Welcome to The Wormhole and my stop on the tour.
Veined: Guardians
of the Angels: Book I
Anyta
Sunday
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Number of pages: 446 pages
Book Description:
It could be worse for Sylva Lark. She
could be dead. A coma was nothing to that. Or her family moving across country
for the treatment, leaving her with a big blue mark on her back.
She can handle it.
Mostly.
Except the mark glows and tingles,
especially whenever transition helper Atticus Plot (Attic) is close by. She
suspects he’s hiding something, and when she stumbles across a torn body
bearing the same spiral marking as her own, that suspicion is confirmed.
After a few shaves with death, the truth
finally comes out and the battles begin.
But not all her fights are external; her
biggest one is the decision she has to make between doing the right thing for
the world and giving up her beloved family for good.
Veined
Excerpt (Partial of first Chapter):
DAYTIME TELEVISION SOAPS
are funny. Brain transplants, lovers that turn out to be related, and
characters that slip into comas. Yeah, I'd thought soaps pretty darn hilarious
until the day I woke up from a coma.
And into this drama. I
bit my bottom lip and looked at the doctor (Albelin, as he’d introduced himself
seconds ago). Although Albelin stood next to the bed, his voice echoed like he
was at the other end of a tunnel. “. . . coma . . . much sooner than
anticipated.”
Goose bumps dotted my
skin and I tucked the hospital sheet—the only thing covering my body save a
pair of ungenerous undies that were giving me a wedgie—tightly under my arms.
My thoughts spiraled. I
strained to recall how I’d arrived here in the first place, but I couldn't
remember much. There had been a flash of color, and then—blank.
Albelin's curly black
hair swished as he moved his gaze away from me and toward his vibrating pocket.
Something on the side of his neck caught my attention. A black tattoo, like the
wing of an eagle. But it disappeared behind his collar as he pulled out his
phone. He scanned the screen, and then stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
“Your family is on their way,” he said.
My family. Faces and
partial memories popped up like a black-and-white film, with someone slowly
winding the crank. A blonde woman unraveling a kite—Mom. A man in a police
uniform—Dad. And a boy building a Lego tower—Jeffrey.
“Right.” The word felt
hollow and scratched the inside of my throat. Using the corner of the sheet to
cover my mouth, I coughed. It hurt my chest and sounded wet.
With watery eyes, I
scanned the room. I’d been so stuck on the word coma, I’d failed to notice my
basic surroundings. My coughing came to an abrupt stop, but my thoughts
continued to gallop. It wasn’t as though I knew what coming out of a coma
should feel like, but I had an idea what it should look like. Where was the
respirator? The drip? Heart monitor? In fact, the only features of the room
that indicated hospital were the green walls and linoleum flooring.
Albelin must have read
my panicky expression as I’d surveyed the room, because he started to explain,
“We used a new method involving electro-magnetism to bring you back to
consciousness. That’s why you aren’t wearing anything and why you shouldn’t
have any issues with muscle deterioration. That, and we’ve given you protein
supplements.”
Electro-magnetism? That
sounded like something I’d hear in a physics class. My stomach flipped and I swallowed
the awkward laugh that rose to my throat and caused a gurgling sound. This
wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill hospital at all. Maybe it was experimental,
maybe there'd been no other option. Oh, God, what happened to me?
I craned my neck from
side to side. My muscles were stiff, but at least I was conscious. I let out a
shuddering breath and blinked back the water pooling in my eyes. I didn't care
that I was seventeen and supposed act big and brave and something close to an
adult. Right now all I wanted was my mom.
Albelin smiled, barely
crinkling the skin at the sides of his eyes, but his smile didn't soothe the
erratic butterflies in my belly. If anything, it made them worse; he was so
young to be a doctor. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Reaching under the bed,
he pulled out a duffel bag and handed it to me. My duffel bag. The one I took
to gymnastics trainings. “Here are some clothes for you to change into.”
I twisted the familiar
canvas handles around my palm.
“Showers aren’t far,” he
added, “just out those doors, second on the left. Towel’s in the bag. Let me
help you there.”
Holding the sheet, I
stood up. My legs felt like jelly, but I shook my head at Albelin’s offer. “I
think I can manage.” I wobbled my way toward the swing doors.
Albelin raced to my
side. “I insist on helping you.”
He attempted to brace my
elbow, but I pulled away. “Thanks, but—but—” I needed alone time. To think. And
I didn’t want anyone touching me while I was wearing practically nothing but a
sheet. "I'll be fine, really. I'll yell if I need help."
As soon as I was in the
hall, I rested one hand against the wall and used it as a crutch. I was doing
all right considering I’d not used my legs in weeks.
Light filtered through
the windows, imprinting squares on the opposite wall. I pressed my hand in the
center of one as I looked outside onto the street. Mom, Dad and Jeffrey would
be coming soon.
I jumped, dropping the
duffel bag when a flash of black whizzed by. A tall guy wearing a green T-shirt
and tight black gloves up to his elbows was striding down the hall. I lunged to
grab the bag, but my foot caught in the sheet, ripping it from under my arms.
My head jerked up as the scratchy cotton sunk to my feet and I chased after it.
