Wendingo (Romance on the Go)

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January 27, Sold by: Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. Read reviews that mention native american post apocalyptic wait for the next next book reverse harem space merchants set in a post main character well written hunting wolf world building looking forward look forward going to happen forward to the next wait to see read the next wendie nordgren new series absolutely loved.

Showing of 66 reviews. Top Reviews Most recent Top Reviews. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. This is different from her other RH sci-fi works, this one is set in a post-apocalyptic dystopian era and is a RH paranormal romance. Loved the inclusion of different paranormals, especially the Wendigo -- the description of them was definitely different and you don't see Wendigoes in many stories. Loved their backstory as well. After the initial couple blurbs in the beginning they don't show up until quite a bit later in the story, but when they do the action really starts rolling.

Loved the plot, there are secrets and an emotional betrayal at the end I didn't see coming. This is not a standalone story. Also, so far there's no cheating for those that find that important and the attention is all on the woman. Rozene is an interesting character. She was giving me a bit of whip-lash. One moment she's strong and standing up for herself against a couple of bully kids, the next she's running home crying 'coz someone said something mean to her, a grown adult! It just seemed weird to me how at times she exhibited backbone, and other times her spine was limper than a soft noodle.

Really, that complaint was pretty minor and didn't affect my enjoyment of the story. My only other complaint would be I want the sequel now! Rozene ends up inheriting her grandfather's farm after bombs have devastated America. She moves into the country from living in the city near the underground bomb shelter she took sanctuary in.

Unbeknownst to Rozene other forces, both mundane and paranormal, are at work.

Some hilarious and some terrifying, but all interesting. I very much enjoyed the characters and how they interacted. There were a couple of subplots or stories I would love to hear it some point, such as the story behind Duke's reaction when asked if the owner got his hat back. I look forward to the continuation of the story in the future with eager anticipation. I do not read a whole lot of apocalyptic- life as we know it is over- type books, and I can't really say that is where this one fits into kindly like three or four big steps back , but the storyline worked in a way that made allowances for advancement: One thing that did bug me was when Rozene was asked about her name, "That's Native American for Rose.

But I have not studied Native American cultures or languages- so I do not know if my nitpicking about this point is warranted or valid.

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So I have read the blurb of this one, got me interested. Plus, the author, I freaking loved space merchants so I decided to give this one a go too.

And holybells, what I imagined from the blurb, the read was more massive and more complicated. First of all, I would like to fangirl about the author's writing style, her world building and her characters. The most prominent element was the angst.

Editorial Reviews

The Wendigo Girl series is a series of short novels between 40,, words with elements of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and occasional light horror. Mature language, some sexual content, and some graphic violence. Read more Read less. Books In This Series 5 Books. Page 1 of 1 Start Over Page 1 of 1.

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The Curse of the Wendigo | Book by Rick Yancey | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster

The proposal did indeed pose a threat to the legitimacy of his beloved profession. So everything was put aside. Visitors were turned away. All invitations were declined. His studies were abandoned.

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Sleep and sustenance were reduced to the barest minimum. A Reply to the Hon. He enlisted me in the cause, naturally, as his research assistant, in addition to my duties as cook, maid, manservant, laundryman, and errand boy. I fetched books, took dictation, and played audience to his stiff, overly formal, sometimes ludicrously awkward presentation. He would stand ramrod straight with his lanky arms folded stiffly behind his back, eyes focused unerringly upon the floor, chin tilted downward so that his otherwise compellingly dark features were lost in shadow.

More books from this author: Rick Yancey

The Wendigoag are not the only ancient secret left exposed by a civilization left in ruins. English Choose a language for shopping. The desire is gone, but the temperament, you may have noticed, still lingers. When another war begins among the two-natured, Rozene is caught between the deadly territorial battles of werewolves and bear shifters. Until Dawn Necrovamp Book 1. The hardships they endured in this pursuit almost necessitated some kind of Dionysian release. Enclosed with it was a brief note:

It never failed that this question came at the precise moment when my mind had wandered to more interesting matters, more often than not to the current weather conditions or the menu for our long-overdue supper. The ploy did not always work. Really, Will Henry, what does Darwin have to do with the native folklore of the Carpathians? Or the mythos of Homer? Have I not impressed upon you the importance of this endeavor?

If I should fail in this, the seminal moment of my career, not only will I go down in humiliation and disrepute, but the entire house will fall! The end of monstrumology, the immediate and irrevocable loss of nearly two hundred years of unselfish devotion by men who dwarf all those who came after them, myself included. Even me, Will Henry. You were talking about the Carpathians, I think. I know that, Will Henry. And the only reason you know that is I just said it! Upon the conclusion of my hours of toil, hunching over my desk like a medieval monk with aching ink-stained fingers and itching, burning eyes, the monstrumologist would snatch the product from my quivering grip and compare it to the original, hunting for the slightest error, which, of course, he would invariably find.

The monstrumologist retreated to his shuttered study, where he brooded in a gloom both actual and metaphysical, refusing to even acknowledge my halfhearted attempts to alleviate his suffering.

I shared with him the latest gossip gleaned from the society pages he held a strange fascination for them and the local doings of our little hamlet of New Jerusalem. He would not be comforted. Near the end of August, a large package arrived from Menlo Park, and for a few moments he was his old self again, delighting in the gift from his friend.

Enclosed with it was a brief note: All my thanks for your help with the design, Thos. He played with the phonograph for the space of an hour, and then touched it no more. It sat upon the table beside him like a silent rebuke. Here was the dream made real of Thomas Edison, a man who was destined to be lauded as one of the greatest minds of his generation, if not in all history, a true man of science whose world would be forever changed for his having lived in it. I answered with the literalness of a child, which, of course, at the time I was.

What did he mean? It seemed he knew everyone. Just that morning a letter had arrived from the Royal Society of London. I will remember you. When I was much younger, my great ambition was to be a poet. The desire is gone, but the temperament, you may have noticed, still lingers. I was quite the romantic, Will Henry, if you can imagine it. The fate of our species will be determined by the likes of Edison and Tesla, not Wordsworth or Whitman.

I fail to understand it, Will Henry, your uncanny gift for seizing upon the most tangential aspect of the issue and drubbing it to death. And neither will the whole world. My memory is nothing. The work is everything, and I will not see it mocked. Though the cost be my very life, I will not let it pass, Will Henry. If von Helrung should succeed—if we allow our noble cause to be reduced to the study of the silly superstitions of the masses—so that we jibber-jabber on about the nature of the vampire or the zombie as if they sat at the same table as the manticore and the Anthropophagus , then monstrumology is as dead as alchemy, as ridiculous as astrology, as serious as one of Mr.

He turned and peered through the blinds.

The Curse of the Wendigo

I could see nothing but the reflection of his angular face. How hollow his cheeks! How pale his flesh!