Jade is only beginning to unravel her own secrets. Facing fate, a murky past and a brutal inner battle, Jade must become what she fears without giving into the darkness.
If she doesn't, the world will be devoured by Fire and Shadows.
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. Fire and Shadows is her second novel.
Www.RochelleMayaCallen.com
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice.
Praise for Ashes and Ice:
"For me, Ashes and Ice was a work of art. Rochelle Maya Callen wove a very intricate tale. A love story of sorts. Dark and sinister yet full of hope and light. Callen painted her world brilliantly. This story was intoxicating and electric. I was captivated to the very end."
-Shelley Bunnell, TSK TSK What to Read
"Dark and Wicked." -- The Book Diaries
"Dreamy and Poetic." -- L.L. Hunter, Author
"A stunning debut." -- Owlnestly Reviews
"This story will rock you to your core." -- The Shadow Realm
“Fans of Anna Dressed in Blood and Beautiful Creatures will love Ashes and Ice!”
She is desperate to remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice.
The girl’s glassy, dead eyes stare into me, through me,
pierce me with a fierce urgency, with a wicked accusation. The blood is still
on my hands.
Red hair, blue eyes, a constellation of freckles on pale skin. She was fragile
and innocent, a lovely thing. That is what I think until I see the gashes on
her wrists and throat. With her blood spilling out, she looks delicious. She’s
mine. Possessiveness shocks me, stabs into me. I run, tearing away from a
craving I don't understand.
Breathless, I grit my teeth and run harder, faster.
My feet pound against the earth, away from the lifeless body and toward the
lights of the city lingering on the horizon. Rot and death linger in my
nostrils. Unscarred skin stretches taut over my freezing bones. Echoes of an
empty memory reverberate in my mind, taunting me. The ice chases me, clutches
me, and bites at my heels, sending shivers up my spine. The ice wants me back,
but I run forward, toward the lights, toward the heat, toward a world that
burns me, because I have no other choice.
The lights are so close. Heat scalds my skin.
Images race through my mind, paralyzing me. I skid to a stop, my boots digging
into the mud. The vision’s blurred edges materialize into solid shapes.
I gasp.
A new horror rakes my insides. Desperation propels me forward; the pictures
nagging at my seams threaten to tear me apart.
Scorching fire licks over my skin. In my vision, I contort like a vile, ugly
creature, eyes as black as decay. My frame hunches over the small, dead girl,
like a demon looming over a defenseless child. Her blood drips from my mouth.
I lick my lips and taste only salty sweat.
I run, desperate to trample the vision under my feet, to crush it deep into the
ground.
I refuse to believe the image, refuse to acknowledge the monster within me
demanding to be unleashed—and the possibility it has already been unbound. An
unrelenting tide of fear washes over me. Past the denial, the fear, and the
hope, I think I can still taste her.
The cold stillness inside me cracks open just as the lights of the city slam
into me.
Connor
Tears burn. I never realized it before, but they do. Tears reach down my throat
and settle in my gut until the pain cripples me. I clutch my stomach as I look
into the casket. His face doesn’t even look the same. Bloated like a Mardi Gras
float, discolored like a mannequin. This isn’t my father.
But it is.
If I have learned anything in my short life, it is this: funerals are bullshit.
People dress in carefully pressed black suits. Parents give me “meaningful”
nods as if that could ease the grief. It doesn’t.
Then there are the kids from school, the ones dragged along by their parents.
People drag their kids along as if filling the church was a necessary thing. As
if the more pews filled somehow expedite the dead’s trip to heaven. I doubt it
does. Maybe some of the girls went shopping to buy just the right outfit so
their cleavage to respectability ratio was just right, or their ass to
waist ratio was cinched properly.
People sit in the pews dressed in their finest let’s-go-pay-our-respects-to-the-dead-guy-we-never-knew
wear, smacking the gum in their mouths, cupping cellphones so they can LOL any
comment buzzing in, and drumming their fingers because the pastor is
going on too long. All they want to do is go home, sneak in a make-out
session with their girlfriends, eat their dinners, and maybe catch a 7 o’clock
movie.
I hate these kids. The ones who stare at me, roll their eyes, and yawn. The
ones who trip me at school and slam me into lockers. The ones who sit in a pew,
contributing to the headcount, while I sit up here in front, holding back the
tears fighting to make their appearance. I swallow them down. I won’t cry. Not
here. Not with these people.
Dad’s funeral should be an empty church with mom, his three brothers, and me.
It should be the five of us having a messy, sloppy, sobbing affair where we
cling to each other because we are all we have left. The marble floors should
be slick with our tears. It isn’t. We sit here, straight backed, completely
composed as if death is just a passing expiration date and our small,
insignificant world has not been split open and left gaping.
