On Bonus Book Review Saturday, we’re going to take things a bit deeper and darker. This book is an odd combination of vampires, Celtic mythology, and a whole lot of other things that make it an intriguing book overall…
Chance the Darkness
In the depths of half-human, half-unknown, twenty-year-old, Summer Keese’s mind, the walls are beginning to crack…
I must be going mad. When my twin sister dies, my whole life begins to unravel in ways I never could have dreamed. A crazy lady ranting in my head, blood-drinking ghouls, a psychotic cult demanding I channel some powerful objects, dangerous men who want to control me…. Total insanity, right? Except, it’s all real.
Then I meet him. Black. Tall, handsome, godlike. The man harbors sinister secrets and lives by his own set of rules—rules I can’t begin to comprehend. One minute, he seems to want to save me. The next, I swear he’s going to bury me six-foot under. Why can’t he just tell me what’s really going on?
While searching for my sister’s killer in a seedy part of Glasgow, I discover nothing about my life is what it seems. Family secrets, betrayal. Emotions running hot, I make some seriously bad choices. And with the heart of Scotland becoming a paranormal battlefield, I have to wonder…. When did staying alive get so damn hard?
My Review: 3 Stars
That book blurb sort of sums up the entire thrust of the book: it’s all about this woman’s wicked attraction to some tall, dark and handsome guy.
Truth be told, the book came off as a bit odd to me. There were some strange expressions (like “smoke stained fingers”), and there were a lot of words overused. While it does a good job of pulling you into its dark world, once you’re there, you may end up as lost and confused as I.
The main character ends up bouncing around the world without any real explanation of how she gets from Point A (Amsterdam, for example) to Point B (Scotland or wherever the heck the guy Black hangs out). The prose is deep, but perhaps a bit too deep because it comes off as confusing and unclear. Instead of simple narration that’s easy to understand, it’s a book that forces you to read each sentence a few times to understand what is being said. IMO, that’s NOT a good thing for a book like this.
Worse still, the book hops from place to place and character to character without any real defined boundaries. With every teleportation (or whatever the heck it is), there’s nothing to really clarify what is happening. To me, that totally removed any sense of continuity the story may have had. It felt too disjointed and hard to follow.
The characters were also a bit two-dimensional. Black is as atypical as it gets, and even the main character doesn’t really break out of the clichéd molds of fantasy heroines. The book had A LOT of potential–thanks to its pretty solid storyline–but thanks to the confusing writing style, it only earns 3 stars from me.
Here’s a Taste:
Sensual throbbing thrums my body. The music in the club pulsates with my heart, making my head heavy and my tongue dense.
An unknown aroma assaults my senses. Hot, intense, and smoldering—like liquid gold, filling my lungs, leaving little room for oxygen. I struggle to inhale. This place is packed with so much sexual tension, I feel like I’m breathing underwater.
Desire creeps over my body until my skin tingles with want. My eyelids droop under the weight of the ambiance.
The nightclub is a vortex of slick, half-naked bodies lit under dark-red light. Skin slides against sweat, people grind against each other, lost in the erotic beat.
My fingers tighten around his unyielding palm as I break my promise to him.
I stare. At everything and everyone.
I gaze long and hard at what those people are doing. The communication signals my retinas are transmitting to my brain are being received—too loud and too clear.
People are feeding from each other!
Not in the way you see in the movies, all aggressive with throats being ripped out, splattering gore and death all over the walls. No. These people are enjoying being fed on.
“I told you not to stare.” His gruff voice brings me all the way back to reality. I glance up. Bad choice. This place seems to have the same effect on him as it does me. His eyes flash silver before his irises consume what’s left. “Don’t stare. And don’t let go of my hand. Unless you want to become the next all-you-can-eat buffet.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re such an arse.”
He maneuvers us both through the intoxicated crowd. I try not to stare. But I can’t help myself. I can’t believe this stuff happens, in Glasgow, under my very nose?
I glimpse a perfect set of brilliant white, razor-sharp fangs slide down the side of a young women’s exposed jugular. She laughs, all husky, penetrating over the music. Her tormentor licks along her neck before his incisors embed themselves deep into her throat. She gasps, pleasure exploding across her face as she digs nails into his bare chest. A thin trickle of dark liquid pools in her collarbone. A topless female, with swollen breasts the size of melons, runs over. She dips her tongue into the pool of blood, lapping at the liquid like a dog, following the overspill running between the other woman’s breasts. Raw unadulterated pleasure passes through their faces. I turn my head, embarrassed to be watching what should be a private moment.
I attempt to focus, to redirect all my concentration on the dark jacket in front of me, as he continues to push his way through a wall of half-clothed people, who wear low-hung jeans and little else. Men pack hard abs with stomachs you could iron off, and arms that could bench press three of me and not strain. The women are tanned legs, tiny waists, and long crimson nails. And all of them have one thing in common—their eyes. They are all inhuman.
The music keeps pumping, the beats rock my hips, making them sway of their own accord. Innocently, I follow danger through the crowd. And danger never tasted so seductive.
I understand, deep inside me, this place somehow has an influence on all those who enter—which scares me to think that if I were to speak my deepest, darkest desires, there’s a possibility they will be fulfilled here in this dungeon, until they consumed me, leaving nothing but a shell of who I am. But the worst, whatever this place, I have no doubt they would make me enjoy their kind of brutality. In the simplest form, this place is rape in a can.
I breathe slowly and deeply, channeling my inner ice queen. But the heat in the club intensifies, stealing whatever restraint I have left. The need to rip off my jacket devours me. The material of my jumper itches up over my skin. Any pressure on my body is of the wrong type. I stop short of running to the nearest object and rubbing myself all over it.
Half-drugged and breathing in liquid tease, I tap the top of Black’s arm to stop. I need time to get my head together, but he’s looking forward and not at me. Hell, I don’t even know if he can feel me.
I try, but I feel like my head’s swimming underwater. I stumble. The first bead of sweat forces a path between my breasts. The light touch is a caress off the wings of a butterfly. All of a sudden, I don’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore.
All I’m aware of is what my body needs—all six foot four of it.
My hand slips from his.
He spins around. His rough gaze centers on me. I get the impression he’s about to chastise me for breaking two of his rules, but not one word falls from his lips.
His body tenses tighter than a violin string. He grits his teeth.
I open my mouth and laugh, the sound is raw, unrefined. “What’s wrong? No sardonic smile. No scornful frown you’ve saved just for me.” Desire catches in my throat. I need something only he can give. My tongue darts out to lick the bottom of my lip. It’s a thousand mistakes.
He fists the front of my jacket, wrenching me forward by my coat, lifting me onto my toes.
I slam into his body.
Him touching me is a school-boy error. We both know it. This has been building since the first time we met. On the battlefield, on a planet which wasn’t Earth, at the police station, in the alleyway in Amsterdam, in his house. This is not just about sex or the tease—this is something altogether different. And it’s explosive. It’s dangerous.
About the Author:
L A Wild grew up in a quiet town forty minutes North West of London – think Harry Potter. Wild lived in many places including Greece, where the locals introduced her to the wonderful world of Greek Mythology, and Glasgow where she fell in love with the Scottish and their amazing accent. Wild studied and became an accountant and finally in 2006, after one too many bottles of wine, and a bad day in the best job ever, she booked a one way ticket to Australia.
Visit her website at :www.lawild.net
Tweet at her: @TheDarkSeries
Connect via Facebook: www.facebook.com/L.A.Wild.TheDarkSeries