Publication Date: October 30th 2010
Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance (Werewolves, Vampires and Zombies)
Publisher: Silver Publishing
Heat-Rating: Three Flames, Boiling
What lies behind the façade isn’t always what it seems
Abigail claimed the land of North Vancouver as her own, sharing it only with a clan of vampires, the Jericho Coven, who accepted the werewolf into their territory without qualm. Within their numbers is one, Cyrus Jericho; a suave, brooding vampire who isn’t quite as he appeared. He declares Abigail for his own the moment they meet, despite the fact that another werewolf pack is in British Columbia looking to claim Abigail into their midst, no matter what they must do to see that goal complete.
Excerpt One (Rating PG):
A figure stumbled from behind the nearest trunk, one so incredibly wide, it was no wonder how it hid this man—what she thought to be a man.
The silhouette froze in motion, foot not even touching the dead grass when he saw her standing there, displayed so vulnerably beside the broken angel.
He snarled, gaze moving to the space on the ground at his side, before cutting back to her. Hisquiescence seeped into Abigail, and she stood at his mercy. Not that there would be any; not from him.
When he moved into the light, she shook in foreign cowardice. Somewhere, deep inside, Abigail knew him. Impossible not to recognize him, even if her mind wouldn’t bring up the facts associated with the creature before her.
He rushed into motion, leaping into the air. Abigail didn’t so much as flinch when he landed in front of her, revealing a masquerade of “human” flesh. For whatever this thing was, it had never been as such. It certainly wasn’t like her.
His long, dull hair lay upon his shoulders saturated with filth and leaves, falling around him in a disarray of stringy, dirty white. His red-rimmed blue eyes focused on Abigail, and her alone; flickering with a predatory nature that grated against her own.
She felt like he’d made a silent declaration while they maintained eye contact, and somehow she knew, he had claimed her in some form. But in which context, she had no idea.
Something within her flared, sparked back into being and reminded her that Abigail would never be weak or compliant. This time wouldn’t be any different, dream or no.
“Abigail,” he called in a shallow voice that grated on her nerves. In the back of her mind, the possessiveness in which he said her name angered her.
Then her eyes strayed to the rounded object in his hand; a gore–stained, severely mangled skull. With little room to doubt that it could be an old bone dug from the ground, she cringed. The only reason she knew this; the chunks of flesh still attached were fresh, the bone beneath luminescent in the moonlight.
Then her gaze moved to the base of the tree, seeing the decapitated corpse there. This entity must have killed and eaten parts of it – stripping it nearly bare before her arrival.
A monster, no less.
The stained clothes were enough evidence of that fact. Its garb wasn’t of this time, but that of olden days long since been seen – parted shirt baring a blood-coated chest, broken up with ties of blue upon ashen flesh holding the material together, tight-fitted pants flaring over grimy, sodden boots.
This thing had made a real mess of its snack, something she would never do. Abigail had seen and done a great many things in her life, but this had never been among them.
Run, damn it, run! She screamed at herself. Make your feet work. Do you wish to end up like its past meal? Turn tail, and get the hell out of here!
The man began to speak in a language she ill understood—or perhaps it did, in fact, speak English, but its growls garbled it past recognition. But eventually the words became clearer to her.
“Abigail, so beautiful,” he said calmly, not looking in her direction, but at whatever lay behind her.
She backed up until she collided with the nearest tombstone, stupidly pleased about the fact that she could finally move of her own accord, thinking herself safe. Surely now she could escape.
“Mine.” He looked pointedly at her, and she sneered in response.
“I belong to no one,” Abigail snapped. As usual, her tongue got the better of her.
His eyes narrowed on her. “I beg to differ, moj ljub. I want you, and I always get what I want.”
His hypnotic eyes enraptured her, for a moment seeing past the gruesome image he represented, and seeing just the man.
Distraction could be a bitch. In this case, that was a definite.
The dirt burst underneath Abigail’s feet, spraying up to her knees. She looked to see a bare-bone hand escape the soil and grab her ankle in a painful grip, joints biting into her flesh as the second arm revealed itself from the swirl of dirt.
“Abby, you will never escape me.”
And she screamed.