Prism Book Alliance® would like to thank Eli Lang for stopping by today. Please give them a warm welcome.
Author: Eli Lang
Cover Artist: G.D. Leigh
Genre: Gay, Gay Fiction, Gay Romance, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy
Release Date: 02/13/2017
Living between worlds has never been comfortable, but it’s where I’ve always fit: between human and fey, illness and health, magic and reality.
I’ve spent the last six years looking for a cure for the nameless sickness eating me up. If I believed there was one out there, I would keep searching. But there isn’t, so I’ve come back home, where my past and present tangle. Come home to live . . . and to die.
But my father insists I meet Kin. He’s a healer, and determined to help, even though I’m not so hopeful anymore. But Kin isn’t what I expected, in any way. He sees me, not my illness. He reminds me of what it’s like to be alive. And I can’t help falling for him, even though I know it isn’t fair to either of us.
Kin thinks he has the cure I’ve been looking for, but it’s a cure that will change everything: me, my life, my heart. If I refuse, I could lose Kin. But if I take it, I might lose myself.
In this scene, Luca, the main character, and his sister, Saben, get back into an ongoing argument they’re having about whether Saben, who’s fey, should be living in the human world or not. But Saben has ways of getting what she wants and bending the conversation where she wants it to go.
No one says hello at a fey party. There’s no small talk. There’s only dancing or kissing or strange conversations that go in circles and mean nothing. This night, I walked toward the bonfire, but stopped before I got to the loose crush of people around it. Most of them were dancing, their movements wild, fluid, bodies brushing together, limbs tangling, heads thrown back, the sleek lines of throats drenched in orange from the fire. It was loud, with the music behind me and the fire crackling in front of me. Fey laughed, but I could only see their mouths move, couldn’t hear the sound of it.
Someone bumped into me, and I had the brief urge to lean into the contact, the desire to twist myself into those knots of people, but I didn’t step forward to join the dance. I looked at the dancers, at their birch-gray, deep-blue, sweet-brown hair colors, at their sharp wrists, at their eyes, too large and too liquid. I was them, and I wasn’t. They took me in, and they rejected me. I was part of them, but we both wanted to deny that part. I realized, even though I’d come, I didn’t want to dance with them at all.
I felt a warmth against my side. Saben was there, her head leaning onto my shoulder. Her face was soft, relaxed, her body loose, and I figured she’d had something to drink.
“Are you angry with us?”
I wasn’t sure if she was perfecting her royal we, or if she meant the fey in general. It didn’t matter. The answer was the same either way.
Her skin against me wasn’t a gesture of closeness. It was something possessive. I hated myself for pretending it meant the same thing it had when she was small.
“I’m still yours.” I belonged to her, and I belonged to the fey. It wasn’t about blood. It was about where I’d grown up, who I’d spent my life with, who had loved me and hated me and shaped me. No matter how far I’d run or who I’d tried to call home, no matter who I’d pretended to be, I had still always belonged to the fey.
She drew in a breath. I was afraid that she’d try to continue the last conversation we’d been having. That she’d ask me if I’d really come home to die.
“Did you ever figure out your kettle?” I asked, cutting her off before she could say anything.
She snapped her head up, and there it was. A little petulant pout that told me she had a heart, that she was alive and got angry and embarrassed like humans did. She smoothed her face quickly, but I had seen it. That slight pursing of the lips, the frown that had crossed her face for that second. That reminder, that tiny hint at something more inside her, made my night.
“The stove is full of iron. I’ll have it taken out.”
“Rhian tells me I can get a fire pot and cook on that.”
“You can’t cook.”
“I can make tea,” she said, running right over me. “I need you to come place the clay base.”
“Saben. You can’t start a fire in an apartment. Why are you even staying there? It’s ridiculous.”
Her bottom lip puffed out, just a fraction. “I like it there.”
“You do not.” I sighed. “There’s so much iron.”
“Most of it’s gone now. Or covered.”
What was the point? No stove, no toaster. She couldn’t use the big steel basin sink in the kitchen. She had to cover the taps with silk so she could turn on the water in the bathroom. She put on gloves when she went down the outside stairs, in case she had to reach out and touch the iron railing.
“Just go back and live with Father.”
“I will not.”
“Saben . . .”
She held up her hand. She had a little lace mitt on that made her long fingers seem miles longer and more delicate. “I’m sorry about the beach,” she said, and I was so stunned that she was apologizing that I couldn’t remember what I’d been about to say. Before I could think of it, she startled me again, jumping to a different subject in that fey way of hers. “I had you followed to the park. I wanted to make sure you actually saw the healer.”
I jerked back. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me, really. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it just hurt.
She drew in a deep breath. “Do you like him?”
She nodded. She was peering up at me, the fire reflecting in her dark eyes, turning her hair gold and bronze. She was beautiful, more beautiful than even a sidhe had any right to be. She had men and women trailing after her, ready to do whatever she asked. I knew she did. I knew she could snap her fingers and everything she needed would be brought to rest at her feet. But her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were knotting themselves together, her fingers tugging at the gloves. And I remembered times when she’d stared up at me like this before. When she’d been young and uncertain and she’d turned to me to tell her what to do, how to act.
I could almost see us, the two of us, like we were back then, a pair, molded around each other, instead of these two planets, carefully orbiting each other, like we’d become now.
“I like him,” I told her.
“And you would want to see him again.”
I nodded. “I would.”
To celebrate the release of Half, one lucky winner will receive a $20 Riptide Publishing credit! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on February 18, 2017. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!
About the Author
Eli Lang is a writer and drummer. She has played in rock bands, worked on horse farms, and has had jobs in libraries, where she spent most of her time reading every book she could get her hands on. She can fold a nearly perfect paper crane and knows how to tune a snare drum. She still buys stuffed animals because she feels bad if they’re left alone in the store, believes cinnamon buns should always be eaten warm, can tell you more than you ever wanted to know about the tardigrade, and has a book collection that’s reaching frightening proportions. She lives in Arizona with far too many pets.
Connect with Eli:
- Website: www.leftoversushi.com
- Blog: www.leftoversushi.com/blog/
- Facebook: facebook.com/EliLangAuthor
- Twitter: @eli__lang
- Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/eli_lang
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