Friday, October 23, 2015

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Dead of Night by Carlyle Labuschagne @CarlyleL

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clip_image002_thumb[1]Dead of Night

The Aftershock Series

Book One

Carlyle Labuschagne

Genre: YA Dystopian

Publisher: Fire Quill Publishing

Date of Publication: September 21, 2015

ISBN: 978-0-9946536-9-7

Number of pages: 236

Word Count: 72 000

Cover Artist: Sandra Valente

Book Description:

In a dark and desolated After Earth, love still does exist, but the cost of bearing such a flaw is death.World War III has left Earth in utter turmoil. People’s beliefs are said to be the cause of the worldwide destruction. After The Clearing new laws are set about – to show certitude in anything besides the law is weak and chargeable as mutiny. To be illogical and have faith in religion is illegal, to be limitless is dangerous. And Illness is seen as a defect – all flaws that are inexcusable.

But to love is the greatest betrayal of all man kind. It is a fault the world has long forgotten and punishable by death, a fatal risk Aecker and Opel are fully prepared to take – because in love there is freedom. But how far can they push back before it claims their lives and of those they care about?




HIS VOICE ECHOES THROUGHOUT THE VAST room. It’s a voice I feel I could know, one that is as familiar to me as his handsome face. When he moves, the bunk’s springs squeak like a little rodent that is desperate to scurry away. I don’t mean to stare—but those soft gorgeous lips and strong jaw, the warm smile that brings sparkle to his honey-colored eyes, carries forth a loud voice in my head, telling me this boy can be trusted.

Lingering beneath his gentle stare I can see something else, the embers of concern. They drown out the spark in his stare as he waits for my answer.

Why would he show me this consideration? I don’t know who this beautiful stranger is.

I look around, realizing that I don’t even know who I am. Or, if the blue cotton uniform I am wearing is even mine. I glance back down at the green tin cup I hold in my hands, and the sweet and salty aroma of corn soup fills my nostrils.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is calm, but the quickening thump of his pulse and the tight set in his jaw relays something else entirely.

He inches closer, beads of sweat darkening his dusty blond hair, giving away the secret he is trying so hard to hide. He is upset. Nervous. Maybe both.

Is he withholding something?

Unknowingly, my head tilts to the side, trying to figure out what happened to me, and who this perfect stranger might be. And why I think I might know him. The stabbing sensation in my head throbs with each breath I take, making it hard for me to think clearly. I feel wrapped up in a thick fog, and just beyond it lives some useable memory.

From across the room, I stare at dirty clothes disregarded near the burn shoot. They reek of vomit and old blood. Staring at the clothes, I can immediately tell they belong to a female. The material is new, stretchy, and cut for a slim, short figure. Quickly glancing down at my body, I assume they could be mine―those clothes most definitely hold clues as to who I really am.

My familiar stranger sits across from me on the bunk bed, his body turned slightly toward mine. My hand creeps up to my head wound, making me wince at the feel of the raw, painful flesh. At my obvious discomfort, he immediately moves closer, his breath warm and sweet as he leans in. His gentle fingers lift the hair from my forehead as he inspects the injury. “We need to get you to a doctor.” His voice comes out shaky, uncertainty tainting his beautiful tone.

“No.” I jerk away. The dregs of my warm soup spill over the rim of the cup, splashing onto my raw fingers and wrists.

He watches me carefully as I stare forcefully into his eyes. His hand suddenly moves away and then I feel it―pain. I pull back farther, even though I crave his touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving one seat over, his back resting on the gray, concrete wall beside the bunk.

“It hurts,” I say, confused as to what hurts more, the wound or the fact that I have no idea what is going on. “How long have I been out?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Not more than two days.”

I sigh at his answer, one that comes from somewhere deep and mournful inside me. As the feeling of loss wraps around me, it’s like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe anymore. I close my eyes, attempting to block out whatever memory is making me feel so utterly terrified.

“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

But, I must ask myself, who is ‘he’? Who is this brutal attacker I do not even remember?

Standing slowly, I place the soup cup on the wooden bench situated beside the metal-framed bed. As he looks up at me, I feel the sudden need to run far and fast and never look back.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I-I must go.” I stumble over my words.

Moving too quickly, my head meets with the source of light above me. The light ebbs out for a second, and I pull in a sharp breath as pain shoots through me once again. Suddenly, I am terrified of the dark and feel myself reaching out for him. His forearm is soft, warm, strong, and alluring all at the same time. The fear that makes my pulse race alters slightly. I suddenly fear being trapped by an emotion I do not understand. Ruled by a feeling that is strong and fatal. I lose control of my thoughts.

