One Bite Per Night Audiobook!

Off
Brooklyn Ann

The Lord Vampire of Cornwall has been saddled with a ward he needs to marry off. But she won’t let him get rid of her so easily.

Vincent Tremayne, Lord Vampire of Cornwall, is known to English Society as the Earl of Deveril and reputed to be a mad recluse. Imagine his surprise when the Dowager Countess of Morley forces him to honor an old family alliance and take her unwanted granddaughter as his ward. The audacious demand goads Vincent into vowing that he’ll make a better match for his ward than Lady’s Morley’s preferred grandchild.

But when Lydia Price arrives and turns his castle upside-down with her vivacious nature, charming curiosity, and lofty goals to be a master painter, Vincent realizes that marrying her off is going to be harder than he thought. Especially when part of him wants her for himself.

Lydia is captivated by Lord Deveril’s striking looks and mysteriousness the moment she meets him that first stormy night. And by the first week, she’s fallen in love with his kindness and the electric chemistry she feels in his presence. She vows that the match she’ll make this London Season is with her own guardian, propriety be damned.
Lydia’s big gamble to win Vincent’s heart ends up with consequences that she never could have imagined, and threaten to not only break her heart, but could also cost Vincent his life.

Subgenres: regency romance, paranormal romance, vampire romance, gothic paranormal romance

Tropesfriends to lovers, forbidden romance, angsty, alpha hero, vampire hero, grumpy romance, broody hero, guardian ward romance, grumpy sunshine, age gap romance

Excerpt:

Bite Me, Your Grace audiobook

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Like Bridgerton, but with Vampires

Angelica Winthrop wants nothing more than to ruin her reputation to avoid marriage and be a gothic authoress like her idol, Mary Shelley. Unfortunately, all her schemes keep backfiring and the wedding noose is tightening. To find inspiration for her next story, she breaks into the reputably haunted home of Ian Ashton, Duke of Burnrath. But when she tumbles down the stairs, Angelica finds something far more dangerous than ghosts.

Ian is the Lord vampire of London and is currently at his wit’s end. Thanks to a vampire craze spawned by the publication of John Polidori’s The Vampyre, tongues are wagging and wagers are being made about his nocturnal proclivities. The solution to his problem tumbles into his lap in the form of the vivacious heiress.

The duke destroys Angelica’s plans by publicly proposing marriage to save his reputation. Sparks fly as the authoress attempts every impropriety to dissuade the vampire and he retaliates with his skills of seduction.

After a quirky courtship and a tender wedding night, their rocky marriage of convenience is played out before the scandalized eyes of the ton. If that weren’t enough, a vampire hunter and John Polidori himself are also watching…and plotting.

**This book is part of the Scandals With Bite Series, but can be listened to as a STANDALONE**

Length: 8 hours, 8 minutes

Excerpt:

Bewitching the Vampire

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 9

The Lord Vampire of New Orleans meets his match in the leader of the local witch coven.

Magic is returning to Earth, and Raina Callahan’s witch coven is growing more powerful. She’s been warned to be wary of catching interest from dangerous people, and sure enough, she discovers that someone is following her. Her stalker turns out to be the owner of a vampire-themed club—who really is a vampire. And although he is dead sexy and charming, Raina is not okay with his surveillance or his intent to claim her as his. She will use every means of magic at her disposal to thwart him.

Valentin St. Scarasse, Lord Vampire of New Orleans, has a weakness for voluptuous women with magic in their blood. Just when he has his sights set on what promises to be a delicious meal—and maybe a few passionate nights in bed—the Thirteenth Elder commands him to watch over the witch and her coven and keep them safe. But when Raina catches Valentin spying on her, the witch and the vampire embark on a battle of wills that will only end if they surrender to the heat between them.

As the Evil One’s cultists invade the city, Raina and Valentin must learn to trust each other and together, help their communities make an alliance that both sides swore would never happen.

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Jean Lafitte Wilderness Preserve, Louisiana

 

 

Raina Callahan linked hands with her fellow witches, and they raised their hands to the cloudy night sky. “We banish this storm and will it to dissipate before it reaches landfall.”

Her coven repeated her words in an overlapping chant. The fire continued to ripple at a sharp angle with the wind.

This was the most ambitious spell the New Orleans coven had attempted together. Raina wasn’t sure they were powerful enough to pull it off.

The four witches combined the elements. Raina represented water. She called forth her power to steer the moisture in the air away, back toward the sea. Alma used her affinity with Earth to cool the energy and to hold the spell like a living wall. Jack and Cinna combined their mastery over fire and air to dry out the air and send the current of cooled, dry air towards the approaching hurricane.

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Raina closed her eyes as she felt the power coursing within her form and mingling with her coven sister and brothers.

Their bonfire roared, candles flickered, and their ring of crystals began to glow.

“Oh shit,” Cinna whispered, “Can you feel it?”

Raina and the others gasped before Cinna finished speaking.

The coming storm pressed against their power. Miles away and yet seeming so much nearer.

Were they crazy for doing this? Everyone who could afford to evacuate had left in the last two days, clogging up I10 and Highway 90. The rest were holed up in their homes, emergency shelters, or the Waffle House. And here they were in Jean Lafitte National Park, where solid ground was varied and a wrong step would make you gator food, trying to banish Hurricane Shelley before she reached the city.

Admiration for her friends’ bravery swelled in Raina’s heart.

If Raina and her coven failed, they could be carried away by floodwaters, struck by flying debris, or even killed.

But if they succeeded, they’d save their city from a hurricane that forecasters feared would be almost as bad as Katrina. Raina knew she’d be wracked with guilt forever if she didn’t try to stop it.

Another gust of wind struck their circle like a physical slap. They swayed but kept their footing, ignoring the sting of sparks from the fire flying at their legs. “Keep your focus!” Raina cried through clenched teeth. “Let’s do the Convergence Canticle.”

She began the chant they’d written together to serve as a tool to increase their focus and magnify their power.

North, South, East, West

We come together at magic’s behest

Earth, Water, Air, and Fire

Thus we seek our desire

Our powers combined as one,

Our will be done.

As the voices of Jack, Alma, and Cinna mingled with hers, Raina felt a fresh surge of power build within her, emit outwards, and mix with that of her fellow witches. That power raced across the swampland, over scattered lakes and marshes, and toward the Gulf of Mexico to slam into the storm.

Drying air that was naturally already humid, and doing so over so much water, felt like an exercise in futility. And yet, there was some ingredient in the coven’s magic that was making a difference. Not the strength of their command of the respective four elements so much as their willpower.

Even though Raina felt the familiar dull ache in her temples that surfaced any time she overexerted her magic, she held firm, continuing to chant and focus her power on Hurricane Shelley.

Slowly but surely, they felt the brutal force of the storm abate. The wind still whipped their clothes, but most of it came from the direction of land rather than the sea. The distant howl they’d heard out from the direction of Live Oak had faded completely, and the rain stopped.

In tandem, the chanting slowed and quieted. When the four witches released their grips on each other’s hands, they swayed and almost stumbled.

“We did it,” Raina breathed. “Holy Goddess, we did it.”

***

Valentin St. Scarasse, Lord Vampire of New Orleans, gaped at the witch coven in a mixture of awe and fear. The witch coven had broken up a hurricane. A fucking hurricane!

Doing his duty of keeping an eye on the coven, Valentin had been worried when, instead of evacuating the city like everyone else who was able, the damn witches drove to the Jean Lafitte preserve.

He’d been this close to mesmerizing the four witches and commanding them to accompany him to his private shelter, but two things had stopped him.

The first was his reluctance to bring the coven under the same roof as most of the vampires of New Orleans. Secondly, the witches radiated power and purpose with this seemingly mad venture into the wilderness mere hours before a hurricane was supposed to make landfall.

They had a plan, and Valentin couldn’t suppress his curiosity to see what it was.

And so, that was why he found himself huddled beneath a cypress tree, soaking wet instead of sheltering comfortably. Memories of Hurricane Katrina flashed through his mind. Waking up in putrid, brown water, covered in bites from various swamp creatures, unable to leave his flooded prison until sundown. And then the hellish nights after, finding out which of his people survived and which were dragged out into the sun by the merciless water.

Thankfully, his gamble with nature paid off. Because the New Orleans witch coven had made a gamble of their own.

When he’d first overheard Raina and her coven telling the members of Rage of Angels that their magic was getting stronger, Valentin was intrigued. He’d always had a taste for witch blood. Unfortunately, his dining plans were destroyed when Delgarias, the Thirteenth Elder, ordered Valentin to keep an eye on the witch coven and report on their activities.

What would Delgarias do when he learned that the witches had grown powerful enough to alter the weather?

The only beings Valentin had heard of being that strong were the high sorcerers of Aisthesthai, the world that Xochitl Leonine, lead singer of Rage of Angels, ruled over. Xochitl was prophesied to lead an army of vampires in a war against her father, who was also the creator of vampires.

Valentin had refused to swear allegiance to Xochitl until he was granted entry to Aisthanesthai. He wanted to see, smell, feel, and taste that magical world.

But now it seemed that magic was coming to him. Maybe he should wait before telling Delgarias the coven had become so powerful. At least for a little bit longer. Unfortunately, Delgarias wasn’t the only vampire Valentin had to worry about. Others would want to harness this magic for themselves. Valentin would have to increase his surveillance and probably Mark the witches as his property to keep them safe. Or at least Mark the leader.

Once more, his eyes drank in the magnificent sight of Raina Callahan. Her rich brown hair tumbled down in decadent dark waves to frame lush, generous curves that never ceased to make him salivate. When his gaze roved over her plump backside, delightfully rounded belly, and marvelous breasts, Valentin wondered which he hungered for the most: her body, or her witch blood.

By the time the coven packed up their spell instruments and started the long walk back to the preserve’s parking lot, Valentin’s hair had dried from the coven manipulating the air, but alas, his clothes were still soaked. To think, he’d followed her out here in case she and her crazy coven needed to be rescued from the storm. Instead, they’d rescued the entire city of New Orleans and surrounding areas.

