Blog Tour: Hallow by Olga Gibbs Excerpt

Hello fellow book nerds! Today is my stop on the blog tour for Hallow by Olga Gibbs. After reading and loving Heavenward I was more than happy to participate in this tour.

Hallow is the next book in the Celestial Creatures series. There is more Ariel and choices that she must make. With a little darker approach than the first book, the action is still there. I hope you enjoy the excerpt given and if you haven’t then pick up Heavenward and start it now!

Happy Reading!

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Hallow

Series: Celestial Creatures, Book 2

Author: Olga Gibbs

Publishing Date: May 1, 2019
Genres: YA Fantasy
Goodreads

Buy It Here

SYNOPSIS

Being one of the most formidable archangels with the power to end the world doesn’t serve you well if you don’t know how to use it.

Thrown into a battle of courts and factions, tangled in a web of intrigues and palatial games, naïve Ariel is surrounded by powerful angels, chasing their own agendas.

There’s no one she can trust. Everyone stands to gain something from her death.

To avoid the bloody battle that Baza brought to her door at Uras, Ariel retreats back to Apkallu (Earth) to find her sister, but the Heavenly battles and intrigues she flees follow her, as Baza’s immense hold on Apkallu forces Ariel and Rafe to make uncomfortable choices.

Ariel’s fight for survival is far from over and it looks like it’s going to be a deadly one.

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Excerpt

Startled, I snap my back up, hitting my head on a corner of the desk. The pain explodes at the side of my skull, stealing my hearing, while fear takes my breath, clouding my vision. I am now blind and deaf.

I whirl towards his voice, blinking through the trembling haze, throwing my hands with the swords in front of myself, while shaking my head, trying to subdue the pain and clear my vision, but the next second, the punch at the side of my head sends me flying across the room.

My body crashes to the floor, then skids over old laminate and slams into a wall.

The air leaves my lungs with a puff.

My head rings and my hands are now empty.

No!

I blink through the pain, raising my head up.

The Scouser’s heavy footsteps reverberate through the floor, sending rhythmic quivers through my bones, and I can no longer tell if the shudder over my spine is the floor’s vibration or my fear.

My swords are scattered over the floor.

The closest one shimmers in the corner, about a foot away, and the Scouser is just as close.

He strides closer – decisive, merciless and strong – and I know that I’m about to pay for all my deeds. But I’m not leaving without my swords. I went too far for these.

I’ll take at least one.

I roll to my front, swaying on my hands and knees as I rise.

I catch a glimpse of the Scouser’s shoes in my peripheral vision, and the second I weakly dive towards my sword, the Scouser’s foot sinks into my stomach, throwing me against the wall again.

The self-preservation screams at me to get away immediately.

But instead I flop onto my front, reaching out blindly, and exhale, when my hand closes over the familiar hilt.

I roll to the side, with my back pressed against the wall, and in a blind mad frenzy I sweep the sword in front of myself: from side to side, from side to side.

It is not planned or masterful, but clumsy and desperate. I try to protect myself with all the animal survival that is left in me.

Suddenly, the sword slows its flight to a sluggish drag of a blunt knife slicing through cold butter. And in that instance, an animal roar shakes the room, and a thick and cold liquid covers my hand, running down my arm like a melted ice cream, which would cover my hand on a warm sunny day when I was a kid.

But this one doesn’t smell of vanilla.

This goo smells of rotting flesh, blood, with tinges of metal and earthy soil, and something else that I can’t even name.

I wipe at my eyes with my clean hand.

The Scouser stands above me, swaying on his feet.

His head is thrown up to the ceiling and the tendons on his neck strain, turning blue as he sways his head from side to side, roaring, and his animal bellow rings, bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

I look down to the floor, to his feet, trying to figure out what I have done.

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Olga Gibbs

Olga Gibbs lives in a leafy-green town, nestled amongst the green fields of West Sussex, England. She was writing from the age of fifteen, mainly short stories and novellas and was a guest columnist for a local newspaper. When she is not dreaming up new adventures for her imaginary friends, she does outreach work with teenagers.

She is currently writing a stand-alone psychological crime thriller book

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