I adore this series. I think it’s my favorite by Ilona Andrews.
I was so excited to see Tasty Book Tours hosting a blog tour for book 3, Wildfire. I knew I had to be part of it. Thank you to Tasty for including Birdie Bookworm!
Don’t forget to visit the Giveaway near the bottom, and check out the tour schedule.
What the heck! How do they even do it?! I swear, nothing could drag me away from this book once I started reading. What is sleep? What is food? All I knew was Nevada and Rogan. It’s the kind of thrall that you want to be in! I want the next book now, just so I can lose myself to this world all over again!
My favorite part of Wildfire was -well everything, but in particular I got exactly what I’d been hoping for with the side characters. I’m not talking about Nevada and Rogan, who I get to later, I’m talking about everyone else. I love Nevada’s family. I love reading about them just as much as Nevada. I hoped that Ilona Andrews would give us more tidbits about Bern, Catalina, Arabella, and Leon and that’s exactly what we got! As awesome as this duo is at writing romantic and hot leads, they are also amazing at creating the supporting characters. They really should get more credit for that. The Beast Lord’s pack from Kate Daniels, is standout, and so was every single side character in Hidden Legacy. It didn’t matter what character I was reading about, I never got bored with the story.
But, back those romantic leads, nobody could write a review for this series without talking about Nevada and Rogan. This is where I’m bound to repeat myself, and for that I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Rogan… delicious. I’m not posting spoilers, but let me just say that there were 2-3 specific scenes I admired Nevada for not immediately jumping his bones! So flipping sexy! In the real world I don’t want a violent man. In this world of mages, gimme Mad Rogan! He’s spectacular!
Honestly, after accepting Nevada’s magical strength, I have no complaints about this book or this series. I have come to accept that this husband and wife writing team can do no wrong. There’s nothing these two could write that I won’t read.
Thank you to Avon for providing a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.
“Ilona Andrews” is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. Ilona is a native-born Russian and Gordon is a former communications sergeant in the U.S. Army. Contrary to popular belief, Gordon was never an intelligence officer with a license to kill, and Ilona was never the mysterious Russian spy who seduced him. They met in college, in English Composition 101, where Ilona got a better grade. (Gordon is still sore about that.) They have co-authored two New York Times and USA Today bestselling series—the urban fantasy of Kate Daniels and the romantic urban fantasy of The Edge—and are working on the next volumes for both. They live in Texas with their two children and many dogs and cats.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Mom made big eyes at me and nodded toward the table. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat.
“Drink your tea.” Grandma Frida pushed a steaming mug toward Rynda.
Rynda picked up and drank it, but her gaze was fixed on me. Desperation in her eyes turned to near panic. Right.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath from the stomach all the way up, held it, and let it out slowly. One . . . two . . . Calm . . . calm . . .
“Nevada?” Grandma Frida asked.
“She’s an empath Prime,” I said. “I’m upset, so it’s affecting her.”
Rynda gave a short laugh, and I heard Olivia Charles in her voice. “Oh, that’s rich.”
Five . . . six . . . Breathe in, breathe out . . . Ten. Good enough.
I opened my eyes and looked at Rynda. I had to keep my voice and my emotions under control. “Your mother killed an entire crew of Rogan’s soldiers and four lawyers, including two women your age. It was an unprovoked slaughter. Their husbands are now widowers and their children are motherless because of her.”
“A person is never just one thing,” Rynda said, putting the mug down. “To you she might have been a monster, but to me she was my mother. She was a wonderful grandmother to my children. She loved them so much. My mother-in- law doesn’t care for them. They have no grandparents now.”
“I’m sorry for your and their loss. I regret that things went the way they did. But it was a justified kill.” Dear God, I sounded like my mother.
“I don’t even know how she died.” Rynda clenched her hands into a single fist. “They only gave me back her bones. How did my mother die, Nevada?”
I took a deep breath. “It wasn’t an easy or a quick death.”
“I deserve to know.” There was steel in her voice. “Tell me.”
“No. You said you needed my help. Something terrible must’ve happened. Let’s talk about that.”
Her hand shook, and the mug danced a little as she brought it to her lips. She took another swallow of her tea. “My husband is missing.”
Okay. Missing husband. Familiar territory. “When was the last time you saw . . .” Rogan had said his name one time, what was it? “. . . Brian?”
“Three days ago. He went to work on Thursday and didn’t come back. He doesn’t answer his phone. Brian likes his routine. He’s always home by dinner. It’s almost Christmas. He wouldn’t miss it.” A note of hysteria crept into her voice. “I know what you’ll ask: does he have a mistress, did we have a good marriage, does he disappear on drunken binges? No. No, he doesn’t. He takes care of me and the kids. He comes home!”
She must’ve spoken to the Houston PD. “Did you fill out a missing person report?”
“Yes. They’re not going to look for him.” Her voice turned bitter. She was getting more agitated by the minute. “He’s a Prime. It’s House business. Except House Sherwood is convinced that Brian is okay and
he’s just taking a break. Nobody is looking for him, except me. Nobody is returning my calls. Even Rogan refuses to see me.”
That didn’t sound right. Rogan would never turn her away, even if I pitched a huge fit about it. I’d watched the two of them talking before. He liked her and he cared about her. “What did Rogan say exactly?”
“I came to him on Friday. His people told me he was out. He was out on Saturday. I asked to wait, and they told me it was a waste of time. They didn’t know when he would be back. I may be naive, but I’m not an idiot. I know what that means. Two weeks ago, I had friends. I had my mother’s friends, powerful, respected, and always so eager to do Olivia Charles a favor. Two weeks ago, one phone call and half of the city would be out looking for Brian. They would be putting pressure on the police, on the mayor, on the Texas Rangers. But now, everyone is out. Everyone is too busy to see me. There is an invisible wall around me. No matter how loud I scream, nobody can hear me. People just nod and offer platitudes.”
“He didn’t stonewall you,” I said. “He was out of state. With me.
She stopped. “You’re together?”
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“The thing with my mother, it wasn’t just a job for you?”
“No. She killed the wife of a man I consider a friend. He works here now.”
Rynda put her hand over her mouth. Silence fell, heavy and tense.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “I’ll get the children and go.”
“That’s right,” Grandma Frida said.
“No,” Mom said. I knew that voice. That was Sergeant Mom voice. Rynda knew that voice too, because she sat up straighter. Olivia Charles was never in the military, but three minutes of talking to her had told me that she had ruled her household with an iron fist and had very low tolerance for nonsense.
“You’re here now,” Mom said. “You came to us for help, because you had nowhere to turn and because you’re scared for your husband and your children. You came to the right place. Nevada is very good at tracking missing people. Either she’ll help you, or she will recommend someone who will.”
Grandma Frida turned and looked at Mom as if she had sprouted a pineapple on her head.
“Right,” I said. I may not have personally murdered Rynda’s mother, but I made that death possible. And now she was a pariah, alone and scared. She had lost her mother, her husband, and all of the people she thought were her friends. I had to help her. I had to at least get her started in the right direction.
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