Pride, admiration, and ambition warred with a fresh sense of trepidation. Power like theirs would not stay hidden for long. Although his first concern was other vampires, the AIU, and, from what he’d heard regarding Queen Xochitl’s coming war, Mephistopheles himself could try to take control of these witches and harness their power for his evil aims. And Valentin didn’t know if he would be able to protect them from a government agency, let alone a would-be god.

***

“Whoa,” Raina gasped as she wobbled on rubbery legs. “That was intense.”

“Uh-huh,” Alma muttered and did trip as she headed to the tarp that covered their bags. She cursed as she wiped the mud from her jeans. “If I don’t get somewhere dry, I’m going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Cinna nodded. “Do you think anywhere will be open so we can get some hot food?”

Jack laughed. “You know Waffle House never closes.”

Raina shook her head. “No way can I deal with a crowd after that. I can make us waffles at my place.”

After putting out the nearly dead fire, the coven gathered up their stuff. They picked their way carefully through the Louisiana wilderness, trying to hold their flashlights steady. With their physical exhaustion, it was tougher coming out than going in.

But their triumph and elation kept the witches on their feet.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Cinna said as they stepped over a cypress root.

“Right?” Raina shook her head in wonder. “I never guessed we’d come this far.”

Less than a year ago, the best they could do was summon a ghost. And that was with all four of them working together.

But all that changed nine months ago. Rage of Angels had been part of the Metalfeed Tour, which was sadly isolated to west coast states. Raina had been scrolling through the music section of the Grimoire message board, a site for witches, and saw an odd post from Shonda Wu of the Sacramento coven.

Confirmed. Rage of Angels IS magic.

Every witch and even some non-practitioners made the same claim about the eccentric metal band. Though Raina couldn’t deny that Rage of Angels’ music invigorated her in a way that no other did, she’d always scoffed at the idea that their magic came from anywhere but the listener’s own imagination.

And yet, the entire Sacramento coven claimed they had a huge increase in power after seeing Rage of Angels live. There was even a video attached of a rain spell working in the California desert. Sure, that could have been faked, but other videos followed. Levitation, fire, and even summoning the dead.

All throughout the west coast states, more witches reported an increase in their powers after seeing the band live. When Rage of Angels announced a full US tour, Raina and her coven made sure to get tickets for the Jackson show and VIP tickets for their New Orleans concert.

Jacking her credit card debt for heavy metal concerts had put a nervous knot in Raina’s stomach until the band mounted the stage at the Mississippi Coliseum.

Raina had felt magic within her since she was ten years old. The sensation was a subtle, ASMR-like tingle accompanied by a thrum in her heart when she put that energy into willing something to happen.

What radiated from Rage of Angels was most definitely magic, and in a strength that Raina had never dreamed possible. The magic flowed between the band members and then through the audience. Raina gasped as the power entered her body in reverberating waves. Her coven jolted beside her, each witch crying out simultaneously, “Did you feel that?”

They also realized that the lead singer, Xochitl Leonine’s signature purple fireballs were real.

The rest of the set was an experience in magical ecstasy that bordered on sensory overload.

Although Raina and Cinna enjoyed Bleeding Vengeance almost as much as Rage of Angels, the coven left the venue early, unable to take any more sitting still with power coursing through their veins. They drove back to New Orleans in a rush and headed out to Jack’s place near Audubon, where they could practice their magic in secret. Like the Sacramento coven, they tried a rain spell first. The blue sky above was closed in by clouds, and a light drizzle fell upon their outstretched hands.

Raina and her friends had danced in the rain like dorks before ordering a celebratory pizza and discussing what magic they’d try next. It wasn’t long before each witch developed command over one of the four elements. Jack could create wind out of nowhere, Cinna could summon heat and set things on fire, Alma could make the ground shake, and Raina could form a little raincloud over her palm.

That was when they decided they needed to talk to Rage of Angels and find out if the band was increasing people’s magic on purpose.

When they met the group during the meet and greet before the New Orleans show, Raina was shocked to discover that not only did the band members not consider themselves to be witches, but they were also surprised at the effects their music had on witches. They then invited the coven to meet them on their tour bus after the show, where they were sternly cautioned to be discreet about their magic because certain groups and possibly the government were actively looking for witches for nefarious purposes. Raina gave them the link to the message board the witches used, with a promise to keep in touch.

The whole encounter left her with more questions than answers. The band had denied being witches themselves, yet Raina could feel magic radiating from each musician and their entire crew. Xochitl’s husband was even using a glamour spell to hide his real appearance. Even the band therapist, who’d shyly admitted that odd things had been happening with them as well, didn’t identify as a witch.

The band kept to their word and not only joined the message board, but also emailed Raina personally to see how the coven was doing. Tentative plans were being made to meet up in person when the drummer, Aurora Lee, planned to come to New Orleans to scope out wedding venues. She was engaged to a lawyer who’d defended the band when their record label sued them for disappearing a year ago.

Rage of Angels had also been right about another thing. Someone was interested in the New Orleans coven. Only days after that fateful tour bus meeting, Raina started getting frequent feelings that they were being followed. Even more unnerving was that sometimes she even felt like she was being watched at home. She and Alma secured the perimeter of their little house with protective spells.

A scrying spell served to partially identify the one who watched her. The water in her bowl revealed the figure of a man, though his features remained frustratingly obscured. Other divining spells failed to reveal the man’s intentions toward them, aside from an alarming indication that his interests lie mostly with Raina alone. He wasn’t an ex or anyone she’d ever met. And he was always alone. For months, every time Raina stepped out of her house, she felt him watching her. A couple times, she even caught fleeting glimpses of a man with long hair and emerald green eyes that seemed to glow.

Raina considered reaching out to Rage of Angels to tell them about her stalker, yet some inner voice urged her to keep this to herself. At least until she learned more. Maybe the band didn’t trust her reports on the coven and had hired someone to spy on them. Raina would find out if that was the case. And in the meantime, her coven worked their magic as privately as possible.

As if summoned by the thought, the back of Raina’s neck prickled with an all-too-familiar sense that he was watching her again. If her stalker had followed her and the coven out to Jean Lafitte in the path of a hurricane, he deserved to be swept away by the storm. Her gaze darted between the trees, but she didn’t see him.

No. She was just imagining things this time. Her senses were raw from tonight’s exertion. Like going days without sleep, she was seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. The sight of the parking lot that was empty except for Raina’s van reassured her. Yet part of her remained on edge.

When they crammed into Raina’s Nissan Leaf, Cinna turned on the radio. It was still tuned to the local news station.

A woman’s cheerful voice emitted from the speakers. “Hurricane Shelley has appeared to run out of steam shortly after making landfall in southern Louisiana. The storm has now been downgraded to a Category One tropical storm and is projected to deplete lower before she reaches New Orleans.”

Alma cheered in the backseat, and the others joined in.

On the whole drive back, Raina constantly checked her rearview mirror for signs of being followed. The roads were mostly deserted, aside from a truck and later an SUV that turned off to other roads shortly afterward.

It’s all in my head, Raina chided herself. After something goes right, I always convince myself that something is still wrong.

When they got to Raina’s house in the Irish Channel, she felt that familiar prickle on the back of her neck. Stronger this time. He was here somehow.

She got out of the car and put a hand over her eyes, trying to see through the drizzling rain. As always, she didn’t see anyone. But she could feel him.

Alma put her hand on Raina’s shoulder. “Is your stalker back?”

“He might be. It’s hard to tell.” Raina’s throat was scratchy as she answered. “I’m so drained right now.”

Jack shook his head before grabbing his and Cinna’s bags. “I highly doubt anyone is out in this weather. And soon, it’s going to be chaos when those who evacuated come flocking back to the city. Speaking of, I think I’m gonna pass on waffles tonight.”

Cinna shot him a stern look. “Still, we should do that threat-banishing spell we’d been discussing. I know we don’t have the strength tonight, but maybe in a day or two.”

Raina and Alma waved goodbye to Jack and Cinna as they crossed the lawn to Jack’s car.

Alma snorted. “Cinna and Jack were the ones who wanted waffles in the first place.”

“Yeah, but I get it,” Raina said, grabbing her bag. “They probably want to get home before they’re too exhausted to drive. We should have gone back to their place instead of ours.”

“No way. I want to be in my own bed. But since it’s now the two of us, I got leftover crawfish etouffee in the fridge.”

“Mmmm,” Raina murmured appreciatively.

As she followed Alma into the small house they rented, she forced herself not to look over her shoulder. Yes, her coven would do the spell to banish the stalker as soon as possible, but in the meantime, she had more immediate plans and just enough power left to protect herself.

COLLAPSE

Reclaiming The Magic

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 7

After she evaded him for two thousand years, he finally caught her.

Vampires on Earth know him as the Thirteenth Elder, first vampire in creation. The mages of Aisthanesthai know him as an immortal high sorcerer and the Keeper of the Prophecy. But once upon a time, he was known simply as “Del” to the only woman he ever loved. Two thousand years ago, faelin mage, Delgarias Dullahan, gambled his soul for the power to marry luminite princess, Nikkita Leonine…and lost. Now he is finally on her trail.

After Del broke Nik’s heart, she’s been hiding from him for centuries. Yet she can’t help tweaking his nose as he pursues her. But when her own family betrays her by betrothing her to her sister’s ex-lover, Nik has no choice but to end the cat and mouse games and go to Del for help. To her dismay, the molten chemistry they shared returns with even more heat.

 

As Nikkita and Delgarias begin making up for lost time, their second chance at love is already at risk on three fronts. Nik has a secret that may cause Del to hate her forever. Then her unwanted fiancé shows up to claim her. And if they somehow surmount both of those obstacles, the Evil One has ramped up his offensive and seeks to capture a luminite—preferably Nik or her sister.

 

Can these two immortals defy all odds and reclaim a love for the ages?

