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Vampires in America? 

Yes, they exist; Mark Davidson knows it. And what city is more likely to be stalked by them than New Orleans? 

But Lauren Crow doesn't believe in vampires. Not at first. She and her friends are spending a bachelorette weekend in the Big Easy—all fun and games until a fortune-teller predicts a gruesome death. And until Lauren meets Mark, whom she finds absolutely compelling…and quite possibly crazy. He prowls the city by night, searching out vampires. Mark is as drawn to Lauren as she is to him, and not just because she's the image of his murdered fiancée. His obsession with tracking down his lover's killer is part of a vendetta that goes even deeper than grief over his lost love. 

As Lauren wrestles with desire and disbelief, sinister shadows lengthen over New Orleans.Vampires. They're threatening Lauren and her friends. And they're about to end the city's truce between the living and the undead!

• Sales Rank: #1125259 in Books
• Published on: 2013-11-26
• Released on: 2013-11-26
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.66" h x .91" w x 4.15" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 352 pages

From Publishers Weekly
Graham's latest is an entertaining vampire yarn set in post-Katrina New Orleans, where three women—Lauren, Heidi and Deanna—have turned up for a carefree bachelorette weekend. Once there a fortune teller shows Lauren a crystal ball image of a man calling her by name and promising a world of blood and death and darkness. The vision, unseen by her friends, puts Lauren on her guard, convinced that someone is following her. She's doubly right: an evil vampire named Stephen is on her trail, having seen in Lauren the visage of his lost love, while a vampire hunter named Mark Davidson is on Stephen's. Soon, Lauren falls in with Mark, counting on him to protect her from the single-minded bloodsucker; as she learns more about the vampire underworld, however, she finds things aren't all they seem. This quick, dirty read makes great use of its New Orleans backdrop and its allusive story line—patched together skillfully from pieces of Bram Stoker's original and its consequent reinterpretations—though fans already steeped in vamp lit may find its charms don't outweigh its predictability. (July)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
Lauren Crow is in New Orleans for a bachelorette weekend, and the bride-to-be wants all her bridesmaids to have their fortunes told. In a crystal ball, Lauren sees a handsome but menacing stranger who says he is coming to get her. This terrifies the fortune-teller, and Mark Davidson, a vampire slayer with ties to the police, is quite taken aback when he sees Lauren for the first time. She could be an identical twin to Katie, his intended, who was murdered at their wedding. It is good vampires versus evil vampires as each day a young woman's headless corpse turns up in the Mississippi River. Once again, prolific and popular Graham provides satisfying romantic suspense and likable characters. Tixier Herald, Diana

Review
"Graham deftly weaves elements of mystery, the paranormal and romance into a tight plot that will keep the reader guessing at the true nature of the killer's evil." -Publishers Weekly on The Unseen

"Suspenseful and dark. The culture and history surrounding San Antonio and the Alamo are described in detail. The transitions between past and present flow seamlessly, and the main characters are interesting and their connection to one another is believable." -RT Book Reviews on The Unseen

"If you like mixing a bit of the creepy with a dash of sinister and spine-chilling reading with your romance, be sure to read Heather Graham's latest.... Graham does a great job of blending just a bit of paranormal with real, human evil." -Miami Herald on Unhallowed Ground

"The paranormal elements are integral to the unrelentingly suspenseful plot, the characters
are likable, the romance convincing...."-Booklist on Ghost Walk

Most helpful customer reviews

10 of 10 people found the following review helpful.
A vampire thriller with chills and a touch of humor
By D. Merrimon Crawford
Lauren Crow, Deanna Marin and Heidi Weiss head to New Orleans for Heidi's bachelorette party. For fun, the three girls seek out a fortune teller and pressure Lauren to go along. When Lauren looks into the crystal ball and hears the warning, suddenly all the shadows in night-time New Orleans take on a malevolent tone. To make matters worse, a stranger seems to appear wherever she goes. Even when she learns his name, Mark Davidson, can she trust him? She is mysteriously drawn to him despite his strange behavior. Mark Davidson follows women, carrying vampire weapons, claiming to protect them. Does his obsession with Lauren, a look-alike for his murdered fiancee, hide a more dangerous obsession?

Lauren is actually a smart heroine unlike in many thrillers, having common sense, but it is her friends that seem to lead her into trouble. She doesn't want to ruin her friend's bacherlorette party so she goes along with them despite her misgivings and against the advice of the fortune teller. The events surrounding and personalities of Lauren's friends add to the suspense of this novel. Although the back cover blurb intrigued, I enjoyed this book much more than I expected. Don't read it in the dark with a book light unless you want an extra chill. The way Heather Graham writes the images of shadows and darkness mixed with the shadows on the ceiling from my book light in an almost bat-like image over a full moon. Chilling indeed! This book is definitely a suspense/thriller with some romance in addition to the paranormal aspect. The first scene in the prologue is very creepy (lots of blood) but, fortunately for readers a little more faint of heart, the creepiness turns more and more into a suspense-laden read with creepy undertones and some crime violence instead of an all out creepy blood-drenched mayhem.

A couple of aspects of this book make this book a great read. Blood Red is infused with a level of humor, particularly in some of the tools to fight the vampires, that keeps this novel from getting too dark. The thrilling part of this thriller for me is that I always kept wondering who the bad guys really were. I thought I knew and I did at times, but the author always kept me guessing and imagining all sorts of scenarios. Readers with imagination will enjoy the twists and turns.

The book has a youthful tone that made me think of some horror movies. You know how in horror movies the girl always does something stupid that a normal person would never do? In this thriller, Heather Graham writes the heroine quite well. Unlike the stereotypical thriller heroine, readers understand why Lauren left the safety to do things that might endanger her and not just remain a catatonic person, immobile and waiting to be a victim...and I probably would have done what she did as well given her courage.

Warning for readers sensitive to violence: crime violence including decapitated bodies and blood in this thriller.

6 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
4 stars
By AK
They say everyone has a twin, but being the twin of deceased Katya could prove fatal for Lauren Crow. All over New Orleans, women are vanishing, and according to a handsome, mysterious stranger, it's because of a vampire who is after Lauren because she appears to be identical to another young woman. As it happens, that woman was also this man, Mark Davidson's, fiancee. He wants to keep Lauren safe, but he can only do so if she is willing to accept the unbelievable, not just that there are vampires, but that there are some who are good. Is he crazy, or can she trust him with not only her life, but those of her friends, and even with a city's fate?

**** Ms. Graham's fans will recognize some character names from prior novels and welcome the chance to see how they are doing now. Lauren is a credible heroine who carries this classic plot off well. Fans of vampire romance should not be disappointed. ****

Amanda Killgore

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Blood Red is Blood Good Fun
By Jamieson Villeneuve
Lauren Crow is not having a good time.

After accompanying her friends Heidi and Deanna on a trip to New Orleans to celebrate Heidi's upcoming wedding, she receives bad news: her life is in danger.

The giver of this news is Susan, a fortune teller in Jackson Square. She stares into her crystal ball and tells Lauren to leave, to take her friends and go. Something stalks her, something wants her and she is in danger.

As if that weren't bad enough, she is being followed by a man named Mark Davidson. After finding Lauren in a New Orleans bar, he doesn't want to let her out of his sight. She is the spitting image of Katie, his first love, who was killed so many years ago by a murderous vampire.

Mark knows that if he lets Lauren out of his sight for one moment, Stephan will claim Lauren for his just like he did Katie. Lauren, however, is having none of this. She doesn't believe in vampire mumbo jumbo and won't accept the truth.

Until the vampire starts to hunt one of her friends. Suddenly the danger they are all in is very real and Lauren must rely on Mark for help. She must also try to ignore the growing passion that sparks to life between them.

But some things don't always go as planned...

