Author: Adrienne Woods
Series: The Dragonian Series
Publisher: Fire Quill Publishing
Release Date: September 19, 2014
Blurb/Synopsis:
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.
For the love of blueberries, Elena Watkins
was destined for greatness, even though she didn’t know it. Forced to travel
from home to home every three months Elena’s life was a never ending blur of
new towns and new faces, that is, until the night her father was killed by a
creature she thought only existed in fairy tales – a dragon. With her father’s
death leaving her orphaned, Elena is whisked away to her true birthplace,
Paegeia.
Arriving at Dragonia Academy, the premier
school for young Dragonians, she begins to feel a sense of belonging in this
strange world; a school she was never meant to attend because her father was a
dragon. Elena is soon swept up in the rigor of her new life and the new set of
skills she now needs to survive: Latin, Art of War, and Enchantments.
Entranced by her new reality Elena learns
about the dragons and humans who inhabit her new home. There are two classes of
dragons that soar through Paegeia distinguished by their instinctual pretense
for either good or darkness. The distinction between these two very different
species is vital to Elena’s success in her new world because she has been
marked as a Dragonian, a human preordained to ride and tame a dragon of her
very own.
With the help of her new friends, Elena is
able to navigate the complexities of her new home. Her new roommates Becky and
Sammy are even more amazing then she could have ever imaged and to top it all
off, Sammy was a dragon. Sammy’s is also the devoted sister of Blake, the most
attractive boy at school and the Rubicon; the only dragon of his kind with the
abilities of all the dragon species with a pretense for evil. Elena soon finds
the love she always wanted with Lucian, the Prince of Tith, who actively
pursues Elena throughout her time at Dragonia Academy, winning her heart with
his absolute adoration and unshaken dedication.
Unbeknownst to Elena danger is lurking
behind the enchanted vines concealing the once thriving capital of Paegeia –
Etan. Goran, the darkest sorcerer to ever practice his evil arts in the realm,
has lain dormant for over a century behind the crumbling city. The first step
in his menacing plan is to destroy the only weapon that can kill him – the King
of Lion Sword.
When the sword is stolen Elena doesn’t
think twice about seeking it; knowing deep down that it is her destiny to save
her new home. She travels to the Sacred Cavern, and discovers the nefarious
actions of an unknown man lead to the swords destruction as she follows the
trail revealed in the prophetic waters of the cavern.
Elena and her friends engage the mysterious
man revealing their existence to Goran and fighting for their very lives.
***
Is a cover important?
I get this question asked a lot, and the answer always stays the same. Yes, absolutely freaking yes.
People always say don't judge a book by it's cover, but in books, it's quite the opposite. Books do get judge by their covers. I do it and plenty of others do it as well. I spoke the other day to my Distributor here in South Africa and he shared an interesting fact to me about covers. He made three different covers for the same novel (it was some sort of a promotion going on,) for a best selling author here in South Africa. One cover was blue, the other red and the third green. The blue and the red was all sold out, but not one copy was sold of the green. Why is that? Nobody knows. It's things like that about covers that really fascinates me. I also love being part of when my covers do get created as I like to tell more or less a story.
Like with Firebolt, you can tell the story is about dragons, a girl and a sword. It's also professionally done and it gives the right impression for buyers when they are looking for something to read. I'm not saying everyone will love my cover, but for those that love stories about dragons will certainly like this a lot.
The second cover Thunderlight is about a Wyvern ( Harry Potter dragons), and Elena is holding one. There is a guy (Lucian) behind her with a dagger aiming toward the baby Wyvern. It tells again a story. Wyverns are bad and Lucian doesn't like this one entering the story.
So the third cover will also have it's own story to tell and the fourth one too.
I do spend a couple of dollars on my covers as they are the selling point of my novels. I know whenever I go to a store to buy novels myself, I usually look at the cover, then when I love it, I turn it around to read the back flip. Sometimes I read a couple of sentences and if I'm still intrigued I will buy the book.
Others might have a different system, but that has worked for me ever since I started to read.
Covers are very important. So do yourself a favor, spend a couple of bucks extra and make a good impression with your novel's cover. I promise you, you won't regret it.
Happy reading,
Adrienne Woods
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. Dream Casters is a new series I'm working on and Dream Caster book 1 will be released in 2015.
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 Aswang series and another called Guardians of Monsters. Both of them would be published under Kristen Ping.
So, plenty
of novels to come out, so little time.
***
Excerpt:
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 fiber 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 blueberries, 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. “This . . .” He looked past me. “. . . 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?”
“Elena, we don't have much time,” he yelled. “Pack your bags! You can ask questions later.” He left, and the hollow thump from his stomping footsteps rang 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 the 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 and me on my first birthday 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 feel 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 dripped with water.
Warm heat from the vents inside the truck hit me full blast as I jumped in; a million goose bumps 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 was chasing us. My lower lip quivered softly as he swerved onto the road. The streetlights flew by in a blur, and I plugged in my earphones. 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 while I stared out the window. Homes with white picket fences and a convenience store whizzed by in a flash. A tear rolled down my cheek. Saying a silent goodbye, I released my breath and watched as it created a foggy condensation on the glass. Reaching out with 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 two-year-old daughter to deal with it was a mystery. Dad constantly reminded me of the latter; 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. When I was little, 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 why he was fleeing, or who might be following us. Now, I didn't look at him or care much about what he was going through. He’d 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 sideways against my window. Each rivet resembled another town, another place I could 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 huge figure flew past me. Dad swerved to the left, which made me crash into his side. My entire body pumped with adrenaline. I jumped straight in my seat, tore out my earphones, as I wrenched the seatbelt over my shoulder to buckle myself in, while trying to process what had just happened.
“What was that?” I looked at Dad.
He kept checking his rearview mirror every five seconds with huge eyes. Beads of sweat rolled from his hairline down to the side of his temple. Sure, he was paranoid, but I’d never seen Dad look this scared in my entire life. This was something more than his usual paranoia.
“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 stories 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 stared at him.
“All of it, it’s real. The dragons, the magic, the wall, everything is real.”
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