He chuckles. “Where are you going to go in this storm?”

The light flickers back on. I look up as it continues to sway back and forth above us, searching the room for something, anything, yet I’m not sure what it might be. A feeling of anxiety washes over me. It’s so intense it spreads and enters my chest, as if a bald eagle has flown down to take my heart on gilded wings. The feeling to run tugs at me again. But when I look down, I notice I’m still gripping his arm. Instinct tells me that what I’m doing is wrong, that I should never be so close to a human.

“Sorry,” I apologize. When I release his forearm the golden color immediately returns to his flesh.

“It’s okay.” He smiles, invitingly. “Quite a grip you have there.” He keeps the grin, shaking out his hand as if I have stopped the blood from flowing through his veins.

I look away. “I can’t stay,” I announce, staring at the glimmer of light bouncing off the silver armlet wrapped tightly around my wrist―that shine, that glow, the entire piece is trying to remind me of something.

As he moves, the light brings out the blond streaks in his hair, and his shirt pulls tight around muscular pecks as he crosses his arms over his chest. He grins mockingly, and ever so slightly his feet shift toward me.

Nevertheless, I am aware of every single move he makes, like the way his eyelashes touch the top of his cheeks when he blinks, and how the corners of his eyes crease with the revelation of his gorgeous smile. His impeccable chest moves slowly as he breathes. His eyes hover on my face, making me shift uncomfortably. I don’t like the way he looks at me, it’s wrong. But I don’t know why I feel this way. All I know is that I don’t want to feel weak.

“What?” I ask sheepishly, suddenly feeling as if my dark, blue pantsuit has become transparent. Heat rushes to my face―an unexpected and unpleasant moment.

“You’ve been stalking me for weeks, and that’s all you have to say? You’re not even going to ask me my name? Or thank me for saving your life?”

It’s like an anchor falls, dropping me back to the depths of the uneven mattress. The squeak fades away as shock kicks me in the gut and allows me only one long, shuddering breath.

“I-I,” I falter. I have no recollection of my assault, or anything else that came before.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispers, his charming voice now peppered with unease. “It’s me, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Sitting down, he keeps his distance, as if making sure that I do not feel I am prey to his predator.

“I’m not sure…I know anything.” My brows furrow, as my fingers tremble over the soft skin of my lips. The frigid cold forms goose bumps on my skin as I stare into the thick, dark, naked concrete walls of the bunker. I am just that. I am colorless and empty. I have no present. And the past has vanished. I am back in that tunnel in the dead of night, with no sense of anything other than the blackness and the loneliness reaching out for me, attempting to make my soul crumble into dust.

“I don’t remember,” I finally admit, the words bitter and brief on my tongue.

I wait for a while in the silence of the moment, hoping my inner animosity will dissolve, and that the fear will leave me alone so I can figure things out. What thought might trigger a memory?

Gingerly, he grabs my hand and turns it, flattening my palm against his hard chest. “Aecker. My name is Aecker. You don’t remember me at all?”

I shake my head.

His eyes are gentle, digging up unsettled feelings within me. But he is not really sad or bothered by my sudden memory loss. In fact, he seems almost relieved.

I stare at his long fingers as they wrap around my tiny wrist. The contrast between his tanned skin and my pale hand is strikingly beautiful. But the shiny, silver bracelet that takes up most of my forearm is what bothers me. I wish I knew what it meant. I feel my pulse ticking beneath his fingers, sense the beating of his heart through my palm. It’s slow and steady at first, but as time passes and as the silence mounts, the heat of our touch grows into a black hole, sucking me in to his endless gravity. I feel attached to him, as if my hand is melting right into his chest. I want to grab hold of his human heart and become one with it. I wish to wrap my hand around it and try to translate the language that’s making it move. We are suddenly tethered to each other in ways I cannot begin to fathom.

With my gaze shamefully glued to his chest, his heart rate increases. Strangely, this effect rubs off on me and I can feel the beat of my own heart increase to match his, causing a perfect symmetry between us. In slow motion, I watch his Adam’s apple move up and then down as he swallows nervously. My eyes affix to his luminous, ochre gems as they grow wider―the darkness of his pupils swallowing up the magic of his irises.

