The Writer's Voice. Below is my entry and all cheerleading and comments are welcomed! Good luck to the other participants and thank you to Krista Van Dolzer, Brenda Drake, Monica B.W, and Cupid for organzing this amazing competition.
A Taste of Blood
Alexandra Callahan knows the monsters hiding under the boardwalk are real; she just overlooks the fact her twin is one of them. Instead, she treats her mooching werewolf brother the same as any other family member who eats all the food and won’t do the dishes: with heavy doses of sarcasm, practical jokes, and a whole lot of ignoring the paranormal. But when their deceased father leads Alex to the murder scene of her friend Maddie, she can’t ignore Aaron’s furry side any longer. Not when a werewolf almost bites her head off and she stabs another in the face.
And those were the good guys.
Alex didn’t inherit the gene that makes her brother howl at the moon, but she definitely acquired the accompanying stubbornness and loyalty. Despite the pack’s claim otherwise, she’s convinced her dad is alive and knows something about Maddie’s death. Since he’s only appeared to Alex, finding him is up to her. It isn’t long before Alex contracts a maligned spell, pisses off the pack’s enforcer, attracts the attention of their devious wolfwitch, and becomes a Master Vampire’s thrall, all while pitching her advertising agency to a potential mega-client. When she confronts the wolfwitch about his secrets on the night of the full moon, a battle of wills becomes a battle within Alex’s body. The moon always wins.
Alex’s unveiling as the first natural female werewolf is sidelined when a pack member dies protecting her, forcing the pack to look within their ranks for a traitor. Betrayed by someone she trusted, Alex discovers the past never dies and what you don’t know will kill you. The Jersey Shore isn’t just for tourists and MTV anymore. The Jersey Shore has teeth.
A TASTE OF BLOOD, complete at 116,000 words, is an urban fantasy for adults who like their fiction more furry than undead.
The last time I saw my father, I broke my brother’s nose. Aaron simply wiped the blood on his suit’s sleeve and pulled me into a hug while I sobbed. As far as irrational outbursts went, it was spectacular, but we were twelve, at our father’s funeral and both a little emotional. Aaron just handled it better. Thirteen years later, he still did but I think even Aaron might have had something to say when Dad walked into Sawyers.
Martini glass pressed to my lips, I stared at the hooded figure sliding through the bar. His average height, dark shirt and jeans blended with the masses, but I thought I’d seen his face. He moved with purpose, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, as if they knew there’d be problems if they didn’t.
Invoking time-faded memories, the gait and crowd response raised the hair on the back of my neck. The conversation between my two best friends faded into the rest of the din. With shaking hands, I settled my glass on the table before I dropped it. Besides, the martini had already sloshed and no matter what anyone said, wasting a drink like that was sacrilege.
No. This wasn’t happening. The dead just didn’t casually stroll into a bar. My subconscious was projecting. It was dark; I couldn’t see. I was drunk. Daydreaming even. I threw explanations at myself, hoping one would stick, but apparently my brain was made of Teflon tonight.
“Alex? Earth to Alex.”
“Must have sighted a hottie.”