***
I’m in my room, staring at the ceiling. The funeral service was hours ago.
The house feels empty and cold. I hear a stifled whimper from down the hall.
Mom.
Probably crying into a pillow so the house can’t hear, but it can. It seems
unfair she can’t wail aloud, so loud the house’s hundred-year-old studs
tremble.
She doesn’t. I don’t either. We cry in our own rooms, remembering a man who
will never be here again.
The house creaks. Maybe it feels the weight of our grief, maybe the floorboards
are buckling because the burden is too heavy.
I ache, desperate to forget the long battle with cancer, the blood sputtering
out of his mouth with his last words—what where they? I can’t remember because
the fear in his eyes overshadowed anything he said. Now the loss. I don’t want
to feel this loss. Some divine entity has taken dull scissors and cut out a
piece of my life and now I have jagged scars to remind me I lost too much. Too
much.
I want to forget, because it hurts to remember.
I bury my head in the pillow, hoping to suffocate the memories, to choke out
the pain.
Check out the Book Trailer:
REVIEW RECAP
I absolutely loved this book. From start to finish it was exciting and I was sucked in deeper with each flip of the page.
Connor is such a sweet character. My heart went out to him and I just wanted to reach into the book and give him a hug. I was glad when he and Jade became friends. Their friendship grew stronger as the story continued and I was hoping they'd fall madly in love and live happily ever after, but of course nothing is ever that easy.
Jade faces many obstacles. She knows nothing about her life and does just about everything she can to find out the truth, leading to a few hazardous situations.
A million questions arose, as I read this story. The main one being, exactly what is Jade? When her true identity was revealed I almost flipped because it gave the story a unique spin, and so many of the mini mysteries througout the story finally made sense.
Callen does a brilliant job of keeping the suspense alive right to the end. And wow, what an ending! My heart was shattered by the time I put this book down.
I cannot wait for the second book. I need to know what lies in wait for Jade and Connor, and I'm excited to get to know Giovanni a little better.
It deserves...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.
She is desperate to remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice.
Check out the Book Trailer:
INTRODUCING
CONNOR AUSTIN DEVERUEAX
Character
Bio: Connor
Strengths:
Big Heart, Reliable, Good Friend
Weaknesses:
Self Doubt, low self esteem
Physical
Description:Bah!
Who wants a description. How about a picture?
Shhh, don’t tell Drew Van Acker that I stole his photo.
Faves:
Dessert:
Cheesecake
Physical
Activity: Running
Shoe
size: wouldn’t you like to know? ;)
Talents:
Guitar, singing, and we’ll find out more in book 2.
Connor
Teasers:
They
are cold, brutal eyes and they glared right at me. Half of me thinks: Idiot,
idiot, idiot! Beautiful, totally hot girl had her hand on my shoulder and I
ignored her. I curse myself for missing a chance to have her sit next to
me. The other half of me, though, is relieved. Somehow, I know eyes so sharp
and penetrating could slice me open.
***
A
brave, rebellious soldier deep within me toys with the idea of apologizing
about yesterday, introducing myself, striking up conversation, and impressing
her with my wit and charm. When I remember that I have neither, I silence the
deceitful bastard and continue sulking, wishing to be someone else—someone
cooler, someone who isn’t completely and utterly terrified of taking chances,
someone who could talk to this girl without fear of rejection.
***
I’m
stumped. Beautiful, girl of my dreams in my bed and I want to sleep on the
floor? “I—I thought it would be ya’ know the gentlemanly thing to do.”
She shakes her head, “Nope.” She says with an extra pop on the “p”. “A gentleman
would keep me warm and safe.” She pats the space next to her.
***
Holy
crap. Either I was slipped a pill at lunch or this old lady is batshit crazy.
Seriously, if a person owns a collection of skulls and has mastered a
peel-your-skin-off-glare, she is no one I want to tango with. “Jade, let’s go.”
I tug on her arm.
REVIEW
I absolutely loved this book. From start to finish it was exciting and I was sucked in deeper with each flip of the page.
Connor is such a sweet character. My heart went out to him and I just wanted to reach into the book and give him a hug. I was glad when he and Jade became friends. Their friendship grew stronger as the story continued and I was hoping they'd fall madly in love and live happily ever after, but of course nothing is ever that easy.
Jade faces many obstacles. She knows nothing about her life and does just about everything she can to find out the truth, leading to a few hazardous situations.
A million questions arose, as I read this story. The main one being, exactly what is Jade? When her true identity was revealed I almost flipped because it gave the story a unique spin, and so many of the mini mysteries througout the story finally made sense.
