Silver Hollow
Jennifer Silverwood
Genre: Paranormal
Romance/ Fantasy Romance/ Chick-lit
Publisher:
SilverWoodSketches
ISBN: 1481000144
ISBN13: 9781481000147
ASIN: B00A47LGRA
Number of pages:
322
Word Count: 131,
325
Cover Artist: Najla
Qamber
Book Description:
Amie Wentworth writes paranormal romances, not because she is
looking for a degree in ectoplasm, but because she’s got bills to pay. Ever
since her parents’ car crash, she has been led a reclusive life and trusted
books more than people. Not even a letter from her long-lost uncle, begging her
to visit, gives Amie incentive for anything other than ire – until she is
stabbed in an alley and brought back to life by a mysterious stranger.
After crossing the Atlantic to her father’s
homeland, Amie is dragged into the very sort of tale she is used to selling.
Silver Hollow is a place of ancient traditions and supernatural dangers, where
everything is the opposite of what it seems and few escape sane.
To make matters worse, the man who saved her
life keeps turning up and her would-be-murderer is still at large.
But when she comes face to face with the ugly
truth, will she too be sucked into her father’s madness? Or will she discover
that madness is just another name for honesty?
Silver Hollow
Excerpt #1:
The
hour before dawn found Amie pulling her car round the back alley. Through the
gloom and decades-buried waste behind Pat’s
Delights was a narrow strip leading to the back staircase leading up to
her flat.
The
stranger’s face came unbidden to her as she gathered her things and moved her
weary legs. Black eyes set deeply in a shadow-drenched face haunted her, eyes which
seemed to accuse and praise, sift and wonder. Now that she knew, she realized
she must have seen him before today, maybe even in the past she had tried to
forget.
The
faded yellowing parchment marked with heavy black ink, with words too absurd to
be true, flashed in her mind. Clutching the key hidden in her jeans pockets
while digging through her purse for her keys, she remembered Uncle Henry’s
letter. Mulling over the words, she once again recalled how angry she had been
ten years ago after reading his first note. So what the cops were uncertain how
the accident had happened. So what her father had known some powerful people.
Amie had been primped and pushed into the upper-class social sphere through her
teens and knew how to handle that sort. She could take care of herself just
like she always had. She would tear up the letters and the tickets tonight. The
twins and James were her family now.
As
she placed her shoe upon the first rickety metal step, two thick and powerful
hands grabbed her in the same moment.
It
happened so quickly she forgot to scream. Dropping her purse she struggled,
kicked and bucked against the crazy person lifting her and pulling her deeper
into the shadows of the alley. And the harder she struggled the tighter his
choking embrace became against her chest.
She
thought at last to cry out, only to feel her face being smashed against a brick
wall. She gasped as the figure suddenly pushed her aside, out of his embrace.
Amie stumbled back and nearly tripping over a metal pipe. She righted herself
only to come face-to-face with the black-masked figure. His brilliant blue eyes
blazed into hers, now filled with unmistakable purpose. Too late she realized
his intentions as a sickeningly cool object was plunged into her chest and
pulled quickly out again.
Her
vision swam, then blurred as she slumped against the trash-littered concrete.
Her mind began to fade into an ever-deepening sleep though her eyes watched on.
The black-garbed man was fighting someone else. Unmasked, this guy was taller,
broader in the shoulders than her murderer and wrought by fury.
Pain…she
had not known the meaning of the word before now and even this too was fading
into the deep sleep. The further she fell the less sense the scene before her
made. Her mind didn’t believe that the tall man had really tossed her attacker
five feet into the air over his shoulder and into the brick, or a strange light
and energy crackled in the suddenly luminous alley.
She
was too afraid to hope when a pair of warm hands cradled her in a firm embrace.
He pulled her from the muck and fixed his dark eyes on her. Obsidian-cut eyes,
familiar eyes, pierced through her gaze and reached deeper. His face, once so
indiscernible it could be called plain, was now twisted as though in agony.
Even though she was slipping, falling into a calm quiet darkness, he refused to
let her go. His hand moved from her neck to her cheek with the faintest touch.
He pushed past and clasped hold of something tearing deep inside of her then.
The black of his irises gave way to a strange mix of blue and green flecks gleaming
in their depths. She saw…
Fields
of brilliant emerald grass and a sun filled with more colors than she knew to
name.
Darkness
and a dirty cell, where heavy fists punctuated his pain.
Time
beyond counting became a lifetime lost.
A
green-eyed dark-haired beauty bathed in sunlight stretched out her hand to him.
Someone
was screaming. Amie frowned as the woman’s cries grew louder. Pain spiked up in
her chest as her lungs constricted and her heart was ripped apart then
reformed. The woman’s screams died when she took a breath and realized the voice
was hers.
She
blinked.
And
then she was lying within the narrow strip between two brick buildings, alone.
