Rachel Harrison continues to suck the life out of our sleep schedule with her incredible reads and her latest novel is no exception. In fact, this time, she's dialing things up to a 10 in a bloody brilliant new book that turns the vampire genre on its head as one character's birthday trip makes her thirsty for more than just a good time. And trust us when we say, you're gonna want to pick this up ASAP!
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at Rachel Harrison's brand-new novel, So Thirsty, which is set to be released September 10, 2024. Things aren't perfect for Sloane Parker as she gets ready for her 36th birthday, but at least she has the ultimate trip with her BFF to look forward to. But when things quickly take a turn (in more ways than one), Sloane and Naomi now have to find other ways to quench their newfound thirst for blood and life. Here's some more info from our friends at Berkley:
A woman must learn to take life by the throat after a night out leads to irrevocable changes in this juicy, thrilling novel from the USA Today bestselling author of Such Sharp Teeth and Black Sheep.
Sloane Parker is dreading her birthday. She doesn’t need a reminder she’s getting older, or that she’s feeling indifferent about her own life. Her husband surprises her with a birthday-weekend getaway—not with him, but with Sloane’s longtime best friend, troublemaker extraordinaire Naomi. Sloane anticipates a weekend of wine tastings and cozy robes and strategic avoidance of issues she’d rather not confront, like her husband’s repeated infidelity.
But when they arrive at their rental cottage, it becomes clear Naomi has something else in mind. She wants Sloane to stop letting things happen to her, for Sloane to really live. So Naomi orchestrates a wild night out with a group of mysterious strangers, only for it to take a horrifying turn that changes Sloane’s and Naomi’s lives literally forever. The friends are forced to come to terms with some pretty eternal consequences in this bloody, seductive novel about how it’s never too late to find satisfaction, even though it might taste different than expected.
Luckily, we're starting the party a little bit earlier thanks to an exclusive excerpt and audiobook clip that you can check out below. Just make sure to pre-order So Thirsty and check out some of Rachel's previous releases before diving right in!
An Excerpt From So Thirsty
By Rachel Harrison
Read by Brittany Pressley
2
Your luxury experience awaits at the Waterfront Collective retreat, resort, and spa. An oasis nestled in the heart of—”
“Are we really doing this?”
“Nestled in the heart of the Finger Lakes. The—”
“Naomi.”
“The picturesque American village that we call home has been at once restored and transformed, the perfect location for the ultimate escape.”
“You done?”
I hear a big, deep inhale through the receiver, and I understand that, no, she is not done. “From our modern yet cozy cottages, to our lavish spa, to our fine‑dining restaurants, discover a vacation experience like no other. Welcome . . . to the Waterfront.”
“Should I applaud?”
“Well, yeah. That would be nice,” Naomi says, breathless from her dramatic reading of the hotel website. Not hotel. Collective. Va- cation experience. Ultimate escape. “This place is posh as fuck. Are they even going to let us in? We don’t play tennis. I’ve never eaten a scallop. What even is a scallop?”
She knows what a scallop is, but she likes to pretend her parents don’t have money. I play along with the charade. “Maybe we’ll find out.”
“Never taken a picture with an American flag draped over my shoulders at the beach at sunset. I don’t wear white. I’ve been arrested, you know.”
“I know. I was there.”
“The first time. Not the second.”
“A shame to have missed it.”
She shrugs. I know her so well, I can sense it. We’re on different continents, but we might as well be in the same room. I can picture her in front of me. How she’s sitting. Her legs tucked to one side, her feet pointed. Wearing a pair of men’s boxer shorts and a crazy lace bra. Some combination of Hanes and La Perla she can somehow make work. If I didn’t love her so much, she’d be insufferable.
“Ooh, you can get married here. This venue is insane. A sprawling estate with exceptional lake views, originally built as the summer residence for some crusty old chin beard . . .” She trails off.
“Do you want to get married?”
“Fuck no,” she says. “Damn. I’ll need to pack extra sweaters to tie around my neck. WASP cape.”
“Do you not want to come?”
“Of course I want to come. I’m coming. Flight is booked out of Munich.”
“You’re talking like the Finger Lakes are fancy, Miss Flight‑out‑of‑Munich. You’ve been traveling around Europe for the last, what? Three, four months?”
“And I’m coming back to the States with a vague accent to prove it.”
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“It’s not as bougie as it sounds. It’s work. Most days I’m wrangling at least one hungover man‑child, or getting groupies to signNDAs, or chasing Rolling Stone, or spending a tragic amount of time on the band’s Instagram. Some days I’m a glorified roadie. Plus, the showers over here have no water pressure. And the toilets are weird.”
She’s not being dishonest, but she is downplaying her journeys for my benefit, so I won’t be so jealous. I’m both grateful and a little insulted. “Still . . .”
“Sure. Still . . .” she says. “But fuck it. I get to see you!”
“I hope this goes without saying, but you don’t need to fly back from Europe for a weekend.”
“Your birthday weekend,” she says, and I flinch so hard, I almost fumble my phone. “And the timing worked out. European leg is done. Lee and the band fly home right after me. You and I will get up to some trouble, some birthday debauchery—you know, classic high jinks . . .”
“Right, right.”
