Blog Tour ~ Blue Bloods: After Life by Melissa De La Cruz (Excerpt + Giveaway)

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the BLUE BLOODS: AFTER LIFE by Melissa de la Cruz Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

  About the Book:


Author: Melissa de la Cruz

Pub. Date: July 12, 2022

Publisher: Disney-Hyperion

Formats: Hardcover, eBook

Pages: 352

Find it: GoodreadsAmazon, Kindle, B&NiBooks, KoboTBD,

The Blue Bloods are back…more fanged and fabulous than ever.

After defeating Lucifer and sacrificing the love of her life, Jack, Schuyler wakes up back in New York safe and sound. Only it’s not quite the New York she knows, and she’s not in her regular body. She looks different and feels different and so does everyone else. Schuyler soon discovers that in this world, her best friend has a different last name, her parents are both alive and well and one of them is an entirely different person, and the love of her life? Not so dead after all. The catch? Jack has no idea who she is.

As it turns out, Schuyler is not in her New York. She’s not even in her universe. This is an alternate reality. One where Lucifer is alive and well and acting as mayor of New York, Blue Bloods are luring humans to clinics to drain their blood, and Jack is Lucifer’s right hand man. Just when she thinks all is lost, Schuyler is contacted by a familiar friend―the Silver Blood, Kingsley. The Kingsley from her world. He actually remembers the Schuyler she used to be! But he also has a theory, and it’s one she doesn’t like. That Schuyler was sent here to defeat Lucifer. Again. And that she’s the only person in this universe or any universe that can defeat him.

New to the BLUE BLOODS world? Read the original series and the spin off books now!

Stream the WITCHES ON
EAST END TV series on Hulu
or watch on Prime Video!



Catherine Carver’s Diary

21st of November, 1620

The Mayflower 

It has been a difficult winter. The sea does not agree with John, and we are always cold. Perhaps we will find peace in this new land, although many believe we have not left danger behind. Outside my window, the coastline resembles Southampton, and 

for that I am grateful. I will always long for  home, but our kind are no longer safe there. I myself  do not believe the rumors, but we must do as instructed. It has always been our way. John and  I are traveling as husband and wife now. We are planning on marrying soon. There are far too few of  us, and more are needed if we are to survive. Perhaps things will change. Perhaps good fortune will shine on us, and our situation will ameliorate. The ship has anchored. We have landed. A new world awaits! 


New York City The Present


The Bank was a decrepit stone building at the tail end of Houston Street, on the last divide  between the gritty East Village and the wilds of the Lower  East Side. Once the headquarters of the venerable Van Alen  investment and brokerage house, it was an imposing, squat  presence, a paradigm of the beaux-arts style, with a classic  six-column façade and an intimidating row of “dentals”— razor-sharp serrations on the pediment’s surface. For many  years it stood on the corner of Houston and Essex, desolate,  empty, and abandoned, until one winter evening when an  eye-patch–wearing nightclub promoter chanced upon it after  polishing off a hot dog at Katz’s Deli. He was looking for a  venue to showcase the new music his DJs were spinning—a dark, haunted sound they were calling “Trance.” 

The pulsing music spilled out to the sidewalk, where  Schuyler Van Alen, a small, dark-haired fifteen-year-old girl, whose bright blue eyes were ringed with dark kohl eye  shadow, stood nervously at the back of the line in front of  the club. She picked at her chipping black nail polish. “Do  you really think we’ll get in?” she asked. 

“No sweat,” her best friend, Oliver Hazard-Perry  replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Dylan guaranteed a cakewalk.  Besides, we can always point to the plaque over there. Your  family built this place, remember?” He grinned. 

“So what else is new?” Schuyler smirked, rolling her  eyes. The island of Manhattan was linked inexorably to her  family history, and as far as she could tell, she was related  to the Frick Museum, the Van Wyck Expressway, and the  Hayden Planetarium, give or take an institution (or major  thoroughfare) or two. Not that it made any difference in her  life. She barely had enough to cover the twenty-five dollar  charge at the door. 

Oliver affectionately swung an arm around her shoulders. “Stop worrying! You worry too much. This’ll be fun,  I promise.” 

“I wish Dylan had waited for us,” Schuyler fretted, shivering in her long black cardigan with holes in each elbow.  She’d found the sweater in a Manhattan Valley thrift store  last week. It smelled like decay and stale rosewater per fume, and her skinny frame was lost in its voluminous folds.  Schuyler always looked like she was drowning in fabric. The  black sweater reached almost to her calves, and underneath  she wore a sheer black T-shirt over a worn gray thermal undershirt; and under that, a long peasant skirt that swept  the floor. Like a nineteenth century street urchin, her skirt  hems were black with dirt from dragging on the sidewalks.  She was wearing her favorite pair of black-and-white Jack  Purcell sneakers, the ones with the duct-taped hole on the  right toe. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back with a beaded  scarf she’d found in her grandmother’s closet. 