 

Reclaiming the Magic is the tantalizing seventh book in the underground hit, Brides of Prophecy paranormal fantasy romance series. If you like quirky heroines, book boyfriends with fangs, and a new twist on fated mates, then you’ll adore Brooklyn Ann’s epic tale of a reunion two millennia in the making.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

Delgarias Dullahan, faelin high sorcerer, and the first vampire in creation, entered the heart of the motherhouse in Amsterdam, where the Elders convened. As the Thirteenth Elder, he had final say over the rulings of the Council of the Twelve.

Ten of the dozen vampires tasked with governing all the vampires on Earth were seated at the circular table in the meeting chamber. Ian, the Lord Vampire of London, sat perfectly composed, his hands folded on the table, only the furrowing of his brow and an agitated glimmer in his silver eyes revealing his concern with the situation at hand.

Marcus, the Lord of Rome, didn’t bother hiding his agitation, he tapped his pen across the polished marble table in an irritating staccato, garnering glares from the Lords of Tokyo and New York.

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After taking his seat at ornately carved chair at the head of the table, Delgarias surveyed the other six Elders. Lord Vampires from Lima, Munich, Perth, and Ulsan regarded him with expectant expressions. The Lords of Bejing and Calgary had already sent their apologies, unable to make it as such notice.

Mixed impatience and worry roiled through Delgarias’s being as he waited to learn why they’d requested his presence this night. The Elders feared him, so they rarely called upon him to participate in their affairs. Del prayed the matter didn’t involve their creator, Mephistopheles, who had once more surfaced and attacked Wurrakia only three months ago. And on Earth, the would-be god was now reaching out to his once-banished creations, luring them to join his infernal army.

Yes, news of Mephistopheles would be very bad. They weren’t ready for him. Pieces of the Prophecy had yet to fall in place.

Delgarias cleared his throat and addressed the Elders. “What need have you of me, my brothers and sisters?”

Jodie, the Lord of Perth scrunched up her nose. “More prisoners were delivered to us from the vigilante rogue.”

Delgarias allowed a sigh of vexation to escape. “Please tell me they didn’t take more cult members.”

The Order of Eternal Night worshipped Mephistopheles and were experiencing a resurgence of the likes none had ever seen, with the Evil One’s recruiting. Delgarias had tasked some of his most trusted vampires to infiltrate the cult and gain knowledge of their enemy’s movements.

If this rogue persisted in arresting cultists, all of Delgarias’s plans could be upended.

“I’m afraid so,” Jodie said.

Ian cut in, “At least they were dangerous criminals, and better off being eliminated from our world.”

Marcus waved a dismissive hand. “They’re always criminals, Ian. But that does not give this rogue the right to take the law into her own hands. The Lord Vampire of El Paso should be the one to handle these things.”

“But he didn’t,” Neko, the Lord of Tokyo said softly.

Carlos, the Lord of Lima curled his knuckles beneath his chin and leaned forward. “Interesting that though the rogue now seems to be targeting the Order of Eternal Night, she still holds to her pattern of apprehending cultists who have violated our most sacred laws. These ones were kidnapping children and selling them to human sex traffickers.”

Delgarias shuddered with revulsion before a realization struck him. “Wait, did you say these cultists were taken from El Paso?”

“Yes.”

“How in the hell did the rogue manage to haul three vampires all the way here?”

Ian ran a hand through his long black hair. “I have no idea, but one has to admit that it is an impressive feat.”

“The portals.” Delgarias blurted, feeling foolish that the answer hadn’t come to him immediately. It was the only way the feat could be accomplished. “We need to interview every Lord Vampire about the portals, find out who is not being discreet.”

Earth held many stationary portals that would take one to the world of Aisthanesthai. The world where Delgarias had been born. The world that he’d also been working hard to keep safe. Vampires were slowly being integrated into some of Aisthanesthai’s countries, allies who’d fight Mephistopheles and his dark horde at the sides of sorcerers, Kanuri priestesses, Wurrak knights, and Tolonquan warriors.

The adjustment was precarious, to say the least. And this Annarkie was endangering that fragile integration by bringing evil vampires through Aisthanesthai, using the magical world as a shortcut. If one of them escaped? Alliances that so many had worked so carefully to forge would be undone by a reckless vigilante.

He had to find the rogue vampire who called herself Annarkie before a sorcerer or knight learned there were uninvited intruders.

Damn her.

She’d been plaguing him on and off for centuries. In the early days, he admired her boldness and even appreciated her capturing dangerous vampires, but after countless failed searches to identify her and recruit her in a formal position, her meddling had grown irksome. Back then, Delgarias and his fellow Elders didn’t know anything about the vigilante, not a name, not a sex, only that they must be a vampire to have such knowledge about their kind and their numerous laws.

Eventually, the deliveries of maimed, wicked vampires would stop, and they would assume that the rogue had gotten his or herself killed by their dangerous pursuits. But a few decades later, a bound vampire would be dropped on the Elders’ doorstep, often missing a limb or two. How the rogue kept the prisoners alive long enough to be delivered to their inevitable execution, Delgarias had no idea.

Also fascinating was the question as to why the prisoners were always delivered alive. The vampires had always been guilty of crimes meriting a death sentence, and yet, the rogue never executed them herself. To do so would have kept her under the radar for longer.

He’d long concluded that she wanted the Elders to be aware of her. Perhaps wanted Delgarias in particular to know of her.

Indeed, this desire for attention was how Delgarias had learned that she was a she, and later on, her name. She always sent notes with her catches, albeit tied up with a messenger. Two hundred years ago, she’d slipped and touched one of the missives, allowing him to cast a divination spell to get a name and the shadowy scent and figure of a woman. It was only a matter of time before—

Ian broke through his ponderings. “Do you wish to see these prisoners, Your Eminence?”

“Yes,” Delgarias rose from the table. “And if they are guilty of the crimes they’ve been charged with, I will execute them myself.”

“They are always guilty,” Hans, the Lord of Munich echoed Marcus’s words.

They went down to the dungeons and approached the cell where the three wicked vampires were held. As usual, all three were missing their tongues, the stubs expertly cauterized. One was missing both feet, bandages soaking crimson. One missed an arm, another his eyes. All three had been castrated, as was Annarkie’s usual tradition for any crimes of a sexual nature.

Jodie made a disgusted sound under her breath. “Every time a batch of these arrives, I think I’m prepared for the sight, but no. It never does get easier, even knowing what they’ve done.”

“How does she keep them alive?” Neko wondered aloud.

“A mystery to be solved another time.” Delgarias tried to conceal his impatience to probe the prisoners. “I’m just thankful they do indeed live so I may try to ferret her out.”

Marcus snorted. “Good luck. She is very thorough at wiping their memories of her voice and visage.”

“She’s made mistakes before,” Delgarias said before lunging toward the eyeless prisoner and sinking his fangs into the other vampire’s throat.

Maybe the fates wished to prove Marcus wrong, or perhaps it was the truth-seeking spell Delgarias had recently cast, but at last he got something from the prisoner’s memories.

Though all he saw was darkness, he heard voices.

“Mistress,” a male voice quavered faintly, as if blocked by a wall or door, “the cell in La Grande is larger than any we’ve come across. I think it will be too dangerous.”

A reply came, but it was distorted, as if coming through electric interference.

The male voice replied, muddied, but discernable. “Still, Pendleton is a mere hour away…. ten of them? You cannot be serious.”

All went black as the blood ceased flowing into Delgarias’s mouth. Triumph surging in his chest, he seized the next prisoner and drained them even quicker, then he moved to the next. No information was to be gleaned from those two, aside from flashes of terrified children and whimpers of pain, but he had what he needed.

“I, Delgarias, Thirteenth Elder, sentence you three worms to death,” he growled, disgusted with what they’d done to over thirty innocents.

Even though the vampires were unconscious from losing what little blood they had left, Delgarias didn’t have the patience to drag them to the execution chamber. Instead, he gathered his power and reached towards the prisoners with both hands.

Arcs of lightning shot out from his fingertips, striking the child traffickers. They jolted like puppets on a string, then flopped on the stone floor like fish hauled from the water. Smoke curled out from their mouths, nostrils, and melting eye-sockets. The reek of burning hair permeated the area before Delgarias stopped frying them.

When he turned around, he saw that the other Elders had stepped backward about twelve feet, staring at him in naked horror.

He watched their eyes scan his almost luminescent hair, with its bi-layered strands, his overly long fingers with their extra knuckles, his pointed ears, and lightning-shot eyes, wondering always what he was before he’d become the first blood drinker. Sure, they’d recently learned that he was faelin, but only Ian had visited Aisthanesthai and had just the slightest comprehension as to what the faelin were.

Tonight, the Elders’ fear didn’t bother him. Not when he was flush with victory. Soon, he would close in on the rogue who’d evaded him for the past three hundred years. It took all of his centuries of self-discipline and sense of duty not to immediately begin pursuit.

Because first, he needed to look in on his other people. And perhaps gain news of someone who’d evaded him for far much longer.

He weighed the pros and cons of telling the Elders that he knew where Annarkie was going to be and decided to hold his silence for now. Between desire to maintain his credibility and the matter of her knowledge of the portals, it was best to wait until he had the rogue in his custody before acting. Besides, there were so many questions he had for her that were best asked in private.

Delgarias cleared his throat. “I must leave for Aisthanesthai now and see if Mephistopheles has made any new moves there.”

Marcus sneered. “I wonder at your devotion to a world that views our kind so poorly. And at the wisdom of looking to you when you play for both sides.”

“There is only one side, Marcus. We all stand against the evil one. I was his first creation, the first of many that he’d enslaved. I will not have you or any of my people enslaved again.”

Before Delgarias teleported outside, he saw that rather than his words reassuring Marcus, the hostility on the ancient Roman’s face seemed to increase.

That one would have to be watched.

When he was certain that no witnesses or drones were near, Delgarias took to the air. The closest portal was outside of Haarlem, thankfully in a shielded copse of trees at the edge of a meadow. He hadn’t told the Elders about this portal. Not until he was certain all could be trusted.

