I’m getting really excited for the release of The Defiance, the sequel to The Scourge, on July 29th. I’ve been working long hours, polishing up the manuscript before it’s converted to an ebook file. My editor, Lindsey Alexander, had amazing feedback for me. It wasn’t just food for thought; it was a table groaning with helpful criticism.

When I got edits back before publishing The Scourge, I suffered from a fledgling author’s fear and defensiveness. This time around I welcomed the critiques with a hearty pat on the back. After a year and a half of absorbing the periodic critical review on Amazon, Goodreads, and book blogs, I would much rather be able to identify and fix problems now.

I know I still won’t get it exactly right, but trust me on this: I’m doing everything in my power to make The Defiance the best book it can be.

Here’s one of my favorite passages, a small morsel for you to taste (I’ll release an excerpt every week until release day):

Only the odd snore rumbles from the other shelters as I crack the door open and slide out. The forest isn’t so quiet. Crickets hum hypnotically, leaves shift and sigh in the breeze, and frogs and bats keep the time with their cries. If the greenheart trees offer the forest its scent and flavor, then its animal inhabitants provide the tune.

I slink like prey from dark spot to dark spot, minding the sound of my steps. There’s probably a Groundling guard somewhere. The moon illuminates the path, so I walk under the shade of the tree branches. There’s a luster ahead.

For a long time I thought the water hole glowed. Calli finally told me the moon—which I’ve heard can be as slim as a curled-up leaf or as spherical as a stone—reflects in the water hole below. It seems unfair, somehow. The sighted see not only the fickle moon, they see two.

The water sweeps softly onto the shore, then recedes, dancing with itself, careless who hears it. I hold under the cover of the forest, soaking in the sounds and scents of the night.

After a few minutes, I hear more deliberate movements in the treetops: the low thump of quiet footsteps along the walkway overhead. They stop above my head. A soft birdcall greets me. I wave, letting them know it’s safe.

The rope ladder dives toward me, bumping against the tree trunk as it falls, and I steady it as Peree descends. My heart pulses in my chest as he draws near. I feel like I’ve stolen these moments with him, moments we’ll have to eventually give back. I don’t want to steal time with him. I want it to be ours to keep.