Friday, October 29, 2021

Feature Friday ARC Review: Ski Weekend by Rektok Ross

*Feature Friday ARC Review is a meme hosted by The Tattered Page to review books not yet released.  

*Warning: This review may contain spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Publisher SparkPress
Release Date: October 22, 2021
Pages: 280 
Source: ARC 

THE STORY:

Six teens, one dog, a ski trip gone wrong . . .

Sam is dreading senior ski weekend and having to watch after her brother and his best friend, Gavin, to make sure they don’t do anything stupid. Again. Gavin may be gorgeous, but he and Sam have never gotten along. Now they’re crammed into an SUV with three other classmates and Gavin’s dog, heading on a road trip that can’t go by fast enough.

Then their SUV crashes into a snowbank, and Sam and her friends find themselves stranded in the mountains with cell phone coverage long gone and temperatures dropping. When the group gets sick of waiting for rescue, they venture outside to find help—only to have a wilderness accident leave Sam’s brother with a smashed leg and, soon, a raging fever. While the hours turn to days, Sam’s brother gets sicker and sicker, and their food and supplies dwindle until there isn’t enough for everyone. As the winter elements begin to claim members of the group one by one, Sam vows to keep her brother alive.

No matter what.

Filled with twists, secrets, and life-changing moments, Ski Weekend is a snow-packed survival thriller featuring a diverse cast of teens that will appeal to fans of One of Us is Lying and I Am Still Alive. 
LINK: Goodreads


RATING:

ONE-WORD REVIEW: CHILLING

TAG LINE:


Six teens, one dog, a ski trip gone wrong . . .

OPENING LINE:

We're almost to the foothills when the trouble begins



REVIEW:

I was lucky enough to be contacted by Doris BranfordRektok's publicity coordinator, for a chance to review last month. And I am glad I accepted.

SKI WEEKEND is the Breakfast Club meets Frozen—and, no, I don’t mean the animated princess musical. The mix-matched group of teens drive up for a class ski trip but get stranded in a blizzard instead. As the blizzard grows worse, dwindling food supplies and exposure to the elements aren’t the only axes hovering over their necks. Unforeseen physical accidents that further jeopardize some characters, secrets unfold, and true colors are shown. The group is pushed to the limits. But how far will they go before turning on each other to survive? 

The cast of characters is the strongest element of the book. They are diverse and thoroughly fleshed out which really makes an impression on the page. Their authenticity really shines. Because of that, I will deviate from my usual template of doing character summaries at the end of my review.

The Outcast: I found it interesting that the MC, Sam, was stuck in a life-or-death situation but kept agonizing over her secret crush who ghosted her. On one hand, I was annoyed because girl you and your baby brother are about to die in a snow blizzard but you’re swooning over this guy who was supposed to be your friend but ghosted you. On the other hand, I’m like they are teenagers and, honestly, was just like that during those years. As adults, we look back on our teen years and instinctively groan and roll our eyes over how terrible over priorities were. 

The Golden Boy: Gavin who ghosted Sam truly grated on my nerves to be perfectly honest. In all honestly, he is my least favorite character. He was not well acquainted with accepting responsibility for his actions. I’ll not spoil all of the ways this plays out in the story, However, his redeeming quality was his loyalty to his best friend, Stuart.

The Innocent: Stuart is Sam's younger brother who you cannot help but like. He’s a gamer and storyteller who has an innocence you—and especially Sam— want to protect at all cost. Even though he’s hardheaded and always getting into stitches.

The “Slut”: Hunt is the promiscuous jokester whose surprising serious side keeps the group alive.

“I'm getting laid for sure." Hunter flashes the grin of someone who is super attractive and knows it. With his rich, blemish-free dark skin and gorgeous brown eyes, he looks like a young Denzel Washingtonmaybe betterand has no problem getting girls at school, even with his rodeo cowboy schtick.
"You're gross, Hunt!" Britney wrinkles her nose prettily. "Our bodies are a gift from God. We're supposed to save sex for someone special."
He winks at her. "They're all special, trust me."

The Princess: Britney is the shallow princess who has more layers than you think.

The Nerd: Lily is the hardcore nerd who is more cutthroat than imaginable. 

SKI WEEKEND is a suspenseful story, that surprisingly sends you down nostalgia lane—reminding you of what it was like being a teen, and how great YA 80s movies were. The beats of SKI WEEKEND were well-paced for the thrilling survival plot and kept me on my toes wondering what terrible thing was going to happen next and if the group would ever get rescued. It takes a special talent to keep a wait-and-see survival plot from dragging. Overall, SKI WEEKEND is an enjoyable, fast read. I’d recommend it to those seeking a quick, winter thriller.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Rektok Ross is the pen name of Liani Kotcher, a trial attorney turned young adult author and book blogger. An avid reader since childhood, Liani writes exactly the kind of books she loves to escape into herself: exciting thrillers with strong female leads, swoonworthy love interests, and life-changing moments. She graduated from the University of Florida School of Journalism and obtained her juris doctorate at the University of Miami School of Law. Originally from South Florida, she currently splits her time between San Francisco and Los Angeles with her husband, stepkids, and her dogs.

