Cara Faith Donvovan's Blog, page 61

Ripple Effect - Keri Lake

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EPISODE TWO: As a calculated assassin, Ripley thrives on always being in control. But when the woman he’s sworn to kill makes an offer he can’t refuse, his control is what he risks losing most.



Ripley

They call me RIP.
I’m a killer. A murderer. A psychopath.
In the eyes of the righteous, I’m a monster, born of sin and depravity.
I want to protect her, but I’m not a good man.
I want to love her, but I no longer feel.
She gets under my skin, though, and has awakened something inside of me.
Something I’d kill for.
I’m not her savior—not even close. In fact, I’m worse than the hell she’s already suffered.
I’m her vengeance. Tit for tat, as they say.
And if she’s not careful, I’ll be her ruin.

Dylan

For months, I’ve watched him.
I’ve fantasized him as my savior, my lover. My ticket out of the hell I’ve lived in for the last six years.
I never dreamed he’d be my nightmare.
Had I known what he really is, I’d have never gotten in the car that night, but life is full of cause and effect.
And sometimes the choice on offer isn’t a choice at all.
It’s the result of something already in motion, and we’re merely left to survive the ripple effect.

*This is an erotic suspense/erotic romance not recommended for readers under the age of 18 due to graphic violence and sex.

I open my eyes to the sting of sterile scents, like disinfectant and alcohol. A quick scan of my surroundings shows crisp white sheets, the cool fabric brushing against my legs—my bare legs. The dripping of water from before pounds louder, without the chasing echo. Scents. Sounds. Touch. As if my body has turned into a sharper frequency, everything around me seems more alive. More intense.   Attached to my left arm is an IV whose tube connects to a bag labeled saline, hanging off a hook sticking out from the wall. Two white patches are stuck to my arm, and I can’t begin to imagine what the hell they are. Maybe he mutilated me? What the hell is this guy, a doctor?   The stabbing pain from before has dulled to an ache of intense hunger or the craving of pills, I can’t discern. Nausea still grips me the same way it had when I drank too much cinnamon liquor one night and ended up at the side of the toilet with my sugar crashing. I’m not a diabetic or anything, but I remember Chanel gave me a glass of orange soda and the jitters disappeared. I feel cool and sweaty at the same time, clammy and exhausted.   I stare down at myself, noticing a thin white shirt. My bra has been removed along with my panties, leaving me naked beneath the oversized garment that must belong to my captor. The heavy comforter, far too elegant and plush for the mattress on which I’m lying, covers only my ankles, as if I’d kicked it off. Or someone else had.   What did he do while I was out?   I perform a quick mental rundown, only remembering flashes of the bathtub, which I’m certain was nothing but a dream. From my fingers to my toes, I concentrate on any pain. Wriggling my toes doesn’t point out a weird absence of one, flexing my calves, thighs, nothing. I attempt to pull my knees together, testing whether or not it produces an ache that might suggest he’d raped me, but chains keep me from crossing my legs.   In my pathetic assessment, I find there’s no damage, nothing to suggest mutilation of any sort. And no evidence of blood on the sheets.   With my arms still bound, I turn to the faint musky scent on my skin and breathe in the clean aroma. He did bathe me.   He. Rip.   His name loops over and over inside my head in some desperate bid for my conscious half to hang on to it. As if I’d forget the name of the killer who tied me to a wall in his dark and dingy basement.   My mouth is bone dry and I push a swallow past the burn in my throat.   The single light that illuminates my surroundings is both a blessing and a curse, as I begin to see things in the wall of darkness that separates my little halo. Hallucinations? Maybe. The drugs still swimming through my body certainly don’t rule out that possibility. A pale white spectral figure dangling from the ceiling shakes my core, and I screw my eyes shut, hoping it’ll fade away. The withdrawals have settled over me, commandeering my mind, and have me seeing things that don’t make sense.   Like the terrors of my youth.










Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. By day, she tries to make use of the degrees she's earned in science. By night, she writes dark contemporary, paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction on the many occasions distraction sucks her into the Land of Shiny Things.

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Twice as Hard (Amber Bardan) Chapter Reveal

Coming March 20th


































They caught me. Naked, shivering and dripping after a spontaneous swim in the forest. Two rugged men whose hard gazes captivated and scared me all at once.

