Tuesday, January 24, 2023

Now On Tour Sight Beyond the Sun by Melody Johnson with Exclusive Excerpt #SciFiRomance #ExclusiveExcerpt

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Sight Beyond the Sun
Love Beyond
Book Two
Melody Johnson

Genre: Sci-fi Romance
Publisher: Incendi Press, LLC
Date of Publication: January 24, 2023
ASIN: B0BG8P1596
Number of pages: 602 
Word Count: 147,970
Cover Artist: Trif Book Designs

Tagline: Separating truth from lies is impossible in the game of spies...especially the lies you tell yourself. 

Book Description:

A prison break. 

Adrenaline junkie and explosives specialist Kinsley “Switch” Morales had a chip on her shoulder long before being caught in what she suspects is some sort of intergalactic human-trafficking ring. Aliens not only exist, their reptilian bodies are stronger, their honed reflexes faster, and their shiny scales nearly impenetrable. But nothing will curb Kinsley’s resolve to commandeer their spaceship and return home to Earth—even if that means crawling behind enemy lines and cozying up to their uncompromising captain. 

An undercover mission. 

When Raveno Hoviir catches Kinsley outside her cell, wreaking havoc in his control room, he sees more than just her strength, resolve, and courage. He sees a golden opportunity to finally root out the traitor under his command and prove his brother’s loyalty before the coming revolution. After so many years undercover, Raveno is finally one mission away from saving his planet from its tyrannical ruler. He’s sacrificed everything to protect his people—his love life, his anonymity, his left leg—but in his efforts to right his father’s wrongs, has he inadvertently become the very monster he plans to overthrow? 

An unlikely alliance. 

As Kinsley and Raveno each attempt to exploit the other, they find more than just leverage for their separate missions. Inexplicably, they find common ground in their mutual devotion to family and service. Kinsley knows all too well the grief and guilt of making the wrong decision in the field, but will Raveno keep his word to send her home if she flips loyalties? Is Raveno’s softening heart compromising his judgment, or is Kinsley’s intelligence accurate? Separating truth from lies is impossible in the game of spies. Seeing beyond their surface differences and trusting in love again may be the only way to save both their people—and each other. 

Exclusive Excerpt:

“Bend your knees more. More. Arms remain out—yes, like that, sort of—but your knees…”

“They’re bent!” Kinsley yelled at the ceiling, inadvertently dropping her arms, and with them, the pivz in each hand.

Raveno deliberately deepened his scowl. It was either that or laugh, and laughing was unacceptable. She would think he was teasing her—which he was, to a point—but she honestly did need to bend her knees more.

They were nearing the end of their tenth training session, one per shaoz since they’d struck their new arrangement. She was flourishing under his instruction, and he couldn’t help but feel a measure of pride in her improvement. What she lacked in physicality, she more than made up for in quick learning and sheer determination.

“Yes, your knees are bent,” Raveno explained patiently. “That is why I said they should be bent more.”

Her nose scrunched with horizontal wrinkles when she was frustrated, as she was now. He found the mannerism strangely satisfying, especially when the target of her frustration was him.

“Ready yourself,” he barked. He would not allow those nose wrinkles to get the better of him.

She sighed noisily, but mirrored his stance, bent her knees more, and lifted her arms. Her grip on each pivzhilt was firm, but not clamped, its sharp “business end,” as she referred to it, aimed at him. Her arms were positioned as he’d instructed: one straight out, the other bent at the elbow, prepared to strike or block as necessary.

“Acceptable. Now, this time, when I attack, do not remain on the defense. Use my momentum against me, and counterattack.”

Kinsley’s arms shook with fatigue as he spoke, but she nodded, ready in spirit if not in body.

He leapt forward, slashing down with the pivzin his right hand. Her army had not done wrong by her. She was already quite skilled, and the new skills he taught her, such as the efficient block-pivot-drop she’d just employed to avoid having her shoulder impaled, she learned and mastered faster than most guards under his command.

She rolled right and popped to her feetat his side, striking up hard and fast.

Raveno blocked her pivzbefore it could slip between his scales.

He frowned. Her aim was off. By the width of hairs, perhaps, but still off.

“You must set your sights beyond the location of your aim to your ultimate target.” He jabbed at her heart or, rather, where it would have been had she not deftly dodged his blow. Well done. “You do not want to pierce my uniform. You want to pierce my kidney. Sight beyond my uniform, beyond my scales and flesh, and your aim will remain true.” He swiped out to knock her from her feet, but she jumped over his leg, arms still up, still trembling, but still at the ready. “Do not punch me. Punch through me.”

“I know,” she panted.

