maandag 1 juli 2013

Legacy Of A Dreamer Blog Tour: Book info + Excerpt

Title/titel: Legacy Of A Dreamer ( Dreamer #1)
Other books in the Dreamer series/ Andere boeken in deze serie:
Dreams Of The Cursed #2  (Expected/verwacht: November 2013)
 
Published in/ uitgegeven in: 3rd, May, 2012
Publisher/Uitgever: The Writer's Coffee Shop
Language/Taal: English only
Number of pages/Aantal bladzijde: 169



Find my review: Here/hier

 Synopsis/samenvatting:

Chantal Breelan is a ward of the state, living under the care of a woman who is cold and heartless. Her past is a mystery, and her future is even more uncertain. She can’t recall why she had been taken from her parents and so she’s left with nothing but an empty hole where her childhood should have been. When she awakens from her nightmares, she’s left with terrible, violent images, as well as a boy whose face is oddly familiar, yet can’t be placed.
Scared and alone, Chantal begins to confide in an imaginary friend – a shadow in the shape of a man who stands in the corner of her room. She is comforted when she believes he listens to her.
On her eighteenth birthday, Chantal is forced to leave her foster home. She moves to New York City, but the start of her new life doesn’t begin as smoothly as she’d hoped. In this environment, she faces a whole new set of challenges.
One night at a subway station, Chantal meets a young boy who runs away from her, and she’s compelled to follow him down into the tunnels. But this Rabbit Hole reveals a world where reality is a nightmare. Her dreams are clues to her future, and her life becomes twisted and dangerous when she learns that things that go bump in the night are not just in fairy tales and childhood stories.
Chantal Breelan is eigendom van de Staat, een wees, levende onder de zorg van een harteloze en koude vrouw. Haar verleden is een mysterie en haar toekomst is onzeker. Ze kan zich niet herinneren waarom ze weg is gehaald bij haar ouders, haar jeugd jaren zijn voor haar een gapend gat, dat ze niet kan vullen met herinneringen.
Nachts ontwaakt ze van haar vreselijke nachtmerries.Ze vindt dan rust bij een denkbeeldige vriend, een schaduw in de vorm van een man, die altijd in de hoek van de kamer staat. Hij luistert naar haar. 
In haar nachtmerries is ze ooggetuigen van de meest verschrikkelijke gewelddadige gebeurtenissen, ook ziet ze een jongentje die haar vaag bekend voor komt, maar die ze niet kan plaatsen.
Op haar 18de verjaardag, wordt Chantal gedwongen haar pleeggezin te verlaten, en verhuisd ze naar New York. Hier wil ze een nieuw leven beginnen, maar haar nieuwe leven begint niet zo als ze geplant had. In deze nieuwe omgeving zijn de uitdagingen groter dan ze voor mogelijk had gehouden.
Op een avond als ze op de metro saat te wachten, ontmoet Chantal een jonge jongen. Hij rent van haar weg, en ze voelt zich gedwongen om hem te volgen in de donkere tunnels. Maar dit konijnenhol leidt niet naar Wonderland, maar naar een ware nachtmerrie. Haar dromen bevatten de sleutel tot de toekomst. Chantal leert dat de monsters van de nacht niet alleen bestaan in sprookjes en verhaaltjes voor het slapen gaan.

Buy Links: 

About the Author

Allie Jean was born with an overactive imagination. She spent her childhood inventing stories and telling tales. Her mind never shut down, even while she slept. Vivid dreams containing extensive, elaborate plot lines of good overcoming evil villains captured her nightly visions, lingering into her waking hours and filling the pages of her well-loved bounded diaries. She was encouraged by her parents, even at a young age, to write down her tales, and it has remained a somewhat secret hobby. As a busy wife, mother and critical care nurse, Allie’s love of storytelling has been reborn through the adventures of her unforgettable characters.
Allie Jean is geboren met een levendige fantasie. Vanaf haar kindertijd, bedacht ze al verhalen en vertelde sprookjes. Haar hersenen stoppen  nooit met werken, zelfs niet als ze slaapt. Levendige dromen over uitvoerige plotten, waarbij het goed het kwaad overwint, bleven haar ook overdag bij, waardoor ze haar dagboek er vol mee kon schrijven.
Haar ouders hebben haar vanaf jongs af aan om haar verhalen op te schrijven, en voor langere tijd was het een soort van geheime hobby. Als drukke vrouw, moeder en verpleegster (critical care), is Allie's liefde voor het vehalen vertellen herboren, door de avonturenen van haar onvergetelijke personages.    

