An excerpt from my new novel, Bellocaro:

 Whatever was coming — it was getting closer.

Feeling tense my eyes scoured the dark bushes, trying to discern whatever was in the gloom. Tegwyn’s admonishments rang out in my memory, “Nothing should be able to hurt you here, but don’t push it.” Should? Surely there weren’t wild animals on the island too, right?

There was a flicker of movement, a dark shape barely visible against the blackness of the surrounding forest it traveled through. I narrowed my gaze trying to figure out what it was. The shape slowed. Head dipping to the ground like it was sniffing at something or had caught a scent. A thudding heartbeat later I realized what it smelled was me.

Suddenly the massive bulk of a muzzle shifted through the conifers, jaw dropping to reveal a glistening row of sharp white teeth. The intimidating display of lethal-looking incisors must have been a foot long!

Panting from its run, the creature came to a stop after passing by the last branch of a bald cypress. I used the word creature because it defied common sense. Having quickly caught its breath, the tongue pulled back in the muzzle and the paws began to move.

What I saw was freaking enormous, covered in dark fur. Paws the size of horse’s hooves were steadily coming closer. The monster was unquestionably more lupine than equine.

“Oh my God,” I huffed out a frightened breath, fearing I might hyperventilate. A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the October evening breeze.

Calling it a wolf was an insult to nightmares. While it was shaped like one — it was like a wolf on steroids. The bad kind, that made the user ginormous, stupid, and overly aggressive. I imagined bulging, ugly veins hidden under the thick fur.

The clouds must have drifted past the moon, I didn’t dare take my eyes off the creature to make sure. Moonlight illuminated its fur revealing touches of gray and silver in the mud-splattered hide.

My earlier dark thoughts about stepping off the railing cast aside, now I really did wonder if this was to be my last night on Sceadu.

To the left I heard something else coming through the bushes, fast with more agile footsteps. Was there another one? My hands began to grow clammy against the cold metal.

“Oh crap!” I gulped, terrified.

Unexpectedly, as the noise of whatever followed the massive beast got closer, there was a flash of blue fabric in front of me. Then two things happened so swiftly I couldn’t tell which happened first.

“No chase! No!” A voice hissed in the gloom so softly I could have imagined it.

“What the hell—” the soft voice said a second later, sounding more aggrieved.

Darting through the branches of two mature cedars bounded another monster wolf. It shifted from the cover of the forest into the clearing with such speed that it took a moment to discern that it wasn’t alone; not one but two more giant wolves! Neither as big as the first but now swarming around it. Massive teeth nipped at the grayish creature like they were trying to bite it or halt it.

They seemed to perceive this nocturnal excursion with more intensity than their larger cousin, adamant in the attempt to get the monster wolf’s attention, trampling the weeds and grass in a slapdash manner.

Frightened out of my socks, I forgot that there was nothing but a long drop behind me and lifted one foot off the rail with the intention of running like the wind, abruptly stumbling. I gasped and quickly tried to correct my mistake, wildly groping the metal rail with slick hands. My body vibrated with fear as I stared into the black abyss below.

Without warning, cool fingers gently encircled one wrist, locking it in place with the power of a vice. Another set grabbed the opposite forearm as I struggled to get my feet firmly back on the slippery perch.

“I’ve got you.”

Glancing up I saw a boy standing there. His strong hands kept me from falling to my death. A disgruntled expression traveled across his face, eyes becoming distant for several seconds as though assessing some inner thought and the grimace vanished, well almost. His mouth remained twisted down.

Staring in astonishment — my mind couldn’t function properly. Unable to fathom where he came from, I knew he shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t safe.

Incisors of the monster wolves were snapping and gnashing less than twenty-five feet away. Yet he acted as calmly as if we were alone. Didn’t he see them?

The smaller creatures seemed to be corralling the grayish wolf or altering its course. And the big one didn’t like it.

Rearing back on hind legs the monster wolf growled at the other two, immense jaws scissoring open and shut over their heads as if in warning. A deep snarl that erupted from the large mouth could have been saying, “Cut it out,” if it had a voice.

The wolf with the light brown fur ignored the warning, hurtling a muscular shoulder against the gray one’s exposed midsection. The big wolf made a gagging noise that sounded like a grunt. The second newcomer hoisted dark forepaws against the same area and together they succeeded in knocking the third backward. All three landed in an explosion of yelps, barks and snapping teeth.

I gasped.

“Are you okay?” the strange boy asked in an annoyed tone.

Too stunned by what I saw to speak, I merely nodded.

Clouds hid the moon again. The clearing fell into darkness. I squinted to see where the monster wolves were. I felt rather than saw my would-be rescuer’s head shift.

“Find him,” the boy hissed so quietly I thought I might have imagined that too. Who was he talking to?

The darker wolf growled lightly, head quickly swinging toward us before returning to the downed one, muzzle pushing against the muddy body forcing it to move with some urgency. The monster creatures merged into one shapeless blob in the shadows. Unable to see them but knowing they were out there only heightened my fear.

Order your copy of Bellocaro today on Amazon.com. 

Release date, Nov.10, 2020.     

        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

Why A Luminary?

     I get asked that question quite a lot. Some have even asked, "Why would a grown woman want to animate a candelabra for a non-kids book?"

