Daily life is a mundane task that all must suffer, but only until it is taken from you. For some, that involves the absence of existence or death. For others, it leads to disappearance. And for the people who frolicked away from either of the aforementioned, it means nothing. Unfortunately, all of those are incorrect. Rather, they mean the loss of the life of someone near to you. Someone who shares your heart, each half pumping blood to either person whilst welding its self and the people into one living, breathing creature that humanity called "Love," or if you will, "True Love". This is my story. It is the story of two young Innamorati who suffered a hamartia so great, it split the universe. This is the story of Carter and Ophelia.

Excerpt The highly anticipated start of a new romantic suspense series from the beloved, USA Today bestselling author of Ten Tiny Breaths. Left for dead in the fields of rural Oregon, a young woman defies all odds and survives—but she awakens with no idea who she is, or what happened to her. Refusing to answer to “Jane Doe” for another day, the woman renames herself “Water” for the tiny, hidden marking on her body—the only clue to her past. Taken in by old Ginny Fitzgerald, a crotchety but kind lady living on a nearby horse farm, Water slowly begins building a new life. But as she attempts to piece together the fleeting slivers of her memory, more questions emerge: Who is the next-door neighbor, quietly toiling under the hood of his Barracuda? Why won’t Ginny let him step foot on her property? And why does Water feel she recognizes him? Twenty-four-year-old Jesse Welles doesn’t know how long it will be before Water gets her memory back. For her sake, Jesse hopes the answer is never. He knows that she’ll stay so much safer—and happier—that way. And that’s why, as hard as it is, he needs to keep his distance. Because getting too close could flood her with realities better left buried. The trouble is, water always seems to find its way to the surface. Copyright © 2014 by Kathleen Tucker All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

Vidalia Rose has endured her father's death. Knowing him, she should've expected something peculiar to come up in his will, but she didn't expect what he wished for her to do. Now, as she makes her way to the mysterious place her father calls Castle Allatoria, she must prepare herself to face the beastly creature at hand. But who- or rather, what- is this monster that hides behind the walls of Allatoria? Read to find out.

The name's Wren. Wren Larson. Over the past year I've been beaten down by my own brother (physically and emotionally), decided that I was, in fact, some sort of introvert, endured chaotic family deaths, miracles, and the occasional move. Of course, these were all normal, but what happened next was anything but.

The Kingdom of Aslaerwynn was once plagued by a terrible curse, created by a madman who's name no one knew. Born of that curse was Princess Emrys, a prophesied Saviour to the kingdom, as one day this man would rise again and attempt to destroy all of Aslaerwynn. But will Emrys be able to resist the power and temptations that this man brings with him, or will her home fall until it is nothing but a story in her head?

What if you could escape the walls of reality just by dreaming? That's what Cordelia Johnson did. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ I picked up the journal from Gramps' old rolltop desk. I ran my fingers over the golden lettering on the wrinkled cover. "Dream, Dels, and never stop. -Gramps" Quickly, before dwelling on happy memories of Sundays sitting on the porch swing and relaying stories as Gramps and I slurped out ice cream off the cone, I opened the journal and began writing. "In the land of Forever, everyone had their own clock. As if a beating heart, these clocks dictated your time. Whenever the clock began to tick, was the very second you were born. When it ceased to make its hollow 'click-clock, click-clock' sound, you refused to come out from the very depths of the much needed slumber that was death..."