Bewitching Book Tours: Chatting with Erica Hayes - Revelation

Interview at Immortality and Beyond:

Welcome to Immortality and Beyond. May I offer you a drink?

I’ll have a Zombie Blast, thanks. Hold the brains.

BK: LOL. No brains :) When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

Doesn’t everyone? What's not to love about creating worlds and torturing the hapless characters inside? Just like little fishies in a barrel, they are… But writing fiction for a job is brilliant. Your own hours, your own tasks. The only job I've ever had where I wasn't bored after six months.

BK: Please tell us a little bit about your current release...

Fallen angels, demons, the apocalypse, hot romance. And zombies! This one has a zombie plague in Manhattan. But it's really about saving the world, one soul at a time – and the idea that your fate is what you make it.

BK: What inspired this particular novel/book?

Well, I was at my crit partner's house, and I had this random idea about the Apocalypse and fallen angel warriors and seven vials of wrath. I don't know where it came from. I never know. They just appear. Is that weird…?

BK: How do you keep your writing different from all the others that write in this particular genre?

I include random homicides. You thought that guy was the hero? Bwahaha. Think again… no, wait, that's Game of Thrones. Damn...

Seriously? We're all different people. There might be no new stories, but only I write like me. Give five authors the same plot, they'll write five wildly dissimilar books.

I try to learn from my favorite authors, sure – I learn so much from studying what they do – but in the end, no one can write my story like me.

BK: What was the hardest thing about writing this story?

Actually, this one was kind of easy :) the characters just fell out from somewhere.

BK: Which character was your favorite to write for in this story? Why?

The hero, naturally! Lune is to die for. He's strong, gallant, always ready to act. And he tends to say whatever comes into his mind. He's not a subtle man. If he wants something, you'll hear about it.

BK: Tell us about the one scene you had the most fun writing…

Can't give too much away, but there's this one scene where the hero makes a desperately romantic sacrifice. It's totally swoon-worthy. Also, I do love my villains, and the demons in this series are particularly juicy and nasty. Sarcastic little worms, too.

BK: Will this become a series? If so, what inspired it to be a series? OR If it is a series, what inspired it to become a series?

REVELATION was always intended as book one of a series. There are seven plagues of the Apocalypse, after all. Can't fit 'em all in one book!

BK: Now for a little fun, and into your everyday life, What is a day in your life like?

What, when I've finished swanning about in my private jet and lounging in the sun at my Caribbean beach villa?

I get up. I feed the cat. I read emails and do author promo on the internet. I shower. I go to the coffee shop and write. Then, I come home. Eat dinner. Watch tv, usually, or play games. Yes, my life is that exciting…

BK: What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Slay zombies. They know this. They don't come round much anymore. So I like to go walking, and read, and play games. Currently I'm having an Assassin's Creed marathon. (Did I mention that Ezio is my secret boyfriend?) I also play a few instruments, so sometimes I even practice those, to my cat's disgust.

BK: What is one thing your readers would be most surprised to learn about you?

Me? This is just my mild-mannered secret identity. In truth, I am Cliché Woman, slayer of tortured billionaires and destined mates. Be afraid.

BK: What do you like to read? Who is your favorite author?

I don't have just one. Lately I've been reading a lot of fantasy. But I'm a sucker for a good historical epic. I'm obsessed with Hilary Mantel's WOLF HALL. Seriously, if you only ever read one 'literary fiction' book in your life… well, you won't read just one. I defy you not to one-click-buy the sequel immediately.

BK: What is one piece of advice you can give to aspiring writers/authors?

Don't be afraid to try new and strange things. You don't have to be like everyone else. Read other authors, learn from them, then go your own way.

And don't believe anyone who tells you indie publishing is sub-standard, or traditional publishers are eevil!, or agents are dinosaur parasites. None of it's true. We all have a place. Just get informed, and do what's right for you.

BK: What are you currently working on?

I finished a short story yesterday, called HUNTER'S HEART, about a demon-hunting vampire and her hellspawn lover. Phwoar. Moving on to something new and sekrit next…

BK: Where can readers connect with you?

