It's Book Review Wednesday, my favorite day of the week! Today, we're stepping a bit outside my comfort zone--into the world of fairies, romance, and Celtic mythology. A surprisingly great read!

Sprite Night

When Scottish water sprite, Cassie, volunteers for an anti-fracking protest, the last thing she expects is to find herself at odds with a druid. But with time running out for the local environment, she can’t afford to be distracted by the handsome hunk of a Highlander. Intent on a minor act of sabotage, Cassie is totally unprepared to be caught in the cross-fire of a magical battle. Can she avert catastrophe? Or will she become the very agency of an ecological disaster?

My Review: 4 Stars

While this book was not my style at all, I'd have to say that I enjoyed it. I'm not much for romance, but I couldn't stop reading through the story until it was done. It's a simple short story, one with just enough detail to make you want to find out more about the main character, Cassie. I believe it serves as an intro/prequel to Book 1 of the Caledonian Sprite series, and it definitely had me interested to know more. It had a good "hook" for the series. There were only a few things I found off-putting (the descriptions of Cassie's true elemental form and the journey into the center of the earth could have been done better), but all in all, a solid read!

Here's a Taste:

I pushed open the swing doors to the lounge and glanced around. Most of the crowd were locals I’d come to know over the past few weeks, but a rather delectable-looking stranger sat in the snug beside the chimney. My body perked up with interest. Right now, my DNA stores were high, and gathering more would be an indulgence, but this guy had the makings of a pleasing dalliance, with or without extra benefits. His shaggy brown hair melded into a luxuriant beard, above which shone a pair of the brightest blue eyes I’d seen in a long while. He was dressed in a heavy woollen sweater with a thick, quilted jacket and thermal beanie discarded beside him on the bench. Never one to stand on ceremony, I sauntered across the room and put a hand on the chair facing him. A pleasant waft of pine aftershave tickled my nose, evoking images of wide open spaces and forest, meeting my approval. He nodded in response to my raised eyebrow, and I pulled the chair out, dragging it across the bare wooden floorboards with a squeal. He winced. “Dear God, lass, d’ye like to torture your men even before ye’ve been introduced?” Laughter burst from my mouth, and after so much seriousness, it felt good. “Nae, fine sir. And if you think that’s torture, perhaps I’ve chosen unwisely.” He twinkled at me, and waved a hand at the chair. “Sit, please. We can debate the merits of wisdom over a drink. What’s your poison?” “Shale gas,” I replied without thought. His eyes turned wary and his body rocked almost imperceptibly away from me. “I’m so sorry!” I blurted. What must he think—that I was one of those travelling militant campaigners? I might be passionate about this cause, but I didn’t want to frighten him off. “Really, it’s just what everyone around here is talking about these days. Whisky, please; I like a nice single malt.” He relaxed, no longer ready to run for the hills. “Any malt in particular? They have a good range here.” Better. By the shine in those china blue eyes, I’d made the right choice. “Laphroaig, I think; I fancy something smoky tonight.” “Good choice. I have the feeling that discussion on wisdom may prove fascinating.” He rose and mooched over to the bar to order our drinks, bringing another smile to my lips as I admired his neat butt and long, lean legs encased in denim. He opted for a 15-year old Jura for himself; clearly a man of impeccable taste. The Laphroaig slipped down my throat with ease, leaving its characteristic aftertaste of smoke and peat plastered across my taste buds. I might be unable to get drunk, but I can savour the finer things in life. “Duncan McIntyre,” said my new drinking buddy, sticking out a hand for me to shake. “Cassiopeia Lake. My friends call me Cassie.” “And am I a friend?” “From the moment you offered me a dram.” “Cheap at the price,” he said with an appreciative glance, and then blanched. “Not that I meant you’re cheap, only that the price of the malt was worth every penny.” He paused, and shook his head. “I’m digging myself in further by the minute, aren’t I?” “Most certainly, but please, don’t stop there; I plan on enjoying every moment of watching you extricate yourself.”

About the Author:

Deborah Jay writes fast-paced fantasy adventures featuring quirky characters and multi-layered plots – just what she likes to read. Living mostly on the UK South coast, she has already invested in her ultimate retirement plan – a farmhouse in the majestic, mystery-filled Scottish Highlands where she retreats to write when she can find time. Her taste for the good things in life is kept in check by the expense of keeping too many dressage horses, and her complete inability to cook. Her debut novel, epic fantasy THE PRINCE’S MAN, first in a trilogy and winner of a UK Arts Board award, was published in July 2013, with the sequel due out shortly. Urban fantasy, DESPRITE MEASURES, published in December 2013 is the opening novel of the projected five book CALEDONIAN SPRITE SERIES. Find the book on Amazon: http://mybook.to/SpriteNight Read her thoughts on her website http://deborahjayauthor.com/ Tweet at her: https://twitter.com/DeborahJay2 Connect with her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeborahJay