Today the spotlight is on Elizabeth Belyeu and her debut novel, Secondhand Shadow.
Blurb:
It's supposed to be a symbiotic relationship: the
Shadow serves and protects the human Lumi, the Lumi feeds and cares for the
Shadow. But when Damon’s Lumi died young and severed the bond between
them, he declined to go with her like a good little Shadow. Yes, it
hurts. Yes, he's cold and hungry all the time. And yes, his own
people call him an abomination. But for the first time, Damon's life is his
own, and he’s never going back.
Or so he thinks, until he meets Naomi, a pregnant
college student… and bonds to her as his new Lumi. Which has never
happened to a Shadow before.
Naomi has enough problems on her plate, juggling
college and a crappy survival job, preparing for a baby, and getting over her
cheating ex-husband. The last thing she needs is a dark, brooding fellow
like Damon depending on her physically and emotionally, and hating her for it.
But a vigilante among Damon's people has his sights set on Naomi – and they
both know Damon is her only chance for survival.
Excerpt:
“So,
who do I look like?” I said.
He
jumped, as if he hadn’t expected me to have the power of speech. “What?”
“Either
I look like someone you never wanted to see again, or I smell bad. Since you
got in an elevator with me, I’m going with Option A.”
He
continued staring a moment, then opened his mouth to speak.
And
the elevator shuddered to a halt.
No.
I closed my eyes. No, this cannot be. These things don’t really happen.
I leaned my head back against the wall with a thunk. Then, to my own
dismay, I started to laugh.
“I’m
sorry,” I gasped when I saw Damon’s stare turn from mysterious to confused.
“It’s just such a cliché. The pregnant lady trapped in the elevator. If I give
birth in an elevator—” Confusion became alarm. “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said
quickly. “Still two months to go, thank goodness. It’s just the idea.”
I
was able to stop laughing after a minute, because it stopped being funny. There
was a help button in the wall, which I would be calm enough to push, eventually.
But it could be hours before we got out of here. Hours during which I was
supposed to be at work. I fumbled my cell phone out of my bookbag. No
signal.
Damon
began to pace, which was a nice trick in an elevator that size, especially when
he refused to come anywhere close to me. Yeah, well, I wouldn’t touch you
with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole, either.
“I
can’t be here,” he muttered under his breath, and ran a hand through his hair,
which very unexpectedly made my breath catch. So I have a thing for long-haired
guys. Why else would I have the Lord of the Rings movies memorized?
“Hit
the help button,” I said. It was on his side.
He
paused, looked at the button a moment, then resumed pacing. “You should do it.”
Bossy much? I considered suggesting an
anatomically unlikely new location for the help button, but then I remembered
that just because he hadn’t pulled a knife on me yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. I stepped toward the help button,
wondering what he’d do when I crossed the orbit of his pacing.
What
he did was stop dead with a sharp breath, back up against the wall, and close
his eyes.
For
the first time, I was truly afraid to turn my back on him. I froze, not
breathing, and waited.
He
kept his eyes closed, breath coming faster, hands half-raised as if to ward me
off. They were shaking.
Seconds
passed. A minute. Maybe more. My fear began to ebb, just a bit, to make room
for pity. He was in pain. I had no idea why or how, or what I could do to help,
but surely I ought to try.
“Damon?”
The
word was tiny and feather-edged, but it broke something. Suddenly I was pinned
between him and the wall, my upraised hands trapped against his chest, too stunned
to push him away.
“I
won’t hurt you,” he said, pressing his face into my hair. “I won’t hurt you. I
hate you too much to ever hurt you. I’m sorry.”
I
felt a hand against my cheek.
And
I was alone in the elevator.
Author Bio:
Elizabeth
Belyeu is 29 years old and lives in Alabama, where she
supports herself, her cat, and her steadily growing TBR pile as a library
assistant. She graduated from Troy University in 2008 with a bachelorʹs in
English (Creative Writing minor). This is her first novel, but she has been
writing since she could hold a pencil, and plans to continue until she is too
senile to type.
Buy Links:
Where to Find Me:
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