The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2) - Victoria Vane A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1) - Victoria Vane

A spoiled eighteen year old girl with a stamping foot and patent jealousy does not a pretty heroine make.

 

Unless Victoria Vane writes her. Unless you remember eighteen. Unless you let go.

 

I remember eighteen. I was infinitely confident, starry eyed and passionate. I was also stupid and wrong half the time, but I had a lot of fun and remember embarking on my college years fondly. I can now shake my head at my eighteen year old self without any true regret, because I learned a lot, loved a lot, and laughed a lot. It was a good time.

 

Going into The Virgin Huntress, I had appropriate expectations. I knew it was a novella and that there would be instant-love, crazy situations and improbable characters. Knowing all of that was key in really enjoying this fast, sexy read. I just went with it, letting myself go in the story. In short, I turned my brain off. It was glorious.

 

You see, I didn’t understand this secret way back going into the first book in this series, A Wild Night's Bride. I was disappointed. I hate insta-love. The premise and resulting story was so, well, wild, that I had a hard time accepting it for what it was - which was just plain fun. I saw all these rave reviews and scratched my head. I get now, looking back, that I was stuck reading somewhat starchy, formulaic romance and therefore judging based on those experiences.

 

In a slump, sick of angst, sick of stupid 20-somethings and their abusive boyfriends, sick of reading about everyone's problem with BBA's, sick of reading about infidelity (like that's sexy!) and needing something light in between some classical reads, I landed back on this series in my Kindle carousel. Re-reading A Wild Night's Bride made a little light click on in my head. I let go.

 

I read The Virgin Huntress with that little light blazing.

 

When Vesta burst (really, she's like a little reckless colt) onto the scene and her intentions were made plain...I was entertained, amused and most crazily, I related to her. I was crazy, embarrassingly wobbly, at eighteen. Of course, I didn’t find everything I ever needed in my life in 105 pages like Vesta, but you know, I let go so that doesn’t matter. I was reminded in this reading romp that I sometimes still act like my eighteen year old self, so sure of how I feel when really, in the recess of my brain somewhere, I'm just needing a new light to go on and so that I can see things differently.

 

I have happily left my foot stomping days behind me though...well...mostly.