You can find her online just about anywhere at @RektokRoss, as well as on her website, www.RektokRoss.com, where she blogs about books and writing. 

Happy Reading!

 
Monday, October 11, 2021

Blog Tour: The Keeper Of Night by Kylie Lee Baker

  

Hiya, Booknerds! I was lucky enough to be selected for the Blog Tour of THE KEEPER OF NIGHTAs such, I will give you some details about the interesting book as well as its lovely author. 

And you also get a BOOKISH BONUS: 

*A delightful morsel of an excerpt can be found below*

ABOUT THE BOOK:

PublisherINKYARD PRESS
Release Date: October 12, 2021
GenreTeen & Young Adult Fantasy
Pages
400
Source: E-ARC

THE STORY:
Julie Kagawa meets Scythe in this captivating and evocative journey into Death’s domain as one soul collector seeks her place in the underworld of 1890s Japan. Book 1 of a planned duology.
Death is her destiny.
Half British Reaper, half Japanese Shinigami, Ren Scarborough yearns for the acceptance she has never found among the Reapers who raised her. When the Shinigami powers she can no longer hide force her to flee for her life, Ren and her younger brother—the only being on earth to care for her—travel to Japan and the dark underworld of Yomi, where Ren hopes to claim her place among the Shinigami and finally belong.
But the Goddess of Death is no more welcoming than the Reapers who raised her, and Ren finds herself set on an impossible task—find and kill three yokai demons, and maybe, just maybe, she can earn a place in Death’s service. With only her brother and an untrustworthy new ally by her side, Ren will learn how far she’ll go to win the acceptance she craves, and whether the cost of belonging is worth any sacrifice.
BUY LINKS:

Barnes & Noble
Amazon
Bookshop.org
Apple Books
Google Books


EXCERPT:

CHAPTER TWO:

