Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Silver Hollow Virtual Book Tour and Giveaway

Silver Hollow
Jennifer Silverwood

Genre: Paranormal Romance/ Fantasy Romance/ Chick-lit

Publisher: SilverWoodSketches

ISBN: 1481000144 
ISBN13: 9781481000147

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.

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.


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:

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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1 comment:

Jennifer Silverwood said...

Thanks so much for hosting me on your lovely site! Hope to see you in Wenderdowne soon :)