I have great news! My publisher has kindly made it possible for fans of the Gilded series to get an early e-book copy of SILVERN. This week, 20 e-book kindle copies of SILVERN are up for grabs. Gah! I’m so excited for you guys to read this new book!

 

How it works:

1. Enter to win by either: commenting below or on ANY of my social media. You know, something like this: “I am DYING to read SILVERN! Pick me!”

2. Get extra points by spreading the word through Tweeting, sharing the link on Facebook and knocking on all of your neighbors doors telling them about this (Kidding!). Fill in the rafflecopter below or tell me in the comments section.

3. Enter by Aug. 26th midnight.

4. If you love the book, tell the world! Feel free to review the book on Amazon. I’d love to read your review once you are finished reading the book.

So are you as excited as I am. Oh my gosh. I hope you like the book. And to be so very wicked, I’m going to give you a little teaser. You ready?

Marc freezes so abruptly I bump into him. Kang-dae slides up next to Marc, while I peer around to spot an animal about the size of a large dog blocking our path. Its fur is shaggy and caked with mud. Small ears pop from its head, and its beady eyes are as red as fire.

 

“It’s a blood weasel,” Kang-dae whispers. “Dreadful personalities.”

 

“We are just passing through,” Marc tells the weasel. “We wish to go our own way.”

 

“No, no, no.” Michelle whimpers. She scurries to the door and yanks on its handle. Her face reddens from the strain. It doesn’t budge. “We’re locked in.”

 

“Lovely,” Kang-dae says.

 

“We know your errand.” Its voice slurs out the words in Korean. “Our great King Daebyeol of the Underworld is most interested in what you wish to acquire. Give us the girl, and no harm will come to you.”

 

I slide between Marc and Kang-dae. “Your way is not ours. Leave us.”

“Scat,” Kang-dae says.

 

The weasel chokes, or perhaps it’s laughing, I’m not sure. Saliva drools from its mouth, and it shakes its body, flinging off chunks of dirt. But as the dirt splatters over the walls, I realize it’s actually blood, caked on the creature. The blood on the walls liquefies and begins to ooze down to the floor into puddles.

 

I gape as the puddles bubble and dark forms rise from their depths, twisting and contorting until they create at least twenty weasels flanking the first one. They snarl and growl, their red eyes flashing hungrily.

 

“So you see,” the first weasel slurs, “we do not jest. Hand her over.”

 

“That broom of yours may come in handy, after all,” Kangdae says.

 

 

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