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Happy Halloween | Teaser Tuesday | In The Dark

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“Where in the hell did you learn to throw knives?” Irish asked, counting her knives in the tree. She’d made all of her throws and to add insult to injury, she landed each of her knives on top of his, except one—the one he’d missed.

He’d actually lost the wager.

            She sat down close to the mouth of the cave and looked to him. “A race nearly extinct, remember? When you are in hiding, you learn how to protect yourself. Plus, there wasn’t much else to do.”

Her words sobered him up a bit. He was still amazed at her ability, but he felt like hell for the reason she’d ever needed to learn in the first place. Her kind was hunted and killed off by his kind in the past.

“Now,” she looked up at him, “you’ll teach me to kiss.”

            “I—uh . . .” He scratched his head and backed away.

            “You, uh . . . promised.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that the kind of man you are? One who reneges on a deal?”

He hadn’t thought she’d win the bet. Crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest, he huffed. “Why do you need to learn now?” He gestured around. “Here of all places?” Maybe he could stall. Just the thought of his lips on hers had him ready to explode in his pants. But she was firmly on the Hands Off Irish list. The first reason being, she was promised to another man. The second reason being, she was untouched.

            “Why not now? There’s nothing else to do but wait.”

He took a deep breath and wondered if it made him a bastard to want to be the man who taught her to kiss. There was something erotic about kissing. Irish had to banish that idea from his head because there was no damned way he was teaching her to kiss. “You should be preparing for what’s to come.”

            Her blonde brow arched. “If that knife competition didn’t convince you I’m capable of taking care of myself, then maybe you forgot when you first saw me on the isle, when I had just gutted a man from his privates to his neck.” She raised her chin, daring him to say anything.

            “Lesson one: If you want a man to kiss you, you don’t talk about slicing anyone’s balls.” She nodded emphatically and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he was only kidding. He pushed off the wall, strode over, and sat down in front of her.

She was biting her lips—most likely a nervous gesture—and while he found it endearing, he reached up and pulled the puffy lip from between her teeth.

            “Lesson two: Don’t damage the goods.” He smiled when she blushed. “Come here,” he whispered and she obliged. “Will you sit on my lap?” For him, the best part of a kiss was the intimacy it offered. Having her close would increase the heat of her body against his.

Irish needed to cool down his libido, reminding himself, this is just a lesson. It would go no further than a kiss.

She nodded and settled in his lap.

“Okay, here we go.” He’d never had to instruct a kiss, figuring that kissing was something so natural, the two people would find a rhythm all their own. So, he’d try it that way. He leaned in and her eyes went wide. Pulling back, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

            “I thought you were going to teach me.” In the waning sunlight, her eyes sparkled and her pink cheeks flamed.

He smiled. “Kissing is natural. I can’t really instruct you through the mechanics because my mouth is going to be on yours. I want you to place your lips on mine, then follow my movements. Do what comes naturally to you. If you want to stop, just pull away.” When she nodded her understanding, he leaned in part way, waiting for her to lean in as well.

            The first soft touch of her lips rocketed him out of his body. He slanted his head and applied more pressure, and like he thought, her natural reaction was to slant her head in the opposite direction. With a smooth motion, Irish pushed his tongue past the barrier of her lips. She gave a small gasp in surprise, but quickly copied his movements.

Her hand came up and nails scored his scalp, causing him to delve deeper. His fangs extended, scraping over her tongue, drawing a small bead of blood. He sucked on the tip of her tongue and she moaned so loud, it reverberated off the cave walls. Irish realized his hesitance to teach her had not come from anything other than his fear of losing control. Because he wanted more than a simple kiss.

Ophelia’s hands moved to his shoulders, holding him in a vice grip. Her body, hot against his, moved of its own accord. Soon, she moved her legs to straddle his waist, and he could scent her arousal. Irish was primed and ready, grabbing onto her ass to hold her firmly on his lap. It was then, an unwarranted thought blasted into his mind. Ophelia was to be queen, and when she hit that throne, she needed to be a virgin.

That thought sobered him up real quick. He pulled away. “Lesson over.” Grunting, he gently moved her off his lap.

            “Wait, why?” She stood with him. “Was it wrong?” He felt her hand on his shoulder.

