Valkyrie love never comes easy.
Brenna left Asgard with a curse on her name and a broken heart.
A Valkyrie now free and independent, for millennia her life had been great. Just great.
Then a bleeding Elf knocks at her door holding a baby.
Alexander Reed left the Marines and lost the wheel of his life. A soldier without a worthy fight, he became everything he despised. Until he ends up in the wrong backyard at the wrong time.
Fljóða, Queen of the Light Elves and last of her lineage, is an infant with a death sentence on her head. Hunted by the Night Elves, her survival brings Brenna and Reed together for the ultimate mission: take the little Queen to safety in the Vanaheim Realm, deep in the Roots of Yggdrasil.
Not simple, but straightforward.
Or so it seemed.
Between flaming giants, demons, and an army of Half Breed determined to kill the Queen and conquer all the Elvin Realms, Brenna and Reed will have to face their inner monsters.
Monsters appearing in the form of feelings neither want but cannot control.
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EXCERPT
Reed rested his elbows on his knees, observed his scarred hands before zeroing his quiet, blue-green eyes to her. “What am I doing here, Brenna?”
“She saw you in a vision.”
“Mae?”
“Yes. Elves have that ability. She saw you and me in Vanaheim, cheering for victory.”
“So, I’m destined for something? Because visions and destiny can kiss my – you know what. I’m done having people making choices for me.” Soft, slow, his words held iron and steel, an unbreakable will. “I choose for me.”
Brenna chuckled. “You can relax, Alexander Reed. Visions are not what’s necessarily going to happen. It’s not a prophecy. They are one of the millions of possibilities. If you decide to come, if you survive the journey to the Vanaheim, if we do everything that specific vision requires, then there’s a chance for us to end up becoming the vision.”
“Better.” Then he frowned. “What do you mean, if I survive? What about you?” He stopped. “Wait a second, what are you?”
Brenna could be selling him some crap, or at least try to. What would the point in doing as much be? This man, a stranger, was way in already, she might as well come clean. “I’m of the Aesir people.”
“Why is the name familiar?”
“Because the realm I come from is Asgard.”
She saw the moment where realization dawned on him. Very few knew about Vanaheim, or Muspelheim, the land of the fire giants. Many, many people thought they knew about Asgard–thank you, Hollywood. His eyes grew huge, and he ran a hand over his messy short hair. “Shit.”
Because there was something deeply comic in the way he took that news after all he’d learned, she tilted her head and dealt the final blow. “I’m a Valkyrie.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Brenna burst into laughter. “I will not,” she said when she could speak again.
He kept looking at her, up and down, like she came from another planet. Well, okay. She did. But so did Maeraggyth, and he didn’t get a seizure for it.
“You are a goddess,” he finally said.
“No, I’m not. We served Odin and Freyja, who are Gods, but we were not goddesses ourselves. Strictly talking.” Brenna shook off the uncomfortable feeling her past always gave her and readdressed the topic. “Reed, is it? No Alexander, no Alex. Sandy?”
“Reed.”
“Well, Reed, nice to meet you and welcome into the mess that’s Yggdrasil. Are you hungry?”
“I am.”
Without a second thought or hesitation, Brenna headed to the door. “Then come,” she told him. “We’ll eat and talk more later.”
What can you expect from my books?
And I’m not saying just from Valkyrie Love, I mean all my books. I think a writer is, first and foremost, a reader. So, I try to write the kind of stories that I would love, in the way I would love, as a reader.
Here are the basics, which are also the things that make me put down a book.
Heroines are not stupid. Maybe they are confused, maybe they are afraid, or naïve. But never stupid. They mean business and will see through it.
Heroes are never cave men. Which does not mean they are not alpha, or aggressive, mad, or broken. Lord of the Ring’s Aragorn? There, that’s my hero. Good at the core, my men may have gone through a bad spell (or two, or three) and became sour/disillusioned/angry. But the core is good. Even when they don’t realize it (Aidan, I’m looking at you).
Fast pace. I’m Road Runner on steroid because I got no time to waste. I embody fast pace. It bleeds in my books to the point where, in a world of overworded stories, my capital sin is underwriting. I love the action, not just in action-scenes. I want action in a static scene. I want action when my heroes are stuck in a car for a 3-day travel. When they eat breakfast. When they are alone thinking how to get out of trouble.
Quirky writing. A weird combination of lyrical paragraphs and poetical descriptions (my editor’s words) and short, chopped sentences. *shrugs* Dunno why.
Logic. My husband is a scientist. He’s all logic, and he’s the one who reads each book even before my editor sees them. He can spot a plot hole within a mile, and the guy has no trouble letting me know.
Deep feelings. Because what is the point, otherwise?
Big trouble. Again, what is the point, otherwise?
Absolutely no preaching. There are people smarter and more prepared than me to teach you stuff. I just want to give you guys a break.
I hope you enjoyed reading this piece, and that you will keep following the tour.
Happy readings!
Author bio and links:
Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad: her husband, her son, and her daughter. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her babies, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.
Find me:
The best way to know me is through my website (and the books I host): http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/
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Alana Lorens has been a published writer for more than forty years, after working as a pizza maker, a floral designer, a journalist and a family law attorney. Currently a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, the aging hippie loves her time in the smoky blue mountains. She writes romance and suspense as Alana Lorens, and sci-fi, fantasy and paranormal mystery as Lyndi Alexander. One of her novellas, THAT GIRL’S THE ONE I LOVE, is set in the city of Asheville during the old Bele Chere festival. She lives with her daughter on the autism spectrum, who is the youngest of her seven children, and she is ruled by three crotchety old cats, and six kittens of various ages.