Welcome to New Adult Scavenger Hunt! This bi-annual event was inspired as a way to give readers a chance to gain access to exclusive bonus material from their favorite authors…and a chance to win some awesome prizes! At this hunt, you not only get access to exclusive content from each author, you also get a clue for the hunt. Add up the clues, and you can enter for our prize–one lucky winner will receive one book from each author on the hunt in my team! But play fast: this contest (and all the exclusive bonus material) will only be online for 96 hours!
Go to the New Adult Scavenger Hunt page to find out all about the hunt. There are TWO contests going on simultaneously, and you can enter one or all! I am a part of the TEAM PURPLE –but there is also a TEAM GREEN and TEAM ORANGE for a chance to win a whole different set of books!
If you’d like to find out more about the hunt, see links to all the authors participating, and see the full list of prizes up for grabs, go to the New Adult Scavenger Hunt page.
Directions: Below, you’ll notice that I’ve listed my lucky book number. Collect the lucky book numbers of all the authors on TEAM PURPLE, and then add them up (don’t worry, you can use a calculator!).
Entry Form: Once you’ve added up all the numbers, make sure you fill out the form here to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number will qualify.
Rules: Open internationally, anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian’s permission to enter. To be eligible for the grand prize, you must submit the completed entry form by Sunday 30 October 2016, at noon Eastern Time. Entries sent without the correct number or without contact information will not be considered.
LET THE HUNT BEGIN!
***MEET SUZANNE LAZEAR, AUTHOR OF THE SECRET LIVES OF ROCKSTARS (book one)***
For more information, please visit her site at suzannelazear.com.
THE SECRET LIVES OF ROCKSTARS
Saving the world, one tour stop at a time.
Eighteen-year-old Bitsy Butler has never quite fit in, not with the dragons who raised her, the druid who took her in, or even with the non-human members of the cirque noir punk band she thinks of as family. Her chance to prove she can make it on her own comes with her band’s first big solo tour. It’s all going according to plan when an angel walks into a bar and demands help with his demon problem.
If she doesn’t step up, a magical war will break out, threatening Arizona and all those who call it home. With the help of a human, a sexy dragon, and the members of her band, Bitsy must stop an angry mob of chaos demons before the band leaves for their next tour stop.
It’s nice to be needed, but Bitsy has no idea how to defeat the demons and she just might get herself killed trying. But then, at least one problem would be solved…
Fitting in doesn’t matter if you’re dead.
The secret lives of Rockstars is available to buy via Amazon.
EXCLUSIVE CONTENT: DELETED SCENE
Originally, THE SECRET LIVES OF ROCKSTARS opened with Bitsy cutting off her braid, symbolically trying to free herself from her past. However, as nice as it was, especially the part with Aiden, we needed to get to the action. Also, I wanted to refocus the story onto the band and Bitsy’s mission, not her past. So, I started with the concert instead, which comes right after these two scenes. I hope you enjoy this cut scene.
Snip. Snip. Hack. My insides constricted at the sound of scissors cutting through my strawberry-blonde, waist-length braid. Not caring how uneven my hair turned out as long as it covered the nape of my neck, I pumped the orange handle of Jules’s good scissors.
The importance lay in the singular act of off hacking the braid; as if doing so would sever me from my past. A past that haunted my nightmares.
I refocused on the scissors in my hand, my nails painted a bright, sparkly blue. Taking a deep breath, I continued. Hack. Hack. Snip.
One strand at a time I freed myself from the braid, from my past. Last night’s nightmare, one in a string of many, was the final straw. As I cut I whispered I am free; I am free.
“What the hell, Bitsy.” Jules, my best friend and front-woman for our cirque noir punk band The Freakshow, strode into the back room of the tour bus. We’d claimed this room as girl territory.
Stopping mid-hack, I gazed into her slanted brown eyes, so giant they dominated her face, and were fringed by obscenely long, black lashes.
“I need to cut it off. Now.” My voice reverberated with desperation as I stood in the middle of the tiny back room of the tour bus, scissors in hand, staring at my best friend.
Her manicured eyebrows rose, but her oval face held no judgment. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I nodded to punctuate my decision.
“All right, then. We’ll make it look cute for the concert tonight.” She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. My best friend was disgustingly beautiful–petite, with a to-die-for body. Some days I wanted to hate her anyway, but I couldn’t.
We’d be in Reno soon. Maybe. I’d lost track of all the cities we’d come from and were going to on our tour. This week, the USA. Next month, the world.
The Freakshow, our crazy cirque-noir punk band, had skyrocketed from nobody to stardom in only a few years. They were the talent. I was the ringmaster—eternal roadie, security, and chief fangirl—and happy for it, since I was good at it.
Hack. Hack. Hack. The blades didn’t move, stuck on the thick strands of my braid as I tried to finish. I glared at the offending scissors, like doing so would make them sharper.
“I’ll do it.” Jules grabbed the scissors out my hands, sat me down, and resumed cutting. In a few efficient snips, the strawberry braid fell to the floor in a soft whoosh.