            “No, it was all right—too right.” He moved to the mouth of the cave. “We need to head out. The sun is low and we can get there in time to meet the boat.” He didn’t look back at her. Yes, he was an ass for pushing her away without explanation, but hell, if he got hard again with no sort of release, his balls would explode in his pants.

When he did turn, she was removing the shirt he’d given her to wear. “What are you doing?” he asked in a panicked voice.

            She eyed him for a moment then frowned. “I’m going to shift. I’ll move faster this way, and my senses will be sharper. Plus, you said I could go to the compound with you and I am better when I’m in wolf form.” Her words were sharp and her tone was clipped.

Good, he needed her to forget the kiss and focus on the task at hand. He turned just as she pulled that tattered dress up and over her lithe body. “Do you—uh—remember the plan?” he asked. At her silence, he turned to find a large wolf with silky fur the same hue as a stormy night’s sky and an endearing little patch of pure white fur under her jaw. “Damn,” he whispered.

Moving forward, he reached out to the wolf. He’d seen her as a wolf before, but each time was as amazing as the first. She nuzzled his hand when he pet her. “I won’t be able to understand you, but I know you can hear me.” He knelt down in front of her. “If anything happens to me, or if shit hits the fan, run.” She gnashed her teeth and shook her head. “Hey,” he reached up and caressed her soft fur, “for me, please. Your people will need you to lead them back to the coast.”

He couldn’t go off into this mission worrying about her, but as he stood and headed out into the night, he knew some of them weren’t making it home. He could only pray it didn’t include Ophelia.

CHECK OUT THE FREE START OF THE SERIES ON AMAZON!!

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Take A Peek at Indelible: Beneath His Ink

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COMING DECEMBER 12th, 2016

Trent, a man who’d come from a shit home in Kentucky, held close to him his greatest treasure. Sappy as that shit sounded, he could think of no other way to describe it. It hadn’t even been a year, and she’d already showed him what it was like to truly be loved.

Teal had become his rock, the light at the end of the tunnel, but she had also become more than a beacon towards happiness. She’d become his connection to a new world. One in which he was expected to be open and honest, caring and kind; but most of all, Teal expected Trent to live up to old expectations. The phone started its chiming again, only this time, he recognized the sound as Teal’s email notification, and again he ignored it.

    Trent rested his head on his palm and watched the rise and fall of Teal’s chest as she slept. If she woke up now, she’d most definitely curse him out for being what she called a creepy-ass stalker. He took in her slightly parted lips, until she rolled over, giving him a glorious view of her round ass.

    His voice must have caught her attention. “What the fuck, Trent?” She rolled back over and eyed him.

Trent took in her mussed up curls and sleep-filled eyes. She slept with a black silk thing wrapped around her head. He found it hilarious that her wild sleeping habits had the material hanging off her head. “What?”

    With a groan, Teal sat up. “We’ve talked about this.” She shoved a mass of curls out of her face, the motion pushing her chest out. He was damned glad he’d talked her into sleeping nude.

    Trent reached up and squeezed a breast. “Talked about what?” Goosebumps broke out over her skin as he kneaded her smooth flesh.

    She shooed his hand away. “Staring at me while I sleep.” She scooted off the bed and Trent followed. “Is it some creepy white man thing?”

    He followed her as she headed into the bathroom, taking a quick glance at the clock. He’d need to head to the shop in an hour or so. “Nothing to do with race, baby girl.” Trent moved past her and started the shower. “And everything to do with that fine, plump ass.” He turned around just as she finished brushing her teeth. “One of these days, you’re going to let me fuck it.” He smirked at her grimace, and moved closer.

    Throwing a hand out, she stopped him mid-step. “I am going to tell you now. That big thing,” she pointed to his crotch, “isn’t going anywhere near my ass.”

Trent pushed past her hand and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her neck and made his way to her lips. After a searing kiss, he released her and stepped into the shower.

    Pushing open the shower curtain, Teal stepped in behind him. “What all do you have to do at the shop today?” She busied herself with washing his back, as he massaged shampoo into his hair.

    “I need to go over payroll. And since I’m down a few men,” he sighed, “I may need to do a couple of extra jobs, so we aren’t too far behind after the holiday.” The fact that he was dating a black woman had spread faster than herpes in a whorehouse. “You still staying a week past the forth?”