Blood Red manages to breathe new life into the tired genre of vampire fiction and it does it extremely well. Having never read a book by Heather Graham before I wasn't sure what to expect; I didn't know if I was in for a bodice ripper with fangs or a book with fangs with a touch of fire. Thankfully it was the latter.

What makes Blood Red so successful is the characters. Lauren is no cardboard cut out heroine. She is tough and stands well on her own two feet. Mark Davidson, vampire hunter, isn't the rough and ready macho man that so many hero's end up being. In short, they aren't caricatures. They feel like living, breathing people.

Graham also manages to throw a new twist on vampire lore that works beautifully. They're still harmed by holy water but Graham has a few new twists up her sleeve. I love when an author take a paranormal element that's already been done to death and makes it his or her own. Graham excels in the paranormal and it never comes off feeling hokey or fake. You will honestly believe, even if for an instant, that vampires exist.

In short, I loved this book. I was hooked from the first page and couldn't stop reading. It's the perfect cure for a case of the blues or to make your summer night red hot. It has something to please everyone: suspense, romance, thrills, and paranormal elements. Graham manages to be deft at juggling all her balls and never drops a single one.

If you haven't fallen under Graham's spell yet, what are you waiting for? Blood Red is an absolute flat out fantastic book and you'll love every bloody moment of it.

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** PDF Ebook The Whisper (The Ireland Series), by Carla Neggers

PDF Ebook The Whisper (The Ireland Series), by Carla Neggers

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The Whisper (The Ireland Series), by Carla Neggers

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Archaeologist Sophie Malone is still haunted a year after she was left for dead inside a remote Irish cave. Now she's convinced that her night of terror is linked to recent violence in Boston. Did the killer under arrest steal the ancient Celtic treasure from the cave that night? Or is another killer out there, ready to strike again?

Boston detective "Scoop" Wisdom has recovered from his injuries and is after the bomber who nearly killed him. Tough and stubborn, he's the best at detecting lies…except maybe those of Sophie Malone. When an ex-cop becomes the victim of ritual sacrifice, it's clear nobody's safe, and everyone's a suspect.

• Sales Rank: #438671 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2011-06-28
• Released on: 2011-06-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.00" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 378 pages

Features

• Great product!

About the Author

Carla Neggers is the New York Times bestselling author of more than 60 novels, including her popular Sharpe & Donovan and Swift River Valley series. Her books have been translated into 24 languages and sold in over 35 countries. A frequent traveler to Ireland, Carla lives with her family in New England. For more information, visit CarlaNeggers.com

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Beara Peninsula, Southwest Ireland—late September

Scoop Wisdom opened his daypack, got out his water bottle and took a drink. He sat on a cold, damp rock inside the remains of the isolated Irish stone cottage where the long summer had started with a beautiful woman, a tale of magic and fairies—and a killer obsessed with his own ideas of good and evil.

The autumn equinox had passed. Summer was over. Scoop told himself it was a new beginning, but he had unfinished business. It'd been gnawing at him ever since he'd regained consciousness in his Boston hospital room a month ago, after a bomb blast had almost killed him.

He was healed. It was time to go home and get back to work. Be a cop again.

He set his water bottle back in his pack and zipped up the outer compartment. A solitary ray of sunshine penetrated the tangle of vines above him where once there'd been a thatched roof. He could hear the rush of the stream just outside the ruin.

And water splashing. Scoop shifted position on the rock, listening, but there was no doubt. Someone—or something—was tramping in the stream that wound down from the rocky, barren hills above Kenmare Bay. He hadn't seen anyone on his walk up from the cottage where he was staying on a quiet country lane.

He stood up. He could hear laughter now.

A woman's laughter.

Irish fairies, maybe? Out here on the southwest Irish coast, on the rugged Beara Peninsula, he could easily believe fairies were hiding in the greenery that grew thick on the banks of the stream.

He stepped over fallen rocks to the opening that had served as the only entrance to what once had been someone's home. He could feel a twinge of pain in his hip where shrapnel had cut deep when the bomb went off at the triple-decker he owned with Bob O'Reilly and Abigail Browning, two other Boston detectives. He had taken most of the blistering shards of metal and wood in the meatier parts of his back, shoulders, arms and legs, but one chunk had lodged in the base of his skull, making everyone nervous for a day or so. A millimeter this way or that, and he'd be dead instead of wondering if fairies were about to arrive at his Irish ruin for a visit.

He heard more water splashing and more female laughter.

"I know, I know." It was a woman, her tone amused, her accent American. "Of course I'd run into a big black dog up here in these particular hills."

In his two weeks in Ireland, Scoop had heard whispers about a large, fierce black dog occasionally turning up in the pastures above the small fishing and farming village. He'd seen only sheep and cows himself.

He peered into the gray mist. The morning sun was gone, at least for the moment. He'd learned to expect changeable weather. Brushed by the Gulf Stream, the climate of the Southwest was mild and wet, but he'd noticed on his walks that the flowers of summer were fading and the heather on the hills was turning brown.

"Ah." The woman again, still out of sight around a sharp bend in the stream. "You're coming with me, are you? I must be very close, then. Lead the way, my new friend."

The ruin was easy to miss amid the dense trees and undergrowth on the banks of the stream. If he hadn't known where to look, Scoop would have gone right past it his first time out here.

A woman with wild, dark red hair ducked under the low-hanging branches of a gnarly tree. Ambling next to her in the shallow water was, indeed, a big black dog.

The woman looked straight at Scoop, and even in the gray light, he saw that she had bright blue eyes and freckles—a lot of freckles. She was slim and angular, her hair down to her shoulders, damp and tangled. She continued toward him, the dog staying close to her. She didn't seem particularly taken aback by finding a man standing in the doorway of the remote ruin. Scoop wouldn't blame her if she did. Even before the bomb blast, he had looked, according to friends and enemies alike, ferocious with his thick build, shaved head and general take-no-prisoners demeanor.

For sure, no one would mistake him for a leprechaun or a fairy prince.

Her left foot sank into a soft spot and almost ended up in the water. Mud stains came to the top of her wellies. "I saw footprints back there," she said cheerfully, pointing a slender hand in the direction she'd just come. "Since I've never run into a cow or a sheep that wears size-twelve shoes, I figured someone else was out here. A fine day for a walk, isn't it?"

"It is," Scoop said.

"I don't mind the outbreaks of rain." She tilted her head back, letting the mist collect on her face a moment, then smiled at him. "I don't do well in the sun."

Scoop stepped down from the threshold and nodded to the dog, still panting at her side. "Yours?"

"No, but he's a sweetheart. I suppose he could be aggressive if he or someone he cared about felt threatened."

A warning? Scoop noticed she wore a rain jacket the same shade of blue as her eyes and held an iPhone in one hand, perhaps keeping it available in case she needed to call for help. It would be easy to think it was still 1900 in this part of Ireland, but that would be a mistake. For one thing, the area had decent cell phone coverage.

"Looks as if you two have bonded."

"I think we have, indeed." She slipped the iPhone into a jacket pocket. "You're the detective who saved that girl's life when the bomb went off at your house in Boston last month—Wisdom, right? Detective Cyrus Wisdom?"

He was instantly on alert, but he kept his voice even. "Most people call me Scoop. And you would be?"

"Sophie—Sophie Malone. We have friends in common," she said, easing past him to the ruin. The dog stayed by the stream. "I'm from Boston originally. I'm an archaeologist."

"What kind of archaeologist?"

She smiled. "The barely employed kind. You're in Ireland to recuperate? I heard you were hurt pretty badly."

"I ended up here after attending a friend's wedding in Scotland a few weeks ago."

"Abigail Browning's wedding. She's the detective who was kidnapped when the bomb went off."

"I know who she is."

