Ink of Blood

(This review may contain spoilers).

I thought the use of second person narration as this story was being told by one character to another was a really uique one, even though I wouldn’t necessarily have thought that someone telling another person about their history together would make much sense. I did think this was an idea that worked better than I’d expected, though.

Apart from a few instances of modern day language in this book (I wouldn’t have thought ‘parka’ was an appropriate word to use in a prehistoric setting), I felt that the atmosphere was really good and I was drawn into the storyline really easily. While Kol did develop an attraction to Mya really fast, I didn’t feel there was much of an instant!love connection that irritates me so much in romance books.

I liked the opportunity to see bits and pieces of the world Kol and his tribe inhabited, though I was left quite unsure about exactly how they didn’t have any girls the age of Kol and his brothers. While at least one girl had left their tribe, I wouldn’t have thought that would be enough for there to be such a danger of the young men not finding wives.

I would have liked the opportunity to get to know Kol’s brothers better. I did think there was a bit too much telling rather than showing about their relationship and I didn’t realise that Kol was the oldest brother for a while.

I didn’t really like Shava, even though I did feel a bit sorry for her at times. I felt she changed her affections far too quickly and there was a bit too much in the way of pairing up all the available characters.

There wasn’t a lot of action in this book and it was a bit slow-moving at times, but I thought it was good to see the action towards the end and I would have liked to see a bit more of Mya’s brother. I wasn’t sure what to make of him.

The title did fit in well with the story and there were some quite emotional parts, especially later on. Many of the secondary characters didn’t really seem that well-developed, but I did enjoy getting to know the main characters.

I would probably read the next book/s in this series at some point in the future, to see where the characters will end up next.

IVORY AND BONE

By Julie Eshbaugh

Copyright 2016

The darkness in this cave is so complete I can no longer see you, but I can smell your blood.

“I think your wound has opened up again.”

“No, it’s fine.” Your words echo against the close walls. Even so, your voice sounds small. “I ran my fingers over it. It’s dry.”

We need light and heat. I pat the ground, feeling for the remnants of the fire we made in here before.

“The wound is under your hair, Mya, and your hair is drenched.”

“My hair is cold—wet with rain and ice. It would be warm if it were wet with blood.” Injured, bleeding, freezing—yet still stubborn.

“I’m going to try to get a fire going,” I say. My hands search the floor, fumbling across silt and cinders, until they land on a chunk of splintered wood that flakes at the ends as if it’s been burned. A short distance away the ground drops down into a shallow hole—the fire pit.

I crawl farther into the dark, one hand extended out in front of me, my knees grinding against knots of broken wood and nubs of rock. At last, my hand lands on what I remember as a deliberate, orderly stack of firewood piled against the far wall.

It’s unnerving to be in a place so dark. It’s even more unnerving to be here with you.

As I turn pieces of wood in my hands, my eyes begin to adjust to what little light filters in from outside. Black yields to gray as shadows become objects. I separate kindling and tinder. On a flat rock beside the wood I discover the starter kit—a long whittled stick and fireboard. “Give me just a little longer and I’ll get you warmed up, all right?”

I wait, but you don’t answer.

“Mya?”

“Go ahead and make a fire. I think I’ll just sleep a bit.”

“No—no sleeping. I need you to stay awake. I need company. Someone to talk to.” “What are we going to talk about?”

Rolling the firestick between my fingers, I hesitate. “What do you think we should talk about?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked this question. There are countless things that could be said between us, and probably countless more that should be left unsaid.

I grasp the firestick between my palms, one end buried in a notch cut in the fireboard, surrounded by fistfuls of dry grass like clumps of human hair. Rubbing my hands back and forth, I twirl the stick like a drill. My hands pass down the entire length of the stick once, twice, three times. Friction builds, and at last a ribbon of smoke curls around the board.

Distracted by my task, I almost forget the question I asked you. I’m not sure how long you’ve been silent. “Mya?”

“Fine,” you say, the word scratching in your throat like you’ve swallowed bits of gravel. “I’ll try to stay awake, but you need to give me something to stay awake for.”

“Meaning?”

“Why don’t you tell me a story?”

“I don’t know any stories.”

An ember catches. An orange glow blooms in the kindling. I lie on my side and blow a steady stream of breath into the grass, coaxing out garlands of smoke.

“Everyone who’s ever lived has a story to tell, Kol.”

As the fire spreads I sit up, turning your words in my mind. What could I possibly tell you? All my stories have become entwined with yours. “What do you want to hear?” I ask.

“Tell me something wonderful—a story that’s startling and marvelous.” Despite your grogginess, there’s a lilt of expectation in your voice. “Tell me about the most startling and marvelous day of your life. . . .”

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