    “Yeah, I took the full two weeks, just like you asked.” She finished his back and adjusted the water to rinse him off.

Trent stuck his head under the stream before he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist.             “I’d bring you to the shop, but you’d be bored out of your mind. Plus, here, you have TV and food. That’s at least something for you to do.” He dried off, then rubbed the towel over his head. Teal stepped out behind him and he wrapped the towel around her body. Leaning in for another kiss, he pulled back when it wasn’t returned. “What?”

     Holding the towel around her, she took a step back and sighed. “I kind of feel guilty about you losing those two guys. Yes, they were racist dicks, but it hurt business.”

Trent took her hand and led her into the bedroom, where he pulled out his work clothes.        “It’s been a hassle for sure, but I can assure you, it is all on me.” He wasn’t lying. His own actions had led to him hiring deplorable men in order to keep up a façade. Trent felt like shit that his hotheadedness from years ago had cast a shadow over their relationship today, and he was working hard as fuck to fix the situation. As always though, his past came back to bite him in the ass.

    Teal dropped the towel and moved to her suitcase. “So, what about Harper?” She slipped on a pair of shorts and threw one of his shirts over her head. “Have you heard anything since the last letter?”

Talk about my past haunting me . . .

Turning to face him, she picked up a bottle from her suitcase and poured some pink liquid into her palm. Rubbing her hands together, she spread the stuff throughout her hair.

It was odd to him. There was supposed to be some huge difference when it came to a black woman’s hair, versus a white woman’s hair, but Trent hadn't noticed a thing. Teal got her hair wet the same way Shayla had, and she styled and used similar shit in her hair as well.

    “Trent?” Teal’s voice was louder than before, and he realized she’d been trying to get his attention.

    He sat down on the side of the bed and stuffed one foot into his boot. Unable to look at her, he kept his eyes on the grimy boot. “No, nothing.”

    She sat on the bed, her warm hand grabbing his. “Look, maybe she is still angry at the past.” Trent gave her a withering stare. “I know. She was the one who walked away, but I am more than positive you understand why she left the first time, and her fear of you and your friends the second.”

Trent moved his hand from beneath Teal’s and started on the second boot. Shame lanced through him when he realized that for all the honesty he required from Teal, he was unable to return it. He hadn't told her the truth about what had happened after Harper had left him standing there like a fool, and he sure as hell hadn't told her his actions were the reason she went running—not just the tattoo. 

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Few Are Angels | Excerpt

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That bed, that room, or even that house didn’t feel like home, though I’d been there many times before during past summers and long weekends with my parents.  The thought of them left a bad taste on my tongue. I swallowed several times, but the bitter taste lingered, growing stronger. I pushed the memory away and stored it in the back of my mind, the place where I locked all of the things that I couldn’t handle and the things that I refused to remember.  That was where their memory would have to stay. I couldn't keep thinking about them because then the voice would start, and with the voice would come the visions and the sickness.  I sat up in bed and looked around for what seemed like the hundredth time. I knew it was late because it was pitch black outside, but I didn’t look at the clock.  I hadn’t slept a full five hours in weeks, and I didn't have anywhere to be in the morning, so time seemed irrelevant. I stayed in this odd fugue state where I was aware of all that was around me, and even more aware that none of it mattered anymore.  I floated through the days on autopilot, waiting for a situation where a reaction was expected from me, and remembering the “normal” way to react. Pretending was a chore that I wasn’t sure I could handle much longer.   The room was so familiar. I knew it like the back of my hand. Why did it seem a million miles away? Or like a dream? Alex and I had spent plenty of time hanging out and growing up together, discovering who we were and where we wanted to go when we were grown.  To us, that meant when we turned eighteen. And now that I’d “grown up,” the disappointment that was my life was more unsettling than anything. The realization of where I was versus where I should have been was a relentless headache I couldn’t remedy. Why did this room seem so cold and alone?  A summer escape became a prison, and a constant reminder of a past that I could never return to.

Normally, my father would be down the hall snoring, and my mother would be in the kitchen with Mrs. Carlton giggling over vodka martinis.  Alex and I would be watching old reruns of Miami Vice.  The memory of my parents crept up my spine and into my heart, causing it to spasm in pain. My lungs felt as though they were filled with water.  I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath, wondering if I would always feel the physical pain at the memory of my mother and father, wondering if the pain would be all I would have left of them in the years to come. In my eyes, memories equaled pain.

