It’s very hard to find unusual and different stories. This one is not. BUT. The synopsis, hence the author’s writing style, is fresh, engaging, and direct (a quality I deeply value). Then I read the execerpt and what do you know, by the end of it you’ll think, just like I did, “eh, fresh ideas and over-the-top plots are overrated, when the writing is solid and interesting”.
The story is Knight (Sons of the Alpha Book 1) by Addison Carmichael, a Paranormal Romance released yesterday.
Alexia Raine has a major problem. She’s being stalked by very dangerous men for some unknown reason, but one that will turn her entire world on its axis.
Neil Duran has five major problems.
Just when he’s closing in on a vicious werewolf hunter that is kidnapping, torturing and killing their people, he’s pulled from the case by his High Alpha, Rob Bryant, to locate and return the daughter of their most valuable and gifted shifter. If he doesn’t, their entire Wolf Pack in the Pacific Northwest might collapse and lose all hard-won territory, shifting the balance of powers and throwing the entire were-kind species into a world war.
Problem one—Alexia Raine never knew her real father.
Problem two—She doesn’t even know that shifters or were-kind exist.
Problem three—Their rival Pack wants her and will stop at nothing to acquire her for several unspeakable reasons.
Problem four—She’s the most aggravating, infuriating, intoxicating woman he’s had the displeasure to rescue. And he may very well be falling in love with her.
Problem five—A wolf always finds and protects his mate.
Alexia Raine stood frozen from fear or shock or disbelief, unable to move or scream as she stared down at the bloody heap that was her fellow surgical intern and boyfriend. For all of her training, she couldn’t even reach down to feel for a pulse. She only gaped at his eyes staring back—fixed, dilated, glassy.
“Out of my way, kid.”
The disturbance jolted her out of that horrific memory and back to the present. She might’ve even thanked the obnoxious Cretan cutting in front of her in the Starbucks line for it, except the bulky, smelly man nudged in front of a teenager as well.
“Hey, you can’t cut in line!” the boy protested.
“I was here just a minute ago.”
It was the end of a grueling week medical assisting for her uncle who had a general practice in the outskirts of San Diego. She was just grabbing a vanilla latte before heading to her apartment a few blocks away. Now she wished she hadn’t even stopped at the coffeehouse.
“No, you weren’t,” the kid.
“I was, and now I’m back. Get over it.”
Alexia might’ve let it pass like everyone else in line. Until the boy nudged his way ahead of the man who then physically shoved him aside.
“Hey, jerk face, leave the kid alone and go to the end of the line,” she yelled at him.
The man snarled back at her. “Shut up and mind your own business, girl.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Look, Bad Grandpa, if you don’t step back, I’ll give you a shove in the right direction myself.”
“Just keep your godda—Arrh!”
His arms shot out as steaming coffee splashed down his polo shirt as a four-pack of Grande drips was dumped onto him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the lady who lost her load raced out, frantically dabbing his shirt with a bundle of napkins. “Really, I don’t know—!”
“Just get off me!” he shot back, pushing her away.
Alexia should have felt bad for him, but the guy really deserved it. The look on his face was priceless too, making her snicker.
He splashed her with a rough shake of his arms. “What, you think this is funny, bitch?”
One of her worst traits—she didn’t take insults well. And no one called her the B-word who didn’t want to pick his dentures out of the glass entrance door.
Fury prickled her eyes and ears as heat flooded her face and radiated all the way through her veins and down to her fists now clenched at her sides.
“Have a nice fall on your way out,” she stated hard and deadly through gritted teeth.
Instantly the old man was airborne.
There was a thud and airy “oof” as he landed flat on his back in a puddle of coffee. Two seconds later he was yelling bloody-murder.
The baristas went into action, two picking up phones as the others circled around the counter. He thrashed about in his liquid mess like an overturned turtle while threatening legal action as a few do-gooders tried to help.
Panicking, Alexia shoved through the crowd as fast as she could, then locked herself in the restroom. Within seconds she vomited everything but her socks, the dry heaves leaving her flushed and sweaty.
Slightly better, she splashed icy water on her face, rinsed the sour bile from her mouth, then breathed deeply several times as she gripped the edge of the porcelain sink.
“Just a coincidence, Alexia. Not your fault,” she whispered.
Not that it alleviated her guilt any. Not that she had even touched the guy. So, of course, it wasn’t her fault. Of course not.
Just because she wanted to humiliate the old man for being such an obnoxious, entitled jerk and hot coffee happened to dump all over him at that very moment, it didn’t mean anything.
And okay, she also wished that he would fall on his butt after that nasty crack, and he did, hard, it didn’t mean…He probably just slipped on the wet floor. Just a coincidence, that’s all.
Unfortunately, Alexia Raine didn’t believe in coincidences.
And this hadn’t been the first time.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, then reopened them to look up at her reflection in the dim mirror, gasping at the swirling kaleidoscope of color in her irises—blue, green, gray, lavender, pink. She blinked hard and pinched her eyes until the weird prickly sensation calmed down. When she checked them again, they were light gray as normal.