Author Links:

Excerpt:

She had to be crazy to venture down here, she thought, chastising herself for the umpteenth time. What if a train came barreling down the tracks?

If nothing else, he needed help. If he happened to be homeless, maybe she could take him to a local shelter. He’d probably run from the system before she knew quite a few kids who’d done the same thing but she couldn’t leave him alone here.

“You know, you shouldn’t be down here. You could get hurt.”

A squeak of a passing rat sent her scurrying deeper into the tunnel, her eyes wide as she searched the surrounding area for any more of the offending creatures.

“Disgusting,” she said, her nose scrunching up. She’d always hated rats.

“Look, I’m going to call the cops if you don’t come out of here. This is ridiculous. You’re going to get hurt!”

A soft laughter could be heard from farther in. Frustrated, she glared toward the sound.

“I’m not going down there,” she said toward the sound. “It’s dark, and I can’t see a damn thing!”

“You’re swearing again,” the boy said, his voice full of humor.

“Hey, I promise I won’t call CPS. Just come out here, and I’ll buy you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” the boy said, behind her all of a sudden. Chantal whirled around, and the boy smiled up at her with an innocent expression.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Hiding,” he said with a shrug.

“Hiding? From who?”

“You know, you shouldn’t have followed,” he said, ignoring her question.

“I couldn’t walk away knowing that you were down here.” She gestured to their surroundings.

“It isn’t safe,” he stated bluntly, his shadowed eyes fixed on her, unmoving.

“Really?” Chantal said with a note of sarcasm.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a milkshake,” she said as she headed toward the direction of the platform, hoping the boy would follow her. When she didn’t hear him move, she turned to level him with a disapproving glare.

“No.” The boy’s firm tone made her pause. She faced him, seeing how he watched her with a stone posture, his resolve unbreakable. It made her wonder what he must have been through to make him act this way. She

knelt down so she could speak on his level.

“Hey, I promised I wouldn’t call anyone, and I meant that. I just want to make sure you have some food in your stomach, that’s all. You can trust me. My name’s Chantal. What’s yours?”

A hint of curiosity, bordering on mischief, lit his face.

“I’m called Damon,” he said. The way he said the name sent a spark of a remembered fear through her mind. His young, innocent voice had morphed into something new, carrying a deeper timber again. It changed him from a lost little soul to a sinister, mysterious stranger. Chantal paused for a moment, wary. That odd sense of déjà vu chilled her to the core, sending goose bumps along her arms and neck.

“Damon,” she said in a soft whisper as her heart rate picked up, and the boy laughed, seeming to be aware of her unease.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” he said, and the way he sneered the term of endearment brought up an old, painful memory: a man stood above her as she crouched in her closet, terrified. She could see in her mind’s eye sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight, red eyes glaring, a man’s face hidden in shadow. It wasn’t her werewolf that watched over her when she slept, leaving her feeling a sense of comfort or safety. In this sudden memory, the man’s menacing canines were terrifying, and he had appeared long before the wolf came to protect her.

“Who are you?” she said, stark terror clogging her windpipe, her throat feeling cold as ice.

“I’m sad you don’t remember me. I guess I didn’t make a memorable impression,” he said in his deep voice. He took a step back into the shadows, but not before he flashed a wicked grin. Unable to make her feet

move, she seemed frozen by confusion and fear.

“Help,” she cried, but it came out soft and inadequate just like the many times she’d awakened in the middle of the night, trembling from a hideous nightmare. Her pathetic attempt made the monster laugh all the harder.

