Shut Up & Read discussion

Hey awesome readers and reviewers!

My name is Sarah and I am the assistant to the author Carl Waters and I would like to ask if you would be interested in reviewing his Young Adult Paranormal & Urban novel, The Call of the Wild Werewolf. I can provide it for your preferred e-book platform, if you let me know which one you'd prefer.

Please visit my website and fill out the short form to get your copy:

http://www.janealfaloras.com/?page_id...


Description:

Deciding to leave his easy life in Santa Clara Valley, Buck Miller, the son of a wealthy judge and raisin farmer, pursues gold riches in the Klondike. Before he reaches his destination, Buck is kidnapped by vampires, turned into a werewolf, and forced to work as the vampire's sled dog. Now, in an unfamiliar place and in an unfamiliar body, Buck must learn to survive more than just the brutal weather. With attacks from vicious animals and abuse from his masters, will Buck be able to regain his humanity or will he spend the rest of his days living as a wolf?


Book Title: Call of the Wild Werewolf
Author: Jack London and Carl Waters
Pages: 178
Release: April 2015


For your convenience, I've included the first chapter below.

Take care and happy reading,
Sarah J. Canning

Into the Primitive
Buck Miller read the newspapers every day, but he still did not know that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water man, strong of muscle, from Puget Sound to San Diego. The papers did say that because some men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found gold, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing North into Canada.
What the papers did not say was that the gold rush was controlled by a cabal of vampires who called themselves La Zanna Nera—the Black Fang—whose thirst for blood was matched only by their greed. These vampires wanted dogs, and the dogs they want-ed were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost. LaZanna Nera would find, steal, or even create the dogs they needed, and every day men, heady with gold rush fever, disappeared in the Klondike, never to be seen again.
Buck lived with his parents and siblings in a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was ap-proached by graveled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlac-ing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Buck and his brothers took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.
Buck would one day rule this great demesne. Here he was born, and here he had lived the twenty years of his life. As the eldest of Judge Miller's progeny, Buck stood to inherit the estate, and the whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunt-ing with his brothers; he escorted Mollie and Alice, his sisters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he sat before the roaring library fire; he carried the youngest of his siblings on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded them through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches.
His father, Elmo Miller, was a wealthy judge who spent much of his time puttering about his estate and overseeing the vineyard, but as a teetotaler he grew grapes not for wine but for raisins. Judge Miller was a big man, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. Buck was large and muscular—he was a little over six feet tall and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds—with a mop of dark hair and bold green eyes that were the legacy of his Scottish mother. Neverthe-less, one hundred and eighty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and uni-versal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the twenty years since his birth he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as coun-try gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered heir apparent. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a muscle builder.
And so it was for Buck Miller in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. Buck had intended to follow his father's footsteps into the law and eventually marry the lovely Ysabel Lawrence. Ysabel was a beautiful girl of nineteen with hair the color of fine oiled leather and a trim figure that swayed like a reed when she walked. Buck had met her but a year previous, and already he had decided that she would be the companion of his future life. He planned to set up a meeting between their fathers, and—if the meeting went as well as he hoped—to ask her father for per-mission to wed. But that was before he heard the call of the wild and learned of the adventure to be had in the vast, unconquered Klondike.
On a crisp fall day, Buck and Ysabel strolled the grounds of his estate. She wore a tea gown and twirled a white frill of a parasol, and Buck—more besotted than ever—wondered if he were making the right decision. He steeled his nerves and clasped Ysabel's petite hands in his, leading her over to a low bench beneath a tree.
“Darling,” he said. “I've something to tell you.”
She fluttered her long lashes at him. “What is it?”
“I don't know quite how to say it. I hope, that is, I very much want—”
Ysabel leaned forward, breathless with anticipa-tion. “Yes?”
“I've decided to go North. I'm going to try my hand at prospecting and stake my claim up in the Klondike.” Now that he'd said it out loud, Buck felt as if a cloud had lifted. He grinned. “What do you think?”
Ysabel drew back from him, her big gray eyes wide and hurt. She turned away, but in the instant be-fore she did Buck thought he saw tears.
“Darling,” he said, trying to draw her into his arms. “Darling, what's wrong?”
She looked up at him then. “What's wrong?” she hissed. “I thought you were going to…to propose!”
“I want to,” he said, helplessly searching for a handkerchief to offer her. “If you'll only wait for me, I'll return a rich man.”
“But you're already a rich man!”
Buck looked around the huge, sun-dappled estate and shook his head. “No, my father's a rich man. I want to do things my own way, with my own two hands. I'm not going to be a lawyer or take over the raisin business. The Judge is a self-made man, and I wouldn't rightly respect myself unless I could say the same.”
Ysabel tapped the point of her parasol against the flagstones, beating a sharp tattoo. “I don't under-stand,” she said. “You have so many prospects, but you want to go dig in the dirt? It's cold up there, and hard.” Ysabel laid her hand on his forearm. “Stay here, with me,” she implored quietly.