#ChapterReveal The Blood Scion by Nazarea Andrews

Posted November 18, 2015 by Claudia Alfaro in Blog Tour, Books / 0 Comments

#ChapterReveal The Blood Scion by Nazarea Andrews

#ChapterReveal The Blood Scion by Nazarea AndrewsThe Blood Scion From the series: The Scion Legacy series #1
by Nazarea Andrews
Find the Author: Website, Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads
on November 24th, 2015
Source: InkSlinger PR

I was just a reporter, trying to stay ahead of my student loans. I knew the rules, and I followed them.
I thought I knew how the world worked—humans lived their petty little lives in the safety of the sun. We loved and fought and—when the sun sank—we scurried behind our walls and lived in fear. That is when the monsters came out to play.
And even in the safety of the sun, we knew who ruled us.
The Houses. And their Scions.
Everyone knows the great Houses and their Scions—they are feared and loved and hated and envied. They are the gods who walk the shadows and rule all of our lives. They are salvation and death.
And somehow, I am one of them.


Chapter 1: The Reporter

 No one wakes up and thinks, This is the day my life will change.

We wake up and think, I forgot to set the coffee. Five more minutes. I think I’m going to stop for a bagel. Did Elise give my dress back? Five more fucking minutes.


I curse under my breath. Elise is yelling for me and that means I used up my five minutes ten minutes ago.

“I’m awake,” I say and she sticks her head around the screen that partitions my corner of her loft from the rest of the open space. Elise would be just as happy having me sprawled across her messy loft, but I like personal space and privacy.

Even if that space is miniscule and that privacy is pseudo, and we rent the loft from a family of four who side eyes us every time we leave.

The TV is on in the corner as I emerge from my bed, and I frown. “Turn it up.”

Elise makes an aggravated noise as she reaches for the remote. She’s painting her nails, the fumes making my nose wrinkle as I pour the coffee—thank God, I did set it last night.

A classically good looking man in his mid-forties is addressing a crowd of reporters, all of them hanging on his every word.

“The atrocities won’t stand. We need to remember that we were dying when the Houses stepped forward with the antidote to the Brakken and restored order. The fealty given to their lines and Scions are not only appropriate, it is their right.”

I glance at Elise, scanning her tablet as the blood red polish dries. “What happened?”

“HR0 bombed a coven.”

My blood runs cold and I swallow hard to keep from rubbing away the goosebumps running down my arm.

The human rights movements terrify me. Not because I disagree with them. I don’t. I agree too much. It’s terrifying because the Houses don’t tolerate any dissent. Some will accept the rumblings of the movement, as long as it stays only that.

But no House will tolerate humans attacking the covens. And–“Where did it happen?”

Elise glances up at me, her pale eyes haunted. “Seattle.”


The west coast belongs to House Klinge. And they are savage. Blood will spill tonight, and wash Seattle’s streets red. I wonder how many will die to appease the fury of the House before the patriarch brings his princes to heel.


“Go,” Elise says abruptly. “You can’t fix everything and the HRO knew the risks. We all do.”

I nod, and grab my coffee, heading into the shower as the Kennedy scion drones on.

We all know the risk of crossing one of the Houses. But some are desperate enough that they no longer care.

The sun is shining, something that is comforting as I step out of the brownstone and jog down the steps. The subway isn’t far, but it’s enough that the sunlight protects me—and that’s done very carefully.

Most people think any sunlight will protect them. It’s why apartments became outdated after the plague. They might be right. No one believes the memories of a terrified little girl—even I’ve started to wonder if I was wrong. I keep my fears to myself, buried deep.

I keep a lot to myself. More than anyone, even Winston, realizes.

The office is quiet when I step in—most of the reporting staff is on assignment, and some will be scrambling to get a soundbite from the Houses.

Not that they will—some might get the idle blood chatter, but no Scion would bother themselves with our tiny e-zine. We’re not important enough for the big boys to even notice.

Which is fine. I flick my hair out of my eyes and grab my messages from my unpaid intern and close myself into my office without a word.

There’s a few from my brother, and one from my editor. Two without a number to respond to. I frown. Most of the time, people email me. Anyone who works with knows I loathe the phone. Even Kevin knows—he’s just too much of an ass to care.

My inbox dings and I shove the messages aside as I focus on the stories waiting for me.


Claudia Alfaro


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