Excerpt:
Tristan
no sooner entered the foyer of his home when he heard the rustling of metal
upstairs and bared his teeth to attack. His gun drawn from his holster, he
snarled at the thought of someone invading sanctuary. Someone had the gall to
invade his home after the shit I've been through today? His body tense, he
leaped to the top of the stairs, checking around the hall until he focused on
his bedroom door closed with light shining under from under it. His senses
still buzzing from the alcohol, he paused to get his bearings, letting the
adrenaline stomp down his buzz. Ready to eliminate the threat, Tristan kicked
down his bedroom door. With his gun drawn, he froze as his eyes met with the
stark, violet eyes of a woman on his bed.
His
mouth gaped open as she pulled against the glowing chains that were shackled to
her wrists and ankles, the metal brushing against the bare flesh of her
stomach, and lace-covered breasts.
Her
abundant auburn hair cascaded down her back as she struggled to get to her
knees as she faced him. She was breath-taking among the black satin of his bed
and Tristan's eyes lingered over her from the full pout of her lips all the way
down to the lacy black triangle at the meeting of her thighs.
Okay...It
isn't his birthday...and what was in that fucking drink?
Her
scowling face was less than pleased at Tristan's ogling. She pulled against the
chains with a loud clink that brought Tristan back to earth.
"Take
this off of me now!" Her eyes were thin slits as she glared at him.
Tristan
moved closer to her, looking around the room for anyone else that decided to
drop in on him. The only anomaly there was the woman wearing nothing but
strange chains and underwear on his bed. His gun still drawn and aimed at her,
he finally responded. "Who the hell are you?
And
why the hell are you here? I didn't order a blood-bag stripper."
Zoë
sneered at him viciously. "I'm not a stripper, you asshole! Now turn me
loose or I'll rip your heart out!" She barked out through gritted teeth.
Tristan
gave her a smirk. "Woo hoo, strong talk for a woman who can't move three
inches from where she is." He chambered a round in his gun. "Now I'll
ask you once more. Who the hell are you?"
He
paused as she suddenly took a deep breath and inhaled him and the air around
him.
"Damn
it," she cursed under her breath as she realized what he was. Her senses
reeling, she desperately tried to focus on her lucidity as her body primed
itself for the hunt. NO! Not until I find out why I'm here in this jerk's room,
she pleaded with herself. Focus. Focus. But it was too late. He was so close
now, so very tempting and her body would not listen to reason. It was the
nature of her kind, and yet she despised herself for it.
Tristan
tried to shake the cloudiness from his head as he stared at her. All he could
think of was ripping that delicate fabric from her body and plunging deep into
her, then sinking his fangs into her lush, radiant skin and sampling her life
force. He moved closer to her as she leaned back against the bed, her ethereal
eyes seductive and enchanting. Tristan stopped at the edge of the bed, nothing
but the iron rail to stop him from moving even closer.
But
something in the back of his mind urged that it wasn't right. The need to sate
himself with her made him want to tear the heavens down just to have her. This
maddening, clawing sense of urgency that was so hot, it threatened to burn away
all sense of reasoning. Even his stopping against the railing made his body
burn for her. An insatiable need to taste her, to take her, as some unknown
force drove him to her like a rabbit in a snare. The feeling was so innate and
primal, Tristan could eagerly walk through all the flames of hell just to taste
her now. It was what some would call, pure insanity.
He
lowered his gun.
She
crooked a finger to him to come closer and he obeyed, moving to the side of the
bed, finally dropping his gun to the floor. Reaching for him, she closed her
mouth on his, pressing her body against him. Tristan growled at her bare olive
flesh rubbing against the folds of his clothes. He could feel all of her now as
if there were no clothing between them. It made his body rigid, and throbbing.
Never had he wanted to be inside someone with every fiber of his lost soul with
such a hunger. Her full lips plundered him, greedy and lustful. He was already
painfully erect, pulling at his coat to remove it as her mouth assaulted him in
the most sinful way possible.
Zoë,
you have to get a grip. She called within herself, as her tongue darted into
his mouth, brushing against his fangs. He had the metallic taste of blood on
his tongue as if he just came from feeding. The ripple of his flesh beneath his
clothes begged her to strip him to see all of the sinew he hid from her gaze.
When his erection poked against her stomach, she groaned at the promise of it.
Every molecule in her body was honed to seduce him. To take him and make him
hers...
The
bastard deserves to die. He had just fed, probably off a human. Kill him now!
She
shook her head, trying to dismiss the huntress in her clawing to get out. If
she let it take over, this vampire was as good as dead. If she would reject it,
the enthrallment would tear her soul to pieces. But this was not a 'stake the
vampire, ask questions later' kinda situation. He's the only one who could help
her out of the chains and probably out of this mess she somehow found herself
in. She hated to admit it, but she needed the stupid vamp.
Just
a little more, then you can kill him. Bite him!
"NO!"
Hissing,
Zoë broke away, pushing him away from her. "Get away damn you!"
Tristan shook the haze from his head as he saw her writhe on the bed in pain.
His bedroom suddenly filled with the tortured screams of the woman as she
convulsed and shook on his bed. He started to reach for her, when he saw her
back as she pressed her stomach against the bed, screaming. Then she collapsed.
He
went cold at what he saw.
Tristan
stepped back as he saw the elaborate tattoo on her back. Wings were so
beautifully crafted, one would have sworn the black feathers on her bare skin
were actually real. But he knew exactly what those wings represented.
Oh,
fuck me!
They
were the symbol of the clipped wings of the league of angels who chose to fall
to protect mankind.
Vampires
were never at the top of the food chain, as much as they'd like to think so.
They also had slayers; stronger and more gifted than any Buffy or Van Helsing a
human could conjure up in their fantasy world.
They,
and they alone were the true rulers of the night.
Black
Blood Slayers, demons that had the power to lure a vampire from miles away if
they chose. They could draw anything without a soul and bend some of those
creatures to their will.
The
supreme angels of death to vampires and the lesser demons on earth. They were
beautiful, cunning, and absolutely lethal. Vampires unfortunate enough to
encounter one did not live to talk about the experience.
And
here was one, right in his bed.
Yeah, the night just keeps getting better.
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