EskieMama Reads Saturday Spotlight w/Giveaway: DEATH: The Horsemen Series by Justine Littleton & Lila Rose

Welcome To EskieMama Reads Saturday Spotlight!
Today we are spotlighting Justine Littleton & Lila Rose's
DEATH (The Horsemen Series)

Enter the Justine's rafflecopter giveaway below for some amazing prizes!

DEATH: The Horsemen Series

Here’s the problem with myths and legends; they're fiction. At one time, they may have been stories of real people, but over time, the story was passed from person to person, so what was once fact, becomes the written fables of those long ago.
This is the true story of Death and the five horsemen.

Quitting her teaching career and working full time on her fledgling editing business, Julie Michaels isn't prepared for the shedload of changes heading her way. To be precise, it’s just one screeching stop on the crazy train away. 

Dean "Death" Apocalos never imagined change would come so swiftly in the form of love, chaos, and Decay. Dean and his three brothers are about to see their worst fear come to light; their forgotten brother and the fifth horseman, Decay.

Previously entombed, someone has let the loon loose on LA. It’s now up to the horsemen to put him back in his box… before he upsets the balance once more.

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Q & A with Justine Littleton about DEATH: The Horsemen Series!

Tell us about Death: The Horsemen Series.
It’s about how the horsemen are not as history would have them seem and meet their mates. The uniting theme is that there is a forgotten Fifth Horsemen, Decay. He was entombed because he was sadly inflicted by his own gift of balance, destroying both his mind and body. Crazed, they locked him away and wiped his story as best they could from all written word. Unfortunately Decay was prepared, creating an order of devout followers to find and release him. Book one starts with the order releasing the loon loose on LA. It’s now up to the horsemen to put him back in his box… before he upsets the balance once more.

What initially inspired you to write Death: The Horsemen Series?
It was a dream, pregnancy dreams are the most bizarre. I wrote it down, put it to the side, but never forgot it.
Basically, I got knocked up with an idea. I was scared, and most likely would not have seen it through without Lila. She took on the role of book baby-daddy. She has taught me so much. With each chapter we wrote the world came together more and more.

Tell us little about the characters in Death: The Horsemen Series.
This book is about Dean meeting his mate, Julie.
Well, that is the easy answer, but it is so much more in the back story of the rest of the horsemen.

What was the hardest part of writing this book?
I used to say it was the actually WRITING it all down. It’s like a movie in my head and I have to keep hitting pause and write everything down. Now I would say it’s everything AFTER the writing. The editing and publishing process was very hard, but I was lucky to be surrounded by and amazing team that pushed me to do better and produce a book I am damn proud of.
That said I am excited to get back to the writing part.

What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why?
Definitely chapter ten. Most of the history in the book is factual, just spun to weave into our version of the truth. That is the chapter that will answer so many questions and create so many more.

What are your future project(s)?
This week I am plotting out the chapters to book 2, it has been fun to hear the readers guess which horsemen will find his mate next.
At the moment I am concentrating on the Horsemen, shooting to release one a year just before Halloween. After that we will just have to see.

Now an exciting excerpt from DEATH: The Horsemen Series!



