A dark, sensual and beautiful romance that’ll make you bleed, love and lust…
There are books and then there are BOOKS, A War Like Ours is definitely one of those BOOKS. It comes into your life and throws all your preconceptions of right and wrong, good and bad right out of whack and leaves you suspended somewhere in deep, dark, murky waters. It’s dark and oh so gripping and even when you know that you shouldn’t be so enthralled and hypnotised by every single word in its pages – how can I put this? – This book just has this magnetism that drags you in and shackles you to its characters, its deep and dark emotions, and above all it locks you into its storyline in a way that will haunt you, arouse you and make you feel things that go so much deeper than your heart and soul.
‘Crying is just a distant promised land for people like us. It doesn’t deliver. It doesn’t make you forget.’
Anyone that knows me, or gets their hands on my Kindle will know that I’m a glutenous hoarder of dark romances. Sure, I love all the “yay! Sunshine, butterflies and unicorns” happily ever afters – but there’s something so liberating and satisfying about the raw emotion that twists and pulls you, rips you apart and somehow manages to leave you feeling energised and whole. And believe me Saffron A. Kent has completely beguiled me in this way. I mean, A War Like Ours is her debut and she managed to conjure up these dark and soul scorching emotions in me that only ONE other author has ever made me feel. She’s created a world which is sombre, ugly and shadowy, but she’s placed a light beacon bang in the middle that allows you glimpses of something iridescently beautiful and uplifting. It’s like she somehow created hell and then found a way of personifying a saving hope. This is such a cunning ability on Kent’s part because the feelings and emotions that she conjures in you as a reader tell James’ and Madison’s story in themselves. This is probably the biggest delight, because if you think about it normally the emotions and feelings that a writer evokes in a reader are like the punctuation in the sentences telling the story. They are created to reinforce the words and draw the reader in. But Saffron Kent has used the emotions to tell the story because in actuality she isn’t telling one story. Kent is telling James’ story and Madison’s story and then she weaves them with James’, Nat and Katie’s story, Madison’s and Julia’s story and that is what writes James’ and Madison’s story. Kent creates fate. Look at it like this – in life we take all these roads and we choose which turnings to take, however fate will always lead you to where you’re meant to be and that is exactly what the love story is, James’ and Madison’s love story is fate and the other stories are the roads and the turnings. Does that make sense? I know its deep… like ocean deep, but that’s where Kent’s talent is in drowning you in her words.
‘My words had turned him into sadness itself … he was grief personified.’
James is such an enigma, because you get these flashes of his dazzling, stunning traits that are eclipsed by his undeserved guilt and his downtrodding self deprecation that comes across as callousness and sadism. But, he is so much more because of his enduring and steadfast love for Katie (his daughter). Saffron did some spin-doctoring here, because his relationship with Katie is what opens the reader up to him. It makes him so much more than a brooding hero. And hero he is because through all his faults and all his tenebrosity he opens Madison up. Again fate. You see Madison is so special. In a way it feels like she is the focus of the story. Madison has this rampant sass and strength that really is like a blazing forest fire it eats at everything in its path, but at the same time her dependency of James opens her up in a vulnerable way that allows the reader to cloak themselves in her character and really see everything form her perspective. Saffron Kent has created characters that your mind’s eye embodies so that you become them. It really is such an exquisite feeling to be so aligned with someone else. It’s so so fitting because the story is about these two equally damaged, flawed and beautiful characters aligning and finding solace and liberation in one another. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Sexually.
‘I’ve imagined hurting you so many times. Biting you. I wonder what your blood tastes like – citrusy like your smell or sweet.’
Let’s get to the hot topic. The sex. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s lurid – pitch-black, bordering on perturbing… BUT, fuck me it’s hot. And honest. Frank. It’s so ferocious that you get light spots in your vision, almost like it’s searing you from the inside, asphyxiating every bit of restraint in your heart, body and soul. It’s liberating and uninhibited, makes you feel alive and makes your heart feel like its jumping out of your chest AND being squeezed at the same time. Every single touch, taste and breath of their sexual interaction builds them up by tearing them inside out. They rip each other apart so that they can rebuild themselves into who they’re meant to be for each other and themselves.
