Synopsis:
She is desperate to remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy who
doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and
death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice
Autrhor Bio:
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away
her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She
graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when
she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen
and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That
sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with
her husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a
dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.
Excerpts:
(Mild Swearing)
Excerpt One: Jade
The girl’s glassy, dead eyes stare into me, through me, pierce me with a fierce
urgency, with a wicked accusation. The blood is still on my hands.
Red hair, blue eyes, a constellation of freckles on pale skin. She was fragile and
innocent, a lovely thing. That is what I think until I see the gashes on her wrists and
throat. With her blood spilling out, she looks delicious. She’s mine. Possessiveness
shocks me, stabs into me. I run, tearing away from a craving I don't understand.
Breathless, I grit my teeth and run harder, faster.
My feet pound against the earth, away from the lifeless body and toward the lights
of the city lingering on the horizon. Rot and death linger in my nostrils. Unscarred skin
stretches taut over my freezing bones. Echoes of an empty memory reverberate in my
mind, taunting me. The ice chases me, clutches me, and bites at my heels, sending shivers
up my spine. The ice wants me back, but I run forward, toward the lights, toward the
heat, toward a world that burns me, because I have no other choice.
The lights are so close. Heat scalds my skin.
Images race through my mind, paralyzing me. I skid to a stop, my boots digging
into the mud. The vision’s blurred edges materialize into solid shapes.
I gasp.
A new horror rakes my insides. Desperation propels me forward; the pictures
nagging at my seams threaten to tear me apart.
Scorching fire licks over my skin. In my vision, I contort like a vile, ugly creature,
eyes as black as decay. My frame hunches over the small, dead girl, like a demon
looming over a defenseless child. Her blood drips from my mouth.
I lick my lips and taste only salty sweat.
I run, desperate to trample the vision under my feet, to crush it deep into the
ground.
I refuse to believe the image, refuse to acknowledge the monster within me
demanding to be unleashed—and the possibility it has already been unbound. An
unrelenting tide of fear washes over me. Past the denial, the fear, and the hope, I think I
can still taste her.
The cold stillness inside me cracks open just as the lights of the city slam into me.
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