Sky's End by Lesley Young ♥ Excerpt Tour & GIVEAWAY ♥ (Sci-Fi Romance)

A secret she must never share. A secret that two warring species are determined to control. A universe’s future at stake.

Twenty-year-old Cassiel Winters joins Earth’s new space academy in hopes of finding her brother, one of Command’s top pilots and her only family, who’s been reported MIA. But she quickly realizes she may not be cut out for life in space, where female cadets are outnumbered, competition’s fierce, and she’s already failed her hand-to-hand combat test once.

Even the station’s most respected officer, Lt. Damian King, probably can’t help Cassiel pass the second time around – so why is he so interested in her progress? If only one of her freaky déjà vu visions would offer an answer instead of mysterious messages like hide.

When Cassiel’s manipulated into a perilous mission, she encounters a warrior species bred to protect the universe from an even greater threat. And she learns that her secret visions are at the heart of it all.

Now Cassiel must fight to control her own destiny and race to save her brother – even if it means pretending to be the pawn of Prime Or’ic, the cold-as-steel Thell’eon leader. Even if it means risking her life, facing hard truths, and making the ultimate sacrifice.

The explosion of adrenaline blinds, and then reveals all in vivid, clear, horrifying detail. Absolutely everything, the muted sounds, the metallic scent, the dim light, is foreign. Two unarmed Thell’eons are standing on either side of elaborate console, staring at me, dumbfounded. Holy stars are they BIG! A foot or more over most human men. At least 120 pounds each on me. Wearing sleeveless cloaks. Bursting biceps—20 or more inches wide. Shaved heads. Some kind of markings on faces, foreheads, arms, everywhere. Strikingly attractive. No really.

I was so worried they would be terrifying-looking and unrecognizable, but they resemble humans, and, yet, inhumanly perfect ones.

These two are clearly confused as they piece together what’s happened, and then, finally, appear thrilled with their find: a human female! I feel sick. I observe this unfold in their expressions as they glance at each other and then back at me, and down to my breasts and lower . . . I react on sheer instinct. I reach for my Derri, bring it up in one swift movement, and fire.

I’m not a bad shot. The key, King once told me over breakfast in Proxy, is intent. Aim, believe, fire.

I stun one, who falls with a loud thud. The other reacts, with a look of disbelief I’ll never forget, like an elephant is shooting at him, and tries to take cover behind the tall console. I manage to ray his leg, barely, damaging the console in the process. My hand’s slippery with sweat and shaking, so I clench the Derri with both hands and, moving closer, shoot him twice more, for good measure. He’s definitely out, probably for days.

Now concentrate. But I can’t feel anything! Calm down. It’s okay. You’re just in shock.

Journalist Lesley Young never thought she would delve into the world of writing fiction, but when she sat down for the first time to put pen to paper, ideas for what would become her first novel just poured out naturally. Young’s first book, “Sky’s End,” is a multi-genre tale that showcases her unique style of weaving romance, action and wit into one page-burning story.

Young was born in Edmonton, Alberta in Canada. She holds an arts degree from the University of Alberta and a journalism degree from the University of Victoria.

Young now lives in Loretto, Ontario where she works as a journalist, freelance writer and editor for health, décor and business magazines. Since 2008, Young has written more than 300 articles for print and online media including Profit, Toronto Life, MSN Green, and Elle Canada among others. She is a regular contributor to Reader’s Digest, Best Health, Canadian Living and House and Home Magazine.

Soul Mate Publishing releases “Sky’s End” on July 15 in paperback and e-book. The novel is Young’s first installment in a series about Cassiel Winters, a futuristic heroine, and her outer space escapades.

Fun Facts about Lesley Young

An astrologer told me I was born on the cusp of Leo and Virgo. What this really means is that I’m an overly passionate Type A. Ha ha, sigh.

How many doppelgangers can a girl have? I can’t tell you the amount of times people have told me, “I know someone who looks just like you.” It’s weird.

As a kid, I was one of the tallest figure skaters (at 5’10’’), like, maybe ever. Not the graceful Katarina Witt kind, either (for the record, she was “tall” at 5’5’’). Think Lurch-like. I still ask my mom, “What were you thinking? I mean, didn’t basketball cross your mind?”

You don’t want to be on a plane with me. Once, as we were waiting to pull away from the gate in Toronto, the power blew in the entire eastern seaboard. Another time, leaving Sydney, Australia, we’d flown four hours before encountering a storm that knocked out all radar. We had to turn around, fly back, stay overnight and start all over again the next day. Good times.

I would take a week in Las Vegas over a beach vacation (snooze) every time, and I’m even less lucky with cards than I am with planes.

I may be terrible at poker, but I am the Chuck Norris of checkers. No, really. Any time, any place.

My novels unfold in my mind like scenes in a movie. And I write from beginning to end, perfecting each chapter before moving on to the next.

When my husband reached into his pocket, on bended knee, and I knew for sure what was coming, the first word that came out of my mouth, in slow motion, was “Noooooo.” Fortunately, he knew me well enough to totally ignore me and continue. He’s smart and courageous.

I stopped offering unsolicited advice in my late 20s when I realized what a turnoff it is. There’s one exception: I do think everyone’s life would be that little bit better for reading True Grit by Charles Portis. It’s my all-time favorite book. I re-read it every couple of years. I laugh. I cry. I want to be a better writer.

My greatest fault: taking myself too seriously. Seriously. I’ve got to stop doing that.

I mix metaphors all the time (“Well, at least you’ve got a stick in the fire” or “You’ll shoot yourself in the leg and won’t have a foot to stand on”)—and worse, I use the wrong words in conversations at parties and even (cringe) in meetings. I blame my brain. It thinks too fast, and never before it speaks.

Actors are often muses for my protagonists. After a few chapters, though, characters take on a life of their own.

I’m paranoid about someday getting bedbugs. If I could put myself and my suitcases and my husband in a vacuum-sealed container when we travel, I would.

If I had to choose a favorite food, it would be butter (the French are brilliant—I mean, croissants). Lay’s Dill Pickle potato chips would come in a close second. And no, I don’t put butter on them. Tastes terrible.