“Then I get to go back to being a PR bot slash rock star’s girlfriend.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “You know, their last show is Friday, they fly back Saturday, and he’s got everyone back in the studio next week. And not where we live, in New York fucking City, no. In Pittsburgh. His new hometown dream studio that he had to open, in Pittsburgh. So now I have to haul my ass there to document the creative process. I think he’s afraid of losing momentum. He’s relentless.”
“You fell in love with the ambition of an ambitious man.”
“And you failed to talk me out of it. This is on you,” she says.
“Anyway, I should probably go. Start to pack. Lee’s out with the guys, and it’s easier to get shit done with him out of my hair. Mr. Ambition is salty about having to survive a few days without me.”
“He just can’t bear to be parted from you,” I say, swoony like an animated princess.
She snorts. “All right. Later, angel. Meet you in paradise.”
“I’ll see you there.”
I set my phone screen down on my desk. It’s eleven seventeen a.m., and I’m supposed to be in a meeting. I saw Naomi calling and wondered if she was canceling. I don’t know why I always assume the worst.
It’s typical Naomi to call at inconvenient times. When I’m supposed to be in a meeting. When I’m doing my weekly Saturday cleaning, rubber gloves on, bleach in hand. When I’m asleep at three a.m. She doesn’t understand time zones, or home maintenance, or nine‑to‑fives, but she’s so authentically freewheeling and oblivious that it’s impossible to be mad at her for it. It’s her finest magic trick, transforming her most frustrating qualities into part of her charm.
I take a deep breath and a sip of my now‑tepid coffee, dial into this meeting late, prepared to apologize for my tardiness, but no one seems to notice my arrival, or that I hadn’t been there in the first place.
It’s one of those miserable January days so frigid it’s difficult to breathe. The wind is ruthless, stinging any exposed skin. I feel the baby hairs on my neck and at my temples go frosty. I reach to pull my hat down, and my fingers suffer. All feeling in my extremities fades. The cold infiltrates my brain, and I imagine my thoughts cased in ice like the branches of the peach tree in the front yard, which has been scrawny and barren since September.
I stand in the driveway, waiting for Joel to come say goodbye. He went inside to get something and has been gone for too long, leaving me here to freeze.
The door opens and he comes shuffling out holding a small gift‑wrapped box. The paper is gold, edges clean, tape invisible. There’s a neat pink ribbon tied around it, an impeccable bow teetering on top.
“Another present?” I ask.
“Not for now,” he says. “For your actual birthday. Day of.”
“Open it in the car as soon as I pull away?”
“You would. Present shaker.”
“I’m not a present shaker. I’m patient and normal.” He raises an eyebrow and I pout.
“All right,” he says. “Got everything you need?”
“Yep. Do you?”
“I’ll survive.”
“Okay. Love you,” I say, and give him a quick, dry kiss—our lips winter chapped. “And thank you. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Sloane?”
“Yeah?”
“Have fun.”
“Don’t I always?” I say, opening the car door and climbing inside. I set the present down on the passenger seat, put the heat on full blast, and give Joel a wave before driving off.
I steal a look in the rearview. At the house. At my beloved peach tree. At the shimmery snow‑covered yard. At Joel. He remains in the driveway watching me, seeing me off in his puffy coat and aviator hat, and I think about how he leaves his dishes in the sink and his socks bunched up in the laundry basket, so I have to individually unbunch them or else they’ll never dry. I think about how he can be so condescending over such stupid, insignificant things, like my not knowing how to put more peppercorns in the grinder. I think about how he chastises me for not carrying cash and for avoiding the dentist. I think about how he lied about the first girl but didn’t deny the second. I think about whether staying with someone is really a choice, or if it’s a complete lack thereof.
I turn the corner and Joel disappears.
At the first red light I hit, I reach over to the passenger seat and shake the gift‑wrapped box. Something shifts inside.
“Hmm.”
The light turns green, and I drive on, waiting for some excitement to set in. But all I feel is this kneading of dread. This impulse to turn around, go home. I don’t really desire my life, but I’m reluctant to leave it. There’s comfort in the mundane, safety in the routine. In waking up and knowing exactly what my day will look like.
I fear breaking my routine will break everything.
And I fear wanting too much out of this trip. I fear want in general. I made a promise to myself years ago to always temper my expectations, protect myself from disappointment. So this trip will just be miles on the car, a few nights in a picturesque cottage, some time with Naomi that will be good. That will be fine.
And then I’ll be a year older, and the peaches will fall from the tree, and I’ll avoid my reflection, put cream on my neck.
The tang of blood awakens me to my teeth’s nefarious inclination to gnaw on the delicate flesh inside my cheek. A violent nervous habit my body executes without permission. I never realize I’m doing it until it’s too late.
I swallow, and the blood drags down my throat. It seems thicker than it should be, and it leaves me uneasy. I swallow again. Again. I can’t undo the damage, can’t erase the flavor.
All I can do is shudder at the aftertaste.
Excerpted from SO THIRSTY by Rachel Harrison, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2024
Audio excerpted with permission of Penguin Random House Audio from SO THIRSTY by Rachel Harrison, read by Brittany Pressley. © 2024 Rachel Harrison ℗ 2024 Penguin Random House, LLC.”
So Thirsty, by Rachel Harrison will be released on September 10, 2024. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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