AMARANTH RACHEL WADE PDF

Account Options Connexion. Version papier du livre. Amaranth : Book One of the Resistance Trilogy. Rachael Wade. Rabbit Hole Press , 19 sept.

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By Rachael Wade. Hoodoo-influenced Southern Louisiana seems like the perfect place for Camille to relocate and escape her abusive past. Will she derail her life and make the ultimate sacrifice for the very monsters that interrupted her bumpy path back to sanity—the one she wanted so desperately in the first place? The part that really stood out for me was that it is not just about fighting for your love, your soul mate, but it was about redemption of an entire clan so to speak.

I was hooked from the first chapter. I just wanted to step into the dark, dangerous world of Amaranth. Talk about beautifully written, Rachael built a world that is absolutely stunning! All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Dave, my loyal and sometimes patient rock and soul mate, who never seems to waver despite the rain. Your support knows no bounds. My life will never be the same since I met you.

You are forever the Apollo to my Starbuck. So say we all! My best friend, mentor, and soul doppelganger, Pat. Thank you for teaching me about perfection, judgment, and learning to let go. Arlene, my editor, who I am indebted to. Without whose eyes I would have been blind, and whose natural feel for storytelling helped shape and guide every inch of this first installment. The readers: Wherever you hail from, no matter how small your numbers, thank you for taking a portion out of your time to give this book a chance to entertain you.

I love you to the moon. And last but certainly not least, God, who removed the blindfold in more ways than one. For years I imagined what it must feel like to wake up on a beautifully dark, gloomy February day in the city that stole my heart so long ago. To consider the trip a success, I had to return to the States unrecognizable in spirit.

If I went home the same person, there would be hell to pay. What it represented to me, no amount of money could buy.

It made me feel Parisian. Wearing it, I could be mysterious and beautiful, perhaps even exotic, far from the life that once held me in bondage. The thought made me laugh aloud. I stepped outside and did a quick review of my plans for the day, taking the black book from my purse that held all my notes and maps and flipping through the pages.

I tossed the black book back into my purse, letting the loose pages fly out into wonderful disarray. While I waited for a cab, a man in his early twenties passed by me walking his dog, looked me up and down with a grin. I looked away. Whoever said the French are grumpy was wrong. Yet I never liked that sort of attention.

Partly because of my shyness, but I also had a knack for attracting only creeps. Like the one I left back home. He loved to beat me to a pulp with his words. Eventually, his anger made its way to my face. I watched the dog walker stroll away, happy to see a cab arriving. I instructed the driver to head toward the Louvre, using as much of my two years of French as possible.

But when I spotted a chocolaterie, it looked like the perfect spot to bury myself in my Guy de Maupassant novel and crack open my journal.

Minutes later, my first cup of French chocolat in hand, I headed toward the deserted tables outside the shop, struggling to pin my side to the door to push it open. My purse slid off my shoulder and thumped to the ground, spilling my black book with its loose papers everywhere. Little bursts of wind sent some of the papers into the cold slush in a flurry, making the writing a runny mess.

I tumbled to the ground with an awkward thud and a wince when I made impact with the concrete, and opened my eyes to find my chocolat splattered all around me. I looked down at my poor magic coat, confused and embarrassed. Here, let me help you with that. I am really sorry, I just A tall, slender guy leaned down to pick up my things and offered his hand to help me stand.

Intense dark brown eyes, short tousled brown hair, an earnest face. This is pretty much my life on a daily basis.

I pushed my long tangled mess of brown hair away from my face. I took his hand and stood, brushed my hands on my coat before I looked into his eyes. I felt myself blush.

Uh, no, I guess not. Just habit, sorry. His eyes brightened with hopes of redemption. Thanks for helping me up and everything. His pale skin and cheekbones were stunning, and a strange scar above his left eyebrow, out of place among his perfect features, ironically added to his charm.

Okay, well, let me at least get you another drink. Here, sit down. He beat my response, gesturing to the closest table on the wintery terrace.

I want to, really. He kept moving for the door. That looks like it was chocolat. He darted inside. Defeated, I slumped onto the chair next to me. I was here to change, after all. I needed to be open, to bend a little. And this guy seemed normal enough. He looked nothing like the bastard I left back in Seattle.

But then again, looks can mislead. I contemplated his origin while I lit a cigarette and waited for his return. Okay, here we go. He handed me my replacement. I noticed he held two drinks. Mind if I join you? We could go inside if you want. He smiled. I like it actually. I appreciate the drink though. I sent him a faint smile back. I was in a hurry, but I found what I was looking for. He studied my face for a moment, then pointed up at the window above the shop, diagonal to where we sat.

A relative of mine lives in the apartment upstairs, but this is my first time visiting her new place. I was frantic to get here. Already managed to get lost twice. I peered up at the elegant apartment front. This is a great place to live. I bet your family loves it here. He watched me take a drag off my cigarette. I nodded, relieved. I took one last puff before I put it out. So, you just visiting? What brought you to Paris?

He sat down, wrapped his arms around his chest. Yes, visiting. I cleared my throat.

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Amaranth (The Resistance Trilogy, #1)

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By Rachael Wade. Hoodoo-influenced Southern Louisiana seems like the perfect place for Camille to relocate and escape her abusive past. Will she derail her life and make the ultimate sacrifice for the very monsters that interrupted her bumpy path back to sanity—the one she wanted so desperately in the first place? The part that really stood out for me was that it is not just about fighting for your love, your soul mate, but it was about redemption of an entire clan so to speak. I was hooked from the first chapter. I just wanted to step into the dark, dangerous world of Amaranth.

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