Sophie Malone seemed unfazed by his response. Abigail was still on her extended honeymoon with Owen Garrison, an international search-and-rescue expert with roots in Boston, Texas and Maine. Will Davenport had offered them his house in the Scottish Highlands for their long-awaited wedding, and they'd accepted, quickly gathering family and friends together in early September. Scoop, just out of the hospital, had had no intention of missing the ceremony.

"Wasn't it too soon for you to fly given your injuries?" Sophie asked.

"I got through it."

She studied him, her expression suggesting a focused, intelligent mind. He had on a sweatshirt and jeans, but she'd be able to see one of his uglier scars, a purple gash that started under his right ear and snaked around the back of his head. Finally she said, "It must be hard not to be in Boston with the various ongoing investigations.

You have all the bad guys, though, right? They're either dead or under arrest—"

"I thought you said you were an archaeologist. How do you know all this?"

"I keep up with the news."

That, Scoop decided, wasn't the entire truth. He was very good—one of the best in the Boston Police Department—at detecting lies and deception, and if Sophie Malone wasn't exactly lying, she wasn't exactly telling the truth, either.

She placed her hand on the rough, gray stone of the ruin. "You know Keira Sullivan, don't you?"

Keira was the folklorist and artist who had discovered the ruin three months ago, on the night of the summer solstice. She was also Lieutenant Bob O'Reilly's niece. "I do, yes," Scoop said. "Is Keira one of the friends we have in common?"

"We've never met, actually." Sophie stepped up onto the crumbling threshold of the ruin. "This place has been abandoned for a long time."

"According to local villagers, the original occupants either died or emigrated during the Great Famine of the 1840s."

"That would make sense. This part of Ireland was hit hard by the famine and subsequent mass emigration. That's how my family ended up in the U.S. The Malone side." She glanced back at Scoop, a spark in her blue eyes. "Tell me, Detective Wisdom, do you believe fairies were here that night with Keira?"

Scoop didn't answer. Standing in front of an Irish ruin with a scary black dog and a smart, pretty redhead, he could believe just about anything. He took in his surroundings—the fine mist, the multiple shades of green, the rocks, the rush of the stream. His senses were heightened, as if Irish fairies had put a spell on him.

He had never been so in danger of falling in love at first sight.

He gave himself a mental shake. Was he out of his mind? He grinned at Sophie as she stepped down from the ruin. "You're not a fairy princess yourself, are you?"

She laughed. "That would be Keira. Artist, folklor-ist and fairy princess." Sophie's expression turned more serious. "She wasn't reckless coming out here alone, you know."

"Any more than you are being reckless now?"

"Or you," she countered, then nodded to the dog, who had flopped in the wet grass. "Besides, I have my new friend here. He doesn't appear to have any quarrel with you. He joined me when I got to the stream. He must be the same dog who helped Keira the night she was trapped here."

"You didn't read that in the papers," Scoop said.

"I live in Ireland," she said vaguely. She seemed more tentative now. "The man who was also here that night… the serial killer. Jay Augustine. He won't ever be in a position to hurt anyone else, will he?"

Scoop didn't answer at once. Just what was he to make of his visitor? Finally he said, "Augustine's in jail awaiting trial for first-degree murder. He has a good lawyer and he's not talking, but he's not going anywhere. He'll stay behind bars for the rest of his life."

Sophie's gaze settled on an uprooted tree off to one side of the ruin. "That's where he smeared the sheep's blood, isn't it?"

Scoop stiffened. "Okay, Sophie Malone. You know a few too many details. Who are you?"

"Sorry." She pushed her hands through her damp hair. "Being here makes what happened feel real and immediate. I didn't expect this intense a reaction. Keira and I both know Colm Dermott, the anthropologist organizing the conference on Irish folklore in April. It's in two parts, one in Cork and one in Boston."

"I know Colm. Is he the one who told you about the black dog?"

She nodded. "I ran into him last week in Cork. I've just completed a postdoctoral fellowship at the university there. I hadn't paid much attention to what-all went on out here and in Boston." She took a breath. "I'm glad Keira wasn't hurt."

"So am I."

Sophie looked up sharply, as if his tone had given away some unexpected, hidden feeling—which for all he knew it had—but she quickly turned back toward the cottage, mist glistening on her rain jacket and deep red hair. "Do you believe Keira really did see the stone angel that night?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe."

"You're very concrete, aren't you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "The story she was researching is so charming—three Irish brothers in a never-ending struggle with fairies over a stone angel. The brothers believe it'll bring them luck. The fairies believe it's one of their own turned to stone. Every three months, on the night of the solstice or the equinox, the angel appears on the hearth of a remote cottage in the hills above Kenmare Bay."

"The old woman who told the story to Keira in Boston—"

"Also told it to Jay Augustine, and he killed her," Sophie said, finishing for him. "Colm says when Keira came out here in search of this place she thought she might encounter a bit of fairy mischief. Maybe she even hoped she would. But a killer? It's too horrible to think about."

Scoop stood back, feeling the isolation of the old ruin. Except for the dog and the sheep up in the pastures above the stream, it was just him and the woman in front of him. How did he even know she was an archaeologist? Why should he believe a word she said?

"As many tombs and ruins as I've crawled through in my work, I'm not much on small spaces." She seemed to shrug off thoughts of blood and violence as she tugged her hood over her hair. "You can imagine contentious Irish brothers and trooping fairies out here, can't you? Keira's story is very special. I love tales of the wee folk."

"Believe in fairies, do you?"

"Some days more than others."

"So, Sophie Malone," Scoop said, "why are you here?"

"Fairies, a black dog and an ancient stone angel aren't reason enough?"

"Maybe, but they're not the whole story."

"Ah. We archaeologists can be very mysterious. We're also curious. I wanted to see the ruin for myself. You're a detective, Scoop. Okay if I call you Scoop?"

"Sure."

"You can understand curiosity, can't you?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

Her sudden, infectious smile reached to her eyes. "Ah. I can see you don't like coincidences. You want to know how we both decided to come here this morning. I didn't follow you, if that helps. I've never been subtle enough to follow people."

"But you weren't surprised to find me here," Scoop said.

"I wasn't, especially not after seeing those size-twelve footprints in the mud." She eased in next to the dog. "I'll be on my way."

"Are you heading straight back to the village?"

"Maybe." She patted the dog as he rose next to her. "I'll have to see where my new friend here leads me. Good to meet you, Detective." She smiled again. "Scoop. Maybe I'll see you in Boston sometime."

Scoop watched her and the big black dog duck back under the gnarly tree. She had a positive, energetic air about her. Nothing suggested she wasn't an archaeologist. Whoever she was, he'd bet she was the type who wouldn't let go once she got the bit in her teeth.

What bit did Sophie Malone have in her teeth? What, exactly, had brought her out here?

Most helpful customer reviews

44 of 46 people found the following review helpful.
Delightful, wonderful adventurous romantic suspense! The Whisper by Carla Neggers
By Amazon Customer (April Renn/AprilR )
THE WHISPER by Carla Neggers is a delightful, adventurous, romantic suspense thriller set in modern day Ireland and America. It is well written with depth and details, It has alot of information in reference to ancient Irish folklore, legend and artifacts. It is the sequel to The Mist. It has romance, suspense, ancient rituals, forklore, legend, lost artifacts, adventure, intrigue and some sweet sensuality. It is about a diabolical screme using ancient Irish rituals to gain power and success. The hero is an Internal Affair officer, who was wounded a few months earlier due to a bomb blast. He is strong, intelligent, a force to reckon with and travels to Ireland to recuperate. The heroine is an archeologist who is out to find the truth, she was left for dead in a cave in Ireland. these two meet in Ireland by accident and there is love at first sight. They go back to the USA to their jobs, where fate or fairies are at work and put the two together. They together with the help of others find the truth. The secondary characters are just as inspiring. We see romance and love come together between several of the characters. this is a fast paced, page turning story. A must read and a keeper. I would recommend this book, especially if you enjoy intrigue, suspense, myth and legends. This book was received for review from Net Galley and details can be found at My Book Addiction and More and Mira Books.