‘I count seconds until I’ll see you again. Touch you, fuck you, make you cry…’
A War Like Ours has quickly become my book of the year so far. It’s so unique and raw. It’s such an imperfect love story that it’s almost paradisaical. Saffron A. Kent’s writing is bordering on flawless and is so untamed that it leaves you hanging on every. single. word. It’s a rush to the senses, a tear to the eye and an embrace to the heart. It captures you body, heart and soul and never lets you go.
‘Promise me something … You’ll never stop dreaming…’
A War Like Ours is OUT NOW!
About the Book
A Forbidden Kiss
James splayed his fingers, taking hold of my entire cheek. He stared into my wet eyes. “Let the pain take over. Let it own you, turn you inside out. Let it win, Madison. That’s the only way to stop this, to stop feeling.”
Yes, I wanted that. I wanted it to stop. Was that why I wanted him to hurt me, dominate me?
Touching the hot skin of his forearms, tracing the bumpy veins and coarse hair, I whispered, “Show me how.”
His eyes took in my entire body, an urgent sweep of perusal. They grew heated, as if filled with angry, unforgiving lust. Biting rage and passion, glinting like that of an animal. My back arched without my say-so, and my heaving breasts pressed against the planes of his chest. I clawed at his forearm, unable to stop myself. Apparently, I was a scratcher. It was soothing. Who knew? A melody of sharp nails and stinging skin. I looked at his lips. If I took one more step toward him, I’d touch them, taste them, taste the hint of his blood.
I didn’t know who made the first move. But suddenly his hot lips were on mine and I was kissing him, sucking them into my mouth.
He shuddered, and I was right there with him. That first contact felt life-changing, breath-stealing, colorful behind my closed eyes. His taste was just as it should be, masculine, minty with a touch of tart apple juice and metallic blood. I fisted his shirt to bring him even closer. Hard planes of his chest cut into the soft curves of mine.
His arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tightly, to the point where I filled his mouth with the last of my breath, moaning. It felt like I was dying, and my skin came alive, buzzing and humming. He crushed my breasts against his rough, angular pecs. The pain fanned my need for him. I bit his lower lip, and he growled, biting me back. He pushed me until my back thumped against the tree.
All while feeding on my lips, he encircled my neck with one hand and tugged my hair with the other. The rough texture of his fingers drove me crazy, making me scratch his shirt-covered back as I locked my thighs around his waist. I pushed my core into his. It was wet, starving for him. Growling, he dug his torso into mine, making me feel his cock through his pants, big and hard.
I’d forgotten how good it could be with a man, how rough and unpolished. It’d been four years since I’d experienced something so dynamic and feral. I never wanted it to end. I didn’t know how long we latched on to each other’s lips, sucking, stroking, lapping, making sounds of pleasure or pain. Who the fuck cared? I didn’t. Then his lips were gone, and I wheezed in a breath. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted him. I looked at him and found him staring at my lips, his eyes wild and drowsy at the same time. A moment later his weight was gone, too. Why did he move away? I wanted him back.
He wiped the wetness from his lips—the wetness I gave him—with the back of his hands, and my arousal disappeared into the night. “This can’t happen again.”
About the Author
Saffron A. Kent is a Romance Writer and Reader. Coffee Addict. White Russian Drinker. Imaginary Ballet Dancer. Wanna-be Poet. Lana Del Ray & Gillian Flynn Worshiper.
Her stories are grey-shaded and NC-17. She writes what she loves to read. And what she loves to read is always twisted and angsty and emotional. Her characters desperately need therapy. They tend to kiss a lot too, among other naughty things.
She LOVES to chat with readers about reading and writing.