Waking for Winter
Philadelphia Coven Chronicles ,
#4
by Katherine McIntyre
Date of
Publication: July 4th 2017
Publisher:
Loose Id
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
BLURB
The Philadelphia Coven has
thwarted the Order of the Serpent’s every attempt to destroy their city only to
draw out the scariest nightmare from the Otherworld, the Caoranach. One of the
Coven’s own, Cami Akiyama, has already met this creature—the very monster who
tortured her, branding her with a mark. Given Cami’s history with the big bad,
the Coven leader assigns her a bodyguard, none other than the gorgeous and
lethal necromancer, Dante Martinez, the ex-boyfriend she disappeared on years
ago. One conversation confirms the spark between them never died, and based on
the way Dante flirts, he won’t allow that flame to extinguish out without a
fight.
No one has ever compared to Dante
and the incendiary passion he inspired in her, but the Caoranach broke her—Cami’s
too damaged for any sort of relationship. Not like that stops him. If anything,
he fights harder for the memories of a love that kept her sane on the bleakest
nights. And despite every effort to distance, she finds herself falling for him
all over again. Except the Caoranach isn’t finished with her—the branded mark
holds the secret to the city’s destruction or salvation, and Cami stands in the
center of the storm.
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“Let’s drown
ourselves in coffee,” she responded, turning and making a beeline toward the
shop, which had just opened. A film covered her skin, like she needed to scour
herself clean for the thousandth time since the Caoranach had begun her visits,
so maybe she was better off staying away from home for a bit. Her skin could
use a rest after her last attack. She wrapped her hand around the curved door
handle and tugged it open.
Yellowed lights
beamed down as the hiss of coffee in the brewer and the aroma of freshly ground
beans greeted her. She walked inside, and the burst of warmth traveled all the
way to her toes as she quick-stepped over to the pastry case. A tired barista nudged
her glasses up on her nose before leaning over the counter.
“Hey there,” the woman slurred, her voice
thick with sleep. Cami peered into the display case while Dante swerved by her
to order a plain cup of coffee. The strawberry crumb cake caught her eye at
once; she loved the fruit to the point of addiction. She ordered it and a small
cappuccino. Even with the barista’s yawns, she moved with a surprising
efficiency, in mere moments dropping off a swirled cappuccino and the moist
crumb cake while she exchanged the cash.
Dante leaned into one
of the black, wire-rimmed chairs in the corner of the room, watching her with a
smile that reached his eyes. She drew in a deep breath, wishing she could equip
some sort of armor to disarm the magnetism of his smile and the way his gaze
made her heart ache.
She took solace in
her six packs of sugar to fill that hole as she stirred them into her
cappuccino and carried her food over to where Dante sat.
“You’re going to get diabetes,” he commented,
arching a brow at her drink.
“If sugar was going to kill me, I’d get the
premonition. Might as well be some use to my shitty ability.” She fixed him
with a glare before lifting her crumb cake to her lips and exaggerating her
enjoyment to spite him.
Dante snorted in response.
“So,” she started in between chews. Dante
lifted a brow. As rough and tumble as the necromancer appeared, he always got
cranky about table manners. Which was great, because Cami relished any
opportunity she got to annoy him. “When are we going investigating?” she asked,
excitement winding through her system faster than caffeine. Alanna might be
keeping her out of Coven field duty, but she could still do some legwork on her
own. The Caoranach had already made her interest clear, so Cami wasn’t going to
loiter around waiting for the next visit.
Dante took a sip from
his steaming cup and shook his head with a smirk. “Thought you were an obedient
good girl now.”
She shot him a look.
“Dunno, I think stopping imminent evil from having its way with the city would
earn me some good cred. Besides, when have I ever been obedient?”
Midsip of his coffee,
Dante spluttered into the cup. Though his dark eyes glittered with amusement,
his mouth grew serious. “Level with me though. Other folks can follow this
lead, ones who haven’t been at this monster’s mercy. Are you okay enough to
snoop around? Things could get real, fast.”
Cami sucked in a deep
breath as she tugged on her pendant. The softness and care in his voice slayed
her, and even if she wanted to puff her chest with bravado and pretend, she
couldn’t hide her feelings for anything. “I’m scared as shit, D. I’m getting
these spells where I freeze up, where my body’s paralyzed. What I’d love to do
is just hibernate under my blankets for the next couple of months with Sirius
and about a thousand books. But whether I like it or not, she’s taken an
interest in me, and I’m connected to this. So yeah, I’ll step up to the plate.”
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Author Info
A modern-day Renaissance-woman, Katherine
McIntyre has learned soap-making, beer brewing, tea blending, and most recently
roasting coffee. Most of which make sure she’s hydrated and bathed while she
spends the rest of her time writing. With a desire to travel and more
imagination than she knows what to do with, all the stories jumping around in
her head led to the logical route of jotting them down on paper. She writes
novels with snarky women, ragtag crews, and guys with bad attitudes. High
chances for a passionate speech thrown into the mix.
MY INTERVIEW WITH KATHERINE MCINTYRE
How would you describe your style of writing
to someone that has never read your work?
Snarky and
gritty yet hopeful. I’m a sucker for passionate speeches and dramatic
swashbuckling, so that tends to work its way into a lot of my books, and I’m
also devoted to writing the broad spectrum of men and women, not just
traditional gender roles, so you can expect some take-charge women as leads.
Also, pirates. Whether it’s pirates in space, pirates on airships, pirates on
boats, rogue mercenaries in the streets—I love that sort of adventure vibe.
Do you feel that writing is an ingrained
process or just something that flows naturally for you?
A
little bit of both. There’s always a natural flow, especially when you’re
meshing with a project, but I think part of the process is the learned ability
to persevere and force the words out even if they’re not flowing that day. For
me, that’s what finishes manuscripts, though I know everyone has their own
individual style.
Do you have a character that you have been
working on for a long time that still isn't quite ready, but fills you with
excitement to work on the story?
Hm,
since the character is actually the first thing I establish with a story, I’m
going to say no on that aspect. However, there’s one that’s been growing
throughout her series, and that’s Bea Weston from my Take to the Skies series,
and she is ALWAYS a joy to write. Every time I sit down to write her, a huge
smile hits my face, and I’m filled with this absolute zeal. She is reckless,
ferocious, and wry in the best of ways and hands down one of the best
characters I’ve ever written.
Where would you spend one full year, if you
could go Anywhere? What would you do with this time?
I’m
sure this is a common answer, but I’d love to explore Europe. There’s so much
history there, so many individual countries with their own cultures that I feel
like I could explore and never tire of it. I would find all of the unique
architecture and landmarks and travel the different terrain. I love adventuring
through new areas and finding what makes them unique. Of course, while I was
doing all of this exploring, I would write and write and write.
Can you share you next creative project(s)?
If yes, can you give a few details?
I’m
currently working on a shifter series, called Tribal Spirits. It’s shaping up to
be an absolute blast so far, because I adore, adore, adore shifters. Something
about their animalistic nature really appeals to me, and they’ve been a blast
to write so far. Here’s a sneak peek into the opening:
Tonight, Sierra was spoiling for a
fight.
She
slammed into Beaver Tavern’s door shoulder first, amber light spilling on her
as she entered and the scent of tobacco threading through the air. Wooden
planks creaked under her boots from her clipped tread as she quick-stepped to
the oaken bar on the opposite side. Three things lit her match without
fail—abusive assholes, idiots who didn’t use their turn signals, and
unannounced shifters moving in on her territory.
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