They warned me. Told me I was on private property and I needed to obey the law…or I would be punished.

The idea of them both punishing me, pleasuring me, kept tormenting me. I couldn't want them. I shouldn't. But I did.

I didn't mean to trespass again. I thought I could retreat without notice. But they're coming for me.

To show me the pleasure in pain. To show me just how right forbidden can feel. And to love me twice as hard as I ever fantasized.















I run up the track. My thighs scream—but I can’t stop yet. Pain blazes from my blistered heels. The ground levels out. My sneakers slide on dirt.
Fuck.
The world disappears, dropping out only yards from where I’m stopped.
I go to my knees, gasping. The urge to vomit rises hard in my throat, yet the sight ahead pierces me almost as sharply as the burning in my lungs. The view from the peak of Hunter Mountain is everything I’ve been led to believe. I press my palms to the earth. Oh god, the air is good.
So damned good.
Fragrant and so clean I’ve only experienced its pale imitation from a bottle. Forest scent. Almost makes this worth it. Almost. I fill my lungs, and my racing heart slows a fraction. I drop onto my heels. Green rolling hills and the kind of quiet I’ve only imagined stretch out before me.
I shut my eyes. In my thirty-one years I’ve never experienced a moment of quiet like this. Where the loudest thing competing for my attention is the sound of me—my breath.
My galloping pulse.
There’s always been a background noise so ever present I never noticed it until this absence. Traffic. Street. People. The whine of electronics a constant hum.
Pity there’s not a moment of peace to be found.
Not now. Not like this. Not on my own.
Why’d he send me here?
Flapping jerks me out of my thoughts. I look up. Broad, dark wings beat overhead.
Holy crap. Is that an actual eagle? The huge bird soars over the ledge to hover above the ravine.
Hunting.
On Hunter Mountain. I drag my backpack off my shoulders, and open it up, fingers slipping into the inside pocket where the letter waits.
I roll onto my backside, and then peel back the seal from one side of the envelope to the other, glue stretching like cheese for a moment before snapping. My thumb pauses in the fold of the paper. I unfold the note a fraction at a time.

Congratulations, Baby, you made it.
Aren’t you glad you did?
Enjoy the view for half an hour. Set your timer, you impatient little thing. Then take the path to left, there’s something there I want you to see.

I scrunch the paper into a ball, and it’s only the abomination of littering in a place like this, that stops me from hurling it in the direction of the eagle.
That’s it?
I’ve come all this way, suffered through so much, for a hike?
Why’d he even bother? I’m not sure if this is him trying to hang on—or refusing to completely let go.
Neither answer is one I’m prepared to dwell on. So I gather together the remnants of my hopefulness and obey my husband, setting my timer exactly as he’s instructed. Then drink from my water bottle and eat an apple to pass time, because he’s right—I’m a very impatient thing.
The beep pings from my phone. With the nonexistent reception here, an alarm is about all the phone’s good for.
I tuck the phone away, slip the backpack on and stand. My legs give a jellied wobble, leaving me with a feeling of walking on bendy stilts. I circle the top of the mountain, then find a track on the left, the one he must’ve meant.
Do Not Enter, the sign reads.
Of course it does. I sigh and take the path, adjusting the straps of the bag and wondering what fresh torture he has in store for me.