I stood up and bent over, putting my face into my sweatpants, and tried to take deep breaths. That had always worked when I panicked at summer camp because I was homesick, feeling out of place amongst the kids who didn’t understand why I didn't want to go swimming in the lake or horseback riding, why I wanted to go home instead.  My stomach heaved. I regretted skipping dinner. Nothing was worse than dry heaving as my body tried to purge itself.

I was sure that I couldn't throw up memories.  Even if I could, I didn't think it would matter; I’d still be full of them. Suddenly, I realized what was happening. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, but I didn't want to ride it out for fear that someone would find me passed out in the morning.   The usual wave of nausea that came with my hallucinations slithered into my belly.  My head felt as if it were on fire, which caused my vision to blur and darken.  Everyone thought I was better, that I was cured or close to it. I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, hoping that I could shock my body into being normal—free from visions and voices. But it was no use.

“Come to me,” the voice whispered, so close to my ear that I whirled around, thinking someone was in the bathroom with me. The voice. I fought the urge to do as it commanded: follow it into the darkness. My tears threatened to explode, but I held them back. I refused to break down at the Carltons’.  They weren’t going to send me back to the hospital.  The voice and hallucinations weren’t my fault; I couldn’t control them. 

My headache still raged, and from experience, I knew it had not yet reached its crescendo.  I gripped the porcelain sink and squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the pain to subside. My mother had once said that pain was a gift.  It reminded you that you were still alive, and surviving the pain would only make you stronger.  Did she feel that way as she lay dying in the wreckage that night? The thought of my parents’ ordeal did not help. I knew that if I had a full on attack, I would be dragged into a hallucination and they’d find me in the morning, unconscious on the floor. That’d earn me a trip right back to Dr. Lithe and Nurse Laura, with her needles and her pills that made you feel nothing and sleep for days. 

My hands began to ache from the tight grip I had on the sink. When I removed them, they felt stiff and cold.  The voice hadn’t spoken again, but I could hear what sounded like someone scratching at the bathroom door.  I froze. I thought to call out and ask who was there, but an intruder wouldn’t announce himself. 

Would it be so bad if someone killed me?  I was a whack job. I’d flipped out in school when I’d had the vision, the one of my death. They sent me to Ocean Trace to talk to a shrink, and like an idiot, I had confessed my vision to the doctor. A man’s voice demanding that I return to him. My own death. That day I became the fragile girl that everyone was afraid to be around, scared they would set off another episode.  Finally, it was decided that I would go to an inpatient care facility for seventy-two hours, which turned into three weeks.  That was what happened when you let people in, when you told the truth.  It was my fault, and I realized then that keeping my mouth shut and keeping people at a safe distance was for the best. 

I shook my head and rotated my shoulders, trying to pull myself from the fog the pain left behind. Acting braver than I truly felt, I decided that if the person who belonged to the voice in my skull was outside that door waiting to kill me, then so be it.  I couldn’t live like that anymore.  I grabbed the handle, tightened my grip, and wrenched the door open, fully expecting to see a man in a black ski mask with a knife or a gun, but was instead greeted by Max, the Carltons’ pet husky.  His big eyes were lined with what seemed to be worry, or maybe just the need to pee. Since my headache was receding and my stomach was no longer rolling, I decided that some fresh, cold air would be good for my nerves.

The Carltons lived in Northern Virginia along the near-dead Elmwood forest. The mountains there were vast. In Virginia Beach, where I’d moved from, the “mountains” were no more than a few rolling hills. The mountains in Cedar Grove were beautiful, but I had no interest in exploring them as I had during summer and winter breaks in the past. Nothing was the same. Everything seemed smaller. The mountain trails and fresh water streams didn't hold the wonder that they once had.  It was October and already freezing. I slipped into my coat and the new snow boots the Carltons had bought me before I arrived. I tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as I could, Max following closely. I headed out the front door, nearly tripping as Max bounded out and ran straight to the abandoned shed to the left of the house.  As soon as I stepped outside the, cold Northern Virginia wind slapped me in the face, doing just what I hoped it would: waking me up completely. 

