: Barnes and Noble]
[Preorder: DSP Publications]
To celebrate, I’m also sharing my first excerpt! This is the moment when the two leads, Riley and Westwood, first cross paths during Riley’s lunch break. Hope you enjoy!
Absorbed in the pixelated screen before him, he didn’t notice a man taking a seat at the other side of the table until he cleared his throat. Riley raised his head and jumped back in shock.
The guy looked to be in his midthirties, richly tanned, with chestnut hair done up in spikes. His chiseled face was intense, his eyes so dark they could have been pure black. Even in a T-shirt, he looked somehow impressive, perhaps due to the defined musculature Riley couldn’t help but gawk at.
“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked, embarrassed at the squeak in his voice.
“You’re the figure model, right?” the man asked, ignoring Riley’s question. “Riley Burke. The one who Coliaro wants to paint.”
“That’s me. It’s like I’ve become famous overnight. People are even starting to recognize me with my clothes on.”
The man chuckled, and the rumbling vibration of his laugh made Riley’s heart flutter. It was the kind of laugh he would have loved to feel against the back of his neck….
He forced the thought out of his mind, cursing at his overeager imagination and plastering on a neutral smile.
“So, tomorrow’s the big day?” the man asked.
“Yeah.”
“And I hear you’re doing a private session with him in the evening.”
Why did this random hot guy know so much about his plans with Coliaro? Riley shot him a questioning glance. “I’m sorry—who are you?”
“Ah, I didn’t introduce myself.” The man held out a large brown hand. “Westwood. I teach illustration.”
Riley shook the man’s hand, and something about that warm, powerful grip made his breath catch with anticipation. Once he realized he was gawking again, he shook his head and tried to collect himself. “You teach at Prestwick?”
“That’s right.”
Riley picked up his spoon, nervously rubbing his thumb along its dipped interior. He took a closer look at Westwood’s face, examining his unique features. Angular eyes, heavy brow ridge, full lips. Riley couldn’t have even guessed at his ethnicity, but he was stunning. “I studied illustration at Prestwick. It’s been a few years, but I think I would have remembered you.”
“I’m new,” Westwood said. He looked around before leaning in and lowering his voice. “So I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors about Coliaro?”
“Yeah, I know. Serial murders linked to his paintings and so forth.”
Westwood leaned in, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m not talking about that rumor.”
Riley resisted the urge to lean in as well. He set his spoon down and began twisting his napkin into an absorbent little spear—anything to keep his hands busy. Fidgeting was a nervous habit of his that always drove Nick crazy. “What other rumor is there?”
Westwood didn’t reply right away. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, as if he enjoyed making Riley squirm. After he’d milked the silence for as long as he could, he finally answered, “People say that he’s undead.”
“I’m sorry….” Riley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head in almost irritated disbelief. “People say he’s what?”
“Undead,” Westwood enunciated, as if the only problem was Riley’s lack of hearing.
Why did the devastatingly sexy ones always turn out to be complete nutcases? Riley wanted to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and assume he was joking, but he looked dead serious. Glancing around, Riley wondered if any other café patrons were close enough to listen in. “You said you teach at Prestwick?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Hmm.” Riley tossed his twisted napkin onto his tray and began running his fingernail over the serrated edge of his plastic knife. Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click. At last he asked, “What does that mean? ‘Undead’?”
“He was mortal once, but then he died. And then he revived. And now he’s immortal.”
“You mean like a vampire?”
Westwood balked. “Vampires aren’t real.”
Riley sucked in a slow, patient breath.
Westwood continued as if he hadn’t noticed Riley’s skepticism. “Simply put, the undead are beings who have risen after death. They have unique superhuman strengths born from the way they lived or the way they died. And once they rise, they’re nearly impossible to kill for good—unless you know their secret weakness.”
“Superhuman strengths and secret weaknesses. So… they’re like superheroes?”
The glint in Westwood’s eyes turned sly, almost mischievous. “More like supervillains.”
Preorder Art of Death in Ebook and Paperback:
Amazon | Barnes&Noble | DSP Publications
