Waking for Winter
Philadelphia Coven Chronicles, #4
by Katherine McIntyre
Date of Publication: July 4th 2017
Publisher: Loose Id
Genre: Paranormal Romance
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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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.