From the upcoming third novel in the Bellocaro Saga... Fangenstein

Exclusive excerpt:

Thatcher was meeting with Eleanor, Blair was mediating their chat. Alton, Wes and Chase Blue were hunting for Brighton. And me? I was stuck at home, wondering how this all was going to work itself out and where would my place be once the dust had settled.

“Man, I hate waiting, especially when the stakes were so high,” I mumbled to myself lifting the lid to the trashcan in the backyard. Releasing the knotted drawstring, I dropped the full plastic bag inside. After cleaning up the house, I’d turned my attention to removing the old food from the refrigerator. It made sense to throw out the food that Mom liked, especially if I didn’t. It wasn’t like she’d want it when she returned home.

I sucked in a breath, appreciating the fresh scent of the warm afternoon, and exhaled. Now, I had nothing left to do with my day. Bummer.

Why did Mom have to be so pigheaded about Thatcher? Why couldn’t she just forgive me and get over it? It occurred to me at that moment that I wasn’t a very high-minded sort of girl that perhaps I’d thought myself to be. There were times, like right now, when I could be quite mean-spirited and selfish.

My bout of self-reflection was interrupted by the sound of movement in the trees at the edge of the yard.  I turned to study them. The branches didn’t seem to be moving. Had Alton returned? Had he found Brighton? It didn’t make sense that he would hesitate to enter the yard.

I moved forward toward the line of trees. “Alton? You there?” I called.

There was no response.

Was it Thatcher? I thought with a tentative burst of joy that ricocheted inside me. Had he slipped away to see me despite Mom’s demand that he not? My footsteps quickened.

Suddenly I was aware of a presence behind me. Someone had stepped out from the trees to my left and gotten between me and the house. I whirled around expecting to see the beautiful face of the vampire that I loved. But the afternoon sun was sinking low in the sky, and I couldn’t see the face of the man who stood there but I knew it wasn’t Thatcher.

The black silhouette of a man wasn’t as tall or thin as my vampire boyfriend. I caught movement at the corner of my eye, the branches of an arborvitae tree swayed back into place, revealing the exact spot where the man must have been hiding.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “What are you doing in my yard?” The fine hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end, and that burst of inner joy was replaced with a rapidly accelerating heartbeat. I tried not to show my fear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya Miss,” the man drawled in a southern accent, glancing around the yard. “I’m looking for my son’s dog. He’s actually just a puppy really.” The faceless man shook his head in dismay, taking a step toward the deck at the back of the house. “The boy left the back gate open, and the dog got out. My son’s beside himself.”

I inhaled through my nose again and exhaled, urging my fluctuating pulse to settle down. My heartbeat was loud enough that I could hear it in my ears.

The man seemed harmless enough. He turned his back on me, clearly looking around the house as if the missing puppy might be holed up under the deck. 

I rather doubted that. I certainly would have heard a dog scratching around under there and said so. “I haven’t seen him.”

The black form swung his head back in my direction. “Didn’t mean to intrude… perhaps somebody else in the house might have spotted him?” he asked with a hopeful note in his voice.

“No, it’s just me,” I explained. “And I’ve been here all day. He’s not here.” I realized my mistake as soon as I’d spoken, I shouldn’t have confirmed that I was alone. Alarm bells were ringing loudly in my head. I looked around for an escape. Behind the trees was a tall fence, which I doubted I could climb over before the stranger caught up to me, even if I managed to get to it.

The stranger began moving toward me, I blinked, trying to get a better look at him. My eyes were watering against the brightness of the sun.

He drew closer and I could make out details about his appearance. He was taller than me but definitely not that tall, maybe 5-foot-10, if I had to guess and chunky around the middle. Dark hair fell across his narrow forehead, reaching down to hazel eyes which peered out over a broad nose. And there was a pungent aroma about him; dried sweat mingled with something else that I couldn’t quite place.

I tried not to wrinkle my nose.

His full lips pulled in momentarily and then relaxed.

He was close enough now that I noticed the tell-tell bite mark on the side of his neck where a pair of fangs had pierced the skin. But the bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face suggested that he was still human. A vampire had fed on the man, not enough to kill or turn him. I found that fact slightly reassuring. The odds against me successfully evading a vampire alone were slim, but a human man, even one who had me cornered in the backyard, seemed considerably higher.

“Stop right there!” I commanded, putting on a bold expression. “You better not come any closer.”