Palms sweating, I
wrapped the sheet tightly around me, heat swelling my cheeks. At least he'd
jerked his head away. Still, it didn't stop my heart from thumping
double-to-one in embarrassment.
Pick up the bag and
move. Go shower.
He glanced back,
sweeping his hair to the side. With a chuckle, Gloved Guy passed by and pushed
through the swinging doors of my room. As soon as he was behind them, Albelin
greeted him. It sounded like they knew each other well. I reached to pick up
the duffel bag and stopped.
“Her name’s Lark?”
Gloved Guy’s voice sounded amused by my name. “Like the bird?”
I crept closer. Why was
Albelin talking about me?
“Sylva Lark,” Albelin
corrected.
“And?”
“And she’s veined.” . .
.
~*~*~
Lethed: Guardians
of the Angels: Book II
Anyta
Sunday
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Number of pages: 418 pages
Book Description:
Sylva Lark made her choice.
Now she has to adjust to Guardian life.
Training. Killing demons. Controlling her powers.
If only giving up her family wouldn’t
hurt so damn much, . . . and if there wasn’t a strange attraction to the
betrothed Prince Atticus she just met . . .
Amongst murder and mayhem, and toeing an
unclear line between right and wrong, Sylva and her fellow Guardians must find
a way to secure Eirene.
But it’s not easy going up against
underworld Queen Furie when those on Sylva’s side are hiding secrets . . .
Will they succeed in protecting the home
of the angels? Or will they fail, submitting the heavens to the fate of Furie?
And will Sylva and Attic ever remember
what they mean to each other?
Or will they stay forever Lethed?
Lethed
(Partial of First Chapter):
SOMETHING WATCHED ME. I
sensed its sadistic presence. Tingles of anticipation snaked from the nape of
my neck down my spine.
With one hand pressed
firmly on my rickety, white-picket side gate, I glanced over my shoulder.
The tree-lined street
stared back at me. Snow-dusted branches accentuated the silky navy sky, and
meager yellow light leaked from the lampposts.
I strained to hear the
telltale crunching of snow. Nothing. Breathing in, I sought the sour smell of
evil in the breeze or the tinny smell of blood—a scent I’d become familiar with
in the last few months.
Again, nothing.
Just a sharp cold that
promised winter would linger this year.
My shoulders sagged in
relief. I wasn’t supposed to be out alone—I promised Albelin I’d always take another
Guardian with me if I left the motel premises. Perhaps my guilty conscience was
responsible for this strange sensation of evil.
I hadn’t wanted to
disobey him. Not really.
I clutched the gate, its
splintered edges digging into my palms, and studied the house in front of me.
Steadying my breath, I
opened the latch and pushed through to the path. Frosty stalks of lavender
brushed the back of my hand in a light, swirling breeze as I took in the large
acorn tree. Beyond it, the luminescent windows radiated warmth and beckoned me
home.
No, I didn’t want to
disobey Albelin.
I needed to.
Like every week, I crept
to the side of the house and peered into the living room. Slouched on the couch
watching TV, Mom sat with her head resting on Dad’s shoulder, and Mottle was
tucked into the small space between them. My brother Jeffrey wasn’t in the
room—but it was near midnight, so he probably lay tucked up in bed.
Dad kissed the top of
Mom’s head and her lips moved. Love you too, honey.
I wondered if Dad heard
Mom’s whispered words. It seemed cruel that I could hear the words meant for
him when I wanted them to be meant for me.
But they couldn’t ever
be for me anymore. Not since I’d chosen to give them up to become an
angel-protecting, demon-killing Guardian.
My stomach roiled and I
stifled a cry.
I slunk back into the
shadows, waiting for the warm weight of darkness to smother me into numbness
again. It worked the last three months.
Digging each jagged
fingernail into my sweaty palms, I counted down from ten. I looked forward to
replacing the frustration and hurt with dull throbbing. But at “one,” nothing
changed. I backed up harder against the corrugated fencing behind me, the cold
seeping through my shirt.
Dad’s head jerked back
in laughter that verged on maniacal. It used to make me laugh, too—at Dad. But
now it made me want to bang on the windowpane until it shattered, and with it
the thick wall of memories they couldn’t see between us.
I twisted the ring on my
little finger, hoping the comforting tic would help me.
It stopped me from
yelling out, but it didn’t curb the tears. Sizable drops splashed onto my hand
as I wiped a sniffle from my nose.
I instantly forgot about
the tears as a ripping pain sliced down my forearm. Blood seeped through my
light-blue sleeve. I whistled in a breath as I clutched the cut. Usually, I
relied on the semi-regular cuts and stabbing burns to snap me to a keen sense
of reality, but now the pain inside me did the job well enough.
Mottle jumped off the
couch and trotted to the window. She pawed at the glass and meowed.
I sighed. At least Mots
remembered me. Her gray fur pressed up against the window as if begging me to
pat her. She butted her head, rattling the glass, and I suddenly couldn’t bear
her leaving me alone.
She was one member of my
family I could still have.
“I’m coming to get you,”
I whispered.