A threatening growl rumbled from where the horrible boy disappeared, sending her searching for the source. The sound of scratching and tearing echoed off the stone walls. She heard a strangled cry of pain in the distance.

A dead silence followed, leaving her wondering why the hell she hadn’t taken off running yet.

“H-hello?” she said, her voice weak and timid, and she took a step backward, her shoe scraping across the loose gravel. It startled her, making her stop. A deep growl echoed from the darkness, and she backed away in earnest. Her head was screaming, run girl . . . danger, scary dude . . . growling! Her body barely able to move the few steps back due to fear and frank curiosity.

Out of the shadows, stepped a creature she’d only heard of in horror stories described as a hellhound. It was the size of a large horse but shaped more like a rabid dog, sharp teeth hanging from a gaping mouth. Smoke came from his huge nostrils as he breathed, his fangs dripping streams of nasty black liquid.

Holy God . . .

She took an unsteady step backward and then another, her mind catching up belatedly with her panicking, uncooperative body. The creature followed her retreat, eyes fixed on his captive. Snarling in anticipation, the thing opened its horrendous mouth and bared its enormous teeth.

Chantal screamed just as the beast leapt to attack, and then her unsteady legs gave out, sending her stumbling to the ground. She covered her head and neck in a vain attempt to protect herself, waiting to feel the bonewrenching pain that was sure to come at any moment.

The attack didn’t happen.

She flinched when she heard a loud bang echoing as if something big hit the brick tunnel hard. She heard the thing growl followed by the sound of scraping metal.

“Go!” a male voice said, and she lifted her arms to see a figure encased in odd wisps of shadow crouching in front of the beast, standing as her guard.

“Go!” he yelled again, turning with a fierce gaze, and when she saw his beautiful blue eyes, she gasped. She knew him, but didn’t know from where.

His features were somehow not completely solid, surrounded by a heavy fog. An odd sense of warmth enveloped her, the earlier panic completely forgotten. She was lost in him—time frozen—as he looked through her.

A terrifying war cry grabbed their attention, and her defender turned back to his enemy, ready to take him on to give her a chance to escape. Chantal stumbled to her feet. She turned and raced away from the battle, heading toward the direction she’d come, the faint hint of train tracks along the ground helping to guide her.

Forgetting the possibility that the train could round the bend at any second or even the reason she’d followed a young boy in the tunnel to begin with, her mind had one purpose: Get out of danger.

She ignored the strange looks from the truant station attendant as she ,climbed onto the platform. Without a single acknowledgment of his hollered questions and threats of police involvement, she sprinted up the stairs toward the street.

As she ran, her mind went into sensory overload, reevaluating everything from her sanity to whether she’d been asleep this entire time. A boy who turned into a rabid beast? She was going mad, but it had all seemed so real.

Who was the dark stranger and where had he come from? Why did he seem so familiar to her, and why did she feel safe once he’d appeared?

Chantal tried to convince herself that she was dreaming, but when she rounded the corner that lead into her apartment complex, she knew the she wasn’t.

Monica approaching their building as well only confirmed what just happened was real.

“Hey, sweets! How did the interview . . . are you all right?” Chantal watched as her friend’s face morphed to abject horror.

“I-I don’t feel good,” Chantal said, shaking.

“Let’s get you inside,” Monica said, ushering up the stairs toward her apartment door.

Chantal let her mind go as her friend helped her inside and pulled her purse from her frozen arm, but she didn’t have the conscious effort to do anything to help. She stared straight ahead blankly, seeing nothing but the gruesome red eyes of the beast, and then the calming of her savior’s gentle gaze.

She heard Monica saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. Her thoughts were consumed with more pressing, life-altering events. Then her answering machine came on. Monica had probably been trying to tell her that the phone was ringing.

“Uh, Chantal, this is Tony,” the manager of the diner said, sounding very timid. “I’m sorry about earlier. You ran out of here before I could explain. I meant no offense, honest. I was testing your ability to take care of yourself, that’s all. New York is a dangerous place. You never know what may blow through the doors.”

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