Callen does a brilliant job of keeping the suspense alive right to the end. And wow, what an ending! My heart was shattered by the time I put this book down.
I cannot wait for the second book. I need to know what lies in wait for Jade and Connor, and I'm excited to get to know Giovanni a little better.
It deserves...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.
She is desperate to
remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But
together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past
and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for
answers. Instead, she finds a boy who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But
sometimes, when nightmares turn into reality and death follows you everywhere,
hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are
Ashes and Ice.
Check out the Book
Trailer:
AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT
Hello Rochelle,
Thank you so much for joining us today.
1. Tell us a bit more about yourself.
I am 26, mother to one adorable 3 year old
princess, and wife to one sweet/sexy Mexican man. I was born in D.C. and am
half Ecuadorian. I like mountains and quiet places, but love to go out dancing
bachata with my hubby. I graduated summa cum laude with a degree in
Communication and Political Science in 2007. I love cuddle time, movies, and
reading. I also <3 meeting new people on Facebook so please friend me!
2. Describe yourself in three words.
Bookalicious. Cuddly. Loyal.
3. What five things do you never leave home without?
Phone, keys, purse, laptop, ID. :)
4. What do you do when you’re not writing?
Working as a behavioral therapist, playing with
my daughter, cuddling with my husband, reading YA/NA, watching re-runs of
Friends, NCIS, Law and Order or Monk, watching movies, singing in the shower,
dancing when no one is watching :).
5. Who/What inspired you to start writing?
My mother’s family always valued creativity so I
started writing poetry when I was 9 and started planning out novels when I was
11. Ashes and Ice is based on a Character Sketch/outline that I wrote when I
was 12 or 13. I stopped writing and reading fiction when I entered High School
at 13 and didn’t read any fiction until a couple years after I graduated
college. I found the character sketch at that time and started writing again
and that rekindled my dream to be a writer.
6. What has been the most rewarding experience on the road to being published?
Positive reviews! They are better than Christmas
presents! Also, the community is beyond amazing. I have new and wonderful
friends who are fabulously supportive and so much fun.
7. What is the best advice you’ve been given as an author?
Hmm, I have gotten so much advice. My favorite
line though is from my editor. I was in a writing rut and she told me to “Grab
inspiration by the balls.” Love that! Hahaha!! Brilliant :)
8. What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
WRITE! But in that chair and type! I took years
to put together a few chapters and months to write the other 200 pages. Turn
off your inner critique and just get your story on paper. Seek out feedback and
welcome constructive criticism. This is your craft and you want to become the
best you can be! If you are going traditional, look at the acknowledgments page
of your favorite books (or books like yours) and compile a list of agents to
query.If you are going indie, you MUST
get an editor! Beta readers, critique partners, and editors are invaluable. Get
sample pages done before hiring anyone. Get a great cover artist. Finally, pick
your favorite social media and use that as your outreach platform. I adore
facebook and I am trying to get into twitter.
9. Who are your favorite authors to read?
O-M-G! I loooooove reading. I have too many favorites! Here are some: Annette
Curtis Klause, Tiffany Carmouche, Cassandra Clare, AG Howard, Rachel Hartman,
Tahereh Mafi, Maggie Steifvater, John Greene…. Oh man, the list never ends.
10. How
was the idea for Ashes and Ice born?
When I was 12 or 13 I had an image come to mind of a girl with jet black hair
and green eyes with blood on her hands standing over a dead girl and she didn’t
know if she was the one who hurt the girl because she had no memory—of
anything! I tend to get images in my head for a scene and then I have to go and
figure out what the hell happened for the MC to get there
11. Describe
Ashes and Ice in one sentence.
A dark story that explores the lives of two very different and broken people
who are trying to find their place in a supernatural world that they never even
knew existed.
12. If
Ashes and Ice was to become a movie, who would be your dream cast?
EEEEK! **Bounces around giddy** Well, looks wise,
I think Mila Kunis and Drew Van Acker would be perfect leads. I would adore
Mathew Bomer or Ian Somerhalder as Giovanni. Charlize Theron as Desi. Hmm,
don’t know about Dominic or the other characters… The Oracle from the first
Matrix movie would have been a PERFECT Nanan, but she sadly passed away a few
years ago. Have any ideas readers?? Post them to my page!! AMAZING cast choices :) I think Odette Yustman would also make a great Jade!!
13. Are any of your characters based on people you know?
Nope. Not at all :)
14. Who is your favorite character, and why?
Connor… because if I was 17 again I would have
fallen in love with him.