One small mercy, walking down is a damn sight easier than running up.
I descend into the trees and the silence bleeds into a more organic quiet, where birds rustle, things move, and then…water rushes.
I pick up pace. Tired or not, I jog down the path toward the sound, then burst into a clearing.
The scent of water hits me.
I stare at the stream plunging over a hanging ledge. My eyes widen as if I could somehow take it in more. A real waterfall.
A heady mix of awe and joy floods me.
Bounced from one L.A. foster home to the next, vacations and sightseeing hadn’t been any part of my upbringing. I’d worked my ass off to get into college, then worked it even harder in my good, safe, secure bank job to pay off student loans—until him.
Until Dean came along and every plan I ever had went up in flames.
But this? Waterfall. Had I mentioned on one of our lazy Sunday mornings after he’d fucked me into exhaustion, how I’d always longed to see one?
My chest squeezes. Maybe this means he forgives me…
I take off the backpack and toss it onto the ground. Then tear off my top, kick off my shoes and peel off my socks. The late spring air has my nipples puckering, but I unhook my bra and let it fall where I stand.
He hasn’t instructed this part, but I can just see him imagining it when he wrote the note. He’d picture me unable to resist skinny dipping in the wilderness.
Had it made him hard when he’d told me to come this way?
I undo the button at my waist and peel off my jeans. My underwear goes next. Then I walk buck naked toward the water.
Of course he’d been hard.
He’d have known I’d do just this. My thighs squeeze. Heat moves through me. I’m naked out in the open without Dean and he can’t do a thing to stop me.
I climb onto a rock.
A laugh springs from my lips. The sound echoes back at me, clear and crisp and startling. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that sound.
I leap into the water.
Freezing cold slams into me. I resurface with a gasp. Oh, shit. The water’s not just cold it’s so icy it has teeth. Still, I do the thing I’ve always, always wanted to do, and swim to the waterfall. Foam and bubbles, and the current seem to force me back. A tremor of danger moves through me. It could be risky to try to swim through the waterfall.
I take a breath and dive underwater. Pressure pounds my back then dissipates. I emerge on the other side, and look up. The water curtains me from the outside world.
Sadly, no cave, but I climb onto the bit of rock ledge and watch for the brief moment before cold and self-preservation force me down.
That’s the thing about fantasy, you never dream these parts—the threat of hypothermia or how a slimy rock feels on your bare ass.
I dive back through the waterfall, and swim toward where I’ve left my things. My skin goes numb. A blanket of goose bumps coats my limbs. I collect my carelessly scattered clothes. Dirt and mossy chunks of forest floor cling to my feet and work up my ankles. My teeth chatter. I bend to retrieve my underwear and jeans.
Sound crunches behind me.
I spin, clothes clutched in my hands. A man stands in front of me, maybe six feet away. My heart seizes.
He stares, gaze raking over me as though he’s never seen a woman. From the looks of him maybe he never has. His beard is rough, dark and speckled with silver, but it’s the jaw underneath—clenched tight as he takes me in, that has my own teeth biting together. He’s built like someone who spends his days felling trees or wrestling grizzlies.
Or both.
My pulse mimics the sound of the waterfall, growing louder in my ears, until I don’t know which roar is which. That whole big body seems poised.
Set to pounce.
“I didn’t know anyone was here.” My voice emerges strangled and rusty.
He says nothing, but his gaze makes its way from where I clutch my things to my chest, then lands on mine.
His features set hungrily, tension thrumming tight through his expression in a way that makes me feel like a buffet that’s being presented at the very brink of starvation.
I can almost feel my heart beat against my forearms through the clothes I hold. Air moves in icy prickles over my naked thighs and between my legs. His attention moves there. To my uncovered cunt, which my bundle of clothes doesn’t hide.
His chest moves quickly, like he’s an animal under the heat of too much sun.
His fingers twitch at his sides. Big fingers. He has big fingers and big hands. Hands that would hold roughly. Fingers that would grab brutally.
And I can’t move. Can’t cover myself. Can’t conceal my most private area.
He takes a step—just one.
I jerk backward and stumble. My clothes tumble to the ground.
He looks at my chest. At my breasts, nipples puckered and strained. There’s a sensation rushing through me that reminds me of the brief period in my teens when I’d get high. A light-headedness that suspends me almost out of body.
He hisses, and comes for me.
A jolt of numbness plunges me back into frozen atrophy.
A blast rings out. Birds spring from trees.
A gunshot.















After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fuelled adrenaline haze, writing romance with a thriller edge.

She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.

Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.

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Win a Tears of Crimson T-Shirt

As my Kindle Scout campaign comes to an end, I thought I'd throw in a little incentive to vote for Immortal Embrace.  If you've already supported the campaign by voting, you can still enter, just let me know what name you voted under.  This sexy little tee comes in size small - 2x  and is open to residents of the US only (unless you are willing to pay for shipping).  I own this one so I can tell you it looks great.  This is my way of saying thanks for your support!

