Book Review
of Savage
Blurb
:
The year is 1983. Christian is 22 years old when he leaves his home in Denmark to spend a year in Florida with a very wealthy family and go to med-school. A joyful night out with friends is shattered by an encounter with a savage predator that changes his life forever. Soon he faces challenges he had never expected. A supernatural gift he has no idea how to embrace. A haunting family in the house next door. A spirit-filled girl who seems to carry all the answers. An ancient secret hidden in the swamps of Florida. One life never the same. One love that becomes an obsession. Two destinies that will be forever entangled.
Savage is a paranormal romance with some language, violence, and sexual situations recommended for ages sixteen and up
About the
Author:
Willow Rose writes Paranormal Romance, fantasy
and mystery. Originally from Denmark she now lives on Florida’s Space Coast
with her husband and two daughters. She is a huge fan of Anne Rice and Isabel
Allende. When she is not writing or reading she enjoys to watch the dolphins
play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
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Links
>> twitter: @madamwillowrose
>> blog: http://www.willow-rose.blogspot.com/
>> Goodreads:http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13648992-savage
Excerpt:
“So how much do you
know about St. Augustine, Chris?”
The woman driving
gently touched her elegant yellow hair, careful not to mess it up with her
colored nails. She spoke with a strong southern accent and was incredibly
beautiful for her age, which I guessed was more than twice my age of
twenty-two. Her name was Mrs. Kirk. I had just met her at Orlando Airport for
the first time a few minutes before. She was waiting for me holding a sign with
my name, Christian Langaa, printed on it.
The year was 1983 and
I had recently finished my third year of med school at a university in Denmark.
I had just left my country of birth for St. Augustine in Florida. Leaving Denmark was my father’s idea, really.
I guess he thought it was about time I left the nest, so he called in a favor
with an old friend of his, an American eye surgeon, to take me in and help me
get a year at a medical school “over-there.” I can’t say I was unhappy about
it. At that time all kids my age wanted to go to the States where stone-washed
jeans and Michael Jackson came from. His latest album "Thriller" had
just been released and was played on every radio station all over the world.
Like so many else I bought the cassette and played it again and again on my
Walkman. Where I came from anything that was American was considered hip and
cool. That summer before I left, my friends and I had watched the movie Flashdance that made ripped sweatshirts popular and we loved the TV
show Dallas and
Dynasty that made everybody wear
increasingly oversized shoulder pads -
even us guys. We drank lots of Coke and dreamt
of watching MTV, which at that time wasn’t something you could do in Europe yet
and especially not in my small home-country Denmark, where we only had one
national channel on our TV.
The
older generation in our country thought we were indifferent to the times we
lived in and didn’t understand us at all. They named us the “So
what-generation” or the “No future-generation” because they felt like we didn’t
care about what went on in the world around us. We weren’t even rebellious. We
didn’t have ideals and dreams about changing the world like they had back in
’68. Meanwhile they were terrified of the A-bomb, the Cold War and the
communists. While we listened to disco music on our ghetto blasters and danced
electric boogie, they fought with a bad economy and the fear of someone
deciding to push the big red button, dropping the A-bomb and ending the world
as we know it. Not to mention the increasing fear of AIDS that was spreading
among people, commonly referred to as the "Gay-Plague" since it was
believed back then to be an "epidemic of a rare form of cancer triggered
by the lifestyle of some male homosexuals," as the headline said in one
newspaper.
The
older generation simply felt like our generation just didn’t care about
anything. And maybe they were right. We weren’t that concerned about political
affairs and foreign threats. Politics simply didn’t interest us, especially not
me. I was fed up with listening to my father talk about politics and war during
my upbringing. I was a dreamer not a fighter. You can’t be both. Not in my
book. And AIDS? Well, I guess we thought we couldn't get it since it was a
disease for the homosexuals. Plus we were in our twenties. We didn't think we
could die at all.
We
ran over a bump and I was rudely jolted out of my reverie.
