About The Book
Title: Firebolt
Author: Adrienne Woods
Genre: YA Fantasy
For the love of blueberries, Elena Watkins was destined for greatness, even though she didn’t know it. Before entering Paegeia Elena was not special, she wasn’t even average 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; a school she was never meant to attend because her father was a dragon. Unbeknownst to Elena danger is lurking behind the enchanted vines concealing the once thriving capital of Paegeia – Etan. Goran, the darkest sorcerer in the realm, has lain dormant for over a century behind the crumbling city. There, in the shadowy ruins he plots his revenge to destroy the only weapon that can kill him – the King of Lion Sword. When the sword is stolen without a trace Elena doesn’t think twice about seeking it; knowing deep down that it is her destiny to save her new home.
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 with his hand gently. “This 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, Dad?”
“Elena,
we don't have much time,” he yelled. “Pack your bags! You can ask questions
later.” He left, and the hollow “doof” sound 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 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 pimples 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, releasing my breath 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 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 down 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
and wrenched the seatbelt over my shoulder to buckle myself in. I tore out my
earphones as I tried to process what had just happened.
“What
was that?” I looked at Dad.
Author Bio
Adrienne Woods lives in South Africa with her husband and two little girls. She writes full time and also in different genre’s. She has different pen names, one for every genre.
Melony/Kristen Ping For NA, sub genres could be anything. From paranormal to Mythology.
Isabella White for Woman’s fiction/Erotica
Adrienne Woods for YA. When she’s not writing, she’s reading books or help other authors to get their work notice through her blog ADRIENNE WOODS BOOKS AND REVIEWS.
You can reach Adrienne Woods at the following links
Twitter: erichb3