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Looking Back on Forever - Kat Alexander

Title: Looking Back On ForeverAuthor: Kat AlexanderGenre: Contemporary RomanceAVAILABLE NOW There are moments in time that stand out more than others: your first kiss, a special birthday party, seeing your baby for the first time, an intimate conversation, a first date, even something as little as sitting around a dining room table with friends. This is the story of the moments that stood out after I first laid eyes on Noah Gish. ~ Claire SawyerThe city, it used to be a place I loved and missed with an ache in my gut. It was home. The place where I grew up, where I had fun, where I had my friends, where life was as good as I knew it to be. Then I was shipped off to a place that begins the story of how I fell in love, just to screw everything up. ~ Noah Gish

The more I think back, the more I realize that I felt this pain, the loneliness, the isolation all my life. I forgot about it the year I was with Noah. Yet, now … Now that my year of happiness, my year of perfection, my year that, looking back, feels like a forever yet forever ago is over, all those memories and feelings have come back.

Literature is my passion. I like to challenge myself and grow in my writings. I have many unfinished books and some that have been published under a different name.  My passions include the arts: music, photography, writing, dance, painting, films, architecture—anything that is creation. There is not much I don't like; and if I don't like it, I at least appreciate the process it took place to create it. This is something incorporated in all my books. In my spare time, I enjoy being out in nature, traveling, spending time with family, and reading. I read everything, from contemporary to paranormal, and history to science. Learning is something very important to me. a Rafflecopter giveaway
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Seduction - Alana Sapphire

Title: SeductionSeries: Death Dealers MCSTAND ALONE NOVELAuthor: Alana SapphireGenre:  MC RomanceRelease Date: March 6, 2017 “It is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce.” – Voltaire Jon and Ellen want different things. One, a deeper connection, the other, no strings attached. He wants to settle down, but after losing the man she loves, she believes she’s incapable of loving another. With both playing for different prizes, who will win in this game of love? She wants his body, he wants her heart. Let the seduction begin.
BOOK ONE FREE FOR A LIMITED TIME https://www.alanasapphire.com/books
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International bestselling author Alana Sapphire has a great love for writing and music, and always finds a way to combine the two. Her books, though in various subcategories, are all in the Erotic Romance genre. Like a little suspense with your romance? So does Alana! Pick up one of her books and you’ll get romance, suspense, drama, and lots of sexy time. With books ranging from MC to paranormal, an Alana story is out there for you. Her characters are like old friends—near and dear to her heart—and she hopes for her readers to enjoy them as much as she does.
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Delayed Call - Toni Aleo

Coming March 20th
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Vaughn Johansson is the Nashville Assassins' star player. He's brash, cocky, and talented. And he isn't afraid to let anyone know it. He lives his life on his own terms, never forming romantic attachments, and only allowing his very closest to see his true, caring self.

Brie Soledad has the weight of the world on her shoulders. As the staff reporter for the Assassins, she balances a high-profile job and it's heavy travel schedule with being the sole provider for her adult brother with Down syndrome. Sure, she'd like to find love. But who has time for that when there are bills to pay?

Brie has been the match to Vaughn's gasoline since the day she first held out her microphone to him. They strike sparks off each other, keeping their friends, the team, and the Assassins fans in stitches. Brie’s refusal to fawn over Vaughn sets his teeth on edge and his blood boiling. Especially in that body part...

Brie's been let down by love before, but she knows she deserves nothing less than real, forever love. Vaughn's past has left deep, hidden scars, and there are some secrets he cannot bear to reveal. As much as Brie wants him, Vaughn may be too big a risk for her wary heart to take. But he’s is at his best under pressure. When the delayed call is in effect and he has no choice but to score, Vaughn always delivers.







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My name is Toni Aleo and I’m a total dork.
I am a wife, mother of two and a bulldog, and also a hopeless romantic.
I am the biggest Shea Weber fan ever, and can be found during hockey season with my nose pressed against the Bridgestone Arena’s glass, watching my Nashville Predators play!
When my nose isn’t pressed against the glass, I enjoy going to my husband and son’s hockey games, my daughter’s dance competition, hanging with my best friends, taking pictures, scrapbooking, and reading the latest romance novel.
I have a slight Disney and Harry Potter obsession, I love things that sparkle, I love the color pink, I might have been a Disney Princess in a past life… probably Belle.
… and did I mention I love hockey?