TEAM EMRYS VS TEAM DEARG:
The Romance Phenomenon
Men might deny it, but one of the best things about most
stories is when the damsel in distress complex. Let’s face it peeps, Braveheart
wouldn’t have been as great if Mel Gibson hadn’t been upset over a woman. And
what other reason would Nathaniel have to lead his family into a white war, if
it weren’t for Cora and her dumb sister? (Seriously now, why did she throw
herself off a cliff for a dude she only exchanged heated glances with? Who does
that? ;) I digress. My point is, love is key. It’s at the heart of every story
in some form or other.
Silver Hollow is no different. No one can deny the appeal of
a love triangle either (Twilight, Vamp Diaries, Lord of the Rings, anyone?) or
the underdog. Amie doesn’t act like the sort of heroine to have two men pining
after her. She’s pretty insecure and an eccentric oddball. She may have the
looks, but she’s not everyone’s cup of tea. So of course she finds herself in a
muddled mix of suits from two very different heroes.
Emrys is handsome, rude, manipulative, brooding and as
callous as he is charming. Naturally it makes most of us good girls love him,
right? He not only stalks Amie at Uncle Henry’s behest, but he becomes her
teacher. Amie brings out the best and the worst in him. He pushes her harder
and she pushes right back. But is he what’s best for her?
Dearg or Eddie as he’s more commonly known is the opposite.
He’s your hard working, strong silent type with many secrets. He’s that dude
you don’t notice because he’s made it his business to blend in with the
background. And he has his reasons for not wanting Amie to get too close to
him. At the same time, he can’t help but feel compelled to protect her and help
her wise up to reality.
Originally I wanted to carry this love triangle on into the
eventual, possible sequel. But I’m not a fan of falling in love with characters
and being disappointed either. Sometimes it becomes just exhausting having to
watch the heroine go back and forth too much. You’ll learn by the end of Silver
Hollow who Amie is meant to be with, though not necessarily who she chose.
Because neither hero was necessarily wrong for Amie, but one of them is so
obviously right for her.
VS
When coming up with swag with my designer, Naj, I wanted to
make fun of the “team” fandoms that are so popular now. Everyone is “team
someone” these days, it seems like. So I played around with it. Silver Hollow
is partly a satire on the paranormal romance, even if it doesn’t come across as
such. I wanted it to stay light enough to play around with the characters in
the beginning, and let it progress from there. And in real life, no woman would
want to be fought over like that, and torn so completely. That’s what makes it
so much fun in fiction.
For your viewing insider pleasure, here is the original
ending of Silver Hollow. Read the new to find out what has or hasn’t changed.
And be the judge yourselves, on whether it’s better to make the harder or
easier choices, like Amie was forced to make. Thanks for reading!
Trouble was
brewing inside the Vale. No one new but the messengers had ventured past its
borders in a thousand years and the evil trapped within was lashing out. The
Council of Ten Sovereigns requested her attendance to their next meeting,
without delay to help them resolve this unnamed issue. And according to Dameri,
ignoring a Council summons was like signing your own death sentence.
This is how Amie
found herself standing at the end of a vaguely familiar garden pathway, wearing
travel gear and banked by her closest friends. Worrying her lip with another
quick tug of her teeth, she recognized the gate she had only noticed in passing
before. She had always assumed it led to some abandoned garden, never would
have guessed this was the infamous gate to the Vale.
Dearg shifted on
his leather booted feet, wrapping his arm more securely around her waist and
digging her side into the blade strapped to his thigh. “You don’t have to do
this now, if you’re not ready.”
“She’d better be
ready!” Faye piped up behind them, picking the dirt from her nails with a tiny
paper thin blade. “I was getting bored to death hanging around her just waiting
for something to happen!”
Ben chuckled
behind her, once again in his human guise and with barely any effort snatched
the dagger from her hand to rest near her cleavage. “Don’t think I’d say bored was the word for how we occupied
our time, my little cougar.”
While Faye
grunted a muffled retort, Amie smiled at Jo and James. The Unseelie and her
human had spent almost all their time in either the garden or exploring the
vast library. Amie knew they were only coming along because they could handle
Underhill in small doses. And James refused to let his family fall into the
line of fire without a seasoned marksman in their convoy.
Emrys waited
patiently for her, hand outstretched. “You know they’re all lying, don’t you
love?” Returning Dearg’s subtle growl with one of his trademark smirks, Emrys
continued. “You’re the Key Jessamiene. You were born for this.”
Amie hoped he
was right. She hoped that Slaine, Underhill and Alastair could manage the
estate in her absence. And she hoped she wasn’t going to regret allowing the
others to join in her mission. Reluctantly she allowed her protector to pull
her from Dearg’s arms and closer to the gate. It hummed, glowed all around its
solid wooden edges as if the border was the only think keeping the sun blocked.
It shone silvery as moonlight over the endlessly carved patterns, reworking the
ring’s ancient symbol over and again. She shivered with anticipation, gripped
Emrys’ hand tighter and shared and caught the excitement trapped behind his
onyx shaded eyes. For one lost moment it felt as if nothing else existed, just
she and the Tuatha Myrddin and the Vale’s gate.
