I’m so excited to be a part of the Blog Tour for
STAY by Jennifer Silverwood
April 28th – May 9th, 2014
4Word Press Publishing and Gliterary Girl are proud to present the release of Jennifer Silverwood’s STAY.
Before the awesome excerpt here is a little bit about Jennifer…
Everyone has to begin somewhere. I began my journey to becoming an author long before I published anything. Storytelling was something I did every night before bed with my father. We would create such wonderful tales together, far better than anything in books. It sprung from our imaginations. My mother ingrained a love for the written world early on. Then my grandpa gave me his first typewriter when I was in elementary school. You can guess the rest.
But it was many years later, after dabbling in all the arts, that I realized writing was my greatest passion. I grew up on the far outskirts of the Metroplex of Texas, a busy world of cities within cities. It’s easy to get lost in a place like this. Some might argue that Dallas is the “New York” of the south and I might agree. Rather than worry about being a little fish in a big pond, however, I made up my mind long ago to follow my dreams. The funny thing about dreams is they have a tendency to come to life in unexpected ways.
My best friends were my twin next-door neighbors. (Inspiration for the three main ladies in Silver Hollow) We made up our own little book club, complete with readings and brainstorming sessions. I loved reading to them and they loved “the story,” as we dubbed whatever project we were working on. As we grew up and went on to different careers and schools, and I tried three different universities. Needless to say, college didn’t pan out well for me. So I did the next sensible thing and decided to write “for real.”
Rona believes love is nothing more than a myth, a tale for little girls. Until the immortal ruler of the seas appears from thin air and she is swept into a dark and dangerous affair, turning myth into a grave reality.
Commanded to work as the savior of true love, Rona realizes that love is just an illusion as grandiose as magic and after two thousand years, she is ready to give up. Until the night a human, deep in the underbelly of the city that never sleeps, sees her. She recognizes him instantly, a lost love. Trouble is, he has no memory of her.
Tasked with mending a relationship between the love she lost thousands of years ago and another woman, Rona will have to learn what it means to be human all over again when past and present collide.
Can love transcend time or will Rona be forced to roam the earth alone, forever?
He glanced down at me briefly before plugging his keys into the lock. “Sorry my
place ain’t much to look at.”
A single dim glow came from a nearby glass case. After flipping on the lights, he
turned and shut the door with one hand, bracing me to him with the other. I wrapped my arms about his neck and rested my forehead on his chest. For one stolen moment I imagined I was human again, my curse broken. But the compulsion of
my new mission fell like a brass weight about my neck. Behind my closed lids I could still see Lissa’s emerald eyes as she stole a glance at Cain. I remembered his longing for her.
“Sorry ’bout the mess,” he said as his chest vibrated beneath my face. “Wasn’t
He swept aside a stack of papers before he set me to rest on an old couch. His
home was small and sparse. An antique table sat in front of the couch, covered with more papers, books and empty cans. Workout equipment covered one corner of his living room. Past this was something I had not thought to see again. The stereo was long and tall, and the turntable open and ready for a fresh record.
When I turned to search for the kitchen my eyes met a pair of long, jean-clad legs
and traveled up their length to his belt and tucked-in black shirt. He popped his knuckles repeatedly into his palm and shifted from one foot to the other. Again I could feel his nervousness through the link that connected him and Lissa to me.
Keeping my head bowed low, I noticed he had already pulled off his leather
jacket and scarf.
When he noticed my scrutiny he tugged the cap roughly off his short-cropped
inky black hair and began wringing it in his hands. “So…” he began, clearing his throat, and attempted a smile. “I was thinking I could pull out the couch for you tonight. It’s already got sheets on it, can’t promise how fresh though.” Shifting on his feet again, he peered into the depths of my cloak and waited for an answer.
“Yes,” I replied. I could hear my accent despite the rasp of my throat when I
spoke. It summoned distant memories of a language and people long dead, of boats and fish and the sweet salty sea.
Cain nodded to himself and glanced at the howl of the storm raging outside his
window. “Looks like it’s gonna be a bad one this time. They say we haven’t had a winter like this in years.”
“Well,” he said after an awkward pause, “don’t worry. I already stocked up on
supplies, so we should be good if it decides to hold out. Do you, ah, wanna borrow one of my shirts?” He gestured to the silvery blue skirts peeking from beneath my gray cloak.
“Thank you,” I replied, though I was not sure it was a wise decision, since I
seemed so off balance.
With a thoughtful smile on his lips he nodded and disappeared through the open
door. From the flats around us babies cried, couples fought and screamed threats, others held silent in fear of the coming storm.
I removed my cloak, stood and carefully folded it until it slid into the pocket of
my tunic. Gooseflesh rose on my arms as the chilled air rested on my skin. Cain had been right; it was cold, but not as much as the city beyond that window.
“Here you—go.” Cain began confidently and then stuttered.
I twirled around at the sound of his voice, my waist-length curls shifting in spite
of the many intricate braids I had woven them into. Our eyes met, locked and seemed to graze together in a force swift as the tide. Cain’s jaw clenched as he strained against some fierce emotion. Yet when he breathed it was as though coming up for air again.
I stood, closing the space between us, and said, “Thank you.”
Our fingers brushed as he handed over the heavy woolen fabric. I watched his
pupil overcome its iris, only to once more be consumed by rich indigo.
“Added some sweats and socks, since you’ll probably get cold,” he offered. “Not
like I have a lot to cover you up with, since this ain’t the Ritz.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tore his eyes away and glared at the floor. “You can change in my bathroom. It’s through that door and on the right.”
I listened to the pounding of his heart as I passed.