Firebolt
The
Dragonian Series
Book
One
Adrienne Woods
Adrienne Woods
Genre:
YA Fantasy
Publisher:
GMTA Publishing – Mythos Press
Date
of Publication: 20th
November 2013
ISBN:
13: 978-1491244654
Number
of pages: 289
Word
Count: 95 000
Cover
Artist: Mary Park and Kitty Bullard
Book
Description:
Dragons.
Right. Teenage girls don't believe in fairy tales, and
sixteen-year-old Elena Watkins was no different.
Until
the night a fairy tale killed her father.
Now
Elena is in a new world, and a new school. The cutest guy around may
be an evil dragon, a prince wants Elena's heart, and a long dead
sorcerer may be waking up to kill her. Oh and the only way Elena's
going to graduate is on the back of a dragon of her own.
Teenage
girls don't believe in fairy tales. Now it's time for Elena to
believe in...herself.
Chapter One
A girl singing
her heart out about a miracle boomed inside my ear. A miracle would
get me what I needed: a chance at a semi-normal life.
The bedroom
door hitting the wall expelled the thought from my mind. With his
hand tangled up in his copper hair and with huge brown eyes, Dad's
figure filled the entire doorway. “Pack your bags.” He had that
set to his jaw, the one that meant there was no way out of this. He
bolted out of the room just as suddenly as he had appeared.
My teeth
ground hard against each other, and the sharp pain behind my eyes, I
guessed from the lack of sleep, grew stronger. Every fibre of my
being wanted to explode.
Ever since I
could remember my name, Dad and I had been on the run. From what?
Beats me.
For the last
two weeks, I'd been pacing up and down through the house, struggling
to fall asleep at night, waiting for this day.
For
the love of blue berries, no sixteen-year old should live this way!
I climbed
off my bed, and the first step I took left my toe tangled in the wide
leg of my jeans. I tried to regain my balance as the closet inched
closer, but with wildly flailing arms, I came crashing down. The thud
reverberated across the wooden floor, and it sounded as if I'd broken
something.
Dad darted
back into my room. "Are you okay?" He lifted me back onto
my feet as if I weighed nothing.
Tears lurked
in the corners of my eyes, threatening to burst, as I stared up at
him.
"Don't
give me that look, Elena. Please, we need to hurry.” He pulled my
suitcase from the top shelf and chucked it haphazardly onto my bed.
“We need to go. Now.”
"Dad…"
He started
to grab my clothes from the shelf and tossed them messily inside my
small suitcase. Then he paused, sighed, and looked up with soft eyes.
He stroked the side of my cheek with his hand gently. “This wasn't
the right place, Bear. Please, you’ve got to trust me.”
His hand
reached back to pull everything off my shelf, while my hands curled
up into balls of fury. My heart pounded fast as those two words
bounced inside my skull. “Trust you, Dad?”
"Elena,
we don't have much time,” he yelled. “Pack your bags! You can ask
questions later." He left, and the hollow “doof” sound from
his footsteps stomped loudly as he made his way into the hall.
Ask
questions? Yeah right! I’ll only get answers that don’t reveal
why we are on the run for the gazillionth time.' “Trust me” and
“I'll tell you when the time is right” were the only two answers
Dad gave. Guess time with him will
never be right.
It was no
use arguing with him anyway. Once, he threw me over his shoulder and
carried me out without any of my things.
So I grabbed
the stuff I needed: my mp3 player, a photo of Mom that Dad didn't
know I had, and my journal from underneath my bed. I tossed them into
my backpack. It wasn't much, but it was the stuff that made my
miserable life felt less pathetic. I zipped up my suitcase and took a
deep breath. Looking around my bedroom for the last time, I said
goodbye to my sixtieth-something room.
Dad almost
ran me over in the hall with his army bag slung over his shoulder. He
grumbled, which I assumed was an apology, took my suitcase, and ran
down the stairs. He always rented these huge old houses,
pre-furnished and near the countryside, and we always left after
three months.
The pickup's
horn honked as I shut the front door. I closed my eyes and took
another deep breath. Just two more
years, then I'll be eighteen and free from this freak show.
Huge raindrops fell hard onto the ground. The smell of wet dirt
filled the air. It was my favorite smell.
The water
that pooled on the ground covered all the gaps in the driveway,
forcing me to hopscotch around all of them. My shoe got caught in one
of the gaps and I smacked down hard in a huge puddle. By the time I
reached the truck, my jeans and shoes were soaking wet.