 I looked ahead and saw that Max had made his way to the back of the shed.  I prayed he would make his business short so I didn’t freeze to death.  The porch light didn't reach beyond the front of the shed, and Max had disappeared behind it.  The snow covered half of my boots, and I hadn’t thought to wear gloves. I soon regretted going out with just boots and a coat.  I wasn’t in Virginia Beach where we got an inch or two of snow every ten years or so.  In the short time I’d been in Northern Virginia, more than four inches of snow had fallen.  I waited, and when Max didn't come back, I made my way closer to the shed, calling his name as quietly as I could, but with the cold and my growing annoyance, it was getting harder to care if I woke anyone in the house.  I didn’t have to worry about neighbors.  The closest ones were about four miles away.

“Max!”  I whispered fiercely against the icy wind. I hoped that even though he was a dog, he would hear the displeasure in my voice and comply.   The wind moaned quietly, creaking the brittle frozen branches of the trees around me.  My snow boots sounded as if they were crunching glass beneath them. Great, he’ll hear me before I get to him, and he’ll run. I had only wanted to get some fresh air, not relocate to the front yard.  I walked faster, letting my anger quell the fear I felt creeping along my skin as I neared the shed. It was darker back there because the light from the porch didn’t reach that far.  The contrast created an obscure object in front of me.  My vision seemed blurred again, and the shed looked like a giant ink spot, dark and ominous. Normally, I would have turned around and gone the other way when my nerves skittered under my skin, but I didn't care anymore.  As I neared the blurred ink spot, I almost wished a fox or wolf would be back there to eat me and put me out of my misery. I squashed that thought; the doctor called them “self-destructive thoughts.” I had scoffed at him when he said it, but I wondered why I’d been having so many recently.  The thought of something dangerous back there sent a shiver down my spine, and I trembled.  I kept walking. It felt right, as if I were meant to be there. I was being pulled closer and closer to something familiar, a feeling that I couldn’t understand. 

I heard Max growling before I rounded the corner, but not even that stopped me from moving forward.  I understood that something wasn’t right, maybe even dangerous, but my legs wouldn’t comply with fear’s plea to turn and leave. My stomach did a few nervous flips, and my heart raced, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy, but I kept walking. I placed a hand on the side of the shed for balance.  I felt as if I were being swallowed by the murky darkness, never to find my way out again.  My hands and legs were numbing and stiffening from the freezing cold, but I ignored the pain and continued.  It seemed as though I would never reach my destination until, rounding the corner, I heard what sounded like my name being called behind me.  My brain wanted to comply and turn around to see who it was; however, my feet had other plans. Max growled again. My heart threatened to beat up into my throat and out of my body. I held onto the shed with frozen fingers, trying not to collapse into the snow. My legs and feet had gone numb, and my head was a balloon slowly floating above me. I heard my name again, but closer.  Max finally came around from behind the shed and headed to the voice behind me. As I slowly slid to the frozen ground, I saw he had a red smudge on his gray-black muzzle. Max blurred, and my vision flickered, then went black. I didn’t even feel the snow as I fell face first into it.


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#TeaserTuesday

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#TeaserTuesday

Two days of isolation with Logan in his hotel room seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. While he’d only left once for a meeting with his lawyer and PO, Katie had used that time for some well-needed rest. She didn’t want to leave, and she’d even offered to pay for some additional days, but Logan had flat out refused her money saying he wasn’t going to cost her a cent—ever. Katie was pleased and disappointed by his declaration, but he was right. He needed to get back home, and the faster he did, the faster he could come back to her.

Preview Sinners in the Dark on Amazon

Amazon now lets you preview and share a book before you buy it! Check out the second book in the In The Dark series now!

Depending on who you talk to, the Nation is either corrupt or a necessary evil. The Sect was formed to eradicate all things vampire, or maybe it’s just their mission to protect humans. Echo, has been on both sides. He was once a Watcher for the Nation, but when he uncovers an ongoing plan to kill chosen Sect leaders to force war, he is driven to make a decision he never thought he’d make.

cho becomes a Ghost, the name used for traitors of the Nation. It’s a dangerous way to leave the Nation, but Echo is sick of all the blood on his hands. However, leaving the darkness behind isn’t as easy as he thinks. Choices he made might cost him the one person that could help redeem his soul.