As if she understood me,
she leaped off the sill and padded out of the living room.
I moved with purpose to
the front of the house, my feet lightly treading the leaf-covered path. I searched
the potted-plants for a spare key. Surely there’d be one here somewhere. . . .
First pot. Second.
Dammit!
Where could they have
hidden it? Or had they moved it after Dad worked the Guardian homicide cases a
few months ago? Flashes of torn Guardian bodies flickered in my mind, eliciting
waves of goose bumps over my skin.
For a small city,
Foxtin’s high death rate . . . I shuddered. Demons—Keres and Arae—slaughtered
us Guardians as if they drew hot knives through butter. I saw it.
I also saw them turn my friend
Marcus and ex-boyfriend Jason part-demon.
Saw them kill Maddy, my
best friend. . . .
~*~*~
Anyta has stopped by for an interview:
? How many jobs did you have before you became a writer?
Lol, a
lot of random ones. Directly before I considered myself a writer, I was an
English teacher in a German school.
Before
that, I did student-like jobs. I was a cleaner for a paper factory, I worked as
a barmaid, I lived in a tent on a farm for the summer and sorted cherries and
some casual vineyard work, I worked in a sports store, and I worked in a
Swarovski crystal store.
? What would you say is your most interesting writing quirk?
Writing
quirk. Nice question, I might need to think about it for a moment . . . I know
when I get into the zone I forget to eat or drink. Oh, and I have this habit
where I rapidly and jerk my foot—I do think when I’m searching for the right
word when it’s on the tip of my tongue but won’t quite make its way out!
? Do you have a routine that you use to get into the right frame
of mind to write?
I have
to make myself sit down and write, but, I will say that a very important part
of my daily routine is to walk before and after my daily writing stint. It just
helps process things. Before work, I plan what scenes I want to work on and
what key things must happen, and after work, I go over the next stages of the
book and sort out what happens next (in a little more detail than I have on my
story board).
? How do you decide what you want to write about?
A lot
of this comes from emotion. A feeling I have that’s really strong, and then the
story wraps itself around that.
? What books have most influenced your life?
John
Marsden’s Tomorrow When The War Began
Sara
Douglas’s Axis Trilogy
Because
these books really got me into fiction. But I also loved anything Roald Dahl!!!
Oh, and then Enid Blyton!
? What are you reading right now?
The Dream Thieves, by Maggie Stiefvater
? What do you like to do when you are not writing?
I’m
trying to learn how to knit at the moment. It’s not going well. Still, it is
fun trying to figure it out! But generally, I like spending time playing board
games with my son, reading, and watching great TV series.
? What is your favorite comfort food?
Chocolate.
I have this self-saucing chocolate pudding that I indulge in from time to time
and it’s incredible. I feel guilty as anything after eating it though, but
damn. Yum!
? What do you think makes a good story?
A good
story is one where there is a lot of inner and outer conflict and the stakes of
the character reaching their goal are high. Oh, and I’m a sucker for romance,
so some of that too, please!
? What book, if any, do you read over and over again?
A
little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett! Love this story.
Fun
random questions:
- dogs or cats? Cats. I have two, and they are rascals!
But they purr, so I forgive them.
- Coffee or tea? Both equally. Love a café coffee, but I
drink tea while I work. Big Earl Grey fan!
- Dark or milk chocolate? Milk chocolate, although I eat both.
- Rocks or flowers? Depends on the rock and the flower, lol.
If you’re talking sparkly precious stones, then heck yeah, rocks! I like
flowers too, but I am the worst gardener in the world.
- Night or day? Day. Hands down. Some people are morning
larks, some are night owls, I’m a middle of the day duck.
- Favorite color? Green!
- Crayons or markers? Makers.
- Pens or pencils? Pens.
More About the
Author:
A born and raised New Zealander, Anyta
Sunday has been exploring the literary world since she started reading Roald
Dahl as a kid. Inspired, stories have been piling up in her head ever since.
Fast forward to her mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), and she
started putting pen to paper. When she’s not writing or chasing her kid around,
she’s reading, hiking, watching a Joss Whedon series, attempting pilates, or
curling up with her two cats. Updates on her projects can be found at
anytasunday.com.
Tour
giveaway
5 ebook sets of Veined & Lethed
1 $15 dollar Amazon gift card
a Rafflecopter giveaway
While growing up, S.M. would travel the roads around her house while imagining she was somewhere else. Her imagination would take her everywhere, making the long hot summer days seem shorter throughout her fantasies. At the age of twelve, she decided to write her first book. Filled mostly with dialog, she filled up one-hundred pages, front and back. After taking the book downstairs to show her mom, and persuading her to buy her more paper, she excitedly ran back to her room. As she barreled through the door, S.M. tripped over items left on her floor, and her papers came raining down in her room. Discouraged, she stood there in tears, picking up her papers and throwing them in the trash. Her work had no organization, no numbers on her pages, just a child fulfilling a joy that she would put down and not pick up again. When she became older, she joined the military for something different. In that time, she was able to explore many places and even met her husband in Iraq. After coming home, she started her family in Arizona and went back to school, earning a Master's degree in Adult Education and Training.