“Anticipate my movements, if you can, and improvise around them.” He snorted. “You and your lir s’flislaunches. You love improvising.”

I know.

“Then do it!”

He countered with a downward strike to her neck, which she avoided with another block-pivot-roll.

She was as agile as she was petite, determined as she was physically weaker, and quick-minded as she was slow-footed. Against her own kind, he imagined she would fiercely dominate. Against an havarian, well, for those who preferred an underdog, she’d be their best bet by far.

Josairo was going to love her.

Raveno shuddered at the thought.

Pain pierced his back.

Raveno twisted and delivered a hard chop to Kinsley’s inner elbow, stopping the momentum of her blow before she compromised anything vital.

She released the pivzon a gasp.

The blade remained embedded in his side, perfectly aimed over his kidney.

Raveno grinned. “Well done.”

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He holstered both his weapons. Grimacing, he reached back, gripped the hilt, and yanked the pivz from his scales.

“I thought you would block me. You always block me.”

“Do not apologize. I was distracted.” He plucked a towel from the bin, wet it in the sink, and wiped the blade clean. “That strike was on target.” He returned the pivzto her, hilt-first. “Very well done.”

She accepted the weaponwith her left hand, keeping her right arm cradled against her stomach.

Oh, cry mercy. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“You have taught me that, counter to its literal meaning, I am fine in English means that you are not.” He reached for her arm.

She twisted away, sheltering her elbow from him. “All you’ll do is poke at it until it hurts more, then declare that Avier should examine it.”

“If it hurts at all, Avier should examine it.”

“The pain will pass.”

“Pain does not indicate something is fine.”

“When do I start training with that weapon?” she asked, shamelessly changing the subject without any tact whatsoever.

Raveno let it slide for the moment and followed her gaze to the weapons rack behind him and all the many pivzdisplayed, organized by their various lengths. “We’ve already gone through most of them. I maintain the three-blade is the perfect weight for you without compromising reach, but—”

“Not those.” She waved a dismissive hand at the weapons rack. “The one strapped to your back.”

“My ezil?” He crossed his arms. “Never.”

“Never? Like, not ever?”

“Is there another type of never?”

Her nose wrinkled.

Since they were no longer sparring, Raveno gave in to the impulse and laughed.

“I thought you wanted me to improve my skills. Broaden my combat knowledge,” Kinsley said, and how she made a weapon of words and truth was a skill unto itself. “Why are you limiting me now?”

“It is not I who limits you, but the weapon itself. The pivzis better suited to your strengths, anyway.” Raveno racked his weaponsand gestured for her to follow suit.

She crossed her arms instead. “What if I need to defend myself, and the only weapon at my disposal is an easel?”

“It’s pronounced ezil.”


“You’re missing the hard trill in the middle.”

She scoffed. “You know I don’t have a bifurcated tongue to make that vibrating, hissing noise.”

Raveno spread his palms. “It’s how it’s pronounced.”

Her lips compressed. “If I need to defend myself, and the only weapon at my disposal is an easel, then—”

“Then you should run, not fight.” He unsheathed his ezil and offered it out to her. “Let me demonstrate.”

She took it and immediately nearly dropped it. “Shit, it’s heavy!”

“Like this.” He adjusted her grip. “Let the grooves for each finger guide your hold. Good. Now, feel the depression at your first—well, only—thumb?”

She nodded.

“Press it.”

She peeked up uncertainly.

“I thought you liked pressing buttons.”

She wrinkled her nose at him—would he ever tire of that expression?—then bent her knees, braced herself, and pressed the button. “Nothing happened.”

“Exactly. Every ezil is made specifically for its havarian owner, so even if you were to wrest the ezil from your enemy’s grasp, you could not fire it.”

“I could beat him with it like a club.”

“You could, but remember, considering our scales—”

“‘Piercing, not bludgeoning, weapons are most effective.’ I know.” She groused. “What happens when you press the button?”

He took the ezil from her, aimed it at nothing, and squeezed the trigger.

A spear six times the length of the ezil’s outer shell jutted from its end in a lethal jab.

Kinsley startled, then jumped, laughing, as the spear retracted back into its casing. “Do it again!”

Raveno grinned, happy to oblige.

“It reaches over twelve feet!”

“And…” He flipped the ezil, caught it, aimed its opposite end, and squeezed the trigger with his second thumb.

A second blade, just as long as the spear but with a hinged hook at its tip—perfect for slicing—jabbed in a lethal second strike.

Kinsley whistled. “That’s definitely more effective than attempting to bludgeon someone to death, no matter their species.”