The 'In The Dark' series is now on Kindle Unlimited!

Chapter 1: Letting Go

A restless ache bloomed deep in Bessina’s chest, racing from her heart to her feet. A visceral need to stretch her legs and free her soul nearly wrenched her in two. Her muscles ached and her head pounded. She needed to run, not to escape, but to free her mind of the ensuing chaos.

Instead, with her feet stubbornly glued to the dock, Bessina awaited dawn. She’d said her farewells, yet couldn’t bring herself to leave. Uncertain of what was holding her to the spot, Bessina sighed. She glanced up and watched as the moon made its slow descent across the sky.

Everything was familiar, but not in the comforting way it should have been. Instead of warm memories, reality reminded her of how fragile friendships truly were. High school had come and gone, and her first year of college had been cruel.

It was in the past year she’d discovered what could happen if you trusted the wrong boy with the wrong information. To add insult to injury, she’d also learned some high school bonds couldn’t survive the gravities of college or life as new adults. The realization she wasn’t leaving behind much, left a glacial void in her chest.

Bessina hefted the heavy Jansport book bag, attempting to relieve her pinched and bruised shoulder. It had all the belongings she thought important enough to take on her trip. After readjusting the backpack as best she could, she checked her wristwatch. She needed to leave for her bus soon, if she was going to make it to the Amtrak station in time. This would be a true goodbye to her painful past.

There was probably a faster way to get to Plushin, Ohio than a fifteen-hour bus ride, but she wasn’t in a rush. Just heading away from the past would be enough for her.

The oppressive midsummer Florida heat assaulted her back and Bessina longed for the cold artificial air of the A/C units at college. The thought reminded her she hadn’t enrolled in any sessions, officially withdrawing her from college; she could no longer live on campus and was in fact, homeless. Talk about rock bottom.

On top of which, Bessina’s savings had run dry . . . and calling her father was not an option. She’d gone against his wishes when moving to Florida to attend Howard Lee University instead of Central Christian College of Kansas, and her father hadn’t spoken to her since. Unless it was to make sure she was still breathing, of course.

Their semi-monthly talks consisted of her explaining the month’s events, and her father replying with a series of grunts and sighs. It wasn’t the type of conversation a young woman would choose to have with her father, but that was another story for another day. Bessina could only handle one horrible relationship at a time.

She heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her unruly curls. Annoyed with herself for lingering longer than necessary, she finally moved toward the parking lot, where the only payphone in the city was located. Her shirt clung to her back, and her jeans bunched in all of the wrong places.

As she reached the pay phone, she dug through her pants pocket for the quarters. Facing the phone, she lifted the handset from its cradle, only to see the frayed end.

“Just great.” Looking around the abandoned docks, she tried to see if there was another place to call the cab company. No such luck. Bessina would have had time to walk to the nearest bus station to make her bus and her transfers, if she hadn’t stayed at the docks for so long. But it was the abandoned dock she had to say her farewells to. Sad? Yeah, but who would ever know? She was there alone, with no one to see her pitiful ritual.

A warm breeze drifted over her skin, carrying with it a moan so soft, Bessina thought she’d imagined the sound. She slowly turned around, listening for the sound again. Narrowing her eyes toward the docks, she observed the surrounding area with an intense focus. Just as she felt she was going insane, the soft moan came again—throaty and deep, as if the person were in pain.

The need to help waged war with her common sense, which urged her to run away from possible danger. What if someone fell through the rotted wood? Before she knew it, she was moving toward the sound. The thought of an injured person had her full attention, pulling her further from the concerns she’d had of missing her ride out of hell.

 

Chapter 2: Burning Dawn

As the darkened sky released the moon, it gave way to pink hues, sending a warning to all of night’s creatures; the sun would soon be there. Trace watched as his wards lay on the docks, still shrouded in darkness. Suicide by sun was the most painful way to go for a pureblood vampire. Yet he could only assume, after a millennium, one such as Samuel would not fear the pain of the sun.

Trace’s assignment had only been for one vampire, yet Sam’s lover, or heir, had arrived as well. He was not sure what she was, but as far as he was concerned, the price Rhys quoted him had just doubled. He watched as the sun inched its way closer to the couple. After his own pitiful existence had come to its end, he wondered if he would have the balls to go out in style. Or would he cower before some sort of true death as well?

