WOMAN of BLOOD & BONE by Annie Anderson
Rogue Ethereal - Book 1
Release Date: FEBRUARY 27, 2018
Cover Design by: By Definition
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SYNOPSIS:
I was burned at the stake when I was fourteen…
At nineteen, I was dissected by a zealot ‘physician’ who knew less than a pile of cow dung about medicine…
I was drowned in a lake when I was twenty-four…
At twenty-seven, I was stoned in a public square…
Maxima Alcado has died a hundred times in a hundred different ways, usually at the hands of the humans she tries to save. But when this centuries-old Witch helps the wrong person, things go horribly wrong.
Max might just die in a way that sticks.
Permanently.
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Excerpt:
I was burned at the stake when I was fourteen years old. At nineteen, I was dissected by a zealot ‘physician’ who knew less than a pile of cow shit about medicine. I was drowned in a lake when I was twenty-four. At twenty-seven, I was stoned in a public square.
When I was thirty – long after I quit aging – I finally got smart. If I stopped helping people, if I stopped trying to save the humans who were so ungrateful for my assistance, no one would know what I could do. I wouldn’t hear the word Witch from the lips of men who didn’t know the first thing about me.
Sure, it meant more people would die, but with as many times as I’d been ‘killed’ for my gift, they deserved it.
I made rules – ways of hiding in plain sight.
One – never, ever, on literal pain of death, live in a small town. There is no hiding there, no way to keep nosy people out of your business. Also, when the town magistrate happens to go ‘missing’ they are going to look at the strange girl who keeps to herself. Yes, I killed him, and no, I’m not sorry.
He deserved it.
Two – no matter how much I may want to, don’t cast in public. It doesn’t matter if some asshole parent is beating their kid, mistreating their dog, or driving like a blind monkey on uppers. Don’t do it. Memory spells are slippery and difficult to execute.
Three – Don’t talk about history or politics with people. You run the risk of talking about the French Revolution as if you were actually there (I was) and then some jerkoff history buff – who swears by the books he so ardently clings to – starts getting nosy. It’s bad news all around.
I remind myself of my rules – especially rule two – as I walk the dark and rather dirty streets of Denver’s warehouse district. While I suppose I could get scolded for being a beautiful woman walking alone at night in a big city in a decidedly seedy part of town, I just don’t give a fuck. I wasn’t leaving my cherry red Chevelle anywhere but in a highly secure parking garage even with the three-block walk on five-inch spike heels. And I’d break rule two in a heartbeat if a man – or woman, I’m equal opportunity – came at me in this part of town. Like the shady-looking fellow giving me the V sign as he adjusts his crotch, his tongue waggling through his fingers like some sort of deranged animal.
I contemplate just what I could turn him into. A trash barrel, or maybe a port-a-john, or even a mailbox. Transmogrification spells aren’t too hard if you’re working with something of equal mass. All it would take is a snap of my fingers and the right words in Latin.
My plans are derailed by my phone ringing in my clutch. Lucky fuck.
Someone just saved your life, pal.
© Copyright 2018 Annie Anderson
About the Author:
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.
In her past lives, Annie has been a lifeguard, retail manager, dental lab technician, accountant, and now she writes fast-paced paranormal thrillers with some serious heat.
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