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Title: Embrace
Author: Stacey Rourke
Publisher: Anchor Group
Pages: 194
Blurb:
Whether she likes it or not, eighteen year old
Celeste Garrett has come to terms with being the Chosen One. She knew having a
“normal life” would be tricky, between intense training sessions and epic
demonic battles, but she didn’t know at what cost it would come. That is, until
a dear friend is harmed by the malicious forces hunting her.
Now, she’d like nothing more than to retreat into
a hermit lifestyle to prevent anyone else from getting hurt. But startling
revelations, amazing new abilities, and mortifying moments in front of insanely
hot guys won’t allow time for that. Soon, Celeste finds herself surrounded by
darkness and wondering who she can trust—if anyone.
Author Links:
EXCERPT
My
head snapped up and my cheeks burned. “Wha…?!” Picture of eloquence, that’s me.
“Saturday. A date. You, me, dinner? Yah’ve heard of this
concept, yeah?”
“Yes, the concept is somewhat foreign to me, but I’ve heard
of it,” I answered. Still fearing this was some kind of joke, I couldn’t help
but ask, “Why? Why are you asking me out?”
His expression was equal parts amusement and confusion.
“Because if I don’t ask ya the chance of ya actually showin’ up on the date is
highly unlikely, isn’t it?”
An abrupt—and incredibly loud—laugh erupted out of me.
“True. But why? Why would you ask out the freaky purring girl?”
“Yar laugh is amazin’.” He grinned. Another wave of heat
rushed through me. “And because from the moment I laid eyes on ya I knew there
was somethin’ different about ya. The purrin’ just supported the theory. So,
would ya like to go out with me?”
“Yes, I’d like to. Go on a date. With you. Please.” Smooth,
huh?
On her way to another table, Sophia passed behind me.
“Give him your number.”
“My what? Oh! My number! I have a number!” I scribbled it on
my order pad and tore off the page to hand to him.
His chin jerked up slightly. “Who do I ask for when I call?”
I agreed to go on a date with a guy before I even knew his
name, or told him mine. Please, don’t tell my mother.
“Celeste.” I chewed on my lower lip and I brushed a loose
strand of hair behind my ear.
He caught my raised hand and drew it gently to him. His
emerald eyes stayed locked on mine, as he bowed his head to brush his lips across
the back of my hand. Tingles of excitement tracked up my arm and down my spine.
I clamped my teeth together to stifle the purr that threatened to escape.
“It’s nice to formally meet ya, Celeste. The name’s
Caleb.”
About Stacey Rourke:
Writing is something I have always done. I
can remember in elementary school creating stories that I would stand up and
read aloud to my classmates…whether they liked it or not. As I grew
older I didn’t flaunt my writing as freely. It became something I did
just for me to vent my teenage angst, or chronicle my journey to
adulthood. I never thought about becoming a writer because that title
prompted the visual of a grey-haired man in a tweed smoking jacket with suede
elbow patches, slaving over an old fashion typewriter while puffing away on a
pipe. No way was that stuffy kind of life for me. (Plus tweed is
itchy.) Instead I wanted to be in the spotlight! I wanted to
be–pause for dramatic effect–an actress! I gave it my best shot, too.
Got about as far as any aspiring actress can get in Flint, Michigan.
Which is exactly no where. But I did get two great things out of my
time delving into the theatrical world; I gained the ability to act out the
scenes I write to make sure they’re believable (yes, I really do that and no,
you can’t watch) and I met my amazing husband.
My theater ambitions behind me, I decided to do
the “mature,” “grown up” thing and went back to college. As I worked
toward my Bachelor’s degree in marketing I did a lot of writing. Essays,
research papers, PowerPoint presentations. All of it mandatory, none of
it what I would ever call fun. Even then, becoming a writer never entered
my mind. No, then I was going to be a business tycoon…or somethin’.
Truth be told, I never picked writing. It
picked me. During my time as a stay at home mom I needed an outlet to
give me a mental break from diapers, formula and midnight feedings.
That’s when my hands found their way back to the keyboard. Story
ideas began coming at such an incessant rate that my rapidly clicking fingers
couldn’t keep up. Post-It notes and scrapes of paper with story ideas
decorated every inch of our house. In mid-conversation with my husband I
would dart off to jot down things that would come to me. Sweet guy my
hubby is, he would just shake his head at my obvious rudeness and hold my place
in the conversation.
My first book was completed for an entire year
before I told anyone about it. I outed myself as an author and then sent
out my first round of query letters to literary agents. Surely, it would
be picked up immediately and become an overnight success! Yeah, not so
much. For two years I got rejection, after rejection, after rejection,
after rejection…you get the idea. Thankfully with the ever increasing
pile of rejections came feedback. I digested all the suggestions and
applied the usable ones to my manuscript. Little by little, the rough
edges were chipped away and the diamond shone through. The work paid off
when I received an email from a publisher offering me a contract on The
Conduit.
It’s been a long road, and it ain’t over yet.
But now, at thirty-mumble, mumble years old I finally know what I wanna
be when I grow up–-a writer.
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