For after centuries of living, Trace had nothing to live for. Not that he was contemplating suicide, but the day would come when life would become an encumbrance. As a dhampir, the sun could not harm him the way it could harm and destroy a blood born vampire; however, his lifespan was also not that of a mere human.

He had centuries, if not a millennia left of his life . . . and if even a percentage of the future mirrored his lonely existence now, then ending that shit might not be such a bad idea. How long could he take the lives of innocent mortals solely to protect the existence of his kind?

At the signal of his cell, Trace left his thoughts and pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen and connecting the call. “Yeah?” He greeted Jax, his technophile friend, and partner in crime.

Jax wheezed out a cough and Trace repressed the urge to grin. He wasn’t a morning person, nor was he the type to call when Trace was on Watcher duty.

             “Hey, I’ve got some news and I thought you might want to hear it.”

            “What’s going on, man?” A sound in the distance took Trace’s attention away from his friend’s stressed voice. He froze, scenting the air. The scent of vanilla and fresh earth compelled him to make his way through the canopy of trees, closer to the vampires, Sam and Hope. His senses went wild with the exotic scents of mineral rich earth, smoky woods, and the sweet hint of vanilla. Never had Trace scented such a rare combination, as humans normally gave off simple scents with little to no variants.

Perhaps another vampire or dhampir had wandered onto the docks. With his advanced sight, Trace stationed himself far enough away to allow privacy in their final moments, but now he regretted the distance. The urge to move closer was so great, his legs seemed to move on their own accord.

Trace scanned the area, searching for the origin of the sweet scent, but came up empty. In his personal oath to his wards, one he’d never spoken aloud, but ardently upheld, he would always stay miles away from them until their deaths were complete. Trace believed death was a personal experience, not something to be tainted by his own ugly soul.

Even with his advanced speed, Trace’s feet felt as if weighted down by cement blocks. The sun continued its path up into the sky, illuminating the world around him. The sound of Jax’s voice broke his concentration, but only for a second.

            “Maybe I should just tell her we can try again, but—” Trace had missed more than half of the conversation in his quest to locate the scent. “Avery isn’t the same. She’s chipper and happy, but I can tell it’s a façade.” Trace kept the phone to his ear but could only hear Jax as if he were talking through static.

A dark-skinned, coiled-haired female was making her way to the dock, exactly where his wards had positioned themselves. Trace observed the girl as she moved cautiously toward the sounds of Hope and Sam meeting the sun.

The scent of smoke pulled his gaze away from the woman and back to the disaster. It was too noticeable; she was sure to happen upon it. His gut tightened. Like a fool, Trace had believed Sam’s death would be one without incident.

***

Bessina pulled back at the smell of ash and smoke. She hadn’t heard any cars arrive, and had thought herself alone. That didn’t mean a car couldn’t have slipped past her notice, but it was highly unlikely. Whoever had arrived would have had to enter the same gates Bessina had to, unless they’d traveled through the murky water on the other side of the docks.

It could be some college students having a bonfire, she guessed. It was summer, and she and her old friends had often come there after parties to watch the sunrise. But they would be making more noise than she was hearing. The moans had since turned disturbing, as if there were a wounded animal on the dock just past the first empty store.

Smoke arched around something on the ground, and as Bessina moved closer, she could see someone had set something on fire. Not finding anything around to put it out, she cursed and barreled toward the site. Closing in, she realized it was two bodies set a flame.

Shocked, she stopped short, nearly falling off the dock. She landed on her knees and palms with a force that sent her skidding forward, every ounce of air disappearing from her lungs. Fear flooded her so swiftly and deep, she swayed from the intensity of it.

She stared into the burning eyes of a woman who was probably stunning at one point. Someone had reduced her to nothing more than some charred remains.

A scream ripped from her throat, so hard and loud, she choked on the next one. Pulling in a full breath, Bessina stood as best she could. What was she supposed to do? Her sight blurred. She feared she would pass out, leaving her vulnerable for whoever set those bodies on fire.

Marshaling her strength and will, Bessina stood straight and turned to run.

***

Trace eyed the girl warily before stepping from the shadows of the abandoned building into the cover of the dense trees. He’d smelled her blood as soon as she’d fallen. Every nerve in his body urged him towards the sweet scent of her lifeblood, mixed with cedar from her splinters and the rich minerals from the earth.

