Author: Rachel Pudelek
Series: Wild Women Book 1
Genre: Mythology/ Urban Fantasy/ Fantasy
Publisher: City Owl Press
Edition/Format: 1st Edition/Format ~ eBook & Print
Blurb/Synopsis:
Well behaved women seldom make history, but they still end up as the monsters of folklore.
Faline Frey is a bounty-hunter, more comfortable relying on perp files and handcuffs than using her huldra powers to take down a suspect. No sense in catching the unwanted attention of her local Hunter authority, a group of holy soldiers born to police the supernatural and keep Wild Women—huldras, mermaids, succubi, rusalki and harpies—in check.All that changes the night she heads out for a date, hoping to get lucky. Instead, she gets screwed.
Now her sister is missing, along with Wild Women from all over the country. The Hunters are on her tail and the one person offering to help is her ex-lover, Officer Marcus Garcia, who has just enough ties to the supernatural world. To unite her enemies against their common foe, Faline will need to convince the Wild Women to do the one thing she fears most—exhume their power buried deep beneath centuries of oppression. That is, if she can keep them from killing each other.
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Excerpt from Chapter One
My prey, a five-foot-ten Caucasian male, ordered a double shot mocha as he tapped his pointer finger on the counter. I eyed him from a little round table near the door. His faint scent of nervous sweat called to me.
I preferred the scent of fear wafting from my prey, but nervousness would have to do. Fear would soon join the mix. It was only a matter of time.
“Do you go to school near here?” he asked the barista. She looked to be in high school, more than twenty years younger than the man I followed.
The barista nodded. “I graduate in June.” On a paper cup, she wrote the fake name he’d given and shifted her attention to the next customer in line.
He failed to notice the hint.
“You like your teachers? I bet you like teachers.” He shook his pointer finger at her.
I choked on my coffee.
This bail-jumper hadn’t risked capture to satiate his caffeine fix. No, the fix he was jonesing for was a female of the unwilling sort.
A male barista brought the man’s drink to the counter and stood protectively beside the girl. The object of my current hunt, Samuel Woodry, picked up the cup with the fake name on it and struck out. He left the coffee shop, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. As he walked past, I stared at that pointer finger he’d been tapping on the counter and decided to break that one first…on accident.
As a bounty hunter, I still had rules to uphold, proper conduct when bringing in a perp. Though, if he fought me—and he would, since I only selected bail-runners who got off on victimizing others—then a tussle resulting in a broken bone would be perfectly understandable.
According to his file, Samuel Woodry had never learned that it’s not polite to point. His victim, a college student who’d escaped from his capture, will forever remember his scarred finger. The way he shook it in her face when she begged to go home. How he pretended to be a teacher in his sick idea of role playing.
My heart beat a little faster as I downed the rest of my drink and exited the coffee shop. Samuel’s black hoody—so different from the blazer and khakis his most recent victim had met him in—didn’t exactly stand out in the misty Seattle rain. Between his outfit and the swarm of downtown pedestrians, I had to follow closer than I would have liked. At least the crowd served to protect me from his gaze the few times he glanced over his shoulder.
Unlike the open-air market upstairs, the lower level shops had already closed for the day. With shop doors locked and lights off, fewer people mingled. As we left the crowd, Samuel Woodry slowed his pace and whistled a tune. A bittersweet scent wafted from his skin. Excitement. He had noticed me, a lone woman, and he was pleased.
He couldn’t wait to point that finger in my face. And I couldn’t wait for him to try. Let’s just say, out of the two of us in the now-empty hall of closed-up shops, I was the more deadly monster. Not that he knew he was salivating over a huldra.
My prey, a five-foot-ten Caucasian male, ordered a double shot mocha as he tapped his pointer finger on the counter. I eyed him from a little round table near the door. His faint scent of nervous sweat called to me.
I preferred the scent of fear wafting from my prey, but nervousness would have to do. Fear would soon join the mix. It was only a matter of time.
“Do you go to school near here?” he asked the barista. She looked to be in high school, more than twenty years younger than the man I followed.
The barista nodded. “I graduate in June.” On a paper cup, she wrote the fake name he’d given and shifted her attention to the next customer in line.
He failed to notice the hint.
“You like your teachers? I bet you like teachers.” He shook his pointer finger at her.
I choked on my coffee.
This bail-jumper hadn’t risked capture to satiate his caffeine fix. No, the fix he was jonesing for was a female of the unwilling sort.
A male barista brought the man’s drink to the counter and stood protectively beside the girl. The object of my current hunt, Samuel Woodry, picked up the cup with the fake name on it and struck out. He left the coffee shop, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. As he walked past, I stared at that pointer finger he’d been tapping on the counter and decided to break that one first…on accident.
As a bounty hunter, I still had rules to uphold, proper conduct when bringing in a perp. Though, if he fought me—and he would, since I only selected bail-runners who got off on victimizing others—then a tussle resulting in a broken bone would be perfectly understandable.
According to his file, Samuel Woodry had never learned that it’s not polite to point. His victim, a college student who’d escaped from his capture, will forever remember his scarred finger. The way he shook it in her face when she begged to go home. How he pretended to be a teacher in his sick idea of role playing.
My heart beat a little faster as I downed the rest of my drink and exited the coffee shop. Samuel’s black hoody—so different from the blazer and khakis his most recent victim had met him in—didn’t exactly stand out in the misty Seattle rain. Between his outfit and the swarm of downtown pedestrians, I had to follow closer than I would have liked. At least the crowd served to protect me from his gaze the few times he glanced over his shoulder.
Unlike the open-air market upstairs, the lower level shops had already closed for the day. With shop doors locked and lights off, fewer people mingled. As we left the crowd, Samuel Woodry slowed his pace and whistled a tune. A bittersweet scent wafted from his skin. Excitement. He had noticed me, a lone woman, and he was pleased.
He couldn’t wait to point that finger in my face. And I couldn’t wait for him to try. Let’s just say, out of the two of us in the now-empty hall of closed-up shops, I was the more deadly monster. Not that he knew he was salivating over a huldra.
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When she's not writing, Rachel works in circulation services at a public library. She also enjoys hiking, wine tasting, attempting to grow her own food, and reading. She lives near Seattle, Washington with her husband, two daughters, two dogs, a cat, and two well-fed guinea pigs. FREYJA'S DAUGHTER is her debut novel.
Visit her Website
Or chat with her on Social Media:
Instagram @rachel_pud
Twitter @rachelpud
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I would love to hear your thoughts. :) HAPPY READING !!!!