Okay, what the Sam frigging Hill was that?
An optical illusion maybe?
Probably. Of course.
Brought on by stress mixed with bad fluorescent lighting and the dark walls all Starbucks stores insist on painting themselves to appear trendy.
Alexia leaned closer to the mirror for a better look when spotting another dark, silvery streak of hair, this one framing her right cheek. Added to all the recent others, it looked like she had highlighted her shoulder length blond hair.
The first one appeared six months ago, but the others started a few weeks back after her twenty-fifth birthday. Too minor an issue to ask her uncle about. Too weird to completely ignore though.
Beauty and Her Beast ~ Prequel to Sons of the Alpha – Knight
A tale as old as time–with a Paranormal twist!
Rebecca Hartford hates Valentine’s Day. That is, until the mysterious, attractive Erik Leonid bursts into the café where she sits eating alone that afternoon. Then her entire world, and all of her preconceptions, turns upside-down and will never be the same. That means learning to love someone from the inside-out regardless of her fears and those seeking to harm them both for their forbidden relationship.
She only hopes it will be enough.
About the Author
Addison Carmichael has been a storyteller since she was a young girl. Even then every tale she imagined had a romantic element that grabbed front and center. She is absolutely in love with love—giving it, receiving it, then sending it back out into the world. She believes there is something miraculous and supernatural about true love in every form, and incorporates this magical element into all of her stories.
Besides reading and writing (blissful addictions), Addison loves the mountains and ocean, and enjoys hiking, camping, horseback riding and star gazing. She also bakes, knits and sews, which she never has enough time for. She attempted mastering several musical instruments, singing, painting, photography, dancing and archery, but always returned to writing and storytelling as the “one true love” of her life.
Addison was born and raised in Southern California and has lived and traveled all over the west coast (and the world), now living happily-ever-after with her family in the Pacific Northwest in Snohomish, Washington.
I had the pleasure to talk with Addison, and here’s how the chat went.
What are common traps for aspiring writers?
To think that they’ll ever “arrive”. When they don’t achieve instant mega success, they want to give up (trust me—been there, felt that tons of times). Writing is a lifelong marathon, not a quick rewarding sprint. Do it because you have to, not because you’re looking for fame or fortune. Yes, there are plenty of one-and-done’s who have made millions off their single title, never to write again. But in my opinion, they’re not real writers, and most of the time they gained their success with the help of big business pushing a product. It wasn’t who they were as a person, deep inside at the core of their soul where it really counts. If so, they couldn’t stop until the next 20 books flowed from their heads.
How long on average does it take you to write a book?
It varies, of course, but I’m a very fast writer depending on the availability of time. I can easily pump out a decent first draft in a couple of months (as long as I don’t start side-writing other things). But I was always taught that the best writer is a re-writer, so I’m always going back and layering in things and polishing things up. Then I let it sit a while and season while my Beta reader is evaluating it. Then I go back and re-read it myself, then finish it off. Although every author can attest that it’s difficult to ever stop a project completely, so you just have to force yourself to say “enough” and move onto the next project.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
For me, no. Never experienced it. I have way too many stories bubbling around in my noggin. However, I do get stuck at some points when I’m writing. That’s when I either jump ahead to the next scene and go back later, or set the entire novel aside, then pick up one of my other stories and write something else. Usually that gives me inspiration for the previous story, and I pick it back up and soldier onward.
What is your writing Kryptonite?
Interruptions. Particularly when the writing muse is sitting on my shoulder and I can’t type fast enough. But that’s life as a full time working wife and mother whose son just informed me that he has a science project due tomorrow, and I need to run to the store for art supplies (right as I was getting to the good part too!). Then after finishing, sit back down to my computer, get the writing juices flowing again, and my husband kindly asks me to review the presentation for his staff meeting tomorrow (pretty please with sugar on top). Then the baby cries out that brother said he was a poopy face, just as the dog whines at the door to be walked. Love them all, I really, really do. Sigh.
If you could tell your younger writing self anything,
what would it be?
Write, and don’t stop writing, no matter what. Even when no one wants to buy it, or will read it, or wants to read it, or when you can’t even bribe any of your family members to read it. The stories are worth living out, even if just in your head.
And don’t measure your success against someone else’s. You’re not them, and you don’t want to be.
Wow, I need to put this up on my refrigerator to keep reminding myself of this!
How long have you been writing?
I believe authentic writers are born, not made. I was born a storyteller, but started putting my stories down on paper around the age of 15.
Do the characters all come to you at the same time,
or do some of them come to you as you write?
I allow the characters to tell their own stories and try and stay out of their way. If I do, the magic happens, then new characters feel free to come out of hiding and show themselves. One character I fully intended to be a walk-on part shoved me aside and became the protag’s second love interest, insisting on front billing on my next book in that series.
Keep in touch with Addison here:
- $40 Amazon
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