Come by my Facebook Page (http://www.facebook.com/ericahayes.author) or chat with me on Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/ericahayes). I'd love to hear from you!

About the Author:

Erica Hayes was a law student, an air force officer, an editorial assistant and a musician, before finally landing her dream job: fantasy and romance writer.

She writes dark paranormal and urban fantasy romance, and her books feature tough, smart heroines and colourful heroes with dark secrets.

She hails from Australia, where she drifts from city to city, leaving a trail of chaos behind her. Currently, she's terrorizing the wilds of Northumberland.

http://www.ericahayes.net

http://erica-hayes.blogspot.com

http://www.facebook.com/ericahayes.author

http://www.twitter.com/ericahayes

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2922003.Erica_Hayes

Revelation
The Seven Signs, Book 1

Erica Hayes

Genre: paranormal romance, urban fantasy romance

Publisher: Berkley Sensation

ISBN: 978-0425258378

Number of pages: 330

Word Count: 100K

Cover Artist: Kris Keller

Paperback: Amazon Book Depository BN

Ebook: Amazon BN Sony iTunes

Book Description:

A fallen angel with a mission and a medical examiner who's lost her faith are fighting for their souls in a glittering, near-future Manhattan...

Blind faith is for fools. That's what Dr. Morgan Sterling believes. And she's going to prove it by curing the zombie plague ravaging her city's slums. She's certain it's not a sign of the End of Days, but a nasty disease—until an angel appears in her morgue in a flash of glory.

Luniel is not just a fallen angel. He's a powerful warrior sworn to fight evil in hopes of a chance at redemption. He's after the demon princes who are stealing the seven vials of holy wrath which, when perverted, will unleash eternal hell on earth.

To stop the plague, Luniel needs Morgan's help, and her faith. But Morgan believes science is their salvation. If the zombie plague is a demonic curse—and if Luniel is true—he’ll have to prove it. Even if he loses his heart to true love or his soul to Hell...

Excerpt:

White light erupted, brighter than any flashbulb. She gasped, dazzled. Breeze ruffled her hair. Her elbow hit the trolley, and the camera jolted from her fingers. A hand gripped her arm, steadying her. A man’s voice, deep and unfamiliar. “Sorry, lady. I didn’t think anyone would be here. Are you—oh, shit.” Her vision cleared, and she scrabbled on the floor for her camera. “Jesus, you scared the hell outta . . . oh!” She looked up, and fell right back onto her ass, her nerves in disarray. Whoa. Not just tall, or big. More, in every way compared to . . . well, compared to a normal man. This guy wasn’t normal. Black hair, blacker than soot and wilder than music. Blue eyes, hotter and deeper than summer sky, luminous pale skin, long dark lashes any woman would kill for. Arms thicker than her thighs in a dark shirt with no sleeves, strong wrists that made her weak, hands that could crush rocks. And his thighs in those jeans . . . long, powerful, rippling as he moved. His face was familiar, she realized. Those carved cheekbones and, umm, luscious lips. The bird man. Only Birdy was blond, and this guy was dark and . . . tasty. His gaze lasered onto hers, relentless, and she shivered. He looked dangerous. Driven. Not a patient man. Morgan scrambled up, struggling to keep her mind on the issues. This was Babylon, the psycho-killer capital. Well-adjusted guys didn’t break into morgues after-hours. But how Mr. Huge-dark-and-oh-by-the-way-totally-hot had gotten in here was beside the point. So was how easy it’d be for a guy his size to tear her limb from limb, or worse. He’d seen Birdy’s body. She couldn’t call security. Not yet. Not before she’d preserved the evidence. She licked her lips. “Um. Hi. I was just . . .” He strode up to the trolley, and his fingers clenched the edge, hard enough to dent the steel. On drugs. That explained the crazy swirl in his eyes. “You found my brother,” he said stiffly. “I guess asking how he died is redundant.” “Umm . . . he’s . . . well . . .” Morgan stuttered, unable to keep it in any longer. “He’s a frickin’ bird man! Who the hell are you?” He turned, and to her surprise, he laughed. Her guts melted, like warm honey, and she shivered again. So beautiful. So smooth and melodic. She wanted to press her thighs together, feel his tingling warmth . . . Or not. Her indignation sparked. He hadn’t answered her question. Who the hell was he? The guy with the Rohypnol laugh shook his head. “Bird man. Christ. You people. Never believe what’s right in front of you.” “Sorry, but I’m a scientist. I believe what I can see.” Morgan folded her arms, defiant, and edged closer to the wall where the alarm button was. Screw collecting more evidence. This guy was seriously creeping her out, and it wasn’t just because he had her thinking about sex instead of squirting him with capsicum spray. “You do, do you?” His gaze flicked to the alarm button, and back to her, and swift as the flashbulb he dived forward and grabbed her arm. “Then believe this.” Light shimmered again, dazzling. And glossy black wings burst from his shoulders in a rain of golden glitter. Morgan’s heart catapulted, and she gulped for breath. The golden light glimmered, and dissolved. But his lush midnight feathers didn’t. And he held her, his body close in the heady scent of altar smoke. His whisper rumbled through her chest. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you call your security. You never should have seen any of this, but it’s too late for that now. My name is Luniel. That’s Ithiel, my twin. He’s an angel. And so am I.” Morgan struggled, her mind blanking. It couldn’t be true. Not possible. She must be dreaming. Yet . . . She wriggled, beating at his massive forearm. “Let me go!” He let go. She stumbled away, rounding on him. More fool him. Whatever this guy was, he wasn’t to be trusted. “Sorry. Not possible. I don’t believe in angels.” “Not my problem.” The man—Luniel—shrugged, feathers ruffling. His accent was elusive, a mixture of exotic and familiar, like he came from no place in particular. “It’ll be your problem when I call the cops, you freak.” The dude still wore a shirt with no sleeves, and the wings—his wings—fit easily into the cutaway space. Blacker than black, like soot, broader than his massive shoulders, and long, the tips of the feathers reaching to mid-calf. It looked so real. Morgan’s mind stuttered. She must be dreaming. But if this was a dream, surely he’d be wearing white robes and a halo? Instead of all dark and smoldering and . . . and sinful, like some insane Mardi Gras biker? She sidled backwards, towards her desk in the cutting room. A girl didn’t grow up in Babylon without learning some self-defense. Her pistol was in the drawer. Maybe she could get away, lock him in, call security. 9-1-1 was a waste of time, despite her threat. Resources were stretched, and police response to anything short of a terrorist plot in progress just didn’t happen. Luniel stalked her, midnight wings flaring. “Freak? Wow. I’m so pleased to meet you . . . I’m sorry, what didn’t you say your name was?” “I’m Dr. Morgan Sterling. This is my mortuary. You’re trespassing.” Behind an autopsy bench, a few steps closer to the desk. He circled, leaning over the bench on two hands, muscles flexing. “As they say these days, Dr. Sterling: whatever. Tell me where they found my brother.” She fumbled against the desk, feeling behind her. “Screw you.” “Is that an offer? I’m touched.” His hot blue gaze drilled her, magnetic. “But not distracted. Come on, Doctor, it’s important.” She ripped the drawer open and grabbed the pistol, leveling it at him two-handed and thumbing the safety off. “So’s this. Back off.” “No.” He vaulted the bench with ease, landing silently before her on wafting wings. Careless of her pistol. Unruffled, like a panther facing a hissing pussy cat, some small, insignificant creature who posed no threat. His delicious scent paralyzed her, a rich toffee sweetness. Her mouth dried. He was luminous, dazzling, too perfect to be real. Certainly too perfect to be telling the truth. “Get away.” “Wait, let’s see. Umm . . . no.” He cocked his head, and reached for her hair, stroking it with one finger. “You’re very pretty, Morgan Sterling. Pity if that got spoiled. Tell me about my brother.” Now her gun was trapped between them. Her hands quivered, her memory of defensive moves a blank. “Get away! I’ll shoot!” “No, you won’t.” He wrapped her hair around his fingers, and leaned closer, sniffing her. “You’re a doctor. You don’t hurt people.” “Don’t bet on it.” She inhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

Follow The Tour Here