Abruptly, it all disappears, and I am aware of another presence in the room. Jerking my hand away, the feeling I now own is awkwardness, almost as if I have somehow been caught trespassing.

“Aecker, what are you doing?” a deep voice calls out.

“I can explain.” Aecker stands, the bed springs moaning at the release of his weight.

I stare up at yet another beautiful man, with similar eyes and square jaw. He places a device on the center table, and then his gaze falls on me. This tall man’s eyes widen.

“What happened?” He moves closer, lifting my hair from my face, his other hand―fingers unbelievably icy―grips my chin, raising my face to the light.

“I couldn’t leave her…” Aecker begins.

“Who did this to you?” the man asks, sitting me down beside him, allowing the creaks and groans of the mattress to once again spring to life.

“She has no idea,” Aecker replies. It’s almost like his words filter right through me, and I feel like I am falling into a downward spiral, face first, swirling into the void where the forgotten stray.

It’s all sitting wrong with me; my sudden memory loss, and the fact that this boy known as Aecker called me a stalker. But the most disturbing, are the feelings I just experienced between him and me. It felt sinful, but I couldn’t stop myself. So perhaps it was just as well the stranger interrupted when he did, or who knows what would have happened.

The tall man stands, clears his throat and asks me my name. From the corner of my eye, I see Aecker shaking his head.

“Do you have a name? Or shall I just call you ‘girl’?”

“No, sir.” I shake my head, too.

“Sir?” His head jerks in Aecker’s direction then back to me, as a look of confusion appears in his eyes. He takes a few steps back, like I’m infected with some horrific disease that he will do anything to protect himself from. “Do you remember anything at all?”

I continue to shake my head as if I were made of nothing but wires and conduits―something completely mechanical that is unable to think or feel, just follow orders.

“She must be a City Dweller.” His words are said with distaste, sounding like he wants nothing more than to spit on the floor at the mere thought of something as hideous as me infiltrating his life.

When he notices the bracelet around my wrist, his shoulders slump dramatically. Closing his eyes and pressing his long, dark lashes against tanned skin, he looks as if he is trying desperately to hold back something, yet impatience appears in his voice.

“She’s a Tracker. She must leave right now,” he states with finality, making me feel like I have successfully drowned in that black void where my forgotten memories live, where I will be washed away and swallowed up, never to be seen again.

“She does not look anything like a Tracker!” Aecker’s words are defensive.

“There are whispers of the new generation.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dyllian!” Aecker says passionately, moving closer and pushing the older boy away so that he is now standing between us.

“You know it does. You have to get rid of her. If they find her, if Cupola even catches one scent of this intruder and your involvement with her, you will be killed and I can’t do anything to stop it. Trackers bring nothing but death. You know that!”

Aecker moves even closer to me, his hands come to rest on my shoulders as he stares into my eyes. “She’s nothing like them.”

“What is a Tracker?” My thoughts are finally voiced.

Dyllian steps back, resting an elbow against the wall. With the other hand, he pulls out a dirty old rag and wipes his face. “Trackers are soldiers, spies, assassins. They are here to kill any Inborns and infiltrate their hideouts. To bring violent death to Believers and make examples of their flaws.”

“Believers of what?” I interrupt again.

Dyllian’s eyes pin mine so strongly, I feel like a deer staring down an eager hunter’s arrow.

“Of anything.”

Aecker notices my distress, and I grip my hands together so they don’t see me shaking. Fear is a weakness.

“Like I said,” Aecker strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers, “You are not one of them.”

Despite his tender eyes holding mine, trying to offer comfort, his words still burn a hole through my chest. A deep and intense heat causes my heart to beat erratically, because I realize that he is looking at me like I am his only possession; his to protect until his very last breath. And this time, I don’t mind the way it makes me feel.

As Dyllian turns to study me, something alerts my brain that my small, dark world is about to be buried by this revelation, and the flicker of hope I saw in Aecker’s eyes just moments ago is about to be extinguished. I know why my heart feels as if it is on fire; I want to be his hope, but I don’t know how I possibly can be. If I am a Tracker, it will mean the death of something that is being born between us. I might not know who or what I am, but I know unequivocally that I don’t want to live without the promise of a future and a life beaming in Aecker’s eyes.

I like the way it makes me feel.

Author Interview

Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

Before I started writing at the age of 12, I wanted very much to be a career woman like my mom. I imagined myself in a very fancy office with my power-suite on!