14 of 15 people found the following review helpful.
What a muddled mess
By Tracy Vest
I have never been so lost while reading a book in my life. It was obvious by page 20 that this book was part of a series and that the author assumes that readers have read them in order. Details from past books cloud the first 50 pages (and frankly, are more interesting than the story at hand). There are so many characters floating in and out of the story that you need a score card to keep track of them. It jumps from Ireland to Boston (I was not aware that so many people from Boston seem to have a second home in Ireland).

I guess I could have gone back and read the first three novels, but frankly it was not interesting enough to warrant it, as I already want four hours of my life back. I was so confused with the storyline and trying to ascertain who was who, who was married to whom, what happened where, whose hair was a deeper shade of red, and whether or not I gave a care. I had to give up. I could not really tell you what this is about other than a muddled mess that I am shocked made it into a hard bound book. Thank goodness it was a vine offering and I did not waste $15 on it.

11 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
2% Romance Novel, 2% Mystery, 96% History Book
By Mary Crawford
In a word, this book was teeth-grindingly boring. There are too many characters, too much history and lead characters that we don't know enough about emotionally to care about. Don't waste your money.

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While today most food is bought from a grocery store, many years ago food was grown and harvested on the family farm. This informative title examines different types of foods eaten and how they were produced from the olden days to the present.

• Sales Rank: #142064 in Books
• Published on: 2014-01-30
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 9.25" h x 8.25" w x .25" l, .0 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 24 pages

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>> Ebook Free Home to Seaview Key (A Seaview Key Novel), by Sherryl Woods

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www.SherrylWoods.com

New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods reveals that the most delightful surprises may await right in your own backyard! 

Falling for a handsome stranger on the very morning they meet is hardly what recently divorced Abby Miller planned for her return to Seaview Key. Hoping to mend an old friendship and to give back to the community she loves, Abby's definitely not looking for love. 

For ex-soldier Seth Landry, Seaview Key seems like the perfect place to heal a broken heart…eventually. And when he rescues a beautiful woman on the beach, his nightmares about the past are eclipsed by daydreams about the future. 

Neither Abby nor Seth is looking for forever, but powerful love has its own timetable. And taking a chance on the future will test their courage in ways neither of them could possibly have anticipated.

• Sales Rank: #476950 in Books
• Brand: Harlequin MIRA
• Published on: 2014-01-28
• Released on: 2014-01-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.67" h x 1.01" w x 4.15" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

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• Great product!

Review
"In this sweet, sometimes funny and often touching story, the characters are beautifully depicted, and readers...will...want to wish themselves away to Seaview Key." -RT Book Reviews on Seaview Inn

"Sherryl Woods writes emotionally satisfying novels about family, friendship and home. Truly feel-great reads!"-#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

"Woods is a master heartstring puller..." --Publishers Weekly on Seaview Inn

"Woods . . . is noted for appealing character-driven stories that are often infused with the flavor and fragrance of the South."--Library Journal

"A reunion story punctuated by family drama, Woods' first novel in her new Ocean Breeze series is touching, tense and tantalizing."-RT Book Reviews on Sand Castle Bay

"A whimsical, sweet scenario . . . the digressions have their own charm, and Woods never fails to come back to the romantic point."-Publishers Weekly on Sweet Tea at Sunrise

"Woods' readers will eagerly anticipate her trademark small-town setting, loyal friendships, and honorable mentors as they meet new characters and reconnect with familiar ones in this heartwarming tale."-Booklist on Home in Carolina

"Once again, Woods, with such authenticity, weaves a tale of true love and the challenges that can knock up against that love."-RT Book Reviews on Beach Lane

About the Author

With her roots firmly planted in the South, Sherryl Woods has written many of her more than 100 books in that distinctive setting, whether in her home state of Virginia, her adopted state, Florida, or her much-adored South Carolina. Sherryl is best known for her ability to creating endearing small town communities and families. She is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 75 romances for Silhouette Desire and Special Edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Abby stirred at the unmistakable pressure of a man's mouth on hers, coaxing, tantalizing. The kind of yearning she'd buried for years awakened with a vengeance. Whether this was a dream or reality hardly seemed to matter as her breath caught and her pulse raced. It had been so long since she'd felt like this.

She sighed when the man drew back, then slowly opened her eyes to find a soaking wet, bare-chested, incredibly gorgeous stranger kneeling in the sand beside her, his expression every bit as startled as her own must have been.

"Looks like you're going to be okay," he said, a hitch in his voice and a surprising hint of color in his sexily stubbled cheeks.

"Okay?" she echoed, bemused. There had been nothing wrong about the past couple of minutes. They'd been enchanted, in fact. Spectacular, even. Definitely well beyond okay.

"I pulled you out of the water just now," he reminded her, worry darkening his blue eyes. "You don't remember going under? Calling out for help?"

Suddenly the panic came rushing back, the sensation of water closing over her head, her feet unable to touch the sandy bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. One second she'd been standing in waist-deep water, the next a wave had caught her and the floor of the Gulf had fallen away.

Memories of another near drowning right here in these waters years ago had arisen, right along with a bubble of hysteria. Then the memories had faded and a harsh present-day reality had set in. She'd been fighting her way to the surface, gasping for air, screaming for help. She'd choked on water before going under again and again.

"I was drowning, just like before," she whispered, shaking, the potent effect of what she'd thought to be a kiss vanishing. He'd been doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, she realized, embarrassed that she'd thought otherwise, wondering if she had, in fact, tried to kiss him. She had an awful feeling that she had. A very powerful memory of tongues tangling in a shockingly sensual way tugged at her. Humiliated, she knew her cheeks must be flaming.

Years ago in a similar situation, Luke Stevens had been close by. He'd saved her, become her hero. They'd been inseparable after that along with her best friend, Hannah, but she and Luke had been a couple, right up until the day they'd left for college and gone their separate ways. Though they'd both claimed to be brokenhearted, they'd been resolute about not standing in the way of each other's hopes and dreams-his to be a doctor, hers to be something. She'd wanted to excel at anything that would get her away from this deadend island life.

As immature as they'd been, somehow they'd known they weren't meant to last forever. And while she and Luke had deliberately separated, she and Hannah had simply drifted apart.

It was ironic really that now, after so much time had passed, all three of them were back on Seaview Key. Now, though, Luke and Hannah were married and Abby was the third wheel…or would be if she reached out to them. She wasn't sure she wanted to be cast in the role that she'd forced Hannah into back then. Life had taught her that being witness to someone else's happiness could be incredibly painful.

Besides, for the moment she was content just to be on her own, getting her feet back under her. Not that this morning had turned out to be a very good start on that front, she thought with a touch of the wry humor she counted on to get her through tough times. For a woman who'd been swimming since before she could walk, she was surprisingly inept in the water, apparently.

The man kneeling next to her was still studying her with concern. "Maybe we should get you over to the clinic, have you checked out," he said. "You seem to be a little fuzzy about what happened."

Abby shook her head, fully aware that going to the clinic meant seeing Luke again under awkward circumstances. "No, really. I'm fine. Just a little dazed, I think. That will pass."

"You swallowed a lot of water."

"And surely coughed up most of it," she recalled, embarrassed yet again by the pitiful spectacle she must have made of herself.

"I'd feel better if Doc Stevens took a look at you. My car's right up there on the road. I can have you there in a couple of minutes."

