Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Te Da Media
Date of Publication: April 18, 2017
ISBN: 978-0-9920709-8-4
Cover Artist: Damonza
Book Description:
Bridesmaids meets Buffy with a dash of the seven deadly sins.
The age-old story of what happens when a foul-mouthed, romance impaired heroine with no edit button and a predilection for hot sex is faced with her worst nightmare–a purpose
Ari Katz is intelligent, driven, and will make an excellent demon hunter once initiated into the Brotherhood of David. However, this book is about his twin Nava: a smart-ass, self-cultivated hot mess, who is thrilled her brother is stuck with all the chosen one crap.
When Nava half-drunkenly interrupts Ari’s induction ceremony, she expects to be chastised. What she doesn’t expect is to take her brother’s place among the–until now–all-male demon hunters. Even worse? Her infuriating leader is former rock star Rohan Mitra.
Too bad Rohan’s exactly what Nava’s always wanted: the perfect bad boy fling with no strings attached, because he may also be the one to bring down her carefully erected emotional shields. That’s as dangerous as all the evil fiends vying for the bragging rights of killing the only female ever chosen for Demon Club.
Odds of survival: eh.
Odds of having a very good time with Rohan before she bites it: much better.
Amazon
Excerpt:
Mornings after sucked.
Walks of shame were a
necessary evil, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed shimmying back into the same
trollop togs twice. I picked glitter out of my hair, then straightened my
sequined top. I was officially decommissioning it. Multiple washings never
quite managed to remove the lingering aura of bad decisions I made while
wearing party clothes. My philosophy? Cross my fingers and hope for the most
bang for the bucks spent later on new outfits.
The surly cabbie
evil-eyed me to hurry up.
I complied, rooting
around in my clutch for some crumpled bills before handing them over and
stumbling out of the taxi onto the sidewalk.
Fresh air was a godsend
after the stale bitter coffee smell I’d been trapped with during the ride. I
pressed a finger to my temple, a persistent dull throb stabbing me behind my
eyeballs. My residual feel good haze clashed big-time with the glaring sun
screaming at me to wake up, and the buzz of a neighbor’s lawnmower cutting
through the Sunday morning quiet didn’t help matters. Best get inside.
Smoothing out my mini
skirt, I readied myself for my tame-my-happy-slut-self-to-boring-PG-rating body
check when a wave of dizziness crashed through me. Whoa. I brought my gaze back
to horizon level, swallowing hard. That sea-sickness technique was doing
dick-all so I rummaged in my bag for my ginger chews.
No puking in the bushes,
I chided myself, letting the spicy smooth and sweet candy fight my nausea. My mother
would toss my bubble ass out if I defiled her precious rhodos.
Again.
The rise and fall of my
chest as I took a few deep breaths spotlit a slight problem. My spangly blouse
was missing two buttons. And I was missing a bra. Hook-up Dude had been worth
the loss of a pair of socks, maybe a bargain bin thong. But the latest in
purple push-up technology? No. I allowed myself a second to mourn. It had been
a good and loyal bra.
The sex, on the other
hand? Total crap. The girls, who were normally perky C cups, seemed a bit
subdued. I couldn’t blame them. What’s-his-name had started out with all the
promise of a wild stallion gallop, but he’d ended up more of a gentle trot. I
didn’t know if the fault lay with the jockey or the ride, but it had been a
long time since I’d seen a finish line.
Since I couldn’t keep
examining my tits on the front walk with Mrs. Jepson side-eyeing me from behind
her living room curtains, I thrust my chin up and clacked a staccato rhythm
toward my front door on those mini torture chambers that had seemed such a good
idea yesterday.
Every step made our
precisely manicured lawn undulate. I clamped my lips shut, willing the ginger
chews to kick in while fumbling my key into the lock. Dad had screwed up the
measurements on our striking cedar and stained glass front door and, being a
touch too big for the frame, it needed to be shouldered open.
I crashed into the door
like a linebacker. Once I’d extricated myself and my keys from the lock, I
brushed myself off, and stepped inside. Our house itself was comfortably upper
middle class but not huge, since my parents preferred to spend money on trips
and books instead of the overpriced real estate found in here in Vancouver. A
quick glance to my left showed that the TV room was empty. I crossed my fingers
that Mom and Dad were out at their squash game, my main reason for picking this
specific time to sneak back in.
Really, a
twenty-year-old shouldn’t have had to sneak. But then again, a twenty-year-old
probably should have kept her last menial job for longer than two weeks, so I
wasn’t in a position to argue rights.
I kicked off my shoes,
sighing in delight at the feel of cool tile under my bare feet as I padded
through the house to our homey kitchen. No one was in there either. Someone,
probably Mom, had tacked the envelope with my final–and only–pay stub from the
call center that I’d left lying around onto our small “miscellaneous” cork
board. The gleaming quartz counters were now free of their usual clutter of
papers, books, and latest gourmet food find. That meant company. Come to think
of it, I did hear someone in the living room.
A study in tasteful
shades of white, the large formal room was off-limits unless we had special
guests. Mom had set that rule when my twin brother Ari and I were little
tornados running around the place and while there was no longer a baby gate
baring our way, conditioning and several memorable scoldings kept us out.
Hmmm. Could Ari be
entertaining an actual human boy? Le gasp.
I beelined for the back
of the house, past the row of identically framed family photos hanging in a
neat grid, my head cocked. Listening for more voices, but all was quiet. Maybe
I’d been wrong? I hoped not. Both finding my brother with a crush–blackmail
dirt–and helping myself to the liquor cabinet were positive prospects. What
better way to lose that hangover headache than get drunk again? Oh, the joys of
being Canadian with socialized health care and legal drinking age of nineteen.
After a year (officially) honing that skill, I imbibed at an Olympic level.
The red wine on the
modular coffee table gleamed in a shaft of sunlight like its position had been
ordained by the gods. I snatched up the crystal decanter, sloshing the liquid
into the glass conveniently placed next to it. Once in a while, a girl could
actually catch a break.
I fanned myself with one
hand. The myriad of lit candles seemed a bit much for Ari’s romantic encounter,
but wine drinking trumped curiosity so I chugged the booze back. My entire body
cheered as the cloyingly-sweet alcohol hit my system, though I hoped it wasn’t
Manischewitz because hangovers on that were a bitch. I’d slugged back half the
contents when I saw my mom on the far side of the room clutch her throat, eyes
wide with horror. Not her usual, “you need an intervention” horror. No, her
expression indicated I’d reached a whole new level of fuck-up.
“Nava Liron Katz,” she
gasped in full name outrage.
My cheeks still bulging
with wine, I properly scoped out the room. Mom? Check. Dad? Check. Ari? Check?
Rabbi Abrams, here to perform the ceremony to induct my brother as the latest
member in the Brotherhood of David, the chosen demon hunters?
Check.
I spit the wine back
into what I now realized was a silver chalice and handed it to the elderly
bearded rabbi. “Carry on,” I told him. Then I threw up on his shoes.
About the Author:
A global wanderer, hopeless romantic, and total cynic with a broken edit button, Deborah writes adult urban fantasy to satisfy her love of smexy romances and tales of chicks who kick ass. She is all about the happily-ever-after, with a huge dose of hilarity along the way. “It takes a bad girl to fight evil. Go Wilde.”Website: www.deborahwilde.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/wildeauthor
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/deborah.wilde1
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16189297.Deborah_Wilde
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Thank you so much for hosting The Unlikeable Demon Hunter today! :)
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