It worked, he stopped moving. His mouth opened briefly in uncertainty, as the hazel eyes glanced around the immediate area, confirming that we were indeed alone. Did he expect someone to suddenly materialize in the yard?  I pondered in irritation.

The man was so close, he could have reached out one of his long arms and grabbed mine. One side of his mouth twisted down, seeing no rescuers imminent, his attention returned to me.

“Don’t think you can order me around,” he drawled with more swagger. Gone was any trace of his earlier attempt to appear courteous. “You’ll be coming with me and make no fuss about it.”

About the cover...

As an indie author, I get a lot of writing advice, even more advice about marketing —especially the unsolicited kind from vendors trying to sell  their services. One bit of advice that I’d heard much about is creating/selecting a book cover.

 Readers shop with their eyes — I’ve heard this constantly.

They look for familiarity and yet simultaneously yearn for something different, enjoyable and engaging.  The design styles for different book genres were established long before I was born. The goal of the  cover is to get the reader to take a closer look, evoke interest, and hopefully produce a sale.

YA readers don’t actually like scantily clad figures on the cover, or exposed body parts— after all what if your mom walked in while you were reading it?

Thanks to Twilight, a hand holding an apple sends a clear message of temptation and vampire romance.  The key is to embrace the trend and give the reader a reason to open the book and keep turning pages.  The hand holding an apple trend was embraced by other authors like Michael Grant, Katherine Applegate, and Marissa Meyer — all took a bite of the apple theme for their covers.

Many experts say: ‘if your book reads like (book)... pick a similar cover.’

Let’s face it, Bellocaro’s cover feels familiar and there’s a good bit of logic behind that. While one shouldn’t just a book by its cover, we all do. Readers’ expectations are largely shaped by this cover image. And anyone who reads Bellocaro will see right away that I pay homage to Twilight; a book series I enjoyed, although truth be told, I liked the books more than the movies.

So when it came to selecting and purchasing the artwork for Bellocaro, I chose with care. I chose the familiar because I wanted to set readers' expectations.

For writers who are also YA readers like myself, setting up expectations about your book is viewed as a good marketing move. It shapes the reader's perception before they crack the spine, or read the first page. Once they do, they’ll be hooked on a different kind of life and death story.

Some of the most gratifying feedback I’ve received from readers:

—“Based on the cover, I thought it was going to be like Twilight, and there is a feeling like that, but boy, I  didn’t see that coming!”

Or

— “Wow, I noticed some similarities and thought I knew what was going to happen, I was so surprised and pleased I was wrong!”

Or

— “Holy Crap, (paraphrased for a PG audience) I didn’t see that coming, or that, or that.”

Some of my toughest critics are Twilight fans, who say seeing Bellocaro’s cover made them laugh and gave them a sense of nostalgia, taking them back a decade to when they first discovered the Cullen clan. After reading Bellocaro, they tracked me down on social media to tell me how much they enjoyed my book.

So while I understand some readers  or other authors may not approve of the choice of covers, contrary to what you may think, a great deal of thought did go into selecting it.

Happy reading.  

P.S. Meraux

        Artwork for the new book!

I'm probably going to catch a bit of flack for this, but here it is:

Now that I have your attention. 

You'll find that I'm much nicer to the beautiful vampires who populate this story. I'll be posting an excerpt soon. And here's an important reminder: Bellocaro will be released in November 2020, so the countdown is on!

Exclusive look at best-selling new novel, Without Merit

Sneak peek 

Calling all readers!       

From the award-winning, bestselling author P.S. Meraux with Johnny Green comes an unusual, supernatural, mystery-thriller. 

She has no memory.
No fingerprints.
No parents.
No cellphone.
When this girl gets out of the hospital it’s going to be a helluva week.

Her hands are a wreck, fingers bruised, swollen and bandaged. Her parents are nowhere to be found. What’s a girl without an identity to do? It’s not like she’s Jason Bourne; there’s no clue implanted in her hip.

Even her supernatural gift is a mystery. How does it work? Where does the magic come from? And what’s causing sparks to shoot out of her fingers?

Targeted by a mysterious group of thugs, they want something they think she has. She has no clue what it is or where she may have stashed it.

Before she can solve the mystery of her past, she must get away from them, cross the border -- all without an identity, money or friends. Oh, and magic or not, she doesn’t have any particular skills to make it easier. She’s no blonde assassin. No government in the world would put a gun in the banged-up hands of this girl.