Once through the portal, Delgarias approached the castle in Niji, where the King and Queen of Aisthanesthai had moved their seat for as long as the war lasted.

After he was admitted entry into the receiving room, the queen ran to him and exclaimed with delight before throwing her arms around his waist. “Uncle Del!”

Uncle Del. His throat tightened at the name as he returned the embrace. Xochitl had called him that ever since she could form words, never knowing how the double blow those two words impacted his heart.

Before Kerainne Leonine’s daughter came into the world, only one person had called him Del. And he would have given anything for the chance to wed her, which would have made him Xochitl’s uncle in truth.

Nikkita, his mind whispered. He touched the pendant that remained against his chest, concealed beneath his robes.

The rest of the universe knew him by other names. To the mages of Aisthanesthai, he was the Keeper of the Prophecy and addressed as “revered one.” To his faelin kin in Shellandria, he was “the outcast” or “the abomination.” To the vampires of Earth, he was The Thirteenth Elder. In both worlds he was feared and obeyed.

For over two millennia, Delgarias had trekked back and forth between Earth and Aisthanesthai, never fully belonging to either, never living for himself, but for his seemingly endless quest at redemption. His pride had cost him his love and brought undeserved power to his enemy and thus cost his world.

He may have been Mephistopheles’s first vampire, but Delgarias had quickly learned the error of his ways and had since made it his life’s mission to destroy the would-be god.

And to stop anyone who would interfere.

The King cleared his throat, making Xochitl step back. “We are honored with your visit, Revered One.” Delgarias blinked in surprise that Zareth had reverted back to the old title. After discovering that Delgarias was a vampire, the King had begun addressing him by his name only. “What news do you bring us?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. Cells of the Order of Eternal Night are sprouting up like mushrooms after a rain, but the ones we’ve infiltrated thus far haven’t seen any sign of Mephistopheles. Instead, I’ve come to inform you that I will be occupied on Earth with a rogue who is taking the law into her own hands. She’s been plaguing me on and off for centuries, but I’m closing in on her trail at last.”

“She must be very clever to elude you for so long.”

Delgarias shrugged. “Not really. Her mischief has honestly aided the Elders more than hindered, and her meddling has been sporadic enough to make her a low priority. Until now.”

“Oh?” Zareth prodded lightly.

“The rogue is planning another attack on a very large cell of the Order of Eternal Night. A cell who we believe is in direct contact with Mephistopheles. I need that cult alive and infiltrated, but if this Annarkie and her band of rogues has their way, a bevy of mutilated cultists would be dropped on the doorstop of the Motherhouse instead.”

“Badass!” Xochitl grinned up at him. “An assassin named Annarkie?”

“A misguided vigilante.” Delgarias corrected, not admitting that up until recently, he’d assumed said vigilante to be male and the spelling of his alias to be “Anarchy.” To discover that it had been a female tweaking his nose this whole time had been humbling. “And though the vampires she’s killed were all guilty of their crimes, she is still violating our laws by denying those she kills their rights to a fair trial.”

Zareth nodded. “And if you do not stop her, you could risk the stability of law and order amongst your people.”

“It’s a shame.” Delgarias didn’t mention the risk Annarkie also presented to the vampire integration efforts in Aisthanesthai. “Had she presented herself the first time she’d killed a wrongdoer, she could have become one of our most valued assets, earning a high position as a spy or enforcer for the Elders. Hell, maybe even the third time. But it is too late for her. She’s flouted the law long enough.” To his surprise, regret tugged his chest at the thought of the rogue’s impending capture and execution. “Enough about my vigilante, what news have you of Aisthanesthai?”

“Things are too quiet. I don’t like it.”

“Mephistopheles’s attacks have always been sporadic and far apart,” Delgarias reminded him.

“Yes, but now he knows about Xochitl.” Worry shone in Zareth’s eyes. “I’d think that he’ll want to move faster now that the one foretold to defeat him is here.”

“The Prophecy doesn’t say if she defeats him.” Delgarias reminded the king. “Only that she will battle him.”

Zareth’s clenched fists took on a fine tremble.

Xochitl took her husband’s hand and gazed up at him. “But I will destroy him. I vow it. That fucker raped my mom and destroyed millions of lives.”

Delgarias winced at the blunt reminder of the desecration of a woman who he’d regarded as a sister. But since he could not change the past, he returned the topic to the present. “Zareth is right in that Mephistopheles will likely move faster now that he has seen his daughter.”

“But we’re not ready.” Xochitl echoed Delgarias’s earlier worries. “We haven’t even found all seven nightwalkers with their brides. As far as I’ve counted, there’s Silas and Akasha, Jayden and Razvan, Radu and Lillian, and Aurora and Tony. That’s only four. Three more need to join us. Have you determined any special names for the next Bride?”

Delgarias shook his head. “They come to me when I see them, or soon after.”

Akasha was the general, Jayden, the seeress, Lillian the engineer, Aurora the directrix, who would lead the war march to the beat of her war drum, both literally and metaphorically. What special talent would the next Bride contribute?

“Well, maybe it’s good that you’re going back to Earth and dealing with vampire business,” Xochitl gave him an encouraging smile. Never had she looked upon him with fear, and not only because she was half luminite. “Then you can find the next Bride.”

Although that was the most important person he had to locate, Delgarias was more concerned with finding the rogue and finding Nikkita.

Speaking of…

“If you’ll excuse me, my queen, I’d like to talk to your mother before I take my leave.”

Xochitl’s amber eyes glittered with smug knowledge. “She’s out back.”

He found Kerainne in the rear garden, her waist-length blonde hair covering her in a cloak that gleamed gold in the light of the two moons. Instead of tending to the flowers or reading a book, the luminite princess—no, queen, as she’d recently claimed the title—stared out past the gates at a large vacant lot behind the castle.

The site where Zareth’s half-brother, Stefan, had built a tower wrought of human sacrifice and dark blood magic during his attempt to take the throne and Xochitl. If Stefan had won the throne, Mephistopheles would have triumphed by now. In fact, Stefan would have probably delivered the entire world of Aisthanesthai to the evil one on a silver platter.

“Have you found any clues as to where my sister is?” Kerainne asked without turning around.

“No.” He’d been about to ask her the same question. “But that seeking spell you helped me with led me to the vigilante rogue vampire I’ve been pursuing for centuries.”

“I am happy I was able to help with something.” Kerainne said. “And I do hope that your capture of the vigilante is quick and your dealings with her are and humane.”

“They’ll be as humane as she’ll allow them to be.” Delgarias told her plainly. “But she has knowledge of the portals and has been using them to deliver the vampires she arrests. And who knows for what else. This is dangerous and—”

Kerainne turned around, making him fall silent as the sight of her beauty and resemblance to her sister made his heart constrict with agony. “You don’t have to justify your decisions to me, Del. Although it is in my nature to guide others to the path of mercy, I’m selfishly concerned with the expediency of this mission. I want my sister found. You’re not the only one hurting from her absence.”

Only last year had he learned that Nikkita had been missing from Medicia for over a thousand years. And a few months ago, Kerainne had told him part of the reason why. She was hiding from an arranged betrothal.

A small, petty part of him rejoiced at the fact that Nik didn’t want to marry another man, but the possessive glee was subdued since she clearly didn’t want to marry him either.

But… a voice whispered.

No, he silenced that usual reminder before it could resurface. That didn’t count.

As it was, Delgarias was still reeling from the revelation that Nikkita had been closer to his reach than he’d believed all this time.

And still she hadn’t sought him out.

Maybe it would be better to give her up again, as he had before. His chest tightened at the thought.

No. He needed answers. At first, he’d thought she avoided him because she was repulsed at what he’d become. But Kerainne had forgiven him and understood what had driven him down his dark path.

Surely Nik could forgive him too? And even if she couldn’t, surely, he could convince her to at least allow him to explain himself.

But now that Kerainne had confessed to giving Nik a blood vow to keep some secret, Delgarias knew the betrothal wasn’t Nik’s only reason for spending centuries in hiding. The secret had to be catastrophic as well, for Nik wouldn’t be the type to subject her own sister to risk of becoming cursed if the truth were forced from her lips.

Curiosity burned almost as deeply as his worry. Whatever it was that kept Nik in hiding, even from her own family, for over a millennium, Delgarias would do what he could to help her.

He just needed to persuade her to let him.

If only he didn’t have to waste valuable time chasing down Annarkie. Then he could focus more of his taxed time to finding the woman who still held his heart in her palm.

COLLAPSE

The Highwayman’s Bite

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Scandals With Bite Book 6

ISBN: 978-1981299164

One stolen kiss

When Vivian Stratford ruins her reputation by challenging a suitor to a duel, she is packed off to her great uncle’s estate until the scandal blows over. On the way, her carriage is stopped by a rakish highwayman. Vivian unsheathes her rapier and duels with the thief. He steals a kiss before disappearing into the night.

Rogue vampire, Rhys Berwyn, robs carriages to help his mortal descendants pay the mortgage on their farm. Sadly, he cannot steal enough to pay off the massive debt owed to the Lord Vampire of Blackpool, and time is running out before his family will be evicted.

Will change her life forever…

When Rhys discovers that the beautiful swordswoman he encountered is none other than Blackpool’s niece, he abducts her and holds her for ransom for the money to save the family farm.

While he keeps Vivian tucked away in a seaside cave, Rhys has trouble keeping his promise to leave his delectable hostage untouched.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Lancashire, England, 1825

 

Vivian Stratford looked out the carriage window and yawned, even though sleep was impossible on this long journey. The full silver moon in the sky was so bright that the carriage lanterns were almost unnecessary. The rutted road to Blackpool was fully illuminated, a bright path to her impending isolation.

To her reclusive uncle, who would keep her locked away until the scandal died down.

Madame Renard, Vivian’s companion, made an indelicate snorting sound as she woke from her doze. “Have we arrived yet?”

Vivian shook her head. “No, but the moon is bright. Perhaps we can stop and have another lesson?”

Madame Renarde sighed and stroked her square jaw. “My joints are aching too badly for such rigorous exercise. Besides, it is not safe for women out in the dark.”

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“We are in the middle of nowhere,” Vivian retorted a little sharper than intended. Immediately, she was contrite. “I am so sorry, Madame. It is just that I’m weary of being trapped in this carriage. I want to stretch my legs and practice…”

Madame Renarde straightened her cap with a frown. “Your father told me to never allow you to touch a rapier again.”

Vivian had expected as much, but hearing the confirmation still felt like a thrust to the heart. “Did he find out about you teaching me?” Or worse, Madame’s bigger secret?

“No,” Madame said quickly. “And I will not stop teaching you. I know that fencing is your passion. But we must be careful and I think it would be a good idea to keep our steel sheathed for a time. At least until we learn your uncle’s habits so we can discern a safe time and place to fence.”

Yes, that sounded like the wisest course of action. Especially since it was her blade that landed her into this scandalbroth, which resulted in Father packing her off to her great-uncle’s estate. But Vivian was veritably rabid with the need to have her sword in her hand. Those blissful moments of thrusts and parries, dancing light on her feet with the ring of steel in her ears were the only time she felt she had any control in her life.

The rest of the time, it was always what someone else wanted of her. From her governess to her tutors, her dancing instructor, her father, and her suitors, she was always expected to comply, to play a part like a scripted actress that would end with her… what?

The unanswered question made her age-old panic slither over her like funeral crape. Yes, Vivian was aware that she was supposed to marry a suitable man with a good title and preferably a substantial income and bear him heirs. But what else would there be? In all of the stories of fair ladies and princesses, they ended when the heroine married her dashing hero. Why couldn’t Vivian be more like a hero? Have adventures and defeat monsters like Beowulf and Odysseus. Her governess had told her such thoughts were unnatural. Her father only squinted and frowned. Most other ladies her age either shunned or mocked her for wanting more than landing a good match. So she’d learned to be silent about her unconventional thoughts and wordless sense of want for something more.

Only Madame Renarde understood Vivian’s inner turmoil. “I know precisely what it is like to feel that the life Society expects of you is somehow wrong in a way that you cannot quite identify. Yet the notion haunts you like a shade.”

The paid companion had only been at Father’s estate for two months before she’d come upon Vivian late at night out in the garden, where she’d broken down in helpless tears without even knowing why. The aging French matron had pulled Vivian into her arms and coaxed the story out of her as Vivian rested her head on the companion’s surprisingly broad shoulder.

“That is it, exactly,” Vivian had said, wiping her eyes. “I only wish I knew what it was that I want.”

“It will come to you.” Madame Renarde stroked her hair. “Until you do, I advise that you find a hobby that gives you pleasure. Such can clear your mind and allow your deeper needs to come forth.”

“I do have hobbies,” she’d lifted her head from her companion’s shoulder, slightly embarrassed that she’d been caught in such an emotional state. “I read, dance, and study various languages.”

“Yes, and your dance steps are quite deft.” The companion’s gaze had turned speculative. “Wait here.”

Vivian sat on the marble bench, listening to the wind whispering through the leaves of the trees and rosebushes, her curiosity stretching minutes into hours. When Madame Renarde returned, Vivian blinked in astonishment to see thin sword blades gleaming in the moonlight.

“You’ve brought rapiers?” she asked, wondering if she was dreaming.

“Would you like to learn how to fence?” Madame Renarde tossed one of the blades toward her. The rapier flew through the air in an arc and stabbed the grass beside Vivian like a javelin. She stared the quivering metal, fascinated by its delicate, deadly beauty. Slowly, she reached down and gripped the pommel, a primal desire flowed through her being. The sword seemed to represent power. She wanted it.

“Yes,” she’d whispered.

Madame Renarde executed a salute that was both elegant and theatric. “First you will learn the stances.”

They’d trained almost every day. And sometimes, Madame Renarde would disguise Vivian and take her to witness fencing matches. Vivian longed to compete, but as a female, she’d never be permitted.

Madame Renarde was a master fencer, astonishingly quick and nimble for an old woman. Vivian asked her how and where she learned, but it was months before the woman trusted her enough with that story. And months more before she learned of her companion’s ultimate secret.

A secret that her father must never uncover, or Vivian would lose her closest friend forever.

The carriage jerked to a halt, throwing Vivian against the sqaubs, and making poor Madame Renarde fall to the floor. The horses shrieked and made the conveyance lurch again before a man’s voice boomed, “Stand and deliver!”

“A highwayman,” Vivian whispered, her pulse in her throat. She’d heard tales from her father of the days when the thieves ran rampant through England’s country roads. But these days, they had grown rare.

Madame Renarde recovered herself first. She reached under the seat and withdrew her rapier quick as the fox that was her namesake. Then she leapt up from her seat, positioning herself in front of Vivian.

When the carriage door was flung open, Renarde thrust her blade forward. Vivian heard a hiss of pain before a man came into view. The large slouch hat that he wore cast most of his face in shadow, but she could see an exquisite sculpted chin, mischievously arched lips—and the barrel of the pistol he pointed at them.

Madame Renarde sent the pistol flying out of the highwayman’s grasp. Vivian expected him to flee right then and there, but instead, he brought his own blade to meet Madame Renarde’s with a speed that made Vivian gasp.

The ring of steel was piercing in the closed space of the carriage.

The highwayman laughed. “I had not expected such a diverting encounter. You are quite good for an old man. I don’t know why you hamper yourself with skirts.”

Both Madame Renarde and Vivian sucked in sharp breaths. How did he know? Madame Renarde had fooled everyone they’d encountered, including Vivian herself for several months. The shocking observation took the companion off guard, and her sword went clattering to the carriage floor.

“Don’t you hurt her!” Vivian shouted and dove forward to meet the highwayman’s blade with her own.

He moved back, visibly startled by her attack. Vivian continued to lunge, attacking him with a fury of a magnitude that she’d never experienced. The highwayman deflected her blade with lazy parries, yet he did continue to retreat.

Triumph swelled in Vivian’s breast… until her feet touched the packed dirt road outside the carriage. He’d lured her out here so he had more room to regain his offense. Sure enough, the highwayman danced at her and brought his arm across in a Coup d'arrêt attack. But it was a feint, she should have seen that. She barely got her blade back up in time.

“I see that you are a student of that molly,” the highwayman said with a grin. His white teeth flashed in the moonlight. Something seemed off about them, but she didn’t have time to ponder it.

He moved into reposte, a counter attack that rivalled hers in speed and precision.

She matched his attack with the requisite parries, naming them in her head. Tierce… quinte… septime.

As they danced and their rapiers clashed, Vivian realized two things. The first was that she could tell that he was holding himself back. He’d disarmed Madame Renarde with little effort and yet Vivian was still holding strong. Yes, she was faster on her feet than the older woman, but Madame Renarde was quicker and more well-versed with her blade. Madame Renard was a master who’d trained under someone even more impressive, yet this highwayman before her was equal, if not superior. He moved beautifully, and Vivian could see that he was capable of more. She should be insulted that he was letting her continue the match. If not for her second realization.

She was enjoying herself.

As ludicrous as it was, her being outside in the middle of the English countryside at night, crossing swords with a highwayman bent on robbing her, yet her blood sang in her veins, her face flushed with pleasant heat, her heart pounded in exhilaration as they moved together, more exciting than any waltz.

“Flawless Passa-sotto,” he murmured as she dropped her hand to the soft grass and lowered her body to avoid his blade.

His praise warmed her all over. At last, a man appreciated her swordplay rather than scorning it. Vivian shook her head. Had she gone daffy? Why should she care what this thief thought of her? Furious that he was able to wreak such havoc on her emotions, Vivian redoubled her attack.

The highwayman grinned as if he read her thoughts. “I’m afraid I must cut this diversion short.” In an executed move, he knocked the sword from her hand. “Out of respect for your defense of the molly and the skill that he taught you, I will not rob your odd companion.” Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he stepped forward and seized her arms. “But I cannot depart empty-handed.”

He snatched the jeweled comb that held her hair neatly atop her head.

“How dare you!” she said as her brown tresses tumbled about her shoulders. “Give that back!”

“I have to take something.” The highwayman chuckled. “I wager that fancy locket between those lovely breasts would fetch an even better price.”

Vivian reared back, clutching the locket that had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s before her. The locket that held her mother’s miniature. Desperation flooded her heart. “Please don’t take it.”

“I’ll let you keep the trinket,” the highwayman said, his gloved fingers lightly caressing the bare flesh of her upper arms. Gooseflesh rose up on her limbs, but surely it was only the chill night air. “In exchange for a kiss.”

“I beg your pardon?” she whispered as her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d been kissed twice in her two Seasons and only one had been welcome. But she’d never had a man ask her for a kiss. Much less a highwayman who’d already taken her comb.

“A kiss from a beauty such as yourself to warm me in this cold, lonely night.” The highwayman tilted his hat and favored her with a rakish grin. “That is the price I demand. That, or your locket.”

Heat flooded Vivian’s cheeks as she studied him. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, but the shadow of his hat made it impossible to discern their color. From what she could see of his nose, it was straight and pleasing. Her eyes traveled back down to his firm, masculine jaw and the sharp curves of his lips. Her mouth went dry as she whispered, “Very well.”

She rose up on her toes and lifted her chin to meet him. In time with her move, he lowered his head. Their lips pressed together like the light meeting of their swords. His hands slide down to clasp her waist and she reached up to loop her arms about his neck. He deepened the kiss like a Coulé, sliding his lips over hers in a testing exploration as he’d done with his blade.

Vivian moaned and opened further, submitting to him even as she reveled in the taste of him and the forbidden sensations he’d wrought. This was no chaste peck on the lips like she’d received from an awkward suitor. This was passion made flesh.

Suddenly, he released her with a ragged gasp. “With kisses like that, I’d soon beggar myself. I will depart before I am tempted to ask for more.” He saluted her with his sword. “Thank you for the diverting match and your sweet kiss. I will dream of you.”

With a rakish tip of his hat, he disappeared into the shadows.