15. Are you working on any special projects at the moment?
Yep! Ashes and Ice 2!!!! I will be doing a
stand-alone fantasy after that :) Then I have plans for a couple of novella series after that.Can’t wait!!!!
Neither can I!! Please don't make us wait too long :) *begging*
Thanks again for stopping by!!
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Rochelle grew up
dreaming up stories. When she entered high school, she tucked away her creative
side and jumped head-first into academics, work, and service projects. She
graduated summa cum laude with a degree in Political Science and Communication
when she was twenty years old. After years away from her writing, Rochelle
picked up a pen and started fleshing out a character sketch that she outlined
when she was twelve. That sketch was the start of the Ashes and Ice story.
Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her husband and daughter. By day she
works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she is a dreamer and is busy tapping
out new stories on her keyboard.
She is desperate to remember.
He is aching to forget.
Together, they are not broken.
But together, one may not survive.
Jade wakes up with no memory of her past and blood on her hands.
Plagued by wicked thoughts, she searches for answers. Instead, she finds a boy
who doesn't offer her answers, but hope. But sometimes, when nightmares turn
into reality and death follows you everywhere, hope is not enough.
LUST. LOVE. LOSS. Sometimes, all that is left are Ashes and Ice.
Check out the Book Trailer:
Excerpt #1
Jade
The girl’s glassy, dead eyes stare into me, through me, pierce me with a fierce
urgency, with a wicked accusation. The blood is still on my hands.
Red hair, blue eyes, a constellation of freckles on pale skin. She was fragile
and innocent, a lovely thing. That is what I think until I see the gashes on
her wrists and throat. With her blood spilling out, she looks delicious. She’s
mine. Possessiveness shocks me, stabs into me. I run, tearing away from a craving
I don't understand.
Breathless, I grit my teeth and run harder, faster.
My feet pound against the earth, away from the lifeless body and toward the
lights of the city lingering on the horizon. Rot and death linger in my
nostrils. Unscarred skin stretches taut over my freezing bones. Echoes of an
empty memory reverberate in my mind, taunting me. The ice chases me, clutches
me, and bites at my heels, sending shivers up my spine. The ice wants me back,
but I run forward, toward the lights, toward the heat, toward a world that
burns me, because I have no other choice.
The lights are so close. Heat scalds my skin.
Images race through my mind, paralyzing me. I skid to a stop, my boots digging
into the mud. The vision’s blurred edges materialize into solid shapes.
I gasp.
A new horror rakes my insides. Desperation propels me forward; the pictures
nagging at my seams threaten to tear me apart.
Scorching fire licks over my skin. In my vision, I contort like a vile, ugly
creature, eyes as black as decay. My frame hunches over the small, dead girl,
like a demon looming over a defenseless child. Her blood drips from my mouth.
I lick my lips and taste only salty sweat.
I run, desperate to trample the vision under my feet, to crush it deep into the
ground.
I refuse to believe the image, refuse to acknowledge the monster within me
demanding to be unleashed—and the possibility it has already been unbound. An
unrelenting tide of fear washes over me. Past the denial, the fear, and the
hope, I think I can still taste her.
The cold stillness inside me cracks open just as the lights of the city slam
into me.
Excerpt #2
Connor
Tears burn. I never realized it before, but they do. Tears reach down my throat
and settle in my gut until the pain cripples me. I clutch my stomach as I look
into the casket. His face doesn’t even look the same. Bloated like a Mardi Gras
float, discolored like a mannequin. This isn’t my father.
But it is.
If I have learned anything in my short life, it is this: funerals are bullshit.
People dress in carefully pressed black suits. Parents give me “meaningful”
nods as if that could ease the grief. It doesn’t.
Then there are the kids from school, the ones dragged along by their parents.
People drag their kids along as if filling the church was a necessary thing. As
if the more pews filled somehow expedite the dead’s trip to heaven. I doubt it
does. Maybe some of the girls went shopping to buy just the right outfit so
their cleavage to respectability ratio was just right, or their ass to
waist ratio was cinched properly.
People sit in the pews dressed in their finest
let’s-go-pay-our-respects-to-the-dead-guy-we-never-knew wear, smacking the gum
in their mouths, cupping cellphones so they can LOL any comment buzzing
in, and drumming their fingers because the pastor is going on too long.
All they want to do is go home, sneak in a make-out session with their
girlfriends, eat their dinners, and maybe catch a 7 o’clock movie.
I hate these kids. The ones who stare at me, roll their eyes, and yawn. The
ones who trip me at school and slam me into lockers. The ones who sit in a pew,
contributing to the headcount, while I sit up here in front, holding back the
tears fighting to make their appearance. I swallow them down. I won’t cry. Not
here. Not with these people.