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

Although I have written for most of my life, I finally felt like a professional writer when my first book was published The Broken Destiny in the late months of 2012. But looking back I guess I have always been a writer and each piece and view have prepared me for what is still to become.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

I stared writing in 2010, then took 16 months off to study a diploma in Creative Writing as I discovered the story needed some technique and the industry was much harder than I thought it would be. There after it took about a year to edit and go through the publication process.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

Well I am soooo excited to say that as of 3 months ago I am officially a full time writer! Before that I worked for my father’s company in the marketing and client service department. So now hopefully this new journey will see me producing more books and spending time with the people I love.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say

My latest release is Dead of night – the first in the Aftershock Novels.

From two different worlds, Opel and Aecker find love in the most despairing of places, even if it means death.

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

My publisher is Fire quill publishers based in south Africa, they publish internationally.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

Oh that depends on so many varying factors. My first book took me four weeks – my latest completion took me a year. I realize rushing things, will only , in the long run damage the book.

What can we expect from you in the future? ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I am all over the place really. I go where my inspiration takes me. But my first love will always be science fiction fantasy!

What genre would you place your books into?

Dystopian romance.

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

For me everything dystopian stands for is a thrill ride. It will always compile of intense moments, scary realities, adventure and high action.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

In this book Aecker and his broken hearted cousin Noah are my favorite, they are fun to write and have a lot of issues to overcome. Opel comes in close second – all of these characters have one thing in common, they are spirited, fearless and very stubborn.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I can write pretty much anywhere – but the one thing I can’t write is cappuccino and music – okay so two things.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

No I do not read all of them, but I do read most of them as this helps me to improve and grow and see what others are taking or not getting from my work.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

The story comes first, or the idea for the story. Yet I don’t start writing it until I have decided on a title because my title guides me with the mood, feel and setting of the novel. It’s my center so to say.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

Places are easy, most of them are made up! I absolutely love creating new worlds. Hence my love for SF. As for names I don’t always find that easy and that’s where google comes in play. I already have the image of what the character looks like so I just need to hone in on a name that fits the character. Opel’s name was easy – I just loved that idea or the feel of her name, Aecker was a name generating google thing.

Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them?

I have to have a place, name and title for my book and characters otherwise I just feel stuck and disconnected. But with writing that could all change in the next book. Funny how creation has a mind of its own.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

I never plan out my books or characters, sure I have tried but my story and characters always surprise me, taking me instead of me taking them where I want them to go.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

Oh yes absolutely, in my Broken Novels it’s all about embracing your faults and living up to your destiny by honoring your true self and by doing so you become the superhero that saves the day…

In Dead of night it’s all about love and friendship and faith.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

I have my pro’s for both. I love books in any form. ebook because it’s available at a cheaper rate and immediately. As for paperback it’s classic and something about seeing it on the shelf makes it that more special – a treasure so to speak.

What is your favorite book and Why? Have you read it more than once?

At the moment I am crushing on Chelsea fine’s Avow. The third in the series is written so well and so hauntingly beautiful that I have started the first 100 pages 3 times over – does it have to end!!! The concept of the tale is pulled off perfectly in the 3rd installment, and oh who doesn’t love tortured souls and curses???

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

Some are! For me twilight sagas were very well done. Mortal instruments – city of bones was the worst adaption for me.

Your favorite food is?

Oysters – I will never say no to seafood!

Your favorite singer/group is?

IM a huge fan of Florence + the Machine, Sia, Ellie Goulding, Linkin park, Prime circle – the list is endless really. If you have intense lyrics – I heart it.

Your favorite color is?

Gray. Everyone looks good in gray and gray looks good on everything!






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About the author_thumb

Calyle is an South African award wining author, with a flair for mixing genres and addingclip_image008_thumb loads of drama to every story she creates. For now she is happy to take over the world and convert non Sci-fi believers.

Her goal as an author is to touch people's lives, and help others love their differences and one another by delivering strong messages of faith, love and hope within every outrageous world she writes about.

"I love to swim, fight for the trees, and am a food lover who is driven by my passion for life. I dream that one day my stories will change the lives of countless teenagers and have them obsess over the world literacy can offer them instead of worrying about fitting in. Never sacrifice who you are, its in the dark times that the light comes to life."

Carlyle used writing as a healing tool and that is why she started her very own writers support event - SAIR bookfestival.

"To be a helping hand for those who strive to become full times writers, editors, bloggers, readers and cover artists – it’s a crazy world out there you dont have to go it alone!"

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