"Seriously, no," she said more forcefully. This wasn't the way she wanted to see Luke again, bedraggled and half-drowned. Maybe he hadn't been put off by that twenty-some years ago, but she still had a little pride left. She wanted to look her best when she finally crossed paths with Luke and Hannah. She needed them to know that coming home had been a choice, not a necessity.

"I live right over there," she said, gesturing toward the house where she'd grown up.

The sad sight was almost as much of a mess as she was-the yard overgrown with weeds and the house itself in desperate need of a lot of tender loving care. While she'd been planning her return for a while and had made several quick trips to the island, she'd only been physically back to stay in Seaview Key for a few days. So far she'd tackled the dust and cleaning inside to make the house habitable again. She'd get to the rest eventually. For reasons not entirely clear to her, she was determined to do the work herself. Maybe she simply needed to get back to basics, remind herself of how little some of the luxuries she'd gotten used to really mattered.

The man stood up and held out his hand to help her up. "Then I'll make sure you get to the house okay. I can check you out myself, take your pulse, listen to your lungs. I have a medical kit in my car."

Abby regarded him skeptically. Since when had Seaview Key required two physicians to keep up with the small population of locals? "You're a doctor, too?" she inquired doubtfully.

"Paramedic," he corrected. "I'm Seth Landry. I worked with Doc Stevens in Iraq. After my discharge, I came here for a visit. He told me the town could use a volunteer rescue squad. He got me hired to organize it." He grinned at her. "See, I'm totally respectable. I'm not just trying to get my hands on you."

Too bad, Abby thought to herself. For a few minutes there, she'd actually felt desirable again, not like the pale shadow of the woman she'd once been before her marriage had sucked the life out of her.

Seth slowed his steps to match hers as they walked across the sand and up the path to her house. At the bottom of the porch steps, worn smooth by decades of sandy feet, she stopped and lifted her gaze to his, noting with delight that though she was tall at five-ten, he was taller, at least six-one or -two.

"See?" she said lightly. "Perfectly steady. Thanks for rescuing me."

"All in a day's work," he told her. "But if you're from around here, you should already know how the bottom out there drops away unexpectedly. If you're not a strong swimmer, stay closer to shore. Stick to wading, even."

"You're absolutely right. It won't happen again," she assured him. In fact, she shuddered just thinking about how differently her morning and that innocent dip she'd taken in the Gulf could have turned out.

"I'll see you around, then," he said, giving her a casual wave before jogging off down the beach.

Abby watched him go, admiring the well-muscled shoulders, the narrow hips, the long legs. He was younger, too, if she was any judge of age. That made that flicker of awareness that had passed between them just a little more alluring. Maybe she still had it, after all, whatever that it was that could catch a man's eye.

Too bad that kiss hadn't been real, she thought with genuine regret. Seth was definitely the kind of hunk who'd been made to awaken any sleeping beauty's senses, hers included.

Hannah sat on the porch facing the gently lapping water, a cup of coffee in hand. She smiled when her husband slipped up behind her, kissed the back of her neck, then sat down in the chair beside her. The few minutes they had together like this each morning set the tone for their days. She reached for Luke's hand, twined her fingers with his.

"What's on your schedule for today?" she asked.

"I need to track down Seth to talk about a possible rescue boat I've found. I thought I'd stop by Seaview Inn to try to catch him before I open the clinic."

She gave him a long look, amused by his attempt at innocence. "Nice try. We both know you're dropping by because Grandma Jenny bakes every Wednesday. She'll have the treats that are never on the menu here."

He grinned, his expression boyish and unrepentant. "You caught me. I'm hoping for blueberry muffins. How about you? How's the new book coming?"

Hannah felt a little shiver of excitement at the question. Little more than a year ago she'd been an ambitious, driven public-relations executive in New York. Now she was not only surrounded by the tranquility of Seaview Key and married, but she was writing children's books. The first was due for publication in a few months, the second six months later. She'd been working on the third for a couple of months now.

She grinned at Luke. "I'm putting the finishing touches on it today," she told him, then frowned. "At least I think I am. I can't wait till Kelsey and Jeff get back to town, so I can read it to the baby. Isabella's my favorite test audience."

"You do realize she's not even a year old," Luke said. "Maybe you should call my kids. They always have uncensored advice for you. And my daughter was the first to recognize your talent. You captivated her with your story when she was injured on our boating trip. She was so caught up in it, she forgot all about being in pain from a broken arm. You provided the best medicine she could have had before we got back to shore."

She laughed. "I don't know about that, but your kids can be a little too uncensored at times," she admitted. "I like the gurgles of delight. After that, I can take whatever your kids have to say."

Her stepchildren, who lived in Atlanta with their mother and her new husband, were regular visitors to Seaview Key. After a rocky beginning, they'd accepted Hannah into their lives…and forgiven their father for moving so far away. They'd even accepted the fact that he wasn't the one who'd caused the divorce, that it was their mom who'd moved on while their father was serving overseas in a war zone.

Even at their young ages, they'd learned that assigning blame was a waste of energy. They could all thank Grandma Jenny for imparting that lesson, Hannah thought, grateful to her grandmother for smoothing out the rough spots in the relationship. That had allowed Luke to remain in Seaview Key with a clear conscience. He traveled to Atlanta at least once a month to see them and was always available for special events like class plays or soccer championships. They'd made it work.

Hannah gazed at the early morning sunlight filtering through the trees and sparkling on the water, then drew in a deep breath of the cool morning air. "Luke, do you realize how lucky we are?"

"Every minute," he said, his gaze on hers. "Being here, with you, is exactly what I needed."

"No regrets?"

"Not a one. You?"

She thought about the life she'd left behind to come home, the life she'd been so certain was exactly the one she was meant to live. There were things she missed about New York. Being able to order any food imaginable at midnight was one of them. Her best friend. Beyond that, though? This house already felt more like a home than her apartment in New York ever had, even when Kelsey had been filling it with clutter and noise. And her marriage? Being with Luke on an ordinary day surpassed anything she'd had with Kelsey's father, a perfectly nice man who'd been totally unsuitable for her, for marriage and for parenthood.

"I'm happier than I ever dreamed possible," she told him honestly.

Luke studied her, his expression filled with concern. "Then why that frown?"

"I wasn't frowning," she insisted. Surely she was better at disguising her feelings than that.

"It's because you have another cancer screening coming up, isn't it?" he said, not letting her off the hook. "You're going to be fine, Hannah. I know it. You're religious about the self-exams. I've backed you up. Your report is going to be clean."

"I want to believe that, too, but sometimes I panic."

"Because?"

She gestured to him, then to the serene setting around them. "All of this," she said. "You, Kelsey, Jeff and my granddaughter. Grandma Jenny's in good health for someone her age. It's all so amazing, more than I ever expected."

He regarded her with understanding. "And you're afraid it's too good to be true, that it's going to be snatched away?"

"Sometimes, yes."

Luke squeezed her hand. "No way, sweetheart. You and me, all of this? It's forever."

"You sound so sure," she said, envying him.

"I am," he said with unwavering confidence. "One of these days, you're going to believe that, too."

Hannah truly hoped so. She wanted to live the kind of optimistic life her husband lived, but doubts crept up on her. She'd spent too many years facing challenges, rather than counting blessings. She couldn't seem to stop the doubts, not since her mother had died of breast cancer just months after she'd been diagnosed herself. Sure, she was in remission now, but who knew better than she that things could change in an instant? The very minute she started taking this wonderful life for granted, who knew what perverse twist of fate could take it from her?

After his run and a hot shower, Seth wandered into the kitchen at Seaview Inn and found the owner at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee and a batch of stained recipe cards in front of her. The aroma of blueberry muffins came from the oven. Another batch was cooling on a rack on top of the stove. He noted that one was missing and barely contained a grin. Luke had been by. He'd bet money on it.