Dad’s funeral should be an empty church with mom, his three brothers, and me.
It should be the five of us having a messy, sloppy, sobbing affair where we
cling to each other because we are all we have left. The marble floors should
be slick with our tears. It isn’t. We sit here, straight backed, completely
composed as if death is just a passing expiration date and our small,
insignificant world has not been split open and left gaping.
***
I’m in my room, staring at the ceiling. The funeral service was hours ago.
The house feels empty and cold. I hear a stifled whimper from down the hall.
Mom.
Probably crying into a pillow so the house can’t hear, but it can. It seems
unfair she can’t wail aloud, so loud the house’s hundred-year-old studs
tremble.
She doesn’t. I don’t either. We cry in our own rooms, remembering a man who
will never be here again.
The house creaks. Maybe it feels the weight of our grief, maybe the floorboards
are buckling because the burden is too heavy.
I ache, desperate to forget the long battle with cancer, the blood sputtering
out of his mouth with his last words—what where they? I can’t remember because
the fear in his eyes overshadowed anything he said. Now the loss. I don’t want
to feel this loss. Some divine entity has taken dull scissors and cut out a
piece of my life and now I have jagged scars to remind me I lost too much. Too
much.
I want to forget, because it hurts to remember.
I bury my head in the pillow, hoping to suffocate the memories, to choke out
the pain.
Excerpt #3
“Have you ever been in love?”
I spill my popcorn on my lap. “I, uh, what?” I say, swiping off the kernels.
The question catches me off guard.
“You know, in love.”
“No. No, I haven’t.” I shift on the couch, needing more space between us. “What
about you?”
“Nah.” She flicks her hand toward me as if she is brushing away nonsense, but
the hard look in her eyes says something different.
“Why?”
She points to the TV screen and the couple making out there. “Figured if you
had been, then you could explain that to me.”
The guy sweeps the girl up and carries her into bed before they… you know. “Uh,
sex?”
She bursts out laughing. “That too. But I was talking about what it feels
like to be, you know, in love. Totally, without question. Like, does that,” she
points to the screen again, “exist?”
“Yeah, I think it exists.” I think of mom and dad—the way they kissed every
morning, hugged a few moments longer than anyone else, laughed so hard they
cried, and cuddled, shutting out the world, looking more content than these
fakers on the screen. “It exists. And in real life, it’s better than that
crap.” I say, suddenly uncomfortable by the moaning coming from the TV.
“I thought you said you’ve never been in love?”
“I haven’t. But I’ve seen it. And I haven’t ever seen anything come close to
that in the movies.”
She opens her mouth as if about to ask a question, but then closes it and
smiles, accepting my answer. “Well, it’s good that there may be something in
life to look forward to.” She drops a kernel of popcorn in her mouth.
“May be?”
“Well nothing is guaranteed. Who knows, I may die an old spinster.” She’s
smiling, but her eyes aren’t.
I think about the movie store guy’s possessive eyes, Jesse’s chair fiasco, and
Dominic’s leering, my heart. “I doubt that.”
Excerpt #4
He smiles a bit wider and hands out
the pin.
As, I reach to pluck it from his palm, he snatches my wrist with one hand, my
bicep with the other and crushes me against his chest.
His grip is tight—too tight, it hurts—and the bend of him hovers over me,
leaning in. I try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. I squirm as I feel
his thumb trace circles on the inside of my wrist. The touch sends a skitter of
sensation over me. Something tinges the air; a sweet, cool feeling brushes over
my skin, making my knees want to buckle. He smells like mint, his breath
tickles my face. I pull back, hating the sensations that please my skin and
curdle my insides. Bile surges in my throat. I tear myself away from him,
glaring.
“What?” He says coolly as if he hadn’t just bruised my arms with his clutching
fingertips.
“That. Hurt.” I say. I don’t say he smells sweet or his breath is refreshing on
my skin or his touch sends chills up my spine, delicious chills. I step away.
His smile is unnerving. “Don’t worry, Jade.” He winks at me. Damn that wink of
his. “One day, you’ll like it.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rochelle grew up dreaming up stories. When she entered high
school, she tucked away her creative side and jumped head-first into academics,
work, and service projects. She graduated summa cum laude with a degree in
Political Science and Communication when she was twenty years old. After years
away from her writing, Rochelle picked up a pen and started fleshing out a
character sketch that she outlined when she was twelve. That sketch was the
start of the Ashes and Ice story. Rochelle lives in the DC metro area with her
husband and daughter. By day she works as a behavioral therapist. By night, she
is a dreamer and is busy tapping out new stories on her keyboard.
