Welcome to the blog tour for Rose Petal Graves by Olivia Wildenstein thanks to YA Bound Book Tours! A thrilling and mysterious read, yesterday I posted my 5 star review of Rose Petal Graves and today I have small but enticing excerpt and giveaway to share with you.
If you're a faerie lover looking for something just a little different, Rose Petal Graves is for you!
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Founded two centuries ago by a powerful tribe of Gottwa Indians, Rowan was a quiet town, so quiet that I fled after graduation. Staying away was the plan, but Mom died suddenly.
Dad said she suffered a stroke after she dug up one of the ancient graves in our backyard, which happens to be the town cemetery. Creepy, I know. Creepier still, there was no corpse inside the old coffin, only fresh rose petals.
As we made preparations for Mom’s burial, new people began arriving in Rowan, unnervingly handsome and odd people. I begged them to leave, but they stayed, because their enemies—my ancestors—were beginning to awaken.
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From Rose Petal Graves.....
I trembled as I advanced toward the ring of rowan trees t hat protected the sacred piece of land in which my ancestors were buried. The cold wind and thick snowflakes stung my cheeks, but cooled the welt the faerie guards had exacted on my hand. I spun around to see if the faeries had remained, but no bodies lit up the cold night. They probably fled back to their island to inform their fellow faes that another hunter had risen.
The wind blew Gwenelda's waist-long black hair against a long, broad, bare torso that ended in a face so chiseled it looked carved from stone. I trailed my eyes down the man's chest, over the inked arabesques tattooed on his skin, over the animal-hide loincloth that covered so little of him...
...Want more? And trust me; you do--get your copy of Rose Petal Graves today!
I trembled as I advanced toward the ring of rowan trees t hat protected the sacred piece of land in which my ancestors were buried. The cold wind and thick snowflakes stung my cheeks, but cooled the welt the faerie guards had exacted on my hand. I spun around to see if the faeries had remained, but no bodies lit up the cold night. They probably fled back to their island to inform their fellow faes that another hunter had risen.
The wind blew Gwenelda's waist-long black hair against a long, broad, bare torso that ended in a face so chiseled it looked carved from stone. I trailed my eyes down the man's chest, over the inked arabesques tattooed on his skin, over the animal-hide loincloth that covered so little of him...
...Want more? And trust me; you do--get your copy of Rose Petal Graves today!
When she's not writing, she's psychoanalyzing everyone she meets (Yes. Everyone), eavesdropping on conversations to gather material for her next book, baking up a storm (that she actually eats), going to the gym (because she eats), and attempting not to be late at her children's school (like she is 4 out of 5 mornings, on good weeks).
Wildenstein lives with her husband and three children in Geneva, Switzerland, where she's an active member of the writing community.
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