"What sort of feast are you thinking of preparing for tonight?" he asked, gesturing to the well-worn cards in her hand.

Grandma Jenny glanced up, laughing. "I'm not sure yet. Whenever I get tired of fixing the same old things, I drag out my mother's recipe cards and look for inspiration." She gave him a chiding look. "I was wondering when you were going to turn up. We stopped serving breakfast an hour ago."

Seth leaned down and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Could I have one of those muffins and a couple of eggs, if I fix them myself?"

"And mess this place up when I finally have it all tidied up?" she asked. "I don't think so. I'll make an exception this morning and get those eggs for you. Scrambled, maybe with a little cheese thrown in?"

It was their morning ritual. Grandma Jenny, who was actually Doc Stevens's grandmother-in-law, feigned annoyance at Seth's failure to observe the inn's schedule, then made sure he left with a full stomach. He'd noticed that she thrived on mothering anyone who crossed her path, family or not.

"Luke was over here looking for you earlier," she reported.

Most helpful customer reviews

12 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
another excellent read
By Stephen Kalman
You always know that a romance will end "happily after ever"; just how you get there is the challenge for the author. Often, you can predict the outcome. That is fine, but boring. Sherryl Woods weaves a tale that is intriguing. Along the way you meet interesting characters. You get involved with the various personalities. You can't put the book down because you want to know what comes next. Now that I read Home to Seaview Key, I am ordering Seaview Inn to read the set-up background. you will enjoy this novel.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Author is very repetitive
By Anne Dlugopolski
Basically, I like the characters this author has created, but she absolutely drives the main theme of the characters falling in love to death. Yes, we get the two main characters really like each other and are attracted to each other, but then she tries to create complications/conflict where there really isn't any. How insecure can 2 truly adult people get??? It took just way to long to get them together and by the time they were you really didn't care. Sorry....not my favorite book.

5 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
Home to Seaview Key
By K. Branfield
Sherryl Woods’ latest release is another warm and inviting novel of love, family and friendship. Home to Seaview Key is the long-awaited follow up to Seaview Inn and it is another delightfully appealing story that old and new fans are sure to enjoy.

Abby Miller has kept a low profile since her return to Seaview Key, but word of her homecoming quickly spreads after medic Seth Landry saves her from a near drowning. Abby is hoping to find herself while renewing old friendships and pursuing a new venture in the close-knit coastal community. Seth moved to the small town following a tragic loss and he is close friends with Abby’s childhood pals Hannah and Luke. Seth and Abby are thrown together on a fundraising project and their friendship soon takes a romantic turn.

Abby’s past with Hannah is complicated by Abby’s childhood romance with Luke, Hannah’s new husband. Abby has zero interest in Luke but her reappearance in their life rouses Hannah’s insecurities and regaining their friendship is going to take time and patience. Recently divorced, Abby is also not interested in a romance either but she is instantly attracted to Seth. When their passion becomes too strong to resist, they agree to a no strings fling, but love sneaks in when neither of them are looking.

Seth has a lot more emotional baggage than Abby. His previous relationship tragically ended and he is dealing with unresolved family issues as well. In a refreshing change of pace, he is the one who is not ready for a relationship and his hang ups keep him from getting involved with Abby. The slow change from friends to lovers builds a strong foundation for their budding romance but Seth’s doubts keep them from taking their relationship further.

I really like that Seth and Abby do not rush into a relationship. It is lovely watching them form a friendship built on mutual respect and trust before they act on their desire. While Seth’s first instinct is to pull away when he is uncomfortable, they do eventually discuss the things that are bothering him. This cautious approach gives them the chance to really get to know one another and their resulting romance is quite sweet.

Sherryl Woods is a longtime favorite author of mine and her characters always fall in love with plenty of support from close friends, a loving family and a close-knit community. While all of these elements can be found in Home to Seaview Key, the plot feels fresh, the characters are distinct and the storyline is unique. It is comfort read that is sure to delight longtime fans and charm new ones.

I received a complimentary copy for review.

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Being the first female werecat enforcer isn't easy. Scars accumulate, but I'm stronger in so many ways.

As for my personal life? It's complicated. Choices worth making always are. Ever since my brother's death and my father's impeachment, it's all I can do to prevent more blood from spilling. Now our Pride is under attack by a flight of vicious thunderbirds. And making peace with our new enemies may be the only way to get the best of our old foe.

With the body count rising and treachery everywhere, my instincts tell me to look before I leap. But sometimes a leap of faith is the only real option….

• Sales Rank: #599837 in Books
• Published on: 2010-02-16
• Released on: 2010-02-16
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x .93" w x 4.21" l, .43 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 400 pages

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Rachel Vincent loves good chocolate, comfortable jeans, and serial commas. She’s older than she looks and younger than she feels, but is convinced that for every day she spends writing, one more day will be added to her lifespan. Now absorbed in the dark, tangled loyalties of her UNBOUND world, as well as the travails of a teenage banshee in her SOUL SCREAMERS world, Rachel can be found online at www.rachelvincent.com or urbanfantasy.blogspot.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


"You should leave. Now." My father's growl of warning resonated in some dark, primal part of me, and suddenly I craved torn flesh and fresh blood glistening in moonlight. Wave after wave of bloodlust crashed over me and I swayed beneath the onslaught, struggling to control it. We would have justice for Ethan. But this was not the time. Not the place.

Though my father's office practically sizzled with the rage that flowed through me and my fellow enforcers, Paul Blackwell, acting head of the Territorial Council, seemed completely unaffected. I watched him from my place near the closed office door, both arms—my right still in a cast—crossed over my chest.

Blackwell planted his old-fashioned wooden cane firmly on the Oriental rug and leaned on it with both hands. "Now, Greg, calm down…I'm only asking you to consider the greater good, which is exactly what you claim you'll honor, if you're reinstated as council chairman."

Unfortunately, that seemed less likely with each passing day. In the week since we'd buried my brother, Nick Davidson had announced his support of Calvin Malone as council chair, which meant that my father now needed the last remaining vote—from Jerold Pierce, my fellow enforcer Parker's dad—just to tie everything up.

And a tie wasn't good enough. We needed a clear victory.

My father sat in his wing chair at the end of the rug, and his refusal to rise was—on the surface—an uncharacteristic show of disrespect toward a fellow Alpha. But I knew him well enough to understand the truth: if he stood, he might lose his temper. "You're asking me to let my son's murder go unavenged." His voice was as low and dangerous as I'd ever heard it, and I swear I felt the rumble deep in my bones. It echoed the ache in my heart.

"I'm asking you not to start a war." Blackwell stood calm and steady, which must have taken substantial self-control, considering my father's comparative youth and bulk. And his obvious rage. Even in his late fifties, Greg Sanders, Alpha of the south-central Pride and my father, was a formidable force.

My dad growled again. "Calvin Malone started this, and you damn well know it."

Blackwell sighed and glanced around the room, and as his tired gaze skirted the three other Alphas grouped near the bar and the scattering of enforcers along the walls, I got the distinct impression that he would much rather have been alone with my father.

The other Alphas and two enforcers apiece had arrived early that morning for one last strategy meeting before the south-central Pride and our allies launched the first full-scale werecat offensive the U.S. had seen in more than six decades. It was Saturday. We planned to attack in three days—just after sundown on Tuesday night. Anticipation hummed in the air around us, buzzing like electricity in my ears, pulsing like passion in my veins.

We could already feel the blows, every last one of us. We could taste the blood, and hear the screams that would soon pierce the still, cold February night. We were living on the promise of violence in answer to violence, and several of the toms around me teetered on the thin edge of bloodlust, riding adrenaline like the crest of a lethal wave.

Surely Blackwell had known his mission was a failure the moment he walked into the house.

