Book 2, New Vampire Disorder
Release Date: September 30, 2016
Available for preorder on Amazon!
Excerpt is not fully polished. It's at the cleaners as we speak!!
Her adopted dad had always told her vampires had killed her birth parents. Regardless, they’d raised her with love and acceptance, coloring her view of the world as being better than it was. She would not be fooled by this guy. He could be the most handsome male she’d ever seen—he was—and she’d know the black heart that beat in his broad, muscular chest.
The big one started walking to the road and when he reached it, hung a left. She wished she could follow, but they’d hear her.
A whoosh of wind ruffled some loose strands of hair. She lifted her gaze off the goliath to find herself looking into a pair of jet-black eyes. As she gasped, she registered that she was wrong. His irises were not entirely black, but such a dark brown they mirrored her stunned expression.
His gaze was cold, calculating, and directed on her.
Eyes wide, heart pounding, she flashed away.
Appearing next to her vehicle, she dug into her pockets for her keys—and dropped them.
She stooped to grab them. A brush of air caressed her bare neck; she shot up straight.
His reflection stared back at her from her car window, moonlight gleaming off his ebony hair. His head tilted imperceptibly as his eyes focused on her.
Grace sucked in a breath. She couldn’t scream, it was futile. He was so close his heat radiated into her. If she wasn’t so terrified of him, it’d snake into her and settle in deep on this cool night.
Summoning all her strength, she shoved an elbow back into his gut. He easily deflected, and oh shit she was in trouble. She didn’t know how to fight. He’d been around three dead bodies and was stalking her without even an increase in heart rhythm.
She flashed again, this time a mile up Bullhead.
Her breath puffed in the autumn air, her breathing ragged. She blanched when he formed in front of her. His scent, free from the cloud of death and despair, surrounded her. He smelled… edible. Hickory chips smoking in the grill delicious. Her opinion was not on par with her body’s reaction to his scent.
“Why you were spying on us?” He stood with his arms crossed as if patiently waiting for her answer.
Involuntarily, she shivered. That voice! His smell! Coupled with his looks—he was dangerous on so many levels.
She flashed again, two more miles up the trail. Her logical mind informed her that he’d followed her twice already. She hadn’t even known it was possible.
He appeared in front of, an eyebrow arched. “Did you have something to do with the humans’ deaths?”
At the mention of her parents, she lost control.
For all the good it did.
She punched, she kicked, she kneed. All easily deflected. He clasped her arms to pull him toward her and spin her around. Both of her legs pumped and flailed, trying to kick back into his shins, or loosen his grip, but he restrained her like it was something he did every day.
From his domineering presence and grim demeanor, maybe he did.
He jolted her so hard her teeth clattered. It stunned her into momentary stillness. Tensing to start all over again, he repeated the movement—harder. Her breath whooshed out like she’d been heimliched.
She struggled to inhale against his vice-like grip. He was an immobile wall at her back. Humiliatingly enough, one she wanted to seek comfort in his warmth.
Tears pricked her eyes. She sniffled.
His grip loosened, then tightened again. “Don’t think that’ll work on me,” he sneered into her ear.
The dam broke and sob after sob escaped her.
Rourke…didn’t know what to do.
The beautiful suspect’s tears were real. Not, oh I’m female and I’ll make you do what I want by crying nor I can’t tell the pleasure form the pain, Rourke, release the cuffs. He heard the latter all the time. In fact, he strove for it.
But this female cried for real. Her heart was broken. Had she known that family, been close to them?
Her curly hair tickled his nose as her short ponytail bobbed with her sobs. Her presence at the crime scene became clear to him shortly after he’d arrived. Through the din of death, sulfur, and the shifters who’d called them in, her had scent curled around him. Like lemonade after a hot night’s work.
He fucking hated lemonade.
Or he used to. Now he wanted a taste of her. Would she be sharp, but sweet?
His blood supply moved in a southward direction; he cut off that line of thinking. Arousal did not happen unless he commanded it.
Unfortunately, his pestering cock didn’t get the message.
Tilting his pelvis back so as to not press into her, he discovered her shorter stature still allowed her to curve back into him.
His damn arms didn’t seem to want to let her go. Forcing his grip to loosen, she slid down his body to collapse on the ground.
His eyelids drifted shut at the sensation, but he snapped them open. Her legs were curled under her, face was buried in her hands while she continued to weep.
Loss and sorrow pulsed from her.
“You knew them.” He stated the obvious, but felt like he had to say something.
She nodded and inhaled a shuddering breath attempting to regain her composure. He silently cheered her on, selfishly wanting to see her gingerbread brown eyes again. Gingerbread brown circled her pupils, surrounded by forest green.
“Who were they to you?” he asked
Her shoulders slumped, bringing his attention to her body. It was so unlike him. In the field, he assessed everyone and everything with cold calculation. In his decrepit excuse for a personal life, he selected females based on their athletic frame. His bedroom activities required the stamina. He almost always slept solely with vampires for that reason.
While this little dove was a vampire, she sported the most uncommon curves found in their kind. He estimated her be about five-six which was damn near petite in the vampire world.
She spoke, shaking him out of his inappropriate perusal. “They were my family.”
He rocked back in disbelief. “Humans?”
She made a disgusted sound he assumed what aimed at his reaction. “They adopted me after my family was,” she peeked over shoulder, eyes narrowed untrustingly on him, “killed.”
Spoken as if it was his fault?
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