Schuyler was startlingly pretty, with a sweet, heart shaped face; a perfectly upturned nose; and soft, porcelain  skin—but there was something almost insubstantial about  her beauty. She looked like a Dresden doll in witch’s clothing. Kids at the Duchesne School thought she dressed like a  Dickensian urchin. It didn’t help that she was painfully shy  and kept to herself, because then they just thought she was  stuck-up, which she wasn’t. She was just quiet. 

Oliver was tall and slim, with a fair, elfin face that was  framed by a shag of brilliant chestnut hair. He had sharp  cheekbones and sympathetic hazel eyes. He was wearing  a severe military greatcoat over a flannel shirt and a pair  of holey blue jeans. Of course, the flannel shirt was John  Varvatos and the jeans from Citizens of Humanity. Oliver  liked to play the part of disaffected youth, but he liked shopping in SoHo even more. 

The two of them had been best friends ever since the  second grade, when Schuyler’s nanny forgot to pack her  lunch one day, and Oliver had given her half of his lettuce  and mayo sandwich. They finished each other’s sentences and liked to read aloud from random pages of Infinite Jest when they were bored. Both were Duchesne legacy kids who  traced their ancestry back to the Mayflower. Schuyler counted  six U.S. presidents in her family tree alone. But even with  their prestigious pedigrees, they didn’t fit in at Duchesne.  Oliver preferred museums to lacrosse, and Schuyler never  cut her hair and wore things from consignment shops. 

Dylan Ward was a new friend—a sad-faced boy with  long lashes, smoldering eyes, and a tarnished reputation.  Supposedly, he had a rap sheet and had just been sprung  from military school. His grandfather had reportedly bribed  Duchesne with funds for a new gym to let him enroll. He  had immediately gravitated toward Schuyler and Oliver,  recognizing their similar misfit status. 

Schuyler sucked in her cheeks and felt a pit of anxiety  forming in her stomach. They’d been so comfortable just  hanging out in Oliver’s room as usual, listening to music  and flipping through the offerings on his TiVo; Oliver booting up another game of Vice City on the split screen, while  she rifled through the pages of glossy magazines, fantasizing  that she, too, was lounging on a raft in Sardinia, dancing the  flamenco in Madrid, or wandering pensively through the  streets of Bombay. 

“I’m not sure about this,” she said, wishing they were  back in his cozy room instead of shivering outside on the  sidewalk, waiting to see if they would pass muster at the door. “Don’t be so negative,” Oliver chastised. It had been his idea to leave the comfort of his room to brave the New York  nightlife, and he didn’t want to regret it. “If you think we’ll  get in, we’ll get in. It’s all about confidence, trust me.” Just  then, his BlackBerry beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket  and checked the screen. “It’s Dylan. He’s inside, he’ll meet  us by the windows on the second floor. Okay?” 

“Do I really look all right?” she asked, feeling suddenly  doubtful about her clothes. 

“You look fine,” he replied automatically. “You look  great,” he said, as his thumbs jabbed a reply on the plastic  device. 

“You’re not even looking at me.” 

“I look at you every day.” Oliver laughed, meeting her  eye, then uncharacteristically blushing and looking away.  His BlackBerry beeped again, and this time he excused himself, walking away to answer it. 

Across the street, Schuyler saw a cab pull up to the curb,  and a tall blond guy stepped out of it. Just as he emerged,  another cab barreled down the street on the opposite side.  It was swerving recklessly, and at first it looked like it would  miss him, but at the last moment, the boy threw himself in  its path and disappeared underneath its wheels. The taxicab  never even stopped, just kept going as if nothing happened. 

“Oh my God!” Schuyler screamed. 

The guy had been hit—she was sure of it—he’d been  run over—he was surely dead. 

“Did you see that?” she asked, frantically looking around for Oliver, who seemed to have disappeared. Schuyler ran  across the street, fully expecting to see a dead body, but the  boy was standing right in front of her, counting the change  in his wallet. He slammed the door shut and sent his taxi on  its way. He was whole and unhurt. 

“You should be dead,” she whispered. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, a quizzical smile on his face. Schuyler was a little taken aback—she recognized him  from school. It was Jack Force. The famous Jack Force. One  of those guys—head of the lacrosse team, lead in the school  play, his term paper on shopping malls published in Wired,  so handsome she couldn’t even meet his eye. 

Maybe she was dreaming things. Maybe she just thought she’d seen him dive in front of the cab. That had to be it.  She was just tired. 

“I didn’t know you were a dazehead,” she blurted awkwardly, meaning a Trance acolyte. 

“I’m not, actually. I’m headed over there,” he explained,  motioning to the club next door to The Bank, where a very  intoxicated rock star was steering several giggling groupies  past the velvet rope. 

Schuyler blushed. “Oh, I should have known.” He smiled at her kindly. “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why apologize? How would you have known that? You  read minds or something?” he asked. 

“Maybe I do. And maybe it’s an off day.” She smiled. 