“Holy Christ on a cracker!” I groaned aloud. It was good to finally relax for a while. However, the comment earned me a perturbed look from the crotchety bible-holding lady across the train aisle. “Yes?” I asked. She said nothing, so I went on, “Sorry.” I winced. “But you know I’m not actually cursing. Trust me, I'd know. I teach children. I was merely showing my appreciation for the Lord and his holy image on baked goods.” That earned me an annoyed look, her eyes narrowing even more before she turned away to glance out the window. I simply couldn’t please them all. Besides, I was too far beyond exhausted to care. I adjusted myself in my uncomfortable Metrolink seat, ready for the long trip home. It was already dark outside and my bed was calling to me.
Really, I couldn’t call the teens I taught children, because they were nothing more than overgrown, overprivileged little devil spawn, and with superiority complexes to boot. So no one could really blame me for the outburst. Every morning, Monday through Friday, I was up at 4:30 a.m. to make it into the city by 6:00 a.m. That was when I homeschooled two arrogant teens until 2:00 p.m. From there it was off to the library, where I held a couple of two-hour sessions of SAT tutoring with a lovely group of pampered princes and princesses. I knew they’d much rather be out spending Mommy and Daddy’s money than studying with me. They, of course, reminded me of that fact every week. But alas, at least my misery paid well.
I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. The current trend among the filthy rich granola crunchers was to be homeschooled. They preferred the one-on-one teaching and were willing to pay bank for the results worth bragging about. Graduating at twenty-two with a summa cum laude, I’d snagged a lucrative job fresh out of school. With their improved grades and high SAT scores, my students gained several Ivy League scholarships to pick from. I was surprised when the popularity of my teaching skills took off from there. Word of mouth and the kids’ killer results had earned me enough recognition to start landing the big fish. The CEOs, money market managers, and Rockefeller types, who expected their kids to be better than the Joneses’, but in most cases were closer to the Bundys’.
Still, I could see the light because it had paid off my student loans in three years, leaving me the ability to save all except the necessary expenses and put enough away to buy my dream home, an adorable stone cottage with a supercute arched door, a beautiful garden, and evergreen shutters. It was simply something out of the books I’d always loved. Hence, the forty-five-minute train rideevery day. But it was worth it. The weekends were mine and very soon, so would be the weekdays. I’d finally squirreled enough away to take my tiny part-time book editing business to full-time. I was overcome with joy at the thought of never having to placate the snot-nosed brats again, or the horny teens, in just two weeks’ time. All by the age of twenty-eight.
However, my joy was short-lived as the train jerked to a screeching stop.
“What in the furry Fig Newton is going on up there?” I muttered. The other passengers’ frustration grew alongside my own, a mild murmur of complaint starting up. The train had already been twenty minutes late to begin with. It looked like more delays and on a Friday night. The lights flickering above was the only warning before the screams started in the cars ahead of us. Everyone in my carriage was stunned into silence. With my heart in my throat, I fidgeted in my seat in worry.
Facing forward, I jumped as the noise hit a crescendo before fading off, and the door to the car sprang open. Panic itched the back of my neck as in drifted a hooded figure. When it came to a stop, the cowl fell back. Holy Hogwarts! What I was seeing couldn’t be real; it had to be a dream, a very frightful dream. My stomach dropped as I sat stone still and stared at him, mouth gaping wide.
Screams erupted in our carriage, mine joining the chorus. People started to stand, only to sit again in the next second. The compartment once again fell into utter silence. It was in that eerie way you knew something was going to happen, something big, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. None of us were, but we silently waited, too stunned to do anything.
Seriously, my mother had been right. I did read far too much, and because of it, I had lost my goddamned mind. I’d learned a long time ago there was a time and place for cussing, and finally cracking your nut was one of them. Because I wasn’t sure if I should believe what I saw before me or not. It looked like something that was a cross between Voldemort and a character from The Walking Dead. What was possibly once a beautiful man—if the pieces… or chunks were put back on his face, he could be hot—currently had bits of loose-hanging skin and oozing sores covering him. His skin was also a sickly shade of gray. My stomach churned, threatening to bring up the nice sandwich I had for lunch. I didn’t want to keep looking, but my eyes wouldn’t stray from the horrid sight.
His nose had long ago fallen off, leaving a triangle-like shape with two ragged tear-shaped holes to breathe through. But what had me still transfixed in my seat, maybe like everyone else, was his eye. Eye, not eyes. One, singular. The lovely shade of crazy it emitted led me to believe sudden movement would not be wise. He was a hot mess, pun intended.
He was gory, graphic, gut-retching, and was reaching out with his left skeleton-looking hand. The poor, small Latino man, who had chosen that seat, released a small shriek and attempted to slap his hand away.
For one second, one heartbeat, we watched. The silence was deafening, or so I thought. That was until the small man let out a primal and horrific howl of agony. He jumped from his seat and into the laps of the woman and child seated across from him. I brought my feet up onto the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees in fright as I looked on, witnessing the devastation progress from there in a wave, coming even closer. The suffering and horror spread from person to person, their skin separating, oozing puss, and melting away. Screams of terror rocked the carriage because there seemed to be no escape. Whatever sifted through the carriage came closer and closer to my area in the back. I observed what I was sure would be my death with paralyzing fear. I couldn’t understand why we didn’t feel the urge to run, to save ourselves from our looming fate.
Anger boiled inside me at how still I sat, allowing the nightmarish things to happen around me, but what could I actually do?
My stomach churned. My heart was already speeding off on a crazy frantic beat. My breathing was erratic, while my chest rose and fell at a fast pace. It was as though my body realized what was going on and it wanted to run, to escape from the situation.
However, I did nothing. My only other thought was… flowers. The dying smelled of flowers.
I snapped to myself a moment too late. A shriek of fright clogged my throat. I tried to back away as the people around me died, but there was nowhere else to go, except farther down in my seat. I felt the brush of the nearest person taking their last breath, passing in a most painful way, and squeezed my eyes shut to await my fate.
Nothing came.
I opened my eyes as the screams faded to see the nightmare floating down the aisle toward me.
His freaking feet weren’t even touching the ground! I was incapacitated again, this time with dread. The only thing moving rapidly was my chest as it fought my terrified breath into my lungs. He stopped directly in front of me and reached that same bony, emaciated hand out for me this time. Bone glided down my left cheek.
Again, no pain, but I did scream, and as my vision wavered, two things became clear.
One, it was lilies. The flower smell throughout the carriage was lilies, and it had become stronger as he got closer.
And two was Mr. Hot Mess’s parting words. With a smooth, melodic voice, he sent me off with, “Oh, this is going to be glorious fun!”

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