Crimson Moon J. Trueblood vampires. Those set apart from commons by right of blood. Graced with extraordinary abilities such as telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition — they are the most powerful and feared among their kind. The secret lies within, a legacy evolving from the truest form of magic, and their living bloodlines are the key. After she is rescued from a horde of demonic bloodthirsty creatures by Caleb, the most captivating and enigmatic person she has ever met, she struggles to accept the unimaginable truth he imparts.
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Trueblood vampires: those set apart from commons by right of blood. Graced with extraordinary abilities, they are the most powerful and feared among their kind. The secret lies within a legacy evolving from the truest form of magic, and their living bloodlines are the key. An average morning is what Emma Johnson anticipates when she visits Joe's Cafe for a steaming cup of coffee.
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I could have been assured a normal, monotonous, and potentially happy life in ignorance. I could have existed just as everyone else, thriving in conventional normalcy, living out each and every day in exactly the same manner. Yet in doing so, I would have existed in the dark, unaware of all the special talents and creatures that surrounded me. I would have remained blissfully and eternally sightless.
And I would have missed out on the most important and pure of emotions—that indescribable elation that only flourishes when someone experiences first love, as well as the absolute devastation that follows upon losing it forever. I closed my eyes and breathed in the crisp and biting air, bringing it deep into my lungs, holding my breath until it burned.
No, I had regrets, but not of unlocking the truth about myself and those around me. I exhaled into the breeze, releasing a part of myself into the sky. Then I remained on the grassy knoll as the wind cut through the numbness permeating my skin, chilling me to the bone. The day started out like any other. I woke at like clockwork. Years of repetitive morning cycles were ingrained in my system, creating an internal wake up call, and each morning was exactly the same.
I could stay like this all day, I thought, burrowing deeper into the warm and inviting shelter of worn covers and hand quilted blankets. I could relax in my cozy lilac colored bedroom and forget all about the world outside. My empty sigh reverberated inside the quiet room, coming back to whisper in my ears. I would have to venture into the world at some point. There were groceries to purchase, bills to pay, responsibilities to shirk, and potential colleges to inspect.
The word caused me to groan and reach for one of the fluffy pillows lined against the whitewashed headboard—a pillow I promptly shoved into my face. Most high school graduates had the issue of personal finances to overwhelm them when they took the gigantic step into adulthood. My personal angst, however, delved far deeper than concerns of the good old fashioned dollar.
She might not know I was only a phone call away, but I did, and that was all that mattered. I tossed the pillow to the floor and it protested with a soft sigh. I mimicked the disfavor, blowing air from my lips, disrupting strands of stray hair sweeping across my face.
I glowered at the ceiling, following the intricate swirling patterns of ancient paint in desperate need of a new coat. She flew too close to the sun when she spread her eager wings. And she returned home with a bun in the oven—the happy father-to-be nowhere in sight. After I came into the world, gossip and heartless speculation became her cross to bear, and she bore it proudly.
Until one snowy December morning when she left home for work and never made it back. Her untimely death managed to bring out the kindness in those who judged her so carelessly, but by then it was too late. I endured the backlash of my parental inadequacies as early as the first day of kindergarten, and since Big Spring Elementary School is also Big Spring Junior and Senior High, nothing was bound to change.
But despite of it all I had a good life—a happy life—until something compounded my already anomalous existence in a multitude of ways and everything changed. I started my senior year like everyone else—with new supplies, a new wardrobe, and a fresh outlook.
Unfortunately no one had the foresight to warn me how instrumental my senior year would become in regard to my future. But all those little round zeros on the bank statement had given me pause. Would you knock it off already? I chastised myself, breathing out an exaggerated groan of dejection.
I shoved aside the cream colored duvet, tossing my legs along the side of the bed and gasping as brisk autumn air collided with my oven warm skin. The summer was officially gone. It was time to break out deliciously warm sweaters and comfortably worn denim. I hurried across the room, stepped inside the closet and pulled the frayed string attached to the light bulb overhead to illuminate the small space.
