I am so excited to be participating in the Ashes & Ice tour. I have wanted to read this book for awhile and I am glad I got to. Before I show you my review lets get to know the author Rochelle first and learn about her book.
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.
She is desperate to remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice
WOW!! This book blew me away. I was hooked from page one and what an EPIC ride until the very last page.
Jade has no memory of who she is. But she is having flash backs of dead girls and fears a darkness taking her over. She is trying to find out who she is and who keeps calling to her while battling the darkness that is trying to consume her. Along the way she meets a woman named Nana who takes her in and tries to take care of her while Jade tries to search for answers. Jade enrolls in school and meets Connor a boy who is trying to get over the death of his father and just wants to be invisible that is until Jade enters his world. Both Jade and Connor are broken but together they start to heal one another. But with the dead girls pilling up and a murderer who wants Jade she has to get back her memories if she has any chance of defeating the killer.
I instantly loved Jade and Connor. She is so strong and will defend Connor when ever she feels anybody picking on him. Connor really comes out of his shell and starts to live again after the death of his father thanks to Jade. They have such a strong bond to one another. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time reading this book. Rochelle has such a magical way with words that you feel every emotion from the characters.
I don’t want to give any spoilers away which are so hard because I want to keep talking about how amazing this book is. It has stayed with me days after I am done and all I want is more Jade and Connor. I need book two ASAP! Buy this book I promise you will enjoy the ride Rochelle takes you on. 5/5 Bloody Fangs
The girl’s glassy, dead eyes stare into me, through me, pierce me with a fierce urgency, with a wicked accusation. The blood is still on my hands.
Red hair, blue eyes, a constellation of freckles on pale skin. She was fragile and innocent, a lovely thing. That is what I think until I see the gashes on her wrists and throat. With her blood spilling out, she looks delicious. She’s mine. Possessiveness shocks me, stabs into me. I run, tearing away from a craving I don't understand.
Breathless, I grit my teeth and run harder, faster.
My feet pound against the earth, away from the lifeless body and toward the lights of the city lingering on the horizon. Rot and death linger in my nostrils. Unscarred skin stretches taut over my freezing bones. Echoes of an empty memory reverberate in my mind, taunting me. The ice chases me, clutches me, and bites at my heels, sending shivers up my spine. The ice wants me back, but I run forward, toward the lights, toward the heat, toward a world that burns me, because I have no other choice.
The lights are so close. Heat scalds my skin.
Images race through my mind, paralyzing me. I skid to a stop, my boots digging into the mud. The vision’s blurred edges materialize into solid shapes.
A new horror rakes my insides. Desperation propels me forward; the pictures nagging at my seams threaten to tear me apart.
Scorching fire licks over my skin. In my vision, I contort like a vile, ugly creature, eyes as black as decay. My frame hunches over the small, dead girl, like a demon looming over a defenseless child. Her blood drips from my mouth.
I lick my lips and taste only salty sweat.
I run, desperate to trample the vision under my feet, to crush it deep into the ground.
I refuse to believe the image, refuse to acknowledge the monster within me demanding to be unleashed—and the possibility it has already been unbound. An unrelenting tide of fear washes over me. Past the denial, the fear, and the hope, I think I can still taste her.
The cold stillness inside me cracks open just as the lights of the city slam into me.
Tears burn. I never realized it before, but they do. Tears reach down my throat and settle in my gut until the pain cripples me. I clutch my stomach as I look into the casket. His face doesn’t even look the same. Bloated like a Mardi Gras float, discolored like a mannequin. This isn’t my father.
But it is.
If I have learned anything in my short life, it is this: funerals are bullshit. People dress in carefully pressed black suits. Parents give me “meaningful” nods as if that could ease the grief. It doesn’t.
Then there are the kids from school, the ones dragged along by their parents. People drag their kids along as if filling the church was a necessary thing. As if the more pews filled somehow expedite the dead’s trip to heaven. I doubt it does. Maybe some of the girls went shopping to buy just the right outfit so their cleavage to respectability ratio was just right, or their ass to waist ratio was cinched properly.
People sit in the pews dressed in their finest let’s-go-pay-our-respects-to-the-dead-guy-we-never-knew wear, smacking the gum in their mouths, cupping cellphones so they can LOL any comment buzzing in, and drumming their fingers because the pastor is going on too long. All they want to do is go home, sneak in a make-out session with their girlfriends, eat their dinners, and maybe catch a 7 o’clock movie.
I hate these kids. The ones who stare at me, roll their eyes, and yawn. The ones who trip me at school and slam me into lockers. The ones who sit in a pew, contributing to the headcount, while I sit up here in front, holding back the tears fighting to make their appearance. I swallow them down. I won’t cry. Not here. Not with these people.
Dad’s funeral should be an empty church with mom, his three brothers, and me. It should be the five of us having a messy, sloppy, sobbing affair where we cling to each other because we are all we have left. The marble floors should be slick with our tears. It isn’t. We sit here, straight backed, completely composed as if death is just a passing expiration date and our small, insignificant world has not been split open and left gaping.
I’m in my room, staring at the ceiling. The funeral service was hours ago.
The house feels empty and cold. I hear a stifled whimper from down the hall.
Probably crying into a pillow so the house can’t hear, but it can. It seems unfair she can’t wail aloud, so loud the house’s hundred-year-old studs tremble.
She doesn’t. I don’t either. We cry in our own rooms, remembering a man who will never be here again.
The house creaks. Maybe it feels the weight of our grief, maybe the floorboards are buckling because the burden is too heavy.
I ache, desperate to forget the long battle with cancer, the blood sputtering out of his mouth with his last words—what where they? I can’t remember because the fear in his eyes overshadowed anything he said. Now the loss. I don’t want to feel this loss. Some divine entity has taken dull scissors and cut out a piece of my life and now I have jagged scars to remind me I lost too much. Too much.
I want to forget, because it hurts to remember.
I bury my head in the pillow, hoping to suffocate the memories, to choke out the pain.
Blog Tour Special:
When did you know you wanted to become a writer?
When I was a pre-teen I wanted to be a novelist. Then, I decided I wanted to do something else. Over a decade later, I decided I wanted to be a novelist again.
How did the idea of Ashes & Ice series come to you?
I was 12 when I did a character sketch for Jade. When I was 22 I started expanding on it. I knew the first scene and the last one, but had no idea what to put in the middle :) That is where plotting/planning came in.
Are any of your characters based off people you know?
How many books will be in the series?
2 or 3. I am still debating. I will most likely make the second one stand as the ending, but then be able to expand on it later if I want. But don't worry readers! ALL of Jade's secrets will come to light in book 2 :)
How do you over come writer’s block?
Reading, music, free writing. And finally, especially if under deadline, I come to realize that I just have to do it. My editor told me, "Grab inspiration by the balls." LOL.
What was the first paranormal book you read?
Annette Curtis Klause's Silver Kiss and Blood and Chocolate. Both are awesome.
Who are some of your favorite authors?
Cassandra Clare, A.G. Howard, Rachel Hartman, Tahereh Mafi, John Greene, and more.
Can you give us any hints about future books?
Ashes and Ice Book 2 (Cover and release date to be revealed in spring/summer) and a stand-alone paranormal romance set in Mexico and a dystopian novella series.
What paranormal being would you like to be?
X-MEN type character... STORM! Oh yeah, I want to be Storm.
If you were stranded on a deserted island what character would you want with you and why?
Hmmm, Connor because I <3 him or Ziri from Laini Taylor's Days of Blood and Starlight or... well, any hot, sweet guy would be just fine. Or someone funny... If I am going to die on a stranded island, I at least want to go out with a smile on my face.
What would you do in a zombie apocalypse?
Kill myself before the Zombies chewed off my leg.
Pets: Raccoons. Don't hate. They are beyond fabulous. Remember the LaZy boy commercials?? Yeah, they are even cuter than that.
Food: Ceviche or Tinga
Drink: White Russians or Margaritas :)
Music: Right now, Indie musician Martina Desiree.
This or That
Night or Day? Night. Ehem, pajamas and cuddling!
Theater or Rent? I love going to the movies, but RENT. We spread out blankets and do movie marathons.
Fall or Summer? Fall!!!! Perfect weather and in my area GORGEOUS colors.
Music or Reading? Oh, this is a terrible, terrible question. How about music while reading! Ha! Look how sneaky I am.
Pet Dragon or Pet Gargoyle? Dragon. Dragons are simply badass.
Flip flops or Tennis Shoes? Tennis Shoes. Flip flops hate me.
Thank you to Rochelle for letting me review and interview her. Thank you to Lady Amber for letting me participate in this blog tour.