“Not much,” I
answered Mrs. Kirk a little timid. “I know it calls itself the nation’s oldest
city. I know it was here Ponce de León came to look for the legendary Fountain
of Youth. I know the city of St. Augustine is
home to the Fountain of Youth National Archaeological Park, a tribute to the
spot where Ponce de León is traditionally said to have landed. Though there is
no evidence that the fountain located in the park today is the storied fountain
or has any restorative effects, visitors drink the water. The park exhibits
native and colonial artifacts to celebrate St. Augustine's Timucuan and
Spanish heritage.”
Mrs. Kirk looked at
me with a small impressed smile. “Very well, you have done your homework. Dr.
Kirk will be pleased to hear that you have not come unprepared.”
“My dad gave me a
book on Florida to read on the plane. I have a photographic memory. I remember
things easily. It helps me a lot in school.”
I stared out the
window at swamps and what seemed to me like wild-growing brushes and forests. I
was desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of an alligator, an animal I had
never seen before and of which I had been told you could find in pretty much
every waterhole in Florida. I was deeply fascinated by creatures of the wild.
By predators of any kind. But as a city boy, I had only seen them behind their
bars at the zoo, never in the wild. By now we had passed several waterholes and
I had still not seen any to my great disappointment.
It felt like my
headband was getting tighter, and I was sweating in my tight jeans and jacket
with shoulder-pads and rolled up sleeves. I took the jacket off and put it in
my lap. Florida was a lot warmer than I had expected it to be. And a lot more
humid, too. I wasn’t used to this kind of heat, coming from a country where we
would be lucky to have three weeks of summer. I still remember the feeling when
I stepped out of the airplane in Orlando airport for the first time. It felt
like someone had taken a winter jacket and swept me in it. Like the air itself
was hugging me and welcoming me home. I remember sweating just from walking
from the airport to the big black Mercedes that Mrs. Kirk picked me up in.
She cranked up the
air conditioning and I soon felt a little cooler. I touched the nice leather
seats and suddenly felt so insignificant. Coming from a rich family by Danish
standards I was used to some luxury, yet I had never been in a car like
this.
“Well, maybe you will have to think about
losing some of those unruly curls once you become a doctor,” Mrs. Kirk said.
I touched my hair
gently. I liked my blond curls and had let them grow past my ears. And I wasn’t
the only one who liked them. The girls did too. Along with my deep-set blue
eyes, my curls were my finest feature. Why parents and others older than
thirty-five insisted they want me to cut them off was beyond me. My dad was the
worst. “You look like a savage,” he would say. But I didn’t care. Deciding what
I was going to do for a living was one thing, but he wasn’t going to change the
way I looked, too.
He was the one who wanted me to
go to med school, not me. All I wanted to do was play my acoustic guitar. “But
you can’t make a living out of just playing the guitar. You need to grow up,
Chris. It is about time,” my father said just before he told me about his plans
for me. It wasn’t like he gave me a choice. I was going to take over the family
practice. It had always been his dream for me ever since I was a child, so I
never questioned it, simply because it would break his heart. I never said no
to my father in these matters and I didn't argue when he told me he was going
to send me away for a year, either. Instead, I decided to make the best of it.
“We’re almost there,” Mrs. Kirk
sang. “It is right at the end of this road.”
She took a turn and we entered
a small road with around eight homes. They were nothing like the houses I was
used to in my hometown of Odense in Denmark. The town where Hans Christian
Anderson was born had old houses, some of them dating the 1600s. They were
small and leaning. The house my father and I had lived in was younger, though.
From the beginning of the 1900. It was an old villa with high ceilings and
stucco in a very lucrative neighborhood on the right side of the river, as they
said. Why that was so important I never understood. But nevertheless, I had
never seen houses quite like the ones in the Kirk’s neighborhood before. They
were huge. Enormous. And they seemed to be
almost brand new.
“We’re here,” Mrs. Kirk said
with a radiant smile that showed picture-perfect straight and almost unnatural
white teeth.
I looked out the car window and
simply dropped my jaw as we drove up the driveway. The house in front of us was
massive. Countless windows stared back at me. The façade was of rough-faced
stone with numerous chimneys rising from the roof. Nothing had prepared me for
its solemn splendor. Mrs. Kirk drove around the house where I spotted a tennis
court and a lap pool. The house was on the water overlooking the Intracoastal
water with a dock and a huge boat tied at the end of it. I felt thrilled
inside. Overwhelmed as well, but also happy that this was where I was going to
live the next year of my life. Med-school or not, I had a feeling it was going
to be great.
