Paperback:
Praise for Out of
the Shadows
"...it's
flawlessly written. Ashlee Nicole Bye really knows how to write a
story. She has her own voice, the kind that pulls you in and really makes
the world come to life." - Bibliophile Ramblings
"...new
authors can either be a smack bang hit or disappointing miss- Ashlee Nicole Bye
is definitely a big old hit! Being her first novel, her writing is beyond
amazing and I cannot wait to see what else she comes up with! The pacing
flows, the writing is descriptive but not overly so, the world is unique and
the characters are amazing." - Bookishfix
"I
loved Out of the Shadows. Sachi's world is amazingly complex, full of
supernatural creatures, competing factions and a complicated process for
managing what happens to souls when they die." - Cassandra Page, author of Isla's
Inheritance
"This
book was fantastic and promises to be a brilliant series. It is a
delightful read full of page-turning action and intriguing characters with a
hefty dose of humour. A feisty heroine, hot guys, demons, reapers...Out
of the Shadows has it all!" - Cheryl, Goodreads reviewer
"...the
entire concept of this sic-fi/fantasy world is on point. The description and
the writing style make for an enjoyable, hard to put down read. I can't
wait to see just what is in store for these characters." - Jennifer
Leigh, author of Incognito
"How
come no one knows about this book? It would be a best-seller if they
did!" -
Malissa, Goodreads reviewer
"One
successful debut for Ashlee Nicole Bye! Truly succeeded in
captivating me into the Shadowlands world. I loved this book and the
characters even more." - Viridiana, Goodreads reviewer
Excerpt:
From chapter one:
As Julian studied the mangled remains of the
boy who had once been Campbell Locke, it was easy to see how the humans could
have mistaken the death for a homicide. The latest in a string of vicious
murders by the now infamous ‘Melbourne Slasher’, who had plagued the streets of
this city for near on three months now—or so the papers said.
The
teenager’s throat had been slashed with what, to human eyes, looked like a
knife. But Julian knew better—that wound was the result of an incredibly sharp
claw.
Julian
had positioned himself on a first floor window ledge not ten metres away from
the crime scene. It was the perfect vantage point, or would have been had his
legs not been cramping from the awkward crouching position he’d been forced to
assume in order to balance his tall frame on the narrow ledge. The
preternatural eyesight bestowed upon him almost a century and a half ago
allowed Julian to make out every detail of the narrow alleyway: the ground a
peculiar patchwork of cobbles, concrete, and bitumen; walls the brick exterior
of low rise buildings whose original colour could not be determined through the
layers of graffiti—some of which, Julian had to admit, was quite remarkable.
There was a blue industrial rubbish bin set up against the wall of the nightclub
that backed on to the alley, overflowing with black bags and glass bottles.
Julian could feel the vibration of the heavy bass from the club’s music
thrumming through the walls around him. The song was something modern, with a
powerful female voice interweaving through a thumping dance beat. He couldn’t
say what it was called—it all sounded so similar to him.
At
the mouth of the alley, a row of uniformed police officers stood guard over the
crime scene, sending any curious onlookers on their way. Julian was tempted to
move closer. To walk right up to the crime scene and stand amongst the mingling
investigators. After all, with his invisibility glamour in place no one would
be able to see him.
But
it was a risk he could not afford. He was well aware of how far crime scene
technology had progressed since his time amongst humans. They had something
called ‘forensics’ now, where scientists could track a killer using the
smallest piece of evidence: a drop of blood, a strand of hair, even the tread
of dirt from a foreign location. Julian frowned as he glanced at his boots, the
soles of which were crusted with the remains of the faery he’d disposed of
three hours earlier. These humans would be baffled enough as it were with the
lack of evidence to be found at this scene, he didn’t think it wise to confuse
them further with the presence of an otherworldly substance. Not to mention
that the invisibility glamour was somehow affected by flash photography—he was
not in the mood to explain to Lord Mortem why there had been a ‘ghost’ sighting
at the most recent ‘murder’ scene.
An
awareness brushed across Julian’s mind and he immediately looked up, scanning
the rooftop opposite. It didn’t take long to spot Moss; he had his hood down
and even without Julian’s superior vision, it would have been difficult for him
to miss that mop of bleached dreadlocks contrasting starkly against the
midnight sky.
Julian
swept his gaze over the crime scene one last time before letting the ledge fall
away from him. It was a split second of dark emptiness as he passed through the
shadows, and then he was standing on the roof next to Moss.
‘Crazy
night, dude,’ Moss said in his Floridian surfer drawl.
Julian
ran his eyes over his friend. They had gone their separate ways tonight, and it
was clear by the smears of blood over Moss’s face and the tear in his sleeve
he’d had almost as interesting a night as Julian. Moss always looked slightly
rumpled, though; unlike Julian, who, even after killing the banshee that had
been about to take centre stage in front of twenty thousand humans under the
guise of a popular musician, a passionate kiss of gratitude from said musician
(whose memory Julian had, most unfortunately, been obligated to alter moments
later), and crouching on the window ledge for a good two hours, was still as
tidy and well-pressed as usual, not a hair out of place.
‘You
could say that,’ Julian said. Though a hundred and forty years had passed, he
still spoke with the same accent and manner he had cultivated during his life
as the son of an English peer. He would have liked to believe there was little
else from that life that remained, though he knew this was not the case.
‘So,
this one makes three.’ An uncharacteristically sombre expression crossed Moss’s
face. ‘Any ideas?’
Julian
shook his head. ‘Something with claws—which narrows it down to at least a
thousand Shadowlanders.’
‘It’s
hot.’ Moss emphasised the statement by rubbing the back of his forearm over his
sweat-streaked brow. It was indeed. The Australian summer was only a week away,
and Melbourne had been hit with a blast of the kind of humidity usually
reserved for the northern parts of the country. ‘That should rule out an
Infernal creature, yeah?’
Julian
frowned. ‘I think it would be foolish to rule anything out at this stage.’
1 comments:
Sounds Awesome.
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