Alec had passion unlike anything she imagined.
But passion can go two ways…
BLURB:
The lovely and talented Kate McCoy once thought that her future was predictable, and secure. Classical music was her passion, and she was inarguably the mistress of her craft.
Then she met Alec Murdenson…
Alec knows nothing of orchestras; he’s a rocker, through and through. The ferocity of his music seems out of place when viewed alongside his easy smile, and his sense of humor—not to mention his handsome face and striking green eyes.
But there is something else lurking behind his riveting gaze, an entity that is both Alec and yet not Alec at all. That phantasm is more than a little disturbing; perhaps it is even a cold-blooded monster.
As Kate becomes tangled within Alec’s web, she is forced to re-think everything she once thought she knew. In so doing, she must make a horrific choice: Either run for the hills…
Or embrace a man who understands human depravity better than she ever could.
Buy link: Amazon US
Excerpt:
Vinyl car seats…
Vinyl car seats aren’t comfy, not at all. They’re not like old couch cushions, resting upon worn-out, well broken-in sofas, into which one can comfortably settle. No, vinyl seats are cold and unforgiving. They don’t conform to the human posterior; they swelter in the summer and radiate winter’s chill like a cowhide icicle. Kate hated vinyl cushions of any kind. They reminded her of the leather seats in her father’s chauffeured Bentley, and she hadn’t liked those either.
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Kate tried desperately to find a position that wouldn’t make her behind ache. She was rather tall for a woman, and this backseat was, as Dr. Seuss would have put it, “three sizes too small” for her frame. And this whole situation would have been much, much easier without the handcuffs!
Giving up on the prospect of finding an accommodating position, Kate leaned back and stared at herself in the rearview mirror. The police officer assigned as her “babysitter” was sitting coolly in the front, listening to the radio. The Los Angeles Police had ordered a female officer to arrest her. Smart move, thought Kate sourly. The last thing the LAPD needs is the famous Kathryn McCoy suing them for sexual harassment.
Kate met her own brilliant sapphire gaze, hoping against hope that this was all just a bad dream. Just a little while ago she’d been going about her business; she still had her makeup on, for crying out loud! Not that most people thought she needed it. Her long, straight, jet black hair and porcelain complexion were usually adornment enough.
This can’t be happening, thought Kate. But the flashing police lights belied her wishful thought. The street upon which the police car was parked was inarguably picturesque; palm trees lined the thoroughfare, and the surrounding cityscape was defined by beautiful stonework. This part of L.A. was no place for horror … but here she was, living out a nightmare.
Hanging her head in despair, Kate entertained a brief fantasy of suicide. She’d just suffered a death in her family, and her exhausting career had pushed her to the breaking point. Relationship issues had caused her personal life to become an emotional roller coaster. She’d been on the edge for quite some time … and now this.
The police car was rather stuffy. Kate wondered absently if her makeup had melted enough to expose those stubborn freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had been pampered and spoiled her entire life, from her upbringing in Long Island to her current situation in California. Being cuffed and rudely shoved into a cruiser was not something to which she was accustomed.
Kate lifted her head as a detective approached the car. He motioned to the officer in the front seat and waited outside the rear door. “I can exit myself, thank you,” said Kate as the officer opened the door. She was in no mood to be rough-housed out of the backseat. Stepping primly from the vehicle, she balanced carefully on her high heels, adjusting the back of her evening gown as best she could manage with cuffs on.
“May I help you?” she asked the detective coldly.
“Is this yours, Miss McCoy?” asked the detective calmly, reaching into an opaque evidence bag.
Please don’t, pleaded Kate inside. I don’t want to see it. She turned her gaze away as the officer held up something upon which she couldn’t bear to look: a violin bow, broken in half and covered in blood.
“Is this yours?” repeated the detective.
Kate bit her lip, remembering vividly the words of her Virginian friend, old Jerry. If you’re forced to defend yourself, NEVER talk to the police! One misspoken word, and they can hang you. Shut the hell up and wait for a lawyer!
“Miss McCoy,” said the detective, assuming a patronizing tone. “I need to know what happened in there. If you don’t tell me what he did to you, I can’t help you. I’ll have to book you on the charge we arrested you for.”