    At the far edge of London, somewhere between nightmares and formless dreams, the Reapers slept by daylight.     The only way to enter our home was through the catacombs of the Highgate Cemetery, through a door that no longer existed. It had been built there long ago, when the Britons first came to our land and Ankou carved a hole in their world so that Death could enter. But humans had sealed it shut with layers of wood, then stone, then brick and mortar, all in the hopes of keeping Death out.     By the nineteenth century, humans had mostly forgotten about the Door and what it meant. Then, when the London churchyards began to overflow with bones, the humans had searched for a place just outside of London to bury their dead. By chance or fate, they’d built their new cemetery right on top of the Door. It turned out that Death drew all of us close, even if we weren’t aware of it.     No streetlights lit the path through Highgate at night, but I didn’t need them to find my way home. Before I’d even passed through the main gate, Death pulled me closer. All Reapers were drawn to him, our bones magnetized to the place of our forefather. As soon as I entered the cemetery, a humming began just under my skin, like a train’s engine beginning to whir. My blood flushed faster through my veins as I brushed aside the branches of winter-barren lime trees and low-hanging elms. My boots crunched shattering steps into the frosted pathways as I ran. I     stumbled through jagged rows of ice-cracked tombstones on uneven ground and through a village of mausoleums, finally reaching the gothic arched doorway of the catacomb entrance. The pull had grown unbearable, dragging me along in a dizzy trance as I descended the stairs into the cool quietness of damp bricks and darkness. The labyrinth would have been unnavigable if not for the fervent pull.     At last, my hands came out to touch the wall where the Door used to be, but now there were only damp bricks and an inscription on the arch overhead that read When Ankou comes, he will not go away empty in rigid script. I dug one hand into my pocket and clutched my clock, pressed my other hand to the bricks, then closed my eyes and turned time all the way back to the beginning.     Time flowed through the silver-and-gold gears, up into my bloodstream and through my fingertips, dispersing into the brick wall. Centuries crumbled away, the mortar growing wet and bricks falling loose. One by one, they leaped out of their positions in the wall and aligned themselves in dry stacks on the ground, waiting once again for construction. Objects were easy to manipulate with time, for I could draw from their own intrinsic energy rather than siphoning off my own. Rather than paying in years of my own life, I could borrow years before the bricks crumbled and quickly repay the debt when I put them back.     I stepped through the doorway and the pull released me all at once. I breathed in a deep gasp of the wet night air, then turned around and sealed the door behind me. The bricks jumped back to their positions in the wall, caked together by layers of mortar that dried instantly, the time debt repaid.     The catacombs beyond the threshold spanned infinitely forward, appropriated as resting places for Reapers rather than corpses. Mounted lanterns cast a faint light onto the dirt floors and gray bricks. It was almost Last Toll, so only the last Reapers returning from the night shift still milled around, their silver capes catching the dim light of the tunnels, but most had retreated to their private quarters for the morning.     I turned right and hurried down the block. The low ceilings gave way to high-arched doorways and finally opened up to a hall of echoing marble floors and rows of dark wood desks. Luckily, there was no line for Collections this close to Last Toll.     I hurried to the first Collector and all but slammed my vials into the tray, jolting him awake in his seat. He was a younger Reaper and seemed perplexed at having been awoken so unceremoniously. When his gaze landed on me, he frowned and sat up straight.     “Ren Scarborough,” I said, pushing the tray closer to him.     “I know who you are,” he said, picking up my first vial and uncapping it with deliberate slowness. Of course, everyone knew who I was.     He took a wholly unnecessary sniff of the vial before holding it up to the light to examine the color, checking its authenticity. The Collectors recorded every night’s soul intake before sending the vials off to Processing, where they finally released the souls into Beyond. He picked up a pen from his glass jar of roughly thirty identical pens, tapped it against the desk a few times, then withdrew a leather-bound ledger from a drawer. He dropped it in front of him, opened the creaky cover, and began flipping through the pages, one by one, until he reached a fresh one.     I resisted the urge to slam my face against the desk in impatience.     I really didn’t have time to waste, but Collections was a necessary step. I didn’t consider myself benevolent in times of crisis, but even I was above leaving souls to expire in glass tubes instead of releasing them to their final resting place, wherever that was. And besides, a blank space next to my name in the Collections ledger meant a Collector would pay a visit to my private quarters to reprimand me. The last thing I needed was someone realizing that I’d left before Ivy could even report me.     But when the Collector uncorked my fourth vial and held it up to the lamp, swirling it in the light for ten excruciating seconds, I began to wonder if I’d made the right decision.     The bells of Last Toll reverberated through the bricks all around us, humming through the marble floors. In this hazy hour between night and day, the church grims came out in search of Reaper bones to gnaw on. Night collections had to be turned in by then, while day collections had to be processed by the First Toll at dusk.     The Collector sighed as he picked up my fifth vial. “I’m afraid I’ll have to mark your collections as late.”     My jaw clenched. “Why.”     “It’s past Last Toll, of course,” he said.     My fingers twitched. The lamp on the Collector’s desk flickered with my impatience, but I took a steadying breath.     “I was here before Last Toll,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.     “According to my ledger, your collections still have not been processed,” he said, spinning my fifth vial in his left hand.     I sighed and closed my eyes. Of course, I knew what he was doing. Chastising a “latecomer” would earn praise from higher management. It was the easiest way for him to climb the ranks—to exert his power over the half-breed. He would be praised for his steadfastness and gain a reputation as a strict and immovable Collector, while I could do nothing to complain. I could explode his lamp and send glass shards into his eyes, but that wouldn’t make him process my vials any faster. The fastest way to get out of there was subservience.     “Forgive me, Reaper,” I said, bowing my head and dropping my shoulders. I let my voice sound timid and afraid. “I apologize for being late.”     The Collector blinked at me for a moment, as if surprised that I’d given in so quickly. But he looked young and power-hungry and not particularly perceptive, so I wasn’t too afraid that he’d see through my tactic. As expected, he sneered as if I truly had offended him, finally beginning to process the fifth vial.     “It’s a great inconvenience to both Collections and Processing,” he said, “though I wouldn’t expect a half-breed to understand the workings of the educated Reapers.”     The only believable response to his goading was humiliated silence, so I hung my head even further and tried to make myself as small and pathetic as possible. It wasn’t hard, because the memory of the night’s events was still wringing my heart out like a wet rag and my skin prickled with nerves so fiercely that I wanted to claw it all off and escape before Ivy could find me, yet here I was, brought to my knees before a glorified teller. I imagined being a High Reaper, being able to reach over and smash his face into his blotter and shatter his owlish glasses into his eyes for delaying and insulting me.     His lamp flickered more violently and he paused to smack it before finally finishing with my last vial. He placed all seven in a tray and pressed a button that started the conveyor belt, sending the souls down to Processing. The moment he put a black check next to my name in the ledger, I stood up straight and turned to leave.     His hand twisted into my sleeve, yanking me back.     I shot him a look that could have melted glass, but he only pulled me closer.     “There’s the matter of your sanction,” he said.     “My sanction,” I said, glancing around the office to see how many people would notice if I simply twisted the Collector’s neck. Too many.     “For your tardiness, of course,” he said, smirking sourly. From his position stretched across the desk, the lamplight caught in his glasses and turned them into two beaming white moons. The standard punishment for failing to make curfew was a night on the pillory, hands and feet nailed to the wood and head locked in a hole that was just slightly too tight, letting you breathe but not speak. The other Reapers could pull your hair or pour mead over your head or call you a thousand names when you couldn’t talk back. But the worst part wasn’t the nails or the insults. It was the Reapers who did nothing but look at you and sneer like you were nothing but an ugly piece of wall art, like they were so perfect that they couldn’t fathom being in your place. And far worse than that was my own father and stepmother walking past me and pretending not to see.     “Come back at First Toll,” the Collector said. “We’ll find a nice place to hang you up by the Door.”     It took every ounce of restraint I had left to keep my expression calm. This was the part where I was supposed to say, Yes, Reaper, and bow, but he was lucky that I hadn’t smashed his glasses into his face with my fist.     As if he could smell my defiance, he pulled me closer. His glasses fell out of the lamplight, revealing a deep frown.     “Scrub that look from your face,” he said. “Remember that I’ll handle your collections in the future.”     The future, I thought.     Luckily, I didn’t have a future.     The light bulb flashed with a sudden surge of power, then burst. Glass shards rained down over the desk, forcing the man to release me as hot glass scored his hands. Some of his paperwork caught fire, and he frantically patted out the flames with hands full of shards.     “Yes, Reaper,” I said, bowing deeply so he wouldn’t see my smirk as he sputtered about “bloody light bulbs, I knew we should have kept the gas lamps.”     Then I turned and rushed off to the West Catacombs.