    Well to answer that properly, I have to go back a ways to let you know something about me.  As a little girl, I used to believe that flowers whispered their stories and wishes to the bees, who in turn carried them aloft on the breeze. That was the rationale my six-year-old self had for the bees seemingly endless contact with the roses in our garden. So I guess a part of me has always pondered the possibility that there's more sentient life around us than meets the eye.

     Since I've spoken about the dream that I had involving the immortal, the witch and the candelabra -- most of my readers know about that spark of inspiration. But Waxine represents more than just the dream image. She and the other Luminaries embody an added level of diversity in the confluence of worlds that serve as the settings for these stories. 

     I write about soul mates, Paragons, witches, psychics, shapeshifters, vampires, immortals and werewolves...with such a variety of characters, the question isn't, "Why a Luminary?" To me, it's "Why Not?"

     Readers know that while the Luminary Saga focuses on an extra special human, Emily Wren, plenty of other soul mate matches are made throughout the books.  Call me a hopeful romantic. Embracing the concepts of soul mates in all their rich variation doesn't require much imagination. Every person has a soul mate, no matter their race, creed, color, religion or gender. All people have the right to happiness and love.

    What happens when they find them? 

     I like to think of them as sitting in a romantic bistro, gazing into each other's eyes. It's the kind of place where there's a seat at the table for everyone. All falling in love due to the careful orchestrations of a Paragon and a sarcastic, sentimental, smart-mouthed candelabra -- who lets him think that he's in charge. 

Happy Reading,

P.S. Meraux 

To Kill Or Not To Kill... A Character?

It’s a tricky predicament for a novelist. Having created many characters that readers genuinely seem to like and in some cases adore, I put a lot of thought into when I have to “off” someone.

Is it right for the plot?
Does it help the protagonist in a major way move forward?
Will there be repercussions?
How will I allow the protagonist to deal with it?
Become more vulnerable or less?
Be vengeful and develop new mad skills or go on a downward spiral?

These are just some of the issues that I deal with when contemplating such scholarly homicide.

Each aspect is mentally weighed and measured, to make sure that story is compelling and adds to the overall novel. As these questions and a host of others are eventually sorted through, I am left with the end result.

Somebody has got to go.

I send out the type-set hit squad and that’s it, the end. The fictional population is down by one.

I’ve gotten a few questions, about some of the people that I've given the ax to in my novels, from readers who didn’t want them to die. Requesting a literary resurrection, if you will.

I understand your attachment, perhaps better than you realize. While you have read and gotten to know them in adventure after adventure... some readers identify with the characters like they would a friend -- I gave birth to them, at least artistically speaking. I know what they look like, how they sound and  when they’re happy or horrified. And ultimately, I’m with them, in their heads in many cases writing their thoughts, as they draw their last breath.

Killing a character is never easy.

Fortunately, my characters reside in a magical landscape where anything is possible, and while I don’t guarantee that someone I have killed off will suddenly reappear in the pages of one of my future books -- sometimes characters are too damn stubborn to stay dead and find a way back.

Such is life in a supernatural universe.

Happy Reading,

P.S. Meraux 

The creative process...

     A number of people have been asking me about my 'process' for writing a top young adult fiction book series, as if I have a mysterious or scientific approach for creating a new novel or characters or settings. In truth, I don't rightly think I do.
    When I started out the Luminary Saga book series, I outlined the general actions, goals, problems and circumstances of each book and knew the core characters that would be inhabiting the worlds that I was creating...other than that, I allowed each story to unfold more organically.
     I had a number of plates spinning in the air simultaneously and didn't want to force the appearance of any particular paranormal species. Especially when tackling subject matter that involves finding a soul mate, psychic abilities, witches, warlocks, vampires, werewolves and an odd shapeshifter or two. Not to mention constructing two new races; the super immortal, Paragons, and the Luminaries. Then tying it all together in this epic, coming of age love story.
     I think when anyone is approaching such an endeavor, whether it's to create one of the best young adult paranormal romance novels that you can find online or in print  -- or one of the best science fiction and fantasy novels or ebooks, (I've been told that I'm in the wrong genre) allow yourself some wiggle room. Otherwise the chaffing can be intense.
     That said, I am a chronic note maker. I never know when inspiration is gonna strike. It shows in the files that I keep. I have (or had) a folder chock full of notes for each book.
     Ideas jotted down for this chapter or the next -- on cocktail napkins, envelopes, post-its, notebooks, appointment cards, receipts, even discarded calendar pages (yes, sometimes I get a little ridiculous about it) Case in point, check out the folder that I have for Flare, the seventh book in the Luminary Saga...on the right in the photo.

     Just for visual reference, I placed a book beside it. As you can see, I probably have too many schemes in mind for it to be a short novel. Knowing that has caused me considerable worry as there were other chapters that I culled from earlier volumes, thinking that it would help build suspense if they were added later. None of those chapters are actually in the above folder.
     And to be clear, from the outline that I currently have for Flare... there's no place for them. Rather than chuck the homeless chapters, I decided to reintegrate them into their earlier novels. But even that isn't as simple as it sounds. Other details have to be added here and there in subsequent chapters to make it all flow. Cohesion is a big part of it. Think of it as something to chat about during your next book club.
     Hopefully when I'm done, it will add rather than detract from the stories. Giving you more background into the lives of the characters. Either way, I'm positive that readers will give me their feedback. Which by the way, I honestly do appreciative.
     Of course all of this is driving my editor a little nuts, as it means that Flare's arrival may be pushed back.