COLLAPSE

Pleading Rapture

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 5

ISBN: 978-1548284794

She’s off-limits to him. But she makes him an offer he can’t refuse

Returning to Earth after a six-month absence, Aurora Lee is in triple trouble. Se has to face a lawsuit against her band, recruit an army for impending war against an evil would-be god, and cope with excruciating attraction to the hot vampire lawyer, Tony Salazar. As the band's manager, there's no way she can afford to lose her cool and risk a legal conflict of interest, much less put her heart on the line.

Tony Salazar had found a peaceful life as personal attorney to the the Lord Vampire of Coeur d'Alene. That peace is upended when he's commanded to represent the supernatural heavy metal band, Rage of Angels. Aurora, the drummer, tempts him beyond reason, even as he is thrust into a world of magic and an ominous prophecy. To make matters worse, Tony's old enemies lurk in the shadows, threatening everyone he holds dear.

A suspenseful paranormal romance with ghosts, magic, road chases, and a vampire mafia, Pleading Rapture is the fourth book in the acclaimed Brides of Prophecy series and can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt:

(Not quite the beginning of the book, but I thought I'd start where Aurora's action does.)

Soft grass cushioned Aurora’s fall. She struggled to sit up, but her head spun from passing through the portal. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten. When the dizziness passed, she sat up and looked around. Xochitl’s car was nowhere to be seen, but the light from the moon and lamp posts made her realize that she knew where she was, the Fort Sherman Park. The wooden fencing and little playground brought back memories climbing the fort and going down the slide at night with her friends, when there were no kids around to point out that they were too big for that. No one was too old for a slide.

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She peered around and saw no sign of Xochitl or her Datsun. Had it gone off toward the lake or to the parking lot? She didn’t see any tire marks on the grass. Maybe she’d dropped from the portal in a different part of town since she and Xochitl weren’t connected when she jumped in after her. Hell, she didn’t even know if Xochitl had seen her running behind the Datsun.

Aurora scrambled to her feet and stretched, groaning as her back popped. At least she knew where Xoch’ would go. With no family here, Silas and Akasha were all she had. Well, she could possibly go to Sylvis’s parents’ place, or even to Aurora’s family, but that was doubtful. No one tolerated Xochitl’s weirdness more than Silas and ’Kash. That’s why they all had practically lived with Silas and Akasha until the band moved to Seattle.

Music and laughter from a distance reached her ears. Aurora turned around and saw a glimpse of light from the beach ahead. Was there some sort of party going on over there? She perked up. Maybe someone had a phone she could use. Hopefully Akasha hadn’t changed her number in the last six months.

As Aurora crossed the park and came to the sidewalk and short concrete wall that separated the park from the beach, she had to do a double take. Instead of bikinis, shorts, and tank tops, the people on the sand were decked out in tuxedos and fancy gowns. Tables were set out on the edges with fancy glasses and plates with slices of a big white cake. Now it made sense. This was a wedding party. She wondered if they’d needed a permit, or if you could just head out to the beach and do it. Maybe that was why it was going on at night, so they didn’t have sunbathers and kids and swimmers in their way.

Oh well. Someone would have a phone. And maybe they’d let her have a piece of cake and a glass of champagne. The munchies and cotton mouth were kicking in from that doobie she’d smoked with Beau. She hefted her leg over the short concrete barrier and hopped onto the sand. As she neared the party, a man split off from the group and approached her.

Aurora sucked in a breath as he passed under the lights strung up around the area. He wore a tailored suit that clearly did not come off the rack and hugged a fit frame that she knew would be a work of art beneath the cloth. His hair was almost shoulder length, black and wavy, framing a face that could have been stamped on a Roman coin. Eyes the color of coffee bored into hers.

When he spoke, her knees went weak at the rich timbre of his voice. “What brings you out to the beach at this hour?”

“I… um…” Aurora swallowed, trying to find sensible words. Not only was it impossible to say that she’d been dumped in the park by a portal, it was hard to speak at all to a man as luscious as this. And then came the old wariness as she remembered where she was. A town that was ninety-eight percent white… a town where at least ten percent of those people hated her race. She peered back up at him, looking for that telltale gleam of scorn or disgust at seeing a Black person. All she saw was mild curiosity and something else that made heat flood to her belly. He wasn’t exactly checking her out, but there was some sort of interest there. She recovered her voice. “Um, you didn’t happen to see a blue Datsun station wagon come by here, have you?”

His inky black brows drew together at the odd question. “No. I haven’t seen a Datsun wagon in years. A few Zs and pickups, though, but not tonight.” He had a trace of an accent that she couldn’t quite place. Somewhere back East, definitely. The hot guy stepped a bit closer, his features growing even more gorgeous as he came more into view. “Are you all right? You look a little disoriented.”

She nodded in agreement. “I suppose I am. Would you happen to have a phone? I need to call a friend and see if they can pick me up.”

“Not on me, I’m afraid. It ruins the lines.” He smoothed his hands down his suit.

“And what fine lines they are,” she blurted. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

He chuckled, a low, velvety sound that should be rated for mature audiences only. “Forget about it. I am flattered.”

Another wave of dizziness made her knees buckle for a second. Clearly interdimensional travel and being high didn’t mix.

The man grasped her shoulder with a firm, but gentle hand. “Hey, are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, just had a dizzy spell. I forgot to have dinner.” No way was she revealing to this classy, hunk of sexy that she was kinda baked. Not to mention the whole dropping through a portal into the park.

“Well, why don’t you sit down for a moment and I’ll bring you some cake. Would you like some champagne as well?”

“That would be wonderful.” Her mouth felt like Death Valley. “And could you…” she trailed off as he jogged back to the party before she could ask him to see if someone had a phone she could use. Everyone here probably had seven-hundred-dollar iPhones. Gone were the days of the cheap but sturdy Nokias.

Mr. Hottie McHotstuff returned with a large slice of cake and a delicate flute of champagne. Aurora thanked him and had to use every bit of her will not to gorge the cake like a heathen. But damn, that was good cake, white and fluffy, with custard filling and cream cheese frosting. Even then, she was subconscious of every crumb that stuck to her lips.

“Are you feeling better?” The man took the plate and handed her the champagne, which she tried to sip as ladylike as possible when she was more accustomed to chugging beers and downing shots.

“Much better, thanks.” Aurora looked back at the party that was about thirty feet off. The people were laughing and talking and only casting her occasional curious glances. “So, is this a private party?”

He nodded. “A double wedding. I do not want to offend, but I’d rather not interrupt it.”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” she quickly assured him. “My mom is a dragon when it comes to outsiders at family gatherings. My brother wasn’t even allowed to bring girlfriends over until Mom was absolutely certain things were serious.” A lump in her throat formed as she realized just how much she missed her family. She took a sip of champagne and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. This was definitely a top shelf brand. “I should probably head over to the resort and find a phone. My friends are wondering where I am.”

“I have one in my car,” the man said with a tempting half smile. “We could head there and you could use it.”

She shook her head. “I know better than to get in a car with a stranger.”

“My name’s Tony.” His smile radiated warmth as he extended his hand. “Now we’re not strangers.” His eyes narrowed as he peered at her with an intensity that made her shiver despite the warm summer night air. “In fact, I’m not sure we are strangers. I swear I’ve seen you before.”

He probably had seen her on TV or in the papers. The news would have ran stories on her band’s disappearance. But he clearly wasn’t a metalhead, or he would have recognized her immediately. And she wasn’t about to tell him she was a missing person. Not before she was reunited with her friends and they announced their return together.

“I’m Aurora,” she replied and shook his hand. His grasp was warm and vibrated with barely suppressed strength. “And I know we’ve never met. You don’t seem like the kind of man I’d easily forget.” She instilled a flirtatious tone that sounded unfamiliar to her. Damn, why did this man have to affect her so intently? He seemed to be everything a girl could dream of: handsome, kind, wealthy. But now was not the time for her to try dating again. Not with all that crazy prophecy stuff going on and her career on the line.

That rich and sinful laugh once more emerged from Tony’s lips. “Again, such charming words. Are you a writer?”

She smirked. “Sometimes.” She wrote the lyrics to at least half the songs on every Rage of Angels album.

He looked back at the wedding party and then back at her. “I hate to insult this lovely gathering, but you are far more interesting company. I don’t suppose you’d want to go for a walk with me during your quest for a phone? And again, my offer still stands to use mine.” He pointed at a sleek black sports car in the parking lot under the streetlight. “As you can see, it’s near the street and in the light, so you’re perfectly safe. Or, we can go to the resort and have a drink, and maybe some dinner, since you mentioned that you missed it. I would very much enjoy getting to know you better.” The heat in his eyes promised that if he had things his way, they’d do more than talk.

Damn, a drink sounded nice. A drink and a few minutes not worrying about the chaos of her life. Not to mention the prospect of fun naked times with what was possibly the hottest man she’d ever seen. But she needed to find Xochitl and… You know what? Xochitl had her car. She was probably at Akasha and Silas’s place by now. Who said Aurora couldn’t relax and have a drink with a hot guy for a few minutes? A few minutes of blissful normality after months of weirdness. Then she could just call Akasha and they’d pick her up. Or, if she decided to take Tony up on his unspoken offer, he could just give her a ride.

“Well,” she began.

“Aurora!” Beau shouted from beneath one of the huge pines in the park. Sylvis stood beside him, eyeing the wedding party quizzically.

Her eyes widened. Zareth must have brought them over. She glanced back at Tony. “I have to go. My friends found me.”

Tony inclined his head in an old-fashioned way. “While I’m glad that your situation has been resolved, I do regret that our talk has been cut short.”

“Me too.” She grinned and lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled like an entrancing combination of vanilla beans and expensive, old-fashioned tobacco. For a moment, she was tempted to wrap herself around him and explore him further.

She turned and hefted herself over the concrete barrier and jogged back to the park before she could gauge his reaction to her stolen kiss. Though it didn’t really matter one way or another. She’d never see him again.