He was flirting with her, and she was flirting back. Okay,  so it was definitely just her imagination. He had totally not  thrown himself in front of the cab. 

She was surprised he was being so friendly. Most of the  guys at Duchesne were so stuck-up, Schuyler didn’t bother  with them. They were all the same—with their Duck Head  chinos and their guarded nonchalance, their bland jokes and  their lacrosse field jackets. She’d never given Jack Force more  than a fleeting thought—he was a junior, from the planet  Popular; they might go to the same school but they hardly  breathed the same air. And after all, his twin sister was the  indomitable Mimi Force, whose one goal in life was to make  everyone else’s miserable. “On your way to a funeral?”  “Who died and made you homeless?” were some of Mimi’s  unimaginative insults directed her way. Where was Mimi,  anyway? Weren’t the Force twins joined at the hip? 

“Listen, you want to come in?” Jack asked, smiling and  showing his even, straight teeth. “I’m a member.” Before she could respond, Oliver materialized at her side.  Where had he come from? Schuyler wondered. And how  did he keep doing that? Oliver demonstrated a keen ability  to suddenly show up the minute you didn’t want him there.  “There you are, my dear,” he said, with a hint of reproach. Schuyler blinked. “Hey, Ollie. Do you know Jack?” “Who doesn’t?” Oliver replied, pointedly ignoring him.  “Babe, you coming?” he demanded in a proprietary tone.  “They’re finally letting people in.” He motioned to The Bank, where a steady stream of black-clad teenagers were  being herded through the fluted columns. 

“I should go,” she said apologetically. 

“So soon?” Jack asked, his eyes dancing again. “Not soon enough,” Oliver added, smiling threateningly. Jack shrugged. “See you around, Schuyler,” he said,  pulling up the collar on his tweed coat and walking in the  opposite direction. 

“Some people,” Oliver complained, as they rejoined their  line. He crossed his arms and looked annoyed. Schuyler was silent, her heart fluttering in her chest. Jack Force knew her name. 

They inched forward, ever closer to the drag queen with  the clipboard glaring imperiously behind the velvet rope.  The Elvira clone sized up each group with a withering stare,  but no one was turned away. 

“Now, remember, if they give us any trouble, just be cool  and think positive. You have to visualize us getting in, okay?”  Oliver whispered fiercely. 

Schuyler nodded. They walked forward, but their progress was interrupted by a bouncer holding up a big meaty  paw. “IDs!” he barked. 

With shaking fingers, Schuyler retrieved a driver’s license with someone else’s name—but her own picture— on its laminated surface. Oliver did the same. She bit her lip. 

She was so going to get caught and thrown in jail for this.  But she remembered what Oliver had said. Be cool. Confident.  Think positive. 

The bouncer waved their IDs under an infrared machine,  which didn’t beep. He paused, frowning, and held their IDs  up for inspection, giving the two of them a doubtful look. 

Schuyler tried to project a calm she didn’t feel, her heart  beating fast underneath her thin layers. Of course I look  twenty-one. I’ve been here before. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that ID, she thought. 

The bouncer slid it under the machine again. The big  man shook his head. “This isn’t right,” he muttered. Oliver looked at Schuyler, his face pale. Schuyler thought  she was going to faint. She had never been so nervous in  her life. Minutes ticked by. People behind them in line made  impatient noises. 

Nothing wrong with that ID. Cool and confident. Cool and confident. She visualized the bouncer waving them through, the  two of them entering the club. LET US IN. LET US IN. LET  US IN. JUST LET US IN! 

The bouncer looked up, startled, almost as if he’d heard  her. It felt as though time had stopped. Then, just like that,  he returned their cards and waved them forward, just as  Schuyler had pictured. 

Schuyler exhaled. She and Oliver exchanged a restrained  look of glee. 

They were inside.

 About Melissa:

Melissa de la Cruz is the author of the #1 New York Times best-selling Descendants series, as well as many other best-selling novels, including Alex & Eliza and all the books in the Blue Bloods series: Blue BloodsMasqueradeRevelationsAfter Life, The Van Alen LegacyKeys to the RepositoryMisguided Angel, Bloody Valentine, Lost in Time, and Gates of Paradise. She lives in Los Angeles, California, with her husband and daughter.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will win a finished copy of BLUE BLOODS: AFTER LIFE, US Only.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:


Sadie’s Spotlight



BookHounds YA


Week Two:


#BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog



Ya Books Central



Kait Plus Books



What A Nerd Girl Says






Two Chicks on Books





Week Three:


Rajiv’s Reviews



Fire and Ice



Lady Hawkeye



One More Exclamation



Living in a Bookworld






Lifestyle of Me


Week Four:


Nagma |










Review/IG Post





Eye-Rolling Demigod’s Book Blog



Books and Zebras


Week Five:



Review/TikTok Post


More Books Please blog



The Momma Spot



A Bookish Dream



Two Points of Interest






Books a Plenty Book


Week Six:





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