Warm heat
from the vents inside the truck hit me full blast as I jumped in; a
million goose pimples erupted across my skin. As soon as I shut the
rusty door, Dad floored the gas pedal. Tires screeched and the truck
spun away as if the Devil chased us. My lower lip quivered softly as
he swerved onto the road. The streetlights flew by in a blur as I
plugged in my earpieces. The same stupid song about a miracle boomed
from my mp3, drowning the sound of the engine and the hard dribbles
on the roof, a percussion that became the perpetual soundtrack to my
misery.
A feeling
of utter loneliness consumed my heart as I stared out the window.
Homes with white picket fences and the convenient store whizzed by in
a flash. A tear rolled down my cheek as I said goodbye, and my breath
on the glass created a foggy condensation. Reaching out my index
finger, I drew a small heart. These were the reasons why Mom had
left. She couldn't handle his paranoia, but why she’d left her
daughter to deal with it was a mystery. Dad constantly reminded me of
the latter, and that was the only time he ever spoke of her. If he
ever discovered I had that picture, he would kill me. That was how
much he hated her for leaving us.
The lights
of a vehicle in the upcoming lane shone directly into my face. I shut
my eyes, waiting for it to disappear. As a little girl, I used to
watch Dad as we drove away from yet another house. He would glare
into his rearview mirror every five seconds, every muscle in his face
clenched, and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I hadn’t
been able to force myself to peek out the window then, as it used to
scare the living crap out of me to consider the possible reasons he
was fleeing from, or who might be following us. Now, I didn't look at
him or care much for what he was going through. He created this
problem. With me becoming the luggage. It was a ritual I endured
every three months, and nothing over the past sixteen years had ever
changed that.
The
“Interstate 40” sign flew by in a whirl, and the pickup slowly
moved onto the turnoff lane.
My eyes
started to burn as I stared at the rain running down my window. Each
rivet resembled another town, another place I would never again call
home. Exhaustion consumed me and my eyelids felt heavy. I laid my
head against the window and struggled to stay awake.
Suddenly, a
dark and huge figure flew past me. Dad swerved to the left, which
made me crushed into the side of the passenger’s door. My entire
body pumped with adrenaline. I jumped straight in my seat and
wrenched the seatbelt over my shoulder to buckle myself in. I tore
out my earpieces as I tried to process what had just happened.
“What was
that?” I looked at Dad.
He stared
straight ahead with huge eyes. Beads of sweat rolled from his
hairline down to the side of his temple. He looked terrified,
something that conflicted with his personality. I'd never seen Dad
look that scared in my entire life.
“Dad!”
“Did you
see where it went?” he asked, attempting to inject calm into his
voice, but I could hear the fear lacing each syllable.
“See where
what went? Dad what was that!”
“You
wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
“For once
in your life, just tell me!” I screamed. Sixteen years of
frustration exploded from my lungs. I couldn't take the unknown
anymore.
“Fine.”
He mumbled something else that I didn't catch. "Do you remember
the stories I used to tell you?"
“Stories?
What stories?”
“The ones
about Paegeia, Elena.” He looked in his rearview mirror again with
huge, unblinking eyes.
Vaguely, but
I didn't tell him that. "What does that have to do with this?"
“They're
real.”
I froze and
I stared at him.
“All of
it, it’s real. The dragons, the magic, the wall, everything is
real.”
Author
Bio:
I
was born and raised in South Africa, where I still live with my
husband, and two beautiful little girls. I always knew that I was
going to be a writer but it only started to happen about four years
ago, now I can’t stop writing.
In
my free time, If I get any because Moms don’t really have free
time, I love to spend time with friends, if it’s a girls night out,
or just a movie, I’m a very chilled person.
My
writing career is starting with Firebolt, book one with the Dragonian
Series, there will be four books in total and two to three books that
is about the stories taking place inside The Dragonian Series.
I do
write in different Genres, I have a woman’s fiction called the
Pregnancy Diaries, but it would be published under another name. And
then I have a paranormal series, called the Watercress series. There
are about ten novels in that one.
So,
plenty of novels to come out, so little time.
I
hope you are going to embrace the Dragonian Series as much as I loved
writing them.
Twitter:
erichb3
Goodreads:
Adrienne Woods
Google+: Adrienne Woods
Thanks you Amanda for participating in the Blitz tour.
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate it,
Kind Wishes,
Adrienne