COLLAPSE

Wynter’s Bite

Brooklyn Ann

Scandals With Bite, Book 5

ISBN: 978-1542715249

She was thrown into an insane asylum for believing in vampires...

Now one has come to rescue her.

Eight years ago, vampire Justus de Wynter fell in love with bluestocking, Bethany Mead, and suffered the consequences. He was sentenced to exile as a rogue vampire, and she was imprisoned in an insane asylum.

After years of searching, and dodging patrolling vampires, Justus has finally found his love. But even after he breaks Bethany out of the asylum, the dangers that face them have only begun. For Justus is still a rogue, with no territory to grant them safety, and Bethany is a fugitive.

As they flee across the English countryside in search of refuge, Bethany and Justus must overcome the challenges of their past and find out if love is possible on the run.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Morningside Asylum for Lunatics

Manchester, England, May 1825

 

Bethany Mead cringed against the stone wall of her cell. Greeves was guarding the female ward this night. She hated Greeves. The way he looked at her, like he could see through her shift, and the way he held her too long when guiding her back to her cell, both filled her entire being with sick dread. She’d been in this hell long enough to know what unscrupulous guards did to female— and sometimes male— patients.

“I’ve got most delightful news, love,” Greeves spat through the bars. The man was incapable of speaking without emitting a shower of spittle. “The good doctor will be taking a holiday at week’s end. That means we’ll have more time in private to get to know each other better, you and I.”

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Bethany made a small, choking sound, but knew better than to scream. That would only get her thrown in the quiet room for at least two days. Doctor Keene wouldn’t believe her. Greeves acted like a kindly Samaritan in the physician’s presence. At least the doctor may have thus far kept her safe from being violated from his frequent unexpected checking in on her, but his prescribed treatments for her hysteria were agonizing. She was rarely allowed outside, never allowed to look at a newspaper, and could only read novels that the doctor had perused and decided they would not “overstimulate” her. She wasn’t even allowed to read the bible, for Keene thought that the demons and bloody violence were too extreme for a lady of her condition. That resulted in very insipid reading material. The most passion she’d read was a kiss on a gloved hand. The most intimate touch, the hero lifting the heroine from her horse.

Never could she read of heated embraces that lingered in her memory. Never could she read of kisses that inflamed her dreams.

So Bethany often pushed the dull romantic novels to the side and accepted the equally dismal literary novels offered to her, full of bland musings, but no story. Though every once in a while, Eleanor, another patient, would smuggle gothic novels and stories to her. Bethany’s favorites had been written by Alan Winthrop, who was reputed to really be the Duchess of Burnrath. The tales of ghosts and witches tickled her fancy. John Polidori’s short story, The Vampyre, had also captivated her and she had been distraught when Dr. Keene caught her poring over its pages and tossed her back in the quiet room.

For Bethany was absolutely forbidden from speaking, hearing, or reading anything about the supernatural, especially vampires.

Never vampires.

That was what had landed her in this prison in the first place.

Greeves’s sibilant voice pierced her musings. “That’s what I like about you. Yer so quiet. I wager you’ll be quiet when I have ye as well. But I’ll try to get some noise out of ye.”

Nausea roiled through her belly at the thought of Greeves’s filthy hands on her body. She’d once planned on giving her maidenhood to a dashing, crimson-haired viscount whom she’d believed had loved her, a man of secrets and dark magic beyond her most fervent imaginings. Now, after eight years of hell, her virtue would go to this wretched lout.

Eight years. The words scratched her mind like a fork on slate. Had she really been here that long? The first four years hadn’t been so bad, as her parents sent money to ensure she had a decent room and meals, and her mother came to visit from time to time. But as she increased her pleas for her parents to take her home, her mother’s visits dwindled. And once Lord and Lady Wickshire had the son they always wanted, both the money and visits stopped completely. She hadn’t even received a letter in over three years. And without funding, Bethany had been moved to the pauper’s wing, subject to rougher patients and lecherous guards. Doctor Keene also refused her requests to free her and threw her in the quiet room when she’d vowed to find a lawyer. The one time she’d tried to escape, running off when the patients were herded to the chapel, the guards had run her down and she’d spent a week in the quiet room, so intoxicated from Keene’s tonic that she couldn’t tell up from down. After that, she’d not been allowed outdoors for two months.

Bethany cringed as Greeves leered at her. More than ever she longed to leave this place. Every day in captivity increased her fear of going mad in truth.

Tears burned hot on her cheeks and a strangled sob tore from her throat.

“Oh yes.” Greeves clasped his hands together. “I like it when you—”

He halted abruptly when Doctor Keene came round the hall. “How is Miss Mead this evening?”

Greeves cast her a smirk before turning to face the doctor. “Overwrought, it seems. I tried to comfort her, but she won’t have it.”

“Oh?” Keene lowered his spectacles and peered at Bethany. “I’ll see to her then. You run along and make sure the doors are locked before you return to your station.”

“Very good, Sir,” Greeves replied before tipping Bethany a wink on his way out.

Dr. Keene opened her cell door and approached her, brows drawn together with concern. “What ails you, Miss Mead?”

Bethany bit her lip. Keene had already dismissed her complaints about Greeves, and if he thought she was having hysterics, he’d lock her up in the quiet room for a day or two. She hated the quiet room, a small, coffin-like chamber that isolated her from all light and sound.

“Very little, Doctor.” She forced herself to smile. “I am only missing my mother.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I feel better already.”

Dr. Keene regarded her with a skeptical frown as he patted her on the shoulder. “Are you certain? Your hands are shaking. Perhaps you should spend some time in the quiet room.”

Bethany shook her head vigorously. She’d experienced inexplicable tremors and aches for the past year. This time, her shakes were justified, but Keene refused to believe her. “I only need some rest. I will go to bed now.”

Keene smiled and reached into his pocket. “Yes, rest is the cure for many things. A dram of my soothing tonic will help you sleep.”

She bit back a grimace. Keene’s tonic was anything but soothing, making her feel off kilter and sometimes bringing her hallucinations and vivid nightmares if he felt a higher dose was necessary. But the doctor had neatly manipulated her into making a choice: the tonic, or the quiet room.

“Whatever you think is best, Doctor,” she said as demurely as possible.

Thankfully, he only gave her one teaspoon of the bitter potion instead of two. One time he’d given her three, and Bethany had spent countless hours trapped in a barrage of bad dreams, unable to wake.

“I will look in on you tomorrow morning, Miss Mead,” Keene said as he strode out of her chamber. “If you are calm, perhaps you may take a turn through the gardens with the other ladies. Won’t that be nice? Until then, sleep well.”

The door shut with a clang that reverberated through her ears with undulating waves. Already, the tonic was taking over her senses. At least Keene had the mercy to slide the privacy panel closed on the door so Greeves couldn’t peek in at her. Bethany stumbled to the small straw-stuffed cot and sat down hard on the prickly mattress, rubbing her arms as a draft swept in through the small barred window. She’d forgotten to shutter it. But the sight of the full moon in the sky gave her comfort, reminding her that there was a world outside, a world she had faint hopes of rejoining.

Wrapping her thin wool blanket around her shoulders, Bethany twisted her fingers in her lap to distract herself from the dizzy sensations the tonic wrought. Counting back from when the patients had last went to chapel, it was Tuesday. Four days until Doctor Keene went on his holiday. That left her little time to come up with a plan to save her from Greeves.

She wished she knew how long Keene would be gone. If it were only for a few days, she could muster the courage to get herself thrown in the quiet room for that time. Only Nurse Bronson was trusted with those keys, so Greeves wouldn’t be able to get to her there.

But a sennight, a fortnight? She shuddered, unable to fathom torment of that duration. Such a long time in the dark might break her. Yet what Greeves had in store may also drive her truly mad.

But her family had abandoned her, she had no funds for herself, and he never came for her like she thought he would. Justus, Lord de Wynter. Although she’d finally come to understand that he wasn’t a vampire. Somehow she had imagined that part, but now it seemed she had invented Justus’s ardent love for her too. From the moment she’d been committed to the asylum, she’d believed he’d come to rescue her, to marry her as they had planned beneath the boughs of the apple tree in her family’s orchard. Even when Dr. Keene convinced her that Justus couldn’t have been a vampire, Bethany still thought Justus cared for her.

But as days turned into weeks, then months, then years, Bethany’s hope for Justus to rescue her gradually dried up like the last pool of water in an arid desert. He wasn’t coming. He never cared for her. He’d just been a rake like her parents had insisted.

And Bethany had paid the ultimate price for falling in love with him. Her family had thrown her in the asylum and abandoned her. If only she’d obeyed them and kept her distance from the man who’d fascinated her from their first fateful encounter.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Bethany pulled the scratchy blanket tighter around her body. She needed to bring her tormented thoughts under control before the tonic turned them into nightmares.

But the moment she closed her eyes, they came anyway.

Greeves grasping at her, the guards locking her in a tiny box, screaming, struggling to get out. The lid opening only to see Justus standing over her, laughing with blood-drenched fangs before closing the box, shutting her in darkness.

Bethany jerked awake and took several deep breaths, trying to think of Chaucer, of Camelot, of a book she’d read long ago about a Fairy Queen.

Just as her eyes began to close, a voice echoed in her cell.

“Bethany…”

At first she thought Greeves had returned, but then she heard the voice again, rich as marzipan, and achingly familiar.

“Bethany!”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It couldn’t be!

She then heard a soft rapping on the bars of her window. Bethany turned and gasped as she saw a face peering in at her. Her heart clenched like a fist at the sight of crimson hair, pearl-white skin, and glittering green eyes.

A strangled cry trickled from her throat. She was dreaming of him again. “You’re not real.”

More than ever did she loathe Keene’s horrid tonic. What kind of evil substance was it to inspire such heartbreaking hallucinations?

The vision made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob. “Of course I’m real.” Arched lips curved in a small smile. “Look at me. Touch me.”

Long pale fingers reached through the bars toward her. Bethany cringed back against the wall. How long would this drug delirium last? “Not real,” she whispered again.