Racing for her life, fleeing capture-- someone calls her “Merit.” Who is she? Adopting the name may kill her. Yet, Without Merit -- she has no clue to follow at all. 

Here's your chance to check out my new novel. It's a thrilling teen paranormal adventure story. Don't take my word for it, read on in this exclusive sneak peek. 

Excerpt from Without Merit:

I felt weightless like my body was rising while drifting with the rushing cold ocean that surrounded and carried me on a dubious trajectory toward safety. Dubious because the threat that the water could swallow the life from me always lingered in the background, hungry and churning -- like a shark circling -- never satisfied that I’d somehow escaped its jaws.

My lungs burned and ached for relief. I kept my lips pressed tightly closed, forcing what meager molecules of air left in my lungs out through my nose to keep the water from coming in. I wanted desperately to breathe the water in, to breathe anything in -- just to stop this suffocating sensation.

Fear gripped me. I didn’t want to die. My heart was hammering with adrenaline.

Somewhere in the back of my mind an errant thought was jumping up and down like an irate toddler throwing a tantrum, trying to catch my attention; urging me to remember HOW I got here. A more aggressive, combative thought demanded that I survive first. My survival instinct was boss.

I saw it again.

The glimmer was above me, distorted by the water that twisted the image as it moved. Yet a beacon it remained. Calling me to; Swim! Kick your feet. Reach! Reach! Reach! It seemed to encourage.

Was it a lighted buoy? Logically it made sense. What else would be floating in the ocean with me?

It was certainly lighter up there than here below. Just a few more feet and salvation awaited. I stretched out my hand knowing my fingers would break the surface before my face and felt marginally better imagining that if the fingertips felt air -- that would somehow sustain me in the final seconds until my nose was up there as well. Up there there’s air; oxygen means life.

The air was cold on my fingertips. It hurt. Air shouldn’t hurt.

I curled my fingers protectively into a fist and vaguely recalled that something was wrong. At that moment I didn’t fret about it much, I had more pressing worries. My lungs were ready to burst -- I needed to breathe.

My head broke the surface, I felt a rush of wind on my forehead and more pain. One ear was stinging. I gasped as the awful sensation sent chills down my spine and opened my mouth too soon, nearly choking on the sea water I gulped. It took several heartbeats until I managed to spit enough out to breathe freely.

On the joyous briny scent! I gasped again, filling my lungs, knowing that I was alive. Grateful. My alarm began to subside.

The howl of the wind over the waves was a comfort after the oppressive silence of the deep. Wisps of drenched hair began curling around my ears. The wet locks helped numb the pain. Other blowing tendrils tickled the back of my neck and I shivered. Caught up in my own thankfulness all I could think was; Lordy this is what I nee--

And I was under again. Water crashed over my head pushing me down. The cold was a shock as it enveloped me a second time. It hit hard on the back of my head. My skull throbbed. That meant something, something important, I just couldn’t remember what.

I twisted my body, flapping my arms and legs in wildly uncoordinated movements trying to rise to the surface. There was a brief sensation of something gently passing across my skin more solid than water. Unexpectedly my friendship bracelet detached from my wrist -- then it was gone. I didn’t see where it went amid the flurry of flailing arms.

The knot on the delicate embroidery floss was no match against the powerful ocean. I felt a pang of sadness knowing that I couldn’t spare time looking for it.

My lungs weren’t burning this instant, but I didn’t know how long that would last. I had to get my head to the surface. All my frantic fluttering created was more agitation in the water and a distressing feeling of disorientation. I didn’t know which way was up.

‘Watch where the bubbles go,’ a helpful corner of my brain advised.

In the absence of any other sage benefactor, I did.

The bubbles went the wrong way. They headed past my chin. I bent my head, eyes following them as they bobbed hurriedly past by chest, stomach, hips -- obviously heading toward my shoes.

Wait, they shouldn’t be going that way. Bubbles equal oxygen. They should be heading up to the surface.

I took another look at my shoes as the burning began in my lungs again. My alarm growing with it.

‘Bubbles go up. Follow the bubbles,’ that rational corner of my mind chimed in again.

Bending forward, I began kicking with all my strength, forcing my legs in the opposite direction and pumping my arms through the seemingly insurmountable fortress of water. Somewhere in the back of my mind a ludicrous thought danced about, unimportant to my current circumstances as a hair-bow to a bald man but there nonetheless.

I’d been upside down in the water like a misguided mermaid standing on her head. Somehow that pleased me a little. I had never in my life been able to do a handstand, much less stand on my head. My body lacked the coordination.