When Emrys spoke
it carried a weight and an echo along with the whispers of a forgotten song.
The music was coming from behind that door. “Are you ready?”
She nodded and
felt the tickle of his ancient power prodding her own into action. Instantly
she just knew she had to press her
hand to the centerpiece of the wood. It would only ever open for her hand,
until her inheritance passed to the next generation. The door opened with a
fresh breeze, falling into the gated world; carrying luscious scents and colors
so full she couldn’t breathe. Blinking her eyes shut Amie struggled to see past
the bright white light.
Emrys’s lips
were at her ear. “When you came to us you saw things as you wanted to see them
Jessamiene. Because we wanted you to have the chance to dream we were hesitant
to wake you. And you’re still dreaming even now. There is a world grander
beyond your wildest imaginings beyond the gate. Now ye must waken, love. Open
your eyes.”
Amie hesitated,
shuddered because her vision faded in and out. In place of normal images she
saw colors rather than light and shadow, objects illuminated from the inside
out. Each tremble of the house foundations shook her to her bones as one with
her shattered heart. And just as tempting as he had warned, she could drown in
the high of new sensation or let her human heart cave in, drown in an untimely
death.
“What will
happen?”
Emrys’ smile was
pain filled and broken, his mask gone forever from her gaze. “Everything if you
wish it. Just open your eyes Jessamiene…your real eyes…”
She breathed in
the remnant of desecration around them, felt her pain and that of everyone
around them and awakened.
Free read:
About the Author:
Jennifer
Silverwood was raised deep in the heart of Texas and has been spinning yarns a
mile high since childhood. In her spare time she reads and writes and tries to
sustain her wanderlust, whether it's the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania,
the highlands of Ecuador or a road trip to the next town.
After
attending three different universities without managing to square a degree, she
decided to the next logical thing; become a writer. Always on the lookout for her
next adventure, in print or reality, she dreams of one day proving to the
masses that everything really is better in Texas.
She
is the author of the Heaven's Edge series and Silver Hollow. To stay tuned,
please have a gander at her website: http://jennifersilverwood.com
Twitter- @JennSilverwood
Silver Hollow Excerpt #2
The windows Amie passed on
her mad dash back to her rooms betrayed the first glimpse of dawn. How her bare
feet managed to take her back without getting splinters from the fallen wood
beams or getting lost, she didn’t have time to dissect. Amie darted past the
shadows, relieved when the West Wing was nearly behind her.
Home stretch, Wentworth!
You’re almost there and you didn’t even last a week in track.
She grinned, touching the end
of the feather sticking out of her robe pocket. This was her biggest mystery
and most intriguing find. She wondered if any of the books Henry had put in her
bookcase could shed some light.
Amie squinted and gasped when
the distant candle light winked out of existence. The corner shadows literally
moved to stand in front of her, blocking her vision. Confused and more than a
little freaked out, Amie decided to just plunge through the gap. It had to be a
trick of the eyes. She’d been awake most of the night, after all.
When she impacted the shadow,
she realized too late it was hard as a brick wall. Within seconds she was
flipped onto her back, the breath knocked out of her and the candelabra pooling
wax onto the floor beside her head. She was too frightened to shout, flashbacks
of the night she was attacked penetrating her mind. So she flinched when the
shadows shifted and drew into her candle’s light to reveal the impression of a
face.
Amie threw up her hands and
scrambled backwards when the shadow reached to touch her. “Don’t come any
closer! Get away from me!” she hissed, afraid to scream and wake the house. A
part of her was still convinced this was a figment of her troubled imagination.
Shutting her eyes, she willed the spirit to flee, then froze in terror when it
spoke.
“Forgive me for startling you.
I only intended to be certain ye were real, flying about the castle in yer
nightdress as if ye had all the golems of the world at your back.”
“Your voice…” she whispered,
blinked up at the source of the deeply masculine voice. “I feel like I’ve heard
that before.” When he chuckled at her words she frowned, so he explained.
“I’ve been told a great many
things by maidens far uglier and others with only a reflection of your true
beauty, but never this. Tell me,” he said after a tense pause, where she focused
on the reflection of her candle’s flames dancing in his black orbs, “what
reason should a blood-filled woman have in the West Wing this night, lest she
be a wight?” He was mocking her yet her curiosity won over her frustration.
“What’s a wight?” she asked
and could have sworn his eyes shifted colors, from black to red to silver and
then brilliant blue.
“A walking specter, milady,
doomed to haunt its resting place forever.”
“I’m not a wight,” she said.
For a long moment he said nothing, only peered intensely over her, until she
felt the blackness would swallow her whole.
“Then neither am I,
Jessamiene Wenderdowne,” he whispered, drawing back into the darkness. Amie’s
heart was pounding, her blood racing. He shouldn’t have been able to leave so
quickly. There were no other rooms past hers, no alcoves she had uncovered, or
hidden passages to escape into. Yet as soon as his whisper was nothing more
than a memory and his face had left her candle’s glow, she knew she was truly
alone.
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