Our allies were expected, but Paul Blackwell's arrival had been a total surprise. Just after lunch, he'd pulled into the driveway in a rental car driven by his grandson, a cane in the old man's hand, determination in his step. But that wouldn't be enough, and neither would the authority of the Territorial Council, which he wore like a badge of honor. Or more like a badge of shame, considering that nearly half of the council's members were present, and not one looked happy to see him.

Blackwell shuffled one foot on the carpet and closed his eyes, as if gathering his thoughts, then his heavy gaze landed on my father again. "Greg, no one is happy about what happened to Ethan, least of all me. Calvin has been formally reprimanded, and the enforcers involved—" the surviving ones, presumably "—have been suspended from duty indefinitely, pending an investigation."

"Who's leading this investigation?" My uncle Rick asked from across the room, a half-full glass of brandy held near his chest. "And who will be allowed as witnesses? Do you honestly think the council is capable of justice, or even impartiality, in its current state?"

Blackwell twisted awkwardly toward my uncle—my mother's older brother. "Frankly, I think the current state of the council is nothing short of a disaster. But abandoning the very order that defines us is no way to repair the cracks that have developed in our foundation." Then he turned to face my dad again. "Fortunately, I believe you dealt with the actual guilty party yourself."

In fact, my father had torn out Ethan's murderer's throat before my brother had even breathed his last. The offending tom was disposed of in the industrial incinerator behind our barn, his ashes dumped unceremoniously on the ground several feet from the furnace, then stomped into the dirt by everyone who tread over them.

But that small act of revenge did little to ease the blazing wrath consuming all of us.

"Calvin Malone is ultimately responsible for Ethan's death, and he will pay that price." My father's words came out cold, as if he didn't feel a word he'd said. But on my right, Marc's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Jace went stiff on my left. From the couch, Michael was nodding grimly. We were ready. Vengeance was overdue.

"The council has taken official action on this matter," Blackwell continued. "I know you're not satisfied by that action, and that's understandable, but if you strike at Malone after he's accepted censure, you'll be throwing the first punch."

"Are we children, playing this blame game?" My father finally rose from his chair, and Blackwell had to look up to meet his fury. "Are you so focused on who's at fault that you can't see the larger picture? Calvin Malone is out of control, and if the council can't rein him in, we will."

On the other side of the room, Uncle Rick, Umberto Di Carlo, and Ed Taylor nodded in solidarity. They'd thrown their support behind my father and pledged their manpower to fight alongside us.

"The larger picture is exactly what I'm looking at." Blackwell held his ground as my father stalked toward him. "You're talking about civil war. How does that benefit the greater good?" He glanced down at his cane, but when he looked up, resolve straightened the old man's thin, hunched spine. "My eyes may be old and weak, but I see this clearly, Greg. The U.S. Prides cannot afford to go to war."

My father met his gaze steadily. "Neither can they afford to be led by Calvin Malone." He stepped around the older Alpha and took the glass his brother-in-law held out to him, sipping from it as Blackwell turned slowly, leaning on his cane while he scanned the room.

The council chair's gaze fell finally on my mother, who sat stiff and straight in a leather wing chair in one corner, half-hidden by the shadows. Long before I was born, she'd sat on the council, but I couldn't remember her ever taking active part in council business during my lifetime. Yet no one had objected when she'd filed into the room behind our unexpected guest, after showing him into the office.

"Karen…" Blackwell said, and the irony of his appeal to her irritated me like a backward stroke of my fur. The old man's record on gender equality was solidly con, yet he had the nerve to address my mother in her own home. "Would you really send your sons to die at war, if it could possibly be avoided?"

My mother's eyes flashed in anger, and my breath caught in my throat. She stood slowly, and every face in the room turned toward her. "In case you haven't noticed, Paul, I don't have to send my children to war to watch them die. Less than two weeks ago, Ethan was murdered on our own land, the result of an action you sanctioned." She stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest, and suddenly the resemblance between me and my mother was downright scary. "Yet you stand here, in my own house, asking me to speak against justice for his death? Asking my support for a council leader who stands for everything I hate? You're a bigger fool than Malone."

Blackwell stared, obviously at a loss for words, and the tingle of delight racing up my spine could barely be contained.

And my mother wasn't done. "Furthermore, if Calvin Malone takes over the council, the status quo will sink to an all-new low. What makes you think I want you, or him, or any other man to tell my daughter when and whom she should marry, and how many children she should bear? Yes, I want to see Faythe married—" my mother glanced at me briefly "—but that's because I see in her—sometimes deep down in her—the same fierce, protective streak I feel for my own children. And because I want to see her happy. That's a mother's right. But it is not your right. And you won't convince a single soul here that you bear the least bit of concern for her happiness."

"Karen…" Blackwell started, but my mom shook her head firmly.

I squirmed, in both embarrassment and pride, but my attention never wavered from my mother's porcelain mask of fury and indignation. "Listen closely—I won't say this again." She took another step forward, her index finger pointed at the council's senior member, and those spine-chills shot up my arms. "Do not mistake my even temper and my contribution to the next generation of our species as either docility or weakness. It is that very maternal instinct you're appealing to that fuels my need for vengeance on my son's behalf, and I assure you that need is every bit as great, as driving, as my husband's.

"Now," she continued, when Blackwell's wrinkled jaw actually went slack. "You are welcome here as a guest. But if you ever again insult me or any other member of my household, I will personally show you the exit."

With that, my mother tucked a chin-length strand of gray hair behind one ear and strode purposefully toward the door, leaving the rest of us to stare after her in astonishment. Except for my father. His expression shone with pride so fierce that if he hadn't still been mourning the loss of a son, I was sure he would have called for a toast.

Silence reigned in my father's office, but for the clicking of my mother's sensibly low heels on the hardwood. Without looking back, or making eye contact with anyone, she pulled open the door—and almost collided with a pint-size tabby cat.

"Kaci, what's wrong?" My mother took her by the shoulder and guided her away from the office, obviously assuming she'd been about to knock on the door. But I knew better. Kaci wasn't knocking; she was eavesdropping.

At least, she was trying. But I could have told her from personal experience that she wouldn't have much luck. The office door was solid oak and beneath the Sheetrock, the walls were cinder block and windowless. While those features didn't actually soundproof the room, they rendered individual words spoken inside nearly impossible to understand. Even with a werecat's enhanced hearing.

"I…" Kaci faltered, glancing at me for help. But I only smiled, enjoying seeing someone else in the hot seat for once. "You guys're talking about me, aren't you? If you are, I have a right to know."

My mom smiled. "Your name hasn't come up."

Yet. But now that Blackwell had been shot down on the uneasy-peace front, I had no doubt he'd start in about Kaci. Calvin Malone was desperate to place her with a Pride that supported his bid for control of the council. His own Pride, if he could possibly swing it. In fact, Ethan had died defending Kaci from an attempt to forcibly remove her from our east Texas ranch.

And Kaci knew that.

"What's going on, then? Is this about Ethan?" Her chin quivered as she spoke, her gaze flitting from face to solemn face in search of answers, and my heart broke all over again.

Kaci had been closer to Ethan and Jace than to any of the other toms, and though she'd known him less than three months, she was taking my brother's death every bit as hard as the rest of us. Maybe worse. At thirteen, Kaci had already been tragically overexposed to death and underexposed to counseling. And in addition to the grief and anger the rest of us suffered, she felt guilty because Ethan had died defending her.

"Come on, Kaci, let's get you something to eat." My mother tried to herd her away from the office, but the tabby shrugged out from under her hand.

"I'm not hungry. And I'm tired of being left out. You keep me cooped up on the ranch, but won't tell me what's going on in my own home? How is that fair?"

I sighed and glanced around the office, loath to miss the rest of the discussion. But now that Ethan was gone, no one else could deal with Kaci as well as I could except Jace, and I wasn't going to ask him to leave. The impending war had as much to do with him as it did with me; Calvin Malone was his stepfather, and Ethan was his lifelong best friend.

