Please welcome Kyoko M to the blog.
The Deadly
Seven
Black Parade
Series
Book 2
Kyoko M
Number of
pages: 120
Word Count:
58,546
ASIN: B00K706A5M
Cover
Artist: Christine Savoie and Katie Litchfield
Book
Description:
Michael
O’Brien. 24. New Yorker. Musician. Commander of Heaven’s army.
It’s been
centuries since Michael stayed on Earth for an extended period of time. Now
he’s here because of Jordan Amador—a Seer who helped him restore his life and
memories and thwart the archdemon Belial from taking over the city. With Jordan
on Belial’s hit list, Michael decides to stick around and live out life
alongside her as her friend and temporary bodyguard. But as the days pass, he
finds it harder to resist the seven deadly sins that tempt all men. Especially
as he and Jordan grow closer fighting the demons who want her almost as much as
he does…
Available at
Amazon
Excerpt:
Being Jordan
Amador’s angelic bodyguard against a horde of bloodthirsty demons was a lot of
things, but certainly not boring.
I checked my
watch for the fortieth time in the last twenty minutes. Jordan usually got off
at eight o’clock. Things had been quiet for over two weeks now, which was rare
for a Seer’s lifestyle. She encountered ghosts with unfinished business a few
times a month and that kept the both of us busy. Earlier, she had convinced me
to meet her at the bus stop a couple streets over instead of in front of the
Sweet Spot.
“So would
you mind waiting for me at the bus stop instead of out here?” she had asked,
sweeping her shoulder-length black hair up into its usual high ponytail.
I frowned.
“Why? Doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose of the whole ‘temporary bodyguard’
thing?”
“It’s been
quiet for a while now, Michael. Come on. Helping avert the end of the world and
ganking an archdemon aren’t enough to prove I can take care of myself?”
I glanced
between her and the store front. A couple of her waitress friends who were
watching us through the window scattered as soon as I looked over. Then it
clicked.
“They think
I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
Jordan got
really interested in her shoes all of the sudden. “Yeah. They do.”
I shook my
head. She was an anointed soul charged with helping the dead find peace and yet
she still cared what her coworkers thought of our relationship. I couldn’t
decide if it was cute, frustrating, or hilarious. Possibly all three.
Then again,
I could see how her coworkers would get confused that a six-foot-tall,
dark-haired, green-eyed “underwear model” (which I overheard one of them dub me
last week) dropped Jordan off at work on a frequent basis. I decided to be
lenient for once.
“Fine. We’ll
give it a test run today. If you survive, I’ll take it into consideration.”
She shot me
a scowl. “Gee, thanks, almighty Michael. I am humbled that you considered the
request of a lowly human.”
I grinned.
“You’re welcome, my humble servant.”
She rolled
her eyes and swatted my arm before turning to head into the restaurant. “Later,
pretty boy.”
“Stay out of
trouble.” I called, and then headed back towards the bus stop.
That had
been eight hours ago. Getting off a shift late wasn’t unusual for a waitress,
but most times it was by only five or ten minutes. My instincts needled at me
that something was off.
Sighing, I
fished out my cell phone and called her, tapping my foot. “Come on, Amador,
pick up.”
Several
rings. A click. Voicemail message. Ugh. I hung up and stuffed my hands in my
pockets. It was a short walk through the heavily trafficked area on this side
of Albany, New York, but it was during one of the busier times of the day.
Nighttime in the city meant chatty couples walking through holding hands,
teenagers hollering and chasing each other down the street, and music pouring
out from the clubs already packed to the rafters with the twenty-somethings.
Two stop
lights, one near-death experience courtesy of a speeding cab, and one step in
some gum later, and I reached the glowing red sign to the Sweet Spot. The
Southern cuisine eatery was busy. As much as Northerners made fun of the South
in sitcoms and stand up shows, they sure did like the food.
I pushed the
door open and smiled at Beth, the head hostess. “Hey, you.”
“Michael.”
The short blonde grinned. “Good to see you as always.”
“Is Jordan
still in the back?”
A slight
frown marred her brow. “No, honey. She left about ten minutes ago.”
I froze.
“Left how? She was supposed to meet me at the bus stop.”
“She went
out back to take out the trash and I just assumed she went home after. Why?
Something wrong?”
A cold lump
settled in my stomach. Something wasn’t adding up. Jordan wasn’t the type to
disappear without texting me. I didn’t want to concern her friends so I kept my
expression pleasant. “Nah, she probably just wandered off to window shop. I’ll
catch up with her. Thanks, Beth.”
“No problem,
sweets.”
I made a
point to leave the restaurant in a casual manner, but once I was out of sight,
I hurried around the block to the back of the building. The Sweet Spot was part
of an entertainment district in this section of Albany. There were narrow
alleys between the establishments and the streets ran parallel to the store
fronts.
The Sweet
Spot’s back alley looked like any other restaurant in Albany—lined by dumpsters
and garbage cans. The concrete was littered with fallen bits of food. A couple
of mangy cats fought over fish bones. The entire area stank to high heaven. I
called Jordan’s phone again and prayed that my instincts were wrong.
The raucous
chorus to Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” echoed behind me.
I turned
towards one of the dumpsters and lifted the entire thing with one hand. Her
phone lay cracked and forlorn underneath it.
Shit.
About the
Author:
Kyoko M is
an author, a fangirl, and an avid book reader. Her debut novel, The Black
Parade, made it through the first round of Amazon's 2013 Breakthrough Novel
Contest. She participated and completed the 2011 National Novel Writing Month
competition. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English Lit degree from the
University of Georgia, which gave her every valid excuse to devour book after
book with a concentration in Greek mythology and Christian mythology. When not
working feverishly on a manuscript (or two), she can be found buried under her
Dashboard on Tumblr, or chatting with fellow nerds on Twitter, or curled up
with a good Harry Dresden novel on a warm central Florida night. Like any
author, she wants nothing more than to contribute something great to the best
profession in the world, no matter how small.
Website: http://www.shewhowritesmonsters.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/misskyokom
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