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Whore Gets a Face-Lift

Sometimes you just feel a little dirty, and need a change.  That's what happened to Whore.  This book needed a little polishing up, and so we decided on a face-lift.  All the great steamy love scenes are still inside, just a little rubbing away of the rough edges occurred. You'd be amazed at how much better you feel when you clean up your act a little!



Kindle Scout winner Michelle Hughes asks if a virgin can be a whore?

Laura Burns wasn't looking for a handout but when Taylor Ross showed up at her coffee shop offering her a job that would put some of her financial worries to rest, how could she refuse? She should have seen the signs. Taylor was gorgeous, cocky and 100% Alpha Male. For an innocent like Laura, she was in over her head before she even knew what hit her! Taylor always got what he wanted and she had unwittingly stepped into his game of dark seduction.

Taylor Ross had created an empire from his father's legacy and when Laura Burns showed up in his will she was immediately on his radar as a gold-digging whore. If she wanted what his family had worked so hard to acquire then she was going to have to work for it by proving she had the skills to live up to her preconceived reputation. Laura might look like a sweet, virtuous, young woman, but he knew the truth behind her scheme and was determined to make her pay.

He wanted her to embrace her inner whore and in doing so he would make all her dreams come true. There was only one problem with that scenario. Laura had never even slept with a man so becoming what he needed was impossible. Her entire life had been one struggle after another and on the verge of being homeless she asks herself one question. Can a virgin be a whore? With a man like Taylor maybe she could find that inner desire that had eluded her from having relationships before.
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Mister Wrong - Nicole Williams

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Cora Matthews grew up with the Adams boys, twin brothers and best friends who wouldn’t let anything come between them except for one thing—her. One of them became her best friend, the other, her fiancé.

She always knew she’d wind up marrying one of them, and Jacob Adams is the very epitome of Mister Right. At least he is up until he fails to show up for their wedding day. Not that Cora realizes it. At first.

As Jacob’s best man, and identical twin, Matt makes a split second decision, but one that will affect the three of their lives forever—he steps in to take his brother’s place. In front of the altar, exchanging vows with the woman he’s secretly been in love with for years.

Cora eventually finds out about the groom swap. The morning after the wedding. As if realizing she just slept with her fiance’s brother wasn’t disturbing enough, she’s forced to confront her feelings for Matt Adams she thought she’d buried years ago.

Matt’s wrong for her. In every way. But through the course of her real honeymoon with her fake husband, she starts to uncover truths both Adams brothers were hoping to keep hidden, for opposite reasons. One to protect himself, the other to protect her.

She married the wrong brother, but what if he’s been the right one all along?