A pang of sadness shot through me like lightening as I stared at the lifeless plait, curled up like a snake on the floor. Years. That braid represented years of my life.
How many I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know my exact age. But I’d never cut my hair before. Ever. It had even survived the fire.
“Why the change, not that I mind?” Jules fluffed my hair, frowning at it. She’d been after me for years to cut it off. Therapeutic, she’d said.
Was it? I continued to gaze at the forlorn braid on the floor. No, I didn’t feel different—not more liberated, nor less haunted.
I exhaled heavily. “Because I can. I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want.”
Not that Sally, my adopted mom, would have ever stopped me from cutting it.
“Damn straight.” Jules trimmed the uneven ends. “We’re adults. You can cut it off, keep it short, grow it long, you can even dye it. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
This was our first really big tour and our first taste of true freedom, well, freedom that lasted longer than a summer.
Yep. “I want to dye it blue.”
She nodded. “Something nice and bright. We’ll get some dye in Reno.”
Snip, snip. Tiny bits of hair fell to the floor as she continued to even it up.
Snipping more strands, Jules frowned. “A pro should do this, they’d make it cuter than I can. I can barely cut wrapping paper, let alone hair.”
“You’re the cute one.” I laughed. Smoking hot, Japanese, half-Siren, Jules attracted just about everyone. Men. Women. Humans. Fae. Trouble. She was barely an adult and already unstoppable. Also, she was my best friend. Fun. Silly. Useless to argue against.
“We need to burn the hair.” Jules grabbed the broom and swept the hair into a pile.
“Seriously?” Fire and I weren’t friends. Jules, being half-fae, had odd superstitions. Actually, our whole band had weird superstitions. There’s a reason why we’d named ourselves The Freakshow. We were misfits, every single one of us. Which was why we got along so well. Why we were a family.
“Seriously. As soon as we stop. Really, you don’t want this much hair getting into the wrong hands.” Jules held up the dustpan.
“Okay.” My nose wrinkled at the thought. Hair could be used in bad magic? I had magic, but it didn’t need hair. Then again, what did I know? I wasn’t even sure what I was.
Standing on some hotel balcony in Reno, the summer sun beating down on us, Jules and I watched my hair burn in the hibachi we kept on the bus for impromptu barbeques.
The flames can’t hurt me; the flames can’t hurt me. Saying this over and over was all that kept me from going inside, far from the flames and the unhappy memories they brought.
“Next stop shorts and tank tops.” Jules’ grinned at me.
“Never.” I kept my tone playful, but I meant it. My eternal jeans, boots, and long-sleeves were an ongoing source of teasing. From everyone. If they knew why, they’d stop.
But that meant talking about it. As close as we were, there were some things I just couldn’t bring myself to talk about. There were all things we couldn’t talk about. Another reason why we got along so well.
I held out my platform-boot clad foot. “I was thinking of possibly wearing sandals, since it’s summer and all. Maybe we can go shoe shopping?”
“Sandals? Really? That’s a big step. I’ll even buy you a pair.” Aidan, one of our band mates joined us on the tiny balcony, in his crisp jeans and ironed t-shirt, hair neat and trim. He played bass guitar, wrote most of the songs, and was the brains of the band.
Aidan was also Sídhe, a bona fide elf, one of the high fae. White blond hair offset eyes bluer than I’d ever seen giving him a look of ethereal man-beauty. You could envision him with pointed ears—which he hid with magic unless “pretending” at Renaissance Faires or the steampunk conventions I dragged him to. I wasn’t sure if he was bright court, dark court, or neutral, but I sort of got the idea he was slumming here with us in the human realm. He was also the most mature-acting of all of us…but I wasn’t certain he was the oldest.
Given we were all non-human, or part non-human, for us age was relative.
“Don’t forget, we have promo to do,” Aidan added in his Irish brogue.
I could listen to him read the dictionary with that accent. I’d never had a big brother, but if I did, I’d like him to be just like Aiden.
“Right, promo shit.” I sighed. Everyone always wanted a piece of the band—magazines, radio, TV, whatever. Even when we’d just started people took notice, which was probably why fame happened so quickly.
Of course, we had a siren for our front woman.
People also liked our youth. Regardless of what our IDs said, most of us were barely adults by our respective species. If even.
“Want to hit the tables?” Aidan added.
I was pretty good at cards. Actually, I was good at the science behind winning at cards. I gazed at the fire. Going. Going. Gone. Nope, not feeling different. “Maybe, but first, Jules and I have a date with a bottle of blue hair dye.”
There is also a giveway for an ebook copy of Lost in Static. Enter here:
To enter the scavenger hunt , you need to know that my lucky book number is FIVE.
Add up all the favorite numbers of the authors on TEAM PRUPLE and you’ll have the secret code to enter for the grand prize!
To keep going on your quest for the hunt, you need to check out the next author, Abigail Drake!