Excerpted from The Keeper of Night by Kylie Lee Baker, Copyright © 2021 by Kylie Lee Baker. Published by Inkyard Press.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Kylie Lee Baker grew up in Boston and has since lived in Atlanta, Salamanca, and Seoul. Her writing is informed by her heritage (Japanese, Chinese, and Irish), as well as her experiences living abroad as both a student and teacher. She has a B.A. in Creative Writing and Spanish from Emory University and is currently pursuing a Master of Library and Information Science degree at Simmons University. In her free time, she watches horror movies, plays the cello, and bakes too many cookies. The Keeper of Night is her debut novel.


Social Links:

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***Check out Kylie Lee Baker 's website for more information about her and THE KEEPER OF NIGHT: https://www.kylieleebaker.com/

Happy Reading!

Wednesday, October 6, 2021

Wishlist Wednesday


*Wishlist Wednesday is where you show a book that has been on your wishlist/TBR list for a while*

ECHOES AND EMPIRES by Morgan Rhodes

PublisherRazorbill 
Release Date: January 4th 2022
Pages400

THE STORY:

A snarky seventeen-year-old must team up with an enigmatic criminal to cure herself of dangerous forbidden magic in the first book of a new fantasy duology from Morgan Rhodes, the New York Times bestselling author of the Falling Kingdoms series.
Josslyn Drake knows only three things about magic: it’s rare, illegal, and always deadly. So when she’s caught up in a robbery gone wrong at the Queen’s Gala and infected by a dangerous piece of magic—one that allows her to step into the memories of an infamously evil warlock—she finds herself living her worst nightmare. Joss needs the magic removed before it corrupts her soul and kills her. But in Ironport, the cost of doing magic is death, and seeking help might mean scheduling her own execution. There’s nobody she can trust.
Nobody, that is, except wanted criminal Jericho Nox, who offers her a deal: his help extracting the magic in exchange for the magic itself. And though she’s not thrilled to be working with a thief, especially one as infuriating (and infuriatingly handsome) as Jericho, Joss is desperate enough to accept.
But Jericho is nothing like Joss expects. The closer she grows with Jericho and the more she sees of the world outside her pampered life in the city, the more Joss begins to question the beliefs she’s always taken for granted—beliefs about right and wrong, about power and magic, and even about herself.
In an empire built on lies, the truth may be her greatest weapon.
LINK: Goodreads


MEET THE AUTHOR


Morgan Rhodes lives in Ontario, Canada. As a child, she always wanted to be a princess -- the kind that knows how to wield a sharp sword to help save both kingdoms and princes from fire-breathing dragons and dark wizards. Instead, she became a writer, which is just as good and much less dangerous. Along with writing, Morgan enjoys photography, travel, reality TV, and is an extremely picky, yet voracious reader of all kinds of books. Under another pen name, she’s a national bestselling author of many paranormal novels. Falling Kingdoms is her first high fantasy. (less)



Want to see my entire Wishlist? Check it out on Amazon: Books I Dream About

Happy Reading!

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