I dressed quickly, yanking my favorite blue blouse over my head before sliding into a pair of faded blue jeans. I stopped at the door to slip on my socks and step into my sneakers. I rushed into the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth, surveying my handiwork in the mirror. My hair could have been better, but it also could have been worse. Cooler temperatures always caused the thick wavy strands to expand uncontrollably.
When I finished, I flipped the light off, passed through my bedroom and slipped into the hallway. My shoes pounded against the carpet as I came down the stairs, bouncing off each one as though they housed an invisible spring that could sky rocket me into orbit.
I whipped around the banister, hooking a sharp right into the kitchen in the direction of the coffee machine. I frowned at the pink diamond wallpaper as I reached for the coffee pot.
It was faded now, not even pink by decent color standards, more of a melon or salmon. Add it to my to-do list, I grumbled to the empty room, walking to the sink and flipping the long metal faucet up and over.
I stared out the window as the water sloshed inside the glass, my mind drifting into a habitual daydream state. What would I go to college for? And better yet, where would I go? It was a smart decision, choosing General Ed.
I could transfer a majority of my credits to a more established facility. Cold water spilled over the lip of the pot and dribbled into the sink. I cursed as I slammed the faucet off and held the dripping container aloft. The kitchen was eerily silent. The drips of water against the ceramic counter providing the only sound.
It was just me, a lone coffee machine, and a container of tepid water to start another day. My brown leather jacket was where I left it—hanging on the coat rack beside the door. I lifted my head and located my keys resting on the antique desk near the door. My fingers brushed an old silver picture frame placed in the center as I reached for them, and I was careful as not to smudge the glass.
My grandma had taken the picture of me and Mom when I was a baby, right before the weather had taken a wintery turn. I resembled my mother—wavy mahogany hair, a heart-shaped face, ever changing hazel-green eyes.
Sometimes that was the hardest thing—looking in the mirror and seeing the person you wanted to know most staring back at you. My lips curved into a bittersweet smile as I released the frame. I spun on my heel and walked to the front door.
It was a beautiful day, cool and brisk with just enough sunshine to heat my face and shoulders. Thin gray clouds were sparse, allowing threads of light to shine through. I locked up and walked off the porch, breathing the crisp air before exhaling in a contented sigh.
I glanced to the right and spotted my neighbor standing in the middle of her neatly cultivated garden. Peatree waved exuberantly, clutching a tiny watering can in her opposite hand.
The last thing I wanted was to spend my Saturday in an empty kitchen with walls for company. What can I get for you? Amanda pulled a pen from her loose French twist and braced her wrist against a thick green paper pad.
A cup of coffee and two donuts, please. I extended the tattered menu across the table and placed it in her outstretched hand.
She nodded, smacking on her gum, and nestled a chunk of blonde hair behind her ear. I watched her round the counter and push aside silver double doors with circular windows as she disappeared into the back. Bracing my elbows on the black and white checkerboard table, I glanced around. As the lone restaurant in town, the place usually stayed packed. I settled into my seat as a flash of blonde attracted my attention. Amanda reappeared with a small ceramic plate, a sturdy cup and a coffee pot.
She placed the plate with donuts in front of me and started filling the mug. Then she produced tiny cartons of creamer from her apron and sat them down, followed by a paper napkin with silverware. I clutched the mug and pulled it across the table. The dark liquid sloshed along the rim, almost spilling over. I reached for the creamer, using my fingernails to yank at the persistent aluminum tops.
When done I poured the creamy liquid inside the coffee and tossed the wrappers to the side.
Crimson Moon : Crimson Trilogy
Review: Crimson Moon by J.A. Saare
Crimson Moon by J. Emma is somewhat content with her lot in life. Having lost her mother in a car accident when she was young, and never knowing her father, she grew up with her Grandmother. At a coffee shop minding her own business, she is greeted by a man she went to high school with.