Breaking the surface again, I gasped and gasped, sucking in as much air as I could. My fingers were stinging and tender in the cold air, so was my ear. That meant something. At the moment I couldn’t remember what.

With both feet busily kicking-- keeping my head above the swirling surf -- my brain was less confused. The right and left hemispheres were getting oxygen. I could see more now.

It wasn’t a buoy that had beckoned but the first faint glow of sunrise. The timid rays were glittering across the waves, illuminating a rather desolate seascape. Another wave was coming, huge and smooth like the back of some giant leviathan rising from the deep.

The monster swell must have been twenty feet high. Grimacing and doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my fingers I paddled hard, getting at the base of it, moving with the wave.

Kick! Kick! Kick! I silently commanded my tired legs. Fear was being edged out of my thoughts by fatigue. I had to keep trying -- fug it! If I could keep up a steady pace I might get out of this. There was a strip of land over there in the distance. It wasn’t that far, maybe the length of a football field or two?

An impressive array of seabirds darted into the waves near the distant shore, looking for fish no doubt. Squawking and soaring, they eased their hunger while I wrestled with my own.

I headed in that direction. Was it west? It felt like it was west. The orange-yellow orb was somewhere behind me, not yet high enough in the sky to provide much in the way of warmth. The wondrous light it provided was most appreciated. At least now I had the makings of a plan; razor-thin to be sure but it was better than nothing.

A small part of me felt a smidgen of guilt for not taking more time to admire the color it emitted. Wait! That felt wrong. What drowning girl would stop and dwell on the beauty of the burgeoning sunrise? Maybe after I got out of the water, I mused. Was the pain in my head impacting my reasoning?

Unsettled by the thought, I kept swimming. Hoping the insistent, shrieking wind would blow such foolish distractions away from my frazzled mind, I kept trying to focus.

Kicking and paddling I pushed forward, cursing under my breath. Fingers stinging each time I lifted them out of the water. That meant something. I couldn’t remember what.

Suddenly the sun was in front of me. No, not the sun. An explosion of some kind. Was it lightning?

The blast of yellow and white erupted with such force -- extending glaring tentacles in several directions. I shut my eyes in reflex as it impacted near me. The afterimage was uncomfortably etched on the inside of my eyelids.

That hit too close. My head jerked back with a new pain worse than the previous ache.

The panic returned.

I nosedived-- not by choice. Down, down, down, I sank into the darkness under the waves. Opening my eyes didn’t help much, I was surrounded by nothing but water, cold and murky. It cushioned and protected me. But it was too late. Something from the explosion had hit my skull. My thinking was getting muddled and my vision clouded with spots.

Engulfed in turmoil, my lungs began to burn again. It was torture. After the first dunking, I felt like the threshold for holding my breath had somehow lowered.

I couldn’t die -- not like this, I thought feebly. I was too young to die, barely sixteen, too young for such a watery death. There should be some minimum age requirement before a soul was lost to Davy Jones’ locker, I fumed in indignant horror.

My fingers were stinging. Why where they stinging? All ten digits like the rest of me were underwater. They shouldn’t hurt down here, I grimaced. A lock of hair swept by my ear, tugging across it and reminding me of its tenderness.

The searing pain increased. I wanted to open my mouth and scream in anguish. I almost did. Only the knowledge that that would kill me quicker, halted my actions.

A bubble escaped from my lips, bounced against my nose and swiftly rolled passed my eyelashes directing me to a lifeline. I started kicking again, albeit slowly.

If I could just get back up there. Maybe I could make it, I thought with waning strength. Succeeding seemed of little consequence -- except there was something I was forgetting. Something important.

Reaching my stinging fingers forward, I saw an inexplicable flash of bright light that made me squint against the harshness. A hard object impacted sickeningly with my head and a new bolt of pain shot through my skull.

A feeling of lethargy settled over me -- more peaceful than frightening. Gradually my aches and pains turned numb. Once my eyes closed I seemed to lose focus and drifted into the labyrinth of senselessness.

Want more?

Grab a copy from Amazon.com: Without Merit by P.S. Meraux with Johnny Green

A special promotion begins tomorrow. Be one of the first 500 readers to click on the Amazon.com link and you could get a free Kindle edition.

Want Easter Eggs?

'Merit' loses how many items during the course of her adventure? Clever readers will see what happens to her when the items begin to return.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Meraux