Her scent was distinctive, her eyes shone a preternatural golden hue and her heartbeat skittered in her chest faster than that of a human. She’d witnessed the death of two vampires, and though it seemed she hadn’t fully comprehended the magnitude of her situation, he had.

This woman—with the scent of an immortal, and wolf-like eyes—would have to be taken care of. A pity, really. Even with her face contorted in pain and terror, he could see she was stunning; her bright gaze held fear and a hint of primal intelligence. Perhaps deep down inside, there was a hint of enchantress blood coursing through her veins. Often times interbreeding with humans created half-breeds with latent powers, though he didn’t sense this was the case with her.

He watched, observing her movements. She was maybe a few years younger than his twenty-five. It never pleased him to have to kill humans. Their lives were already so short and insignificant. But death was his job. He possessed skills vampires didn’t. As a dhampir, one of those skills was the ability to survive the sun.

Tolerating sunlight meant he was perfect for his job. He was a Watcher, or as Trace liked to call it, a suicide specialist. Many vamps committed suicide; living forever wasn’t what movies and books portrayed it to be. To live through every war, epidemic, and fall of the economy, losing the ones you loved could devastate even the strongest of men. Once the Nation understood they could no longer stop it from happening, they went about creating Trace’s job.

A Watcher was nothing more than a voyeur, there to witness the end of a vamp’s life. It was also their duty to leave no witnesses behind, which brought Trace back to his current dilemma. The beautiful chocolate-skinned girl with sun-kissed hair, running from the ashes of Sam and Hope.

Calling his division leader, Trace detailed the info of the girl, and awaited the inevitable instructions to kill.

Want to read more? Check out the preview links below. 

Preview Running in the Dark on AMAZON!

Known as Trace to his enemies and friends,  this lethal Dhampir leaves no trace of his victims behind.
 

The life of deadly Russian slayer, Trace, has always revolved around death and preventing humankind from learning about the legendary creatures of the night. But now his position as a Watcher has become a prison, and dealing death for the Nation isn’t as prestigious as he once believed it to be. College dropout Bessina Darrow has witnessed things she isn’t permitted to see, a simple case of wrong place at the wrong time puts her life in danger. When Bessina becomes his new mark, Trace is prepared to eliminate her—until he discovers a way out for them both. Protecting Bessina means defying the leaders of the Nation, an act that has them both running for their lives. The more Trace fights to disappear from danger, the more he unravels the secrets surrounding his world of lore—secrets he must unveil to finally save a life, instead of destroy it.

Bratva: the audiobook

Want to listen to Sergei and Jade's story? Check out a Bratva Short in the Naughty Bedtimes Stories box set from Hot Ink Press!

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AMAZON

AUDIBLE  

Strangers passing through. Friends seeing each other with new eyes. The hesitant touch of new lovers. A first glance. A first word. A first touch. A first kiss. Take a journey through erotic shorts and poems to relive that first-time feeling. Naughty Bedtime Stories: First Taste will stir the butterflies, curl the toes, and send hearts racing. After all, nothing tastes as good as naughty feels....

Desperately Waiting...

I should be writing, but instead, I am here making a blog post about a short story. And that is perfectly okay. I am actually excited to write this post. After a few emails with questions and requests about the Bratva series, I've decided to share a bit of news with you. I DO plan to write more for this series. My new writing schedule is pretty lax for the rest of the year. I am only writing ONE more book in 2016. {You can read about that book here.} However, I am also focusing on getting all of my novels in AUDIO, too. So, that is where my focus is for 2016. Still, I plan to finish more of Jade and Sergei's story. In the meantime, check out my BRATVA PLAYLIST on SPOTIFY. 

 

BRATVA: Brothers in Sin

“You want to live?” Sergei’s dark Russian voice rained down on her, along with the smoke and ash. The destroyed building crumbled around them.

Her body burned in pain, but she forced a nod.

“Good, then remember—you did not see shit, you did not hear shit, and you do not know shit, da?” 

Unfortunately, Jade had seen shit, heard shit, and definitely knew shit.

The man, known as Sergei Yazov, towered above her promising hope and a new life, but at what cost?

 

READ MORE HERE and HERE