Mrs. Kirk pushed a remote in the car and a
garage door opened up leading us to a tunnel under the house, where she parked.
A small elevator brought us into the house. I remember being completely
speechless. I had never been in a private house with an elevator before.
In the hall upstairs another
woman was waiting for us. She was small, had cheeks so round they reminded me
of ripe tomatoes and a huge smile on her face— which she always wore, I later
learned.
“This is Maria,” Mrs. Kirk
said. “She will take care of anything you need. She cooks and cleans and washes
your clothes. But be nice to her. She is like family.”
I shook Maria’s hand, smiling. I
wasn’t even going to wash my own clothes? I thought with exhilaration. Ever
since my mom died when I was thirteen I had been in charge of the laundry for
both my dad and I. And cooking? Well since my dad always worked at his private
clinic we just grabbed something whenever we felt like it. I would occasionally
make some pasta or fry an egg, but most days I would just grab a sandwich and
eat it in my room while playing on my guitar and writing songs about being
young and having a broken heart. Not
that I knew much about that, since I was always the one breaking someone else’s
heart. See, the loss of my mother back when I was just a young teenager had
left me emotionally crippled. I was simply incapable of having a meaningful
relationship with any female. I loved girls, but I used them and threw them
away. I devoured them. I exploited the fact that they adored me. They would
throw themselves at me for whatever reason, but I would never return any of
their calls and I would never let any of them get close to me emotionally. Some
even came into my life thinking that they would be the ones that could change
my ways and make me settle down, they wanted to save me from myself, but they
would always leave with a broken heart. It was mean, I know that now. I see it
clearly today, but I also see why I did it. I was hurt. I was like a wounded
animal that would forever try to avoid the source of its pain. The too-early
death of my mother had made me afraid of love. Afraid of ever loving any woman
again like I had loved my mother. I didn’t want to feel that hurt again ever in
my life. I never wanted to lose anyone I loved again. So I figured if I never
loved anyone, if I was never close to anyone, then I would never get hurt
again. It was as simple as that. I thought I had found a way to live a life
with no pain. But instead I lived a lonely, loveless life. I know that today,
but I didn’t see it then. I was too young.
I thought I knew everything, but most twenty-two-year-olds think they
know it all. Now that I have a son of my own in his twenties I see it in him,
as well. I see myself.
“Maria will show you to your
room,” Mrs. Kirk said. “I have to meet Dr. Kirk at the club later. I need to
get ready. We were hoping you would join us?”
“I would love to,” I answered a
little perplexed since I had no idea what kind of club she was talking about or
how to get there.
“We’ll take my car,” Mrs. Kirk
said. “See you out front at seven. By then I am sure that Heather will be home
as well. I sure hope she will be. You never know with her these days. Young and
always on the run. Going back to college in a few days. She has been spending
all summer with her friends. You know how girls are when they are nineteen.
Going to major in history, I think. At least that is what she told us last
week." Mrs. Kirk laughed lightly. "The week before that she wanted to
do interior decorating. Something about creating her own business, I don't
know. I can't keep up with young people these days. They have so many
possibilities that we never had when I was young. But it's okay that she lets
some of her steam off before she settles down. Her father and I just want her
to marry well." Mrs. Kirk took a quick glance at her wristwatch. "Ah.
Look at me I am babbling along. I really should be getting myself ready. See
you outside at seven."
Book Review:
Unique concept. Savage is an interesting story concept. I enjoyed the way the story unfolded,
although I would have liked it better
with a little less “soap box morality” and a little more acceptance by
Chris of his “gift.” I hope that this is
not the only book in this series because it just ended and I was totally
turning my kindle over looking for the next page. Seriously I hope there is a book 2 because
this one just ended and I want to know what happens next.
All that aside, this book was
fabulous. The action kept me totally
interested and the book captured my attention enough that my complaints (except
for the abrupt ending) were mostly overlooked.
I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
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