Raveno eased his thumb from the trigger to show her how the depressed button glowed under his touch. “The ezil recognizes the unique pattern of my scales and fires from my fingers only. Our Vra Cilvril s’Hvriprograms each ezil himself, not that Josairo ever bothers to attend the presentation ceremonies.”

“Vrasil vrilsa what?”

“Josairo. His title is Vra Cilvril s’Hvri.” Since she seemed unlikely to rack her weapons anytime soon, Raveno sheathed his ezil, plucked her pivzfrom their scabbards, and racked them himself.

“What does his title mean?”

He turned to face her and stiffened at her sudden proximity. “Well.” He flexed his vresls flush against his chest to keep them from quivering. “Literally, it means ‘killing hand of Havar.’”

She frowned. “I thought you were a killing hand.”

“I enforce Josairo’s laws as his killing hand. Josairo is Havar’s killing hand.”

“Killing hand of Havar.” She blinked. “Like, he’s the ruler of Havar? Of the entire planet?”

He inclined his head. “Yes.” For now. “And then there’s Avier, who is Vri Zyvril, translated as ‘healing hand.’”

She just stared at him.

“Because he heals. My sister, Veilon, is one of four Vri Shavril, or ‘advising hand,’ to Josairo. And Tironan, my brother, is Fyvril, roughly translated as ‘helping hand’—an officer. And our many Vrili, translated as just ‘hands’—the rest of my crew.”

“So many hands, so little time.” Although her tone was flippant, amused, even, she was still cradling her right arm.

Raveno activated his anku. “Vri Cilvril to Avier.”

Kinsley eyes widened. “Don’t, I’m—”

“Report to training room one for an injury examination.”

“—fine.” Kinsley groaned. “It’s probably just sprained!”

A second passed before his ankuvibrated, and Avier’s mocking voice echoed inside his ear. “Your will by my hands.”

“He is coming,” Raveno relayed.

Kinsley grimaced, but her disgust was aimed at her own hand now, instead of him.

Raveno startled at the blood coating her palm.

He snatched another towel from the bin and wet it at the sink. “Allow me.”

“It’s your blood.”

“Hmm.” He wiped the cloth over her palm, inspecting for injury himself.

“I can just wash my hands at the sink,” she murmured.

“We should keep your elbow as immobile as possible until Avier examines it.” Raveno cleaned the back of her hand, her palm, then each small finger. Svik, her bones were so delicate. Not for the first time, he marveled at her skill and ability.

“Your hands are so warm.”

Raveno glanced up at her tone and inhaled sharply. She remained outwardly calm, still, and composed, but he hadn’t misheard the tremor in her voice or the acceleration of her heart.

Her arousal sounded so much like anger, but in no way did it smell even remotely the same.

Raveno sealed his nostril slits against the scent, but he could still taste its peppery musk in the back of his throat from that one whiff.

“You sound surprised,” he forced out, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek.

“I always am when it comes to you,” she murmured.

The waft of her whispered words was warm against his scales, soft and delicious. He resealed his nostril slits, annoyed. When had they opened?

She leaned closer, the movement minute, but he could feel her skin nearing his scales the way one can feel the billowing warmth from a wildfire. Any closer, and he might ignite.

“Is blood smeared on my forehead too?” she asked, wriggling her eyebrows. “It feels sticky.”

They shared the same soap, but somehow, her hair smelled sweeter than his ever had.


His head swam, his vision dimmed, and svik, he breathed in deep, giving up on restraint. He was drowning in her.

She met his gaze and stilled. Her heart was beating like a turbine now—fast, powerful, unstoppable—and he swore he could smell that too: the savory scent of that organ taking flight.

Could she truly reciprocate his feelings? Her body couldn’t lie, but what about her mind? It wasn’t possible that she could want him.

If she pressed her mouth to his, as strange and unsanitary as that gesture seemed, would he be able to taste the truth on her tongue as he could smell it wafting from her skin?

About the Author: 

Melody Johnson is the award-winning author of the “out of this world” Love Beyond series and the gritty, paranormal romance Night Blood series published by Kensington Publishing/ Lyrical Press. She graduated magna cum laude from Lycoming College with her B.A. in creative writing and psychology. 

Earning the 2021 Maggie Award of Excellence, Beyond the Next Star (Love Beyond, book 1) is an exciting branch from Melody's paranormal romance roots, keeping the dark grit from her Night Blood Series and taking it to new worlds. Her first published novel, The City Beneath (Night Blood, book 1), was a finalist in the “Cleveland Rocks” and “Fool For Love” contests. 

When she isn’t writing, Melody enjoys swimming, hiking, reading, and exploring her new home in southeast Georgia. 

Stay in touch with Melody on social media or her website: http://authormelodyjohnson.com/ 



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