Today we have the blog tour for Anne Malcom’s BIRDS OF PARADISE! We are so excited to share this new title with you—be sure to grab your copy today!
Title: Birds of Paradise
Author: Anne Malcom
About Birds of Paradise:
I was trapped in the house with a man that had meant to kill me. Might very well still mean to kill me. But not by locked doors, force, or ropes or chains. Not physical ones at least. The man who very well might kill me gave me the impression that he wanted nothing more than for me to walk out that door.
I was not his captive.
I was my own.
I could very well die here. If there was anything left worth killing.
If there was anything left in me that wanted to live.
He collected dead things, after all. And with every day that passed, I found myself wanting to stay, even if that meant I was part of his collection of dead things.
Especially if I was part of collection.
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“There are a lot of remarkable things in this world, Elizabeth,” he rasped, his voice straying from the cool monotone I had become used to. That I had come to despise. “A lot of them beautiful.” He glanced around the room. “Rare. And only able to be possessed in their death.” He looked to me again. “The rarest of all the remarkable things are the ugliest and most broken of things. They can only be possessed in death too.”
He ghosted toward me so the fabric of his jacket brushed against my side. His expanse towered over me, yanked me into a terrifying stratosphere, one I didn’t want to stay in but one I’d never willingly leave either.
He leaned down so his lips almost brushed mine. “But there’s more than one version of a corpse. Some can be stuffed and preserved and put into frames. Others can walk, talk and breathe.”
His fingers trailed my windpipe before his palm settled on my neck, squeezing. Instantly, my air supply was cut off. This wasn’t a caress. Pain exploded from his pressure, and black dots danced in my eyes.
“Which one are you going to be, Elizabeth?” he asked conversationally as my oxygen supply was cut off.
My fingers went to his hands, with the purpose of yanking at his grip, fighting. But when they settled on the skin I’d been so sure would be as ice-cold as his stare, they stopped. It was smooth. Warm. Comforting. I sank my nails into his skin, scoring at the flesh. Not to fight, but to see the blood blossom and flow warmly onto my fingertips.
He didn’t even flinch at the pain. Nor did he break eye contact with me. “Which one do I want you to be?” he whispered, almost to himself.
We stayed like that, suspended in the moment of mutual pain as my nails sank deeper and his hands squeezed tighter. The most chaotic of moments for most every person on the planet—in the midst of strangulation—were the only seconds I’d found peace since… since forever, I guessed.
Peace wasn’t a luxury of the tortured. And he gave it to me then, the only way he knew how. With violence. With death.
About the Author:
Anne Malcom has been an avid reader since before she can remember, her mother responsible for her book addiction. It started with magical journeys into the world of Hogwarts and Middle Earth, then as she grew up her reading tastes grew with her. Her obsession with books and romance novels in particular gave Anne the opportunity to find another passion, writing. Finding writing about alpha males and happily ever afters more fun than reading about them, Anne is not about to stop any time soon.
Raised in small town New Zealand, Anne had a truly special childhood, growing up in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. She has backpacked across Europe, ridden camels in the Sahara, eaten her way through Italy, and had all sorts of crazy adventures. For now, she’s back at home in New Zealand and quite happy. But who knows when the travel bug will bite her again.
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