A police officer can’t help you, Jerry had said. They work for the district attorney, and the district attorney’s job is to convict you. Resolved to keep her cool, Kate just stared defiantly at the detective.
“Miss McCoy—” began the detective.
“If you’re going to grill me for the third time in four hours,” said Kate between clenched teeth, “then by all means call me ‘Kate’!”
“Kate,” re-started the detective, “I need your story.”
“Ask my lawyer,” retorted Kate.
“Then, Kate, you leave me no choice,” sighed the detective. “Your ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ friend is dead, apparently by your hand. This is your violin bow, and there was no one else on the scene. You have blood on your hands and your dress, and your prints are all over the place.”
“Lawyer!” said Kate firmly.
“I heard you the first time,” said the detective.
Kate waited for his next words, knowing that they would spell out her doom.
“Kathryn Leigh McCoy,” said the detective, “I’m going to charge you with murder in the second degree. Are you sure you don’t have something to say?”
Kate looked away, half-amused by the detective’s last-minute attempt to coerce a damning statement out of her. “Yes, sir,” she said contritely. “Yes, I do.”
“What is it, Kate?” said the detective, assuming a falsely intimate tone. Kate looked daggers at him. “Kate?”
“May I get back into the car, please?”
“That’s it, Miss McCoy?”
“No!” spat Kate.
“What else?”
“AND,” screamed Kate at the top of her lungs, “I WANT MY LAWYER ALREADY!!!”
Interview: Meet Virginia Wallace:
NA: What sort of research did you do to write this book?
VW: Honestly, I did none whatsoever. At the same time, I spent thousands of hours on research. My favorite genre of music has always been heavy metal. I’ve been to countless concerts, listened to countless albums, and I’ve even been blessed enough to actually meet a few of my musical heroes. I wanted to write a book that captured both the frantic energy and the raw pathos that metal so beautifully personifies. I think the romance market often overlooks a major demographic: ‘Metal chicks,’ and that was a niche that I wanted to fill while still appealing to mainstream romance readers.
NA: What is the main thing you want readers to take away from your book?
VW: Romance novels are, at their core, fiction. So yes, they often feature such bewitching concepts as ‘love at first sight.’ This is often as it should be, because we read fiction to escape our lives. But there is also a place for stories that echo reality, and the reality behind relationships is this: They take work! They’re often confusing. Sometimes you’re smitten with someone one day, and the next you wonder what you ever saw in them. You believe someone’s your soul mate one day, and the next you wonder if they’re maybe the Anti-Christ in disguise. What gets you through both the good days and the bad ones is commitment and perseverance. So I suppose what I’d like my readers to take from my work is this: Love doesn’t just happen. Nor is it simply a feeling; rather, it is an act of will.
NA: A fun fact about writing your book.
VW: Ostensibly, the title When the White Knight Falls is a reference to the death of starry-eyed infatuation in a romantic relationship. But it’s also a reference to one of my absolute favorite books: Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass, which features a scatterbrained ‘White Knight’ that keeps falling off his horse and landing on his head.
NA: What started you on the path to writing?
VW: When I was a teenager, my best friends introduced me to the iconic role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons. That was an absolute game-changer for me. I developed my creative chops by telling stories, not writing them down; it would be years before I began putting my tales on paper. I’d always thought of myself as an artist as a child and a teenager, but writing slowly began to eclipse that as I came to feel that could express myself more thoroughly as a writer.
NA: What do your friends and family think about your being a writer?
VW: Half the time, I don’t know! The curse of being a writer is that it’s a very isolated pursuit; writers simply aren’t as available as most people. But I suppose my more honest answer would be similar to any writer’s: Some in my circle are proud of me, some think I’m weird… and others wish I would just ‘shut it,’ and stop incessantly yapping about what I’m working on!
NA: The biggest surprise you had after becoming a writer
VW: What an absolutely INSANE amount of work it is! People ask me sometimes how much time it takes to be a writer. My response is always ‘how much time do you have? And before you answer, let me tell you that it’s not enough.’ There is no ‘dabbling’ in writing, at least not once you engage the publishing world. You either go ‘whole hog’ or you don’t even bother. The hours are long and the pay is meager… but at the end of the day, you do it because you love writing. You do it because you can’t imagine yourself doing anything else.