"Come on, Kace, why don't we go kick the crap out of some hay bales in the barn?"

She looked at me like I'd just gone over to the dark side, but nodded reluctantly.

Marc took my hand, then let his fingers trail through mine as I stepped past him toward the door. Then I stopped and deliberately brushed a kiss on his rough cheek on the way, inhaling deeply to take in as much of his scent as possible, lingering for Blackwell's benefit, as well as my own. To reiterate for the old coot that I would choose my own relationships.

But on my way into the hall, my gaze caught on Jace's, and the tense line of his jaw betrayed his carefully blank expression. As did the flicker of heat in his eyes. We'd agreed not to talk about what happened between us the day Ethan died. There was really no other way to keep peace in the household, and keep everyone's energy and attention focused on avenging my brother. And I'd sworn to myself that Marc would be the first to know. That I would tell him myself. He deserved that much, as badly as I dreaded it.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
AMAZING!!
By Nikki McCartney
This was an amazing book! I couldn't put it down. I love all the characters

60 of 71 people found the following review helpful.
Seriously?
By Tracy
Well, I finished Shift last night, and even after sleeping on it and debating this review, I'm left with this thought: Thank hell there's only one book left in the series.

I've been with the series since the beginning and have felt all the way through that the books are entertaining, but the main character is a chore. In this book, I actively detested her. And unfortunately there wasn't any overall series arc development to distract myself from the tedium of Faythe in Shift. In fact, this entire book felt more like a dark, depressing detour from the great highway of the series as a whole. It certainly did nothing towards furthering the plot of upcoming war between prides. It possibly provided a sort of ally...maybe...but the sort of ally that'd eviscerate you sooner than help you. I just don't get it. And I'm sorry, but for some reason it really started to grate on my nerves that Faythe is the main character of this series, because frankly, it makes EVERYONE else around her seem ineffective at best, and completely idiotic at worst - including her father, the alpha. If Faythe is the best that the pride can do to actually get things done, they've got bigger problems than Malone.

And is it just me, or does the same sort of thing happen in every book? Faythe gets kidnapped. Her value as a tabby is shoved down our throats. Her all-important (but by this point, overwritten) struggle to maintain her value as an enforcer is called into question. She's assaulted and bedraggled. She overcomes some sort of stupidity of her own making. She pushes away/denies/betrays Marc. She looks back and pats herself on the back for her "growth." Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Faythe is one of the most self-centered, narcissistic, selfish, petulant, immature characters I've ever had the misfortune of seeing star in a series. Her misplaced sense of entitlement is beyond the pale. I tolerated her through the first few books because I thought the surrounding story was good enough and I expected her to grow into a stronger, better person. After Shift, I've given up hope of that. Her behavior concerning the Jace-Faythe-Marc debacle was utterly contemptible. Period. The fact that that triangle exists at all and that the author beat us over the head with it to the exclusion of arc progression was inexcusable. The utter prostitution of Marc's character development in the series to date to ALLOW for it is reprehensible. And if the ONLY reason Vincent killed off Ethan, one of my favorite characters of the series, was to give Jace and Faythe a reason to screw, it's disgusting. If I wanted to read an urban fantasy series ripe with inexplicable emotional vomit spewing across the pages, I'd go back to reading LKH's Anita Blake series.

All that being said, I give Shift two stars. The second one was for the creation and originality of the thunderbird race. Rachel Vincent can tell a story - obviously, I don't always agree with the manner in which she does so, but I will not deny that her narrative is compelling and her imagination is impressive. I wish a bit more thought had been given to the series arc and the gradual progression of her characters, so each book didn't have the same rough formula, but I have read each book and intend to read the last, so that's something, I guess. Shift, though, was disappointing, and I felt it a severe step back in character development and a detour in series arc.

37 of 46 people found the following review helpful.
A shift from "reality".
By Tizroc
I had to step in and write a review for this travesty. All the bunny happy everything is soooo good without any reason was just too much. Let me preface this with saying that the first three in this series were rated all 4 or 5s. The fourth instance getting a low (for me) three star rating because it was very, very (I cannot get enough veries in this) redundant. This book was so bad that I will admit to a much deserved anger streak... I mean I buy the audiobook versions and they cost a lot.

Every book starts with Faythe screwing up her life and ending with her barely making amends only to say the tag line in each book "If I take this road... I can never be the same/look back" or something similar. Yet each book has her once again doing the same thing, the same way. It is nauseating that the character development only exists in each book and falls like tatters to the ground between books.

**Character spoilers below**
Jace's development doesn't come as a surprise.. and is very congruent with his personality. He is opportunistic and slightly slimy.. This is the only male character who acts consistently through the book.

Marc is an aggressively alpha kind of alpha. He is very possessive, yet we are supposed to believe that he would willingly wait for his turn with Faythe (who is valued over anything else) and wouldn't rip out Jace's throat RIGHT after saying he will have to kill Jace for being a potential rival for the alpha male position (which he values less). This Genre seems to have been peppered with prose written by women who have a Mary Sue complex and have never been within 100 feet of a possessive male. The character shark jump makes the pathetic love triangle unreadable and downright nauseating.

Faythe is not a flawed character who is slowly learning to be a better potential alpha. She is a skank who is so unbelievably selfish that she seems to be incapable of even being true to herself. Marc sacrifices himself for her, and the pride... so when he is in trouble she skanks around, then She ends every book saying how much she has learned and saying how she can never go back to what she was like because she has crossed some milestone in growing up. That is until the beginning of the next book. It is like the author has a story generator and just puts in a few choices and it spits out a story.
Read: Faythe cannot deal with her life the way it is so she screws up by ___________. Then comes face to face with her worst fear of being kidnapped (or someone tries to kidnap someone) by a bunch of ____________. The _____________ are out for blood because the members of the South Central Pride are smack in the middle of _______________. Faythe makes all this much worse by ____________, but realizes her mistake (which inevitably was the same mistake she vowed she could never go back to because she crossed some invisible line). She then tries to make amends on her own only to get kidnapped and threatened with rape and violence. She then gets a hail Mary pass in the form of _____________, which allows her to over come her current situation where everyone is astonished by her awesomeness. She then realizes that she has crossed a barrier or some other threshold and can never.. ever go back to being the way/person she was (until the next installment generator is run). All the while perpetrating horrors on Marc. She deserves neither of these two men (even Jace), and Marc doesn't deserve to have to be with her. This story writing isn't anguish to make the story more interesting... if that was the case it would be a new anguish or realistic character response to the character's problems. Marc standing in line for his turn with Faythe reads as unrealistic for the entirety of the whole series and everything in this book until he says this. Of course Jace said he would share also (which even Faythe says she doesn't believe). The whole story reads like a scary story genre over board party with horrible Mary Sue wet dream fulfillment from the author. I have rarely been so disappointed in an author as I am in this one. The rabid narcissistic self fulfillment in this romp reads as real to the character development as the Enquirer is to real news.

The war development is very stagnant within the confines of the majority of the book. This is the first time we see the South Central pride and their group consolidating some power base and seeing them use even the slightest bit of wisdom to create external relationships to benefit them, but only as an after thought. To be honest the horrible, horrible and contrived relationship stunt made me want to put the series down... but by some misguided love for the earlier books in the series I tried to soldier on. This is quickly becoming the new Anita Blake ever de-evolving story line.. at this point at least the author only plans on humiliating good taste for one more book. Her single story power for writing is great (one hit wonders).. but her multi book story arc and originality lack everything to be desired. Here is to hoping she pulls out something good and original for her final episode and that she kills the series with as little fuss as possible. Faythe deserves to be unceremoniously put out of our misery.

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