Dear Secret Agent:
Alex is willing to sacrifice anything to save her sister. The problem?
Her sacrifice might spell bad news for the rest of the human race.
Alex’s life is typical of an average sixteen-year-old: there’s school,
a part-time job, a modest social life (it doesn’t get much better than
‘modest’ in her rural North Carolina town). Then along comes a
werewolf that tries to drown her in the lake behind her house. She
escapes, but not before receiving a healthy dose of the creature’s
toxin—which should make the next full moon interesting. And it does.
Just not in the way she was expecting. Because the full-moon comes and
goes, but it doesn’t bring the expected gruesome transformations or
beastly urges with it. In her search for the reason behind her
obstinate humanity, Alex starts to unravel a past that threatens to
make her future very complicated.
The complications don’t waste any time starting, either. While she’s
busy trying to figure out just who (or what) she is, the most
important person in her life—her little sister Lora—is taken. During
her quest to get her back, Alex learns of the magic, binding pact that
prevents lycans (the creature from which werewolves originate) from
harming humans. It was invoked centuries ago, in a desperate
last-ditch effort to curb the bloody relations between the two races.
As the descendant of the one who created the pact, Alex is the only
one capable of severing it. Something she would never even think about
doing. Or at least, she wouldn’t have thought about it—until she
realizes the cost of not doing so may be her little sister’s life.
DESCENDANT is a young adult paranormal, and it is complete at 88,000
words. Although the story stands complete as-is, there is strong
potential for a sequel to follow. Thank you for taking the time to
consider representing my work. I look forward to hearing from you!
All the best,
First 250:
The newspapers all said it was an accident. That there was no reason
to suspect any foul play had been involved. That the lake was swollen
from the recent rains, and my dad hadn’t been a particularly strong
swimmer to begin with. It was tragic, yeah. But things like this
happened.
It was a beautiful day for a funeral. My mom kept saying we should be
thankful for that, but to be honest it was kind of pissing me off. The
sun’s rays were too warm, that breeze too refreshing, and every note
those stupid birds chirped was like a personal insult to my grief.
Rain would have been more appropriate. Or a thunderstorm with
gale-force winds and hail the size of golf balls.
The pastor from our church was reading something from the Bible
propped open in his hands, his voice sounding like it might crack any
second now. Like everyone else in Dalton, he’d been a close friend of
my father’s. A small group of mourners stood with us in a semi-circle
around the pastor, most of them with wads of well-used tissue clenched
in their fists. My little sister, Lora, had gone through almost an
entire box by herself. She’d absentmindedly shredded and dropped most
of them to the ground, so now the pointy toes of her black heels
peeked out from underneath a mountain of white. I felt a little
ashamed, looking at them. My own heels were completely visible, and my
face was dry.
