Congratulations to Naomi Clark on your new release!
Thank you for having me today! I’m here with my new Romance on the Go, THROWN TO THE WOLVES. This story was partially inspired by an article I read on Romania’s Hoia Forest earlier this year. It’s long been famous for paranormal activity, from UFO sightings to the strangely shaped trees. Some people believe it’s a gateway to another dimension, whilst others say it’s haunted by the ghost of murdered peasants. There’s a rich history of folklore and urban legend growing there, and so what better place to set a paranormal tale?
I’ve stayed away from UFOs and ghosts, though, and instead gone with vampires and werewolves. Well, it is Romania! In THROWN TO THE WOLVES, aspiring author and tattooed tomboy Paige goes hunting for inspiration. And she finds it…along with danger, ancient enemies, and of course, love. I hope you’ll enjoy my little venture into the Hoia Forest!
Paige went to Romania looking for inspiration for a book. She found herself caught in a horror story. Attacked and left for dead by a vampire, Paige finds herself at the mercy of Kata, a beautiful, enigmatic werewolf. Their attraction is instant, but Paige’s fate hangs in the balance. She may yet be turned into a vampire herself. Soon it’s clear to Paige that the only way to save herself may be to return to the woman who attacked her…even if it means placing both herself and Kata in the greatest danger.
This was her rescuer, she guessed. She’d gone from the jaws of a wolf to the bed of a woman, so someone had rescued her. But there was nothing about this woman that said “safe” or “friendly.” She was regal, imposing, and her silence was intimidating. But Paige didn’t have it in her to sit meekly and say nothing. For all she knew, she could be worse trouble now, with this woman, than she’d been out in the woods or with the creature she’d fled in the first place.
The memory of the woman who wasn’t a woman made her shudder, and she touched her throat. She felt dried blood and a dull ache, and it forced her to speak.
“What are you?” she asked.
It was probably the wrong thing to say. She should have said thank you, or asked where she was, or even asked the woman’s name. But those questions didn’t matter even a tiny fucking bit. Not after the nightmare she’d found herself in.
The woman laughed, a rich sound that made Paige think, incongruously, of sticky toffee pudding. “You are smarter than I thought,” she said in heavily-accented English. “When you see a woman lost in these woods at night, you don’t think she can be very smart.”
Unnerved, Paige sat up slowly, pulling the rough duvet up with her. She was still fully clothed, she realized, but the duvet gave her a sense of security anyway. Stupid, but true.
“My name is Kata,” the woman continued. She turned to a small, rough-hewn table at the bedside. A jug of water and a glass sat there, and she filled the glass before offering it to Paige.
Paige ignored it, despite the dry thirst gnawing at her. “I didn’t ask your name.”
Kata gave her a mock innocent look, eyes wide. “Sorry. Perhaps my English is not so good.”
Paige thought Kata’s English was probably fine, certainly better than Paige’s Romanian. “What are you?” she asked again, louder and slower this time, in that ignorant manner so many Brits abroad used that she hated. Her voice shook as she spoke, but she managed to hold Kata’s gaze and she was proud of that.
Kata set the glass down and pointed to the wound on Paige’s throat. “You have seen things already tonight I think you would not believe, yes? So I will ask you, what do you think I am?”
Her voice was gentle, with genuine curiosity in the question. And Paige thought about it, and thought she could fall into hysterics or rage, deny what her heart already knew and claim it was impossible. It would be easy—nice, even—to do that, because twelve hours ago, she would have said it was impossible, and she would have laughed at anyone who told her otherwise.
The problem was, hysteria and denial never helped. Staying calm, acknowledging the problem and finding a solution, that was what helped, whatever the situation. And besides, wasn’t the bite at her throat proof that it wasn’t impossible? Wasn’t passing out in front of a wolf and waking up in front of a woman just further proof? Impossible wasn’t impossible anymore.
So she said the impossible words. “I think you’re a werewolf.”
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About the Author
Naomi likes writing, perfume, fancy tea, and unfathomable monsters from the dark spaces between the stars, not necessarily in that order. She has been writing stories ever since she learned how to write, but is still trying to master the art of biography writing. When she’s not dealing with werewolves, demons, or sea monsters, she’s hanging out with her cat and probably watching a documentary about Bigfoot. If the cat isn’t available, she’s with her fiancé watching cookery shows and silently plotting her next book.
Find me online:
Twitter – @naomi_jay