Book Blast & Giveaway! Shift of Shadow and Soul by Hilary Thompson

Shift of Shadow and Soul
by Hilary Thompson
Series: SoulShifter #1
Publication date: May 22nd 2017
by Star Shadow Books
Category: YA
Genre: Epic Fantasy

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There are three kinds of magic in the world, and Corentine has the wrong one.

Long ago, the Restless King forced Corentine’s people into hiding as he scoured their blood for the SoulShifter. When Corentine learns she possesses some of the forbidden Shifter magic, she must hide her power or risk the same death her twin suffered.

Raised to trust no-one, she rejects the General’s son Sy, until she realizes his family secrets might be the key to unlocking hers. When his brother turns against them, they are forced to fight family to save what’s left of their home, or accept banishment to find a new future.

If Coren and Sy can’t convince their people to accept the light of Shifter magic, the growing Shadow will ruin everyone’s chance of freedom.

Travel this richly imagined world with a diverse cast that readers have compared to fantasy favorites like Sarah J Maas and Leigh Bardugo.

Sulit Witch
Weshen Shifter
Umbren Shadow

When dark meets light, will all become Shadow?


“There,” Corentine said, interrupting his thoughts. She pointed at a speck in the distance. “That might be it. This is where I saw it, anyway, here on the upper plain.”
The bird was too far away to be sure, but even from a distance, it did seem larger than any common creature. Sy moved in front of her, readying his bow sword. He expected Corentine to retreat close to the rocky path, under cover of the cliffs, but she followed him out into the tall grasses and bright meadow flowers.
He turned in a partial circle, scanning the now-empty sky. As his gaze finally rested back on her, his breathing quickened. She was bent over, her braid sliding across one shoulder. Her dress was gathered to her hip on one side, revealing a tanned, muscled thigh and that incredibly intimate tattoo – the snakka that wound from the curve of her calf to a place still beneath the fabric.
Suddenly her face snapped up and her eyes locked onto his, as searing as a goshen berry.
“Um, your tattoo,” Sy managed, guilt flushing his skin.
She straightened, and he almost thought she might run. Then another satisfied smile quirked her lips. She reached down and pressed her palm to her thigh.
The tattoo slipped, slid, coiling down her leg. And Sy’s jaw went slack.
She twisted the whip into a handful of loose circles and cocked her head at him. “Not a tattoo,” she answered.
He felt like he was being measured, and he had the hollow fear that he might come up lacking.
“I’ll send a message if I see the Vespa again,” she said, then turned and jogged across the plain, toward a gap in the far cliffs. Sy knew that way lead back to the women’s village, so all he could do was stare after her.
There was a distinct sensation that she’d pulled him here on purpose, as though luring an animal from its den to learn its secrets. His face stretched into a grin at the realization that she was a skilled hunter as well.
He explored the perimeter of the plain a few minutes longer, staying in the shadow of the cliff in case the creature reappeared. But there was nothing.
Just as he’d reached the path leading back to camp, though, he heard a creature’s screech, and it was a sound he would always know. A sound that was imprinted in the survival part of his brain. He should run away. Far away.
But even as the flight adrenaline coursed through him, Sy’s logical brain insisted there was no way a Vespa was on the island.
But he heard it again. And then something else: a human shriek.
His feet began running before he told them to, seeking the sound.
His heart nearly exploded when he rounded a corner and found a full-grown Vespa flapping at the air, and Corentine pinned against a rocky outcropping on the smaller plain, just where he had cornered her the previous day. The water could never save her now. The Vespa had begun circling her, rising higher in the air with each revolution.
Hunters called it the death spiral, and nobody survived the creature’s plummet – often the impact burst their bodies open.
Sy aimed his bow sword and trained it on the Vespa, waiting for it to reach full height and begin to speed back toward the plain. He would only get one shot, and he must not pull the trigger too early, or the arrow would not fly high enough.
Why didn’t she run? It wouldn’t have made a difference, but he thought she would at least try to save herself.
The creature screamed in triumph and dove, a blur of swollen belly and shimmering white wings. Corentine yelled back wordlessly, cracking her whip at the air.
Instinct born from years of training pulled the trigger of the bow sword, and Sy’s arrow flew true, aimed directly at the creature’s heart.
Then the Vespa vanished.
A pop resonated through the air, bouncing off the cliffs, and a shimmer of dust and iridescent droplets rained down on the quiet plain. The unused arrow clattered to the ground.
The Vespa was gone. Disappeared. And Corentine was slumped back against the rock like a sacrifice.
Sy sprinted to her, a dark shroud of confusion and fear hazing across his soul.
And somewhere deep in the southern Sulit woods, far beyond where the MagiSea drained into the Hungry River, a heart began to beat again. A pale pink leaf drifted down from the trees above, followed by another, until the colors of sunrise papered the ground.
A woman – a witch – so ancient and unmoving as to have nearly melted into the ground where she waited, keeping watch over the heart, began to cackle. The sound started as a dry whisper, the air pushing cobwebs from her throat until the noise grew to reach even the starbirds perched in the branches above.
“It begins,” she rasped, stroking a long, dirty fingernail across the crystal box where the heart lay, shuddering in its struggle to regain rhythm.
A snakka thicker around than a man’s waist, fangs glistening in the half-light of the forest floor, wound its way around her elbow. She bent to whisper to it, and to the dust-dulled crowen that hopped onto her knee.
“Tell the others.”

~About the Author~

Hilary used to be such a practical girl. Then she let the stories out.
Now she creates worlds, people, and problems that are grounded in real life, if you accept that real life has magic around every turn.
Hilary was born to parents who made a habit of taking roads less traveled. But she was also a first child, and an independent, willful child, so she’s made a habit of taking a few roads on her own.
Now she teaches Creative Writing, English, and AP Literature, writes whenever and wherever she can, and reads as much as her eyes can handle. She plays superheroes and dress up games and reads books in bed with her own independent, willful children, and plays at homesteading and world traveling with her wonderful soulmate of a husband. She tends to ignore laundry and dirty dishes.

Hilary’s Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads


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Wife, homeschooling mom, YA author of paranormal, dark fantasy, and horror, huge fan of the Oxford comma, book blogger, crafter, baker of sweet things, lover of the culinary arts, self-appointed zombie slayer.