NA: Do you outline books ahead of time or are you more of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants writer?
VW: I use kind of a hybrid approach. I write character outlines, and a loose plot. Then I write the finished ending first; it gives me something to write toward. I always laugh when writers announce on social media that they’ve ‘finally typed ‘the end!’’ I’m always like, I type that first! After the ending is finished, I start at the beginning and move forward. I do make periodic adjustments to the outline as I go along, though. I feel that if I’m too rigid, then I’m not allowing my characters to tell their own stories.
NA: What has been one of your most rewarding experiences as an author?
VW: When a reader tells me ‘I loved your story’! I don’t think of myself as some kind of intellectual or artistic genius. I’m just an entertainer, like countless others. If I pulled you out of your life for a day, or even just an afternoon, that makes me proud. Appreciative readers make the work well worth the effort!
NA: What are your top three favorite books of all time?|
VW: There are three that I read every year like clockwork: ‘Rebecca’, by Daphne du Maurier, ‘Huckleberry Finn’, by Mark Twain, and ‘The October Country’ by Ray Bradbury. All three hold special places in my heart for a long list of reasons!
NA: First thought when the alarm goes off in the in the morning?
VW: You probably don’t want me typing that here. I am NOT a morning person! I’m fuzzy and foggy and it takes me a couple of hours to get moving. On the plus side, the moment I crawl out of bed the worst part of my day is over. No matter what happens, it’s all uphill from there!
NA: What errand/chore do you despise the most?
VW: PROOFREADING!!! I’m all about the characters, the ebb and flow of the story. The right word in exactly the right place. Looking for misspellings? Punctuation errors? I prefer that to be someone else’s job! That’s partially why I so aggressively sought a gig with a traditional publishing company. Had I remained on the ‘indie’ scene, all that boring stuff would still be on me!
NA: What famous person would you like to have dinner with?
VW: Ozzy Osbourne! I wouldn’t understand a word he said, mind you, but I’m sure it’d be a blast anyway. I saw him with Black Sabbath on their finale tour, and he was an absolute hoot. (Whenever I’m feeling down about myself, I always remember: I’m number one, because Ozzy told me so!) His books I am Ozzy and Trust Me, I’m Dr. Ozzy are a riot. He has this dry sense of humor, and a way of sharing anecdotes that’s very engaging.
NA: What are you working on now?
VW: This interview! I’m also working on a horror/romance novel (yes, there is such a thing) entitled The Angel and Beast. Once my wonderfully talented editor is finished gleefully raking me over the coals, it’s on to ‘submission time!’
NA: What is any question we didn’t ask that you would like to answer?
VW: To whom do I credit my success?
A writer isn’t a lone entity, as many believe. A writer is part of a team. My friends taught me to create engaging characters as we sat around playing D&D and munching on Doritos. (And drinking Surge. LOTS of Surge! That stuff’s poison. Seriously…) I was home-schooled as a child; my mother taught me how to write, at least on a technical level. Over the years, beta readers have often offered just the right criticism – made just the right suggestion – to completely turn around a floundering manuscript. But all of that is still for nothing if you can’t find the right publisher, one who believes in you and is willing to take a chance on your work—and I have. And above all else, I believe this happened because I prayed for it. My efforts – and those of others – mean nothing without the blessings of God.
So to whom do I credit my success? Everyone. All those who stuck with me, who carried me along as I fumbled my way through the confusing publishing world. Those who believe in my work now, encourage me, publish me, and help me hone my craft. God, who brought all of those wonderful people into my circle. I’m living my dream, for sure. But I’m not doing it alone, and that’s the biggest blessing of all.
About Virginia:
Virginia Wallace is a native of the Chesapeake Bay region on the Southeast coast of the United States. Nomadic by nature, Virginia has lived all over, from the mountains of New England to the rolling hills of the American Heartland.
She began her creative career during her late teens and early twenties, working as a freelance portrait and commercial artist. She slowly transitioned into writing, eventually self-publishing three novels for the ‘indie’ book market.
As a writer, Virginia Wallace has always worked at meshing modern stories with a lush style reminiscent of 19th Century American and European literature. When the White Knight Falls marks her debut into the mainstream book market.
Where to find her:
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