“So?” I crossed my arms and leaned into the banister behind me. “Did you? Like my brother?”
She sighed, turning toward the open door. “Jacob . . .”
“What? It’s a fair question.” I shoved off the banister, feeling hope and heat tangling in my veins from the look on her face, from the sound of her voice. She’d felt something for me, whether it be the most passing of crushes or something much deeper. Realizing that had me feeling drunk from something other than alcohol. “Besides, you’re stuck with me now. Won’t matter what you ’fess up to.”
Cora started through the doorway. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Grabbing the suitcases, I followed her. I wasn’t letting this go. Never. Not if she threatened death or castration or anything else. “Why not?”
She broke to a sudden stop a few feet inside the room. “Because I don’t want to focus on the past. I want to concentrate on the future. That’s not going to work if you keep asking me questions about Matt.”
There was a sharpness in her voice—one she didn’t use too often. She didn’t want to keep talking about me, which only made me want to continue talking about me. I’d struck a nerve, but I wasn’t sure how deep that nerve went.
I needed to know how deep it went. I had to know. My whole life, I’d been under the impression that Cora saw me as nothing more than a good friend and substitute brother. She cared for me, but not in the same way I cared for her.
Or did she?
“This thing with Matt . . .”
Her back stiffened.
“Was it a thing? Like ancient history? Or is it still a thing?” I closed the door and wondered why I could feel my heartbeat in my eardrums.
She kept her back to me, standing in the middle of the dark room like a lone ship on a vast ocean. “I married you.”
Yeah, she did marry me.
“But if he’d made a play for you, way back before all of this”—I waved my finger between the two of us, not that she could see it—“would you have given him a chance?”
“He never made a play for me.” Her voice sounded faraway, like she was out of reach when she was less than an arm’s length away.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” I stepped closer. “If he had? Would you have?”
Her back was moving faster from her quickened breathing. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. Why was that?
“Stop, Jacob. Enough.” She spun on me, swaying in place just enough that I reached out to steady her. She shook my hand away like it was white-hot. “I’m not going to get into another fight with you over Matt. I’m done. I picked you. I married you. What else do I have to prove?”
“That you don’t—”
“I don’t love Matt!” Her arms flung out at her sides as her voice spilled across the room. ‘There. I said it. Are you happy now? Are you happy we’ve managed to get into another argument over this infatuation you’re convinced I have for your brother? On our wedding night of all times?” She glared at me with bleary eyes. I couldn’t tell if that was from tears or from alcohol. Maybe both.
“Cora, I’m sorry.” I ran my hands through my hair, wondering what in the hell I was doing—for the millionth time that day. Deceiving her, betraying her, and now accusing and angering her. Maybe I didn’t know the first fucking thing about love. Maybe Jacob knew more about it than I did, because I wasn’t sure love was supposed to hurt as badly as this did.
“Just . . . enough already.” As she shouldered past me, I reached for her, but she shook me off. “I need to be alone.”
She slammed the front door behind her a moment later, leaving me alone with my idiocy.
“Cora,” I called to an empty room. I wasn’t thinking when I rushed toward the door after her. “Cora!”
The moment I pulled the door open, something crashed into me. It made a sharp breath rush out of my mouth as I staggered back a few steps.
My arms barely had time to wrap around her before Cora’s mouth was on mine, moving in such a way that made staying upright next to impossible. Before I had a chance to catch up to the fact that I was kissing Cora in an entirely different way than we’d kissed at the wedding and reception, her fingers were working at my belt. Quickly.
I didn’t know she’d already gotten it undone before she’d moved on to my zipper. The sounds she was making as she kissed me, the way her body felt aligned against mine, the way her mouth knew the intricate balance of submission and domination . . . one moment at a time, Cora was crushing the last remnants of my resolve. Destroying the final pieces of my views of right and wrong.


































Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.
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Proper Irish - Zeia Jameson

BUY LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NAYG0IS 
Stella Rosencourt is the premier event coordinator of Savannah’s elite. With her biggest event of the year ahead - the Mayor's St. Patrick's Day ball - she has little time for distractions. But the mysterious Padraig MacNamara and his lush Irish accent are definitely proving to be a distraction. Padraig MacNamara is an inked enigma. A man of few words who crashes in the back room of the Jaded Lily tattoo parlor and associates with questionable people around town. Stella is convinced he has a vendetta against her but over what, she doesn’t know. Her instincts are warning her to stay away. Her curiosity is begging her to figure him out. What happens when you’re wickedly attracted to the person you hate the most?




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Salem's Curse - Sydney Bristow

Title: Salem's CurseSeries: The Soul-Shifter Chronicles #1Author: Sydney BristowGenre: NA Urban FantasyRelease Date: February 18, 2017 Brilliant witch. Socially awkward. The last protector of the human race. So yeah, that’s me: Celestina Sykes. Now seriously, how can I save humanity when I practically go into panic attack mode just talking with a stranger? And guys? Yeah, right! I’ve never even kissed one, much less went on a date.Not only that, but my witch-bitch Granny stole my memory of the week someone killed my mom, which was around the same time I mysteriously aged two years within a couple minutes, and you get an idea how awesome my life is. All told, I’ve got a few days to figure out whom to trust, finally make some friends who can help with this whole end-of-the-world-thing, and my social calendar is kinda booked. But hey, wish me luck…and multiply that by infinity because I think I’m gonna need it.

"Did you know,” Granny said in monotone, “that you are not eighteen years of age?” I replayed her statement in my mind, and…I sensed she believed the words she spoke, no matter how ridiculous they sounded. “The week your mother died,” she continued, “you physically aged two years…within an hour.” Granny looked at me, plain-faced, her mouth closed with no intention of saying another word. “What’re you talking about?” I asked, my lips lifting at the absurdity. “You sound like a lunatic.” “Do I look like a lunatic?” “Yes! Always. It’s your thing.”

Sydney writes about the type of women that populate the world. Well, okay, maybe they're not witches, vampires, and shifters, but you know - the strong, smart, and witty type. HOSTED BY:
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