Thursday, September 18, 2014

There's Always a Story to Tell

Awake was great fun to write, but now I'm finishing up the touches on my first full-length novel!

It's a dark story with a twist (of course!)--and I'm hoping it gets the same rave reviews Awake has been blessed with!

The Premise for (working title) To Hold and to Keep:

Hazel Loveless is a struggling single mother. A new job opportunity takes her to the troubled town of St. Jerome--where the most infamous resident is a millionaire widower who seldom leaves the mansion he shared with his beloved wife. But Hazel's own fate is suddenly in jeopardy when she realizes that an invitation to the home of John Stonem is actually her kidnapping.

John Stonem is a man who's been madly grieving for his dead wife for decades. He spends his days tormented by the promise his wife made to him right before she died--that if anything ever happened to her, she would find her way back to him. Fate spins its web when John sees Hazel--a woman whose face is unmistakably the same as his wife's.

John will do anything to undo the pain of the past. Even if that means holding Hazel hostage forever.

As I put the finishing touches on this work, I'm continually humbled by the positive feedback for Awake! Thank you to all who have loved this story! I hope you come along for another wild ride!

Set in the Midwest, tornado survivor Eve Cleary is racked with guilt after her family dies. When all hope of moving on seems lost, an equally tormented incubus comes to her rescue.

The sirens stopped soon after the last roar of thunder ended, but he made no move to release her. The clouds were lifting, and there was more light in the basement now, courtesy of the open door upstairs. Eve could see that his skin was not exactly flesh-colored. It bore a silver haze. And his eyes, in that moment, looked violet instead of red.

She looked up into his face. He stared back at her, just as intently. He had rescued her. He was the reason her nightmares hadn’t returned. And whatever he was, she was inexplicably drawn to him. Without thought or reason, she leaned up and lightly touched her lips to his.

It wasn’t meant as an act of passion, but of gratitude. And relief. His lips were so warm and soft that she kissed him again. This time, his lips seemed to mold against hers, and the way his arms held her changed. Cupping her head with one hand, he gently placed her on the floor; his free hand began gliding up her body. He groaned at her wet clothes, but delighted her by teasing her taut nipples through the wet material.

Then it was too much—the storm, the stranger, the flashes of past horror. Eve was suddenly overwhelmed in a different way. She broke the kiss and sat up to face him. He backed away from her, stepping out of the light.

“Who are you?” What are you?

“My name is Victor,” he growled.

And a word filled her mind, as if her other, unspoken, question had been answered. But it was a frightening word that only existed in fairytales. And nightmares.

Or did it?