“Then take my hand and feel for yourself.” The vision crooked his finger, beckoning her, daring her. “Come on now, I never before knew you for a coward.”

That old, not quite mocking, slightly daring tone held the same compulsion as it had in real life. Without thinking, Bethany swung her legs over her cot and slowly shuffled towards the window. The bare stone floor felt cold beneath her feet. Moonlight reflected on his skin, turning it luminescent and casting an angel’s nimbus over his fiery locks. If he was a hallucination, it was the most vivid one she’d ever experienced. Had Keene changed the recipe of his tonic?

With trembling hands, she reached out to touch his fingers outstretched towards her. Warm and firm, they slid across her skin with solid tangibility. Frissons of heat sparked at his touch, just as when they’d first met that fateful night long ago.

Once more, she dared to meet his eyes and study the face that had haunted her dreams. As if transported back in time, she saw the same love, longing, and touch of melancholy in his gaze that had lingered in those green depths the night he asked for her hand.

“Justus?” she whispered.

“Yes, Bethany.” His lips curved in a broad grin. White fangs gleamed in the moonlight. “I’ve come to take you out of here.”

Blood roared through her ears before the world went black as pitch.

COLLAPSE

Unleashing Desire

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 4

ISBN: 978-1535551083

He's been killing vampire hunters for centuries...But this one's different.

Radu Nicolae has spent centuries in a guilt-induced hibernation beneath the ruins of his family castle. The only time he awakens is to feast on the occasional vampire hunter. When Lillian Holmes invades his lair, trying to kill him for a crime he did not commit, he decides it is time to rejoin the world. As he feeds on the inept, but delectable hunter and sees her memories, he realizes that he is being used as a weapon to murder her. Radu does not like being used.

Agent Lillian Holmes, of the Abnormal Investigation Unit, is sent on a mission to kill the vampire who murdered her father. But when she tries to stake Radu, he awakens. When his fangs sink into her throat, she thinks she’s a goner. To her surprise, she wakes up a prisoner. Furthermore, Radu did not kill her father. The AIU killed Joe Holmes and sent Lillian to Radu to die.

Together, they strike a bargain: Lillian will help Radu travel to the United States to reunite with his long lost twin brother. In return, he will help her take down the men who killed her father. As their relationship deepens on their journey, so does the danger. Not only must they keep government agents from finding out that Lillian is alive, but she also has a secret that will rock the foundations of the vampire world.

 

Excerpt:

 

It was a lovely morning for vengeance.

The rising sun shed its light upon the Romanian countryside, gleaming on emerald grass and dew covered wildflowers. However, the picturesque view only merited a cursory glance.

Lillian cursed as she stumbled up the hill. She dug the heels of her boots into the damp earth in an effort to keep her footing. With a firm grip on a finely carved oak stake, she approached the ruins of Castle Nicolae.

Even amidst the pinkish glow of the early dawn and the cheery melody of birdsong, the pile of gray rubble looked ominous. Lillian gulped a deep breath of morning air and suppressed a shiver as she pulled the castle schematic out of the pocket of her light summer jacket. According to the diagram, the chasm leading inside was right in front of her.

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Her target lay below, in the bowels of the ancient fortress.

Shoving the schematic back in her pocket, she pulled out her phone and texted the AIU headquarters. I’m going in.

Her phone vibrated a reply: Invalid number.

Huh? Double checking to make certain she texted the correct number, she tried again and received the same error message.

Mouth dry, Lillian eyed the castle. Was he somehow doing it? She shook her head. That would be ridiculous. It was probably the rural location. He shouldn’t be able to mess with her if he was asleep.

By all reports, the vampire had been comatose for centuries, only waking once a year to feed. Last month, he’d killed the wrong person.

Thumb stroking the stake, Lillian hissed through clenched teeth, “Your murderer will not go unpunished, Dad. Radu Nicolae will die today.” Fierce gratitude flowed through her when the AIU director permitted her to take this assignment, despite her lack of experience. He must have understood that this was personal.

With grim determination, she groped along the cracked stone until she found the entrance, a narrow fissure in the rock.

Shadows closed over her as if encasing her body in ice. She pulled out her Mag Light, illuminating the treacherous tunnel with a bluish LED glow.

Though she tried to walk as quietly as possible, rocks and debris underfoot marked her progress with skitters and crunches. Darkness chased away the meager rays of sunlight as she descended further into the heart of the ruins.

After contorting her way down through the twisting passage, crumbled rock gave way to smooth stone steps coated in a fine layer of charcoal. There had been a fire here long ago.

Heart pounding in her throat, Lillian made her way down the stairs and found a clean chamber.

No ashy residue or cobwebs remained. A row of backpacks, ranging from new to old, lined one wall. An ancient prison cell dominated the other. She swallowed at the sight of the rusted iron bars. This must have been the castle dungeon. There was even a fireplace with a stack of wood beside it. A closer look revealed that most of the firewood was made up of sharp stakes.

Lillian shuddered, palm sweating around her own stake. How many people had tried to kill him, only to die in this place? Choking vines of doubt wrapped around her lungs. If all of them had failed, what chances did she have of surviving? Rage singed the edges of the vines. So many deaths. She had to stop him.

At last, Radu Nicolae’s slumbering form came into view. Lillian’s lip curled with scorn. This was the big scary monster? The creature seemed already dead. It lay still, pale, and emaciated. Its cheekbones gleamed in sharp relief above a dark scraggly beard.

Her fingers trembled as she shone the light on the vampire’s face. A gasp caught in her throat as she saw his hair. A shade of darkest chocolate, it lay like a silken waterfall in rich waves on the stone slab, incongruously beautiful compared to the rest of him. Without thinking, she reached out to touch those tresses, to see if they were soft as they appeared.

The sight of the stake in her fist made her snatch her hand back. Her stomach churned in revulsion at her insane impulse. What was she thinking? This monster killed her father. She was here to destroy it, not pet it.

Maybe it was another mind trick of his. Some sort of preternatural defense mechanism.

Gritting her teeth, Lillian set the flashlight on the slab so the beam pointed over the vampire’s supine form. She removed the mallet from her pack and positioned the stake above his heart.

Shoulders vibrating with tension, she raised the mallet and paused to savor her vengeance.

She brought the mallet down.

Instead of crunching bone, her scream rent the air as those lashes lifted to reveal glowing black eyes. The vampire bolted upright.

Fangs gleamed in the darkness and Lillian was yanked into the monster’s embrace. The stake and mallet fell from her numb fingers.

COLLAPSE

Ironic Sacrifice

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 2

ISBN: 978-0692236130

She offered her life to a vampire. Instead of killing her, he has other plans.

Jayden Leigh's clairvoyant powers have become so intense that she lost her job and home. When she comes across a sinfully handsome vampire ready to make a kill. Jayden begs for him to take her instead. A blissful death in his arms, or the visions ravaging her mind? She'd gladly take the vampire.

Razvan Nicolae is captivated and amused by the beautiful seeress who sacrifices herself for a stranger. Killing such a pleasing asset doesn’t interest him. If he could get her powers under control, she just might be the key to finding his missing twin.

Controlling her visions and working for a seductive vampire? Razvan’s offer is like a dream come true. But her dream turns into a nightmare when a mad vampire cult leader seeks to exploit Jayden’s powers to stop an ancient prophecy. As Jayden finds herself at the center of a vampire war, she realizes that the biggest threat isn’t losing her life, it’s losing her heart.

Ironic Sacrifice is the second book in the cult-favorite Brides of Prophecy series, but it can be read as a standalone.

Excerpt:

“Oh God, please, make them stop!” Jayden dug her fingertips into her temples as if she could tear the horrid visions out of her skull.

Long after the police officer left, the imprint of him invading his daughter’s room every night and the sound of her terrified whimpers was irrevocably burned in her memory. For the rest of her life, along with her worst visions, it would flash behind her eyes like a bad commercial, leaving behind a chill in her soul and a bitter taste in her mouth.

Again the temptation beckoned to end it all, to climb over the Division Street barrier to the dam churning the waters of the Spokane River and jump, drowning the visions permanently.

Oblivious to curious onlookers, Jayden sank to her knees on the cracked sidewalk.

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The visions were getting stronger. The cop’s hand barely grazed hers when she handed him her driver’s license after he checked her ID. Immediately she’d been pelted with vile images. It had been agony for her to keep a straight face as he interrogated her. She wanted to hit him— no. She wanted to tear his balls off and make him suffer a thousand-fold for what he did to that innocent child.

But there was nothing she could do. He was a man of the law while she was just a crazy homeless twenty-three year old woman. Once he confirmed her age and finished harassing her, the policeman left, free to rape and molest again while Jayden Leigh was trapped with terrible revelations of suffering that she could do nothing to prevent or free herself from.

“Are you all right, dear?” A gentle hand touched her shoulder and for once Jayden didn’t get a vision. Although for a moment it seemed she could smell fresh baked bread.

Jayden looked up into the compassionate blue eyes of an elderly woman.

“Yeah,” she croaked, licking dry lips. “It’s just a… migraine.” She fell back on the usual excuse for these situations, though she was tempted to shriek the horrible transgressions she witnessed.

The woman nodded, brushing a snowy lock from her forehead. “Don’t you fret, dearie. I’ve just the thing for that!” she declared, reaching into her gargantuan red leather purse.

Jayden began to protest, but the matron cackled, “Ah-ha! Here you are, dear. Keep the bottle. My doctor gives me plenty of pills as it is.”

Jayden smiled at the Excedrin. If only a little pill would cure her problem. Or perhaps it could, if she took the whole bottle.

“And take this too. It looks like you’ve fallen on hard times.” The kindness in the woman’s voice was enough to make Jayden’s throat tighten with humble gratitude and the barely suppressed desire to cry on the stranger’s shoulders and pour out her sorrow.

“Oh no, Ma’am, I couldn’t.” She tried to return the twenty-dollar bill, but the woman had already walked off and was getting into her Buick.

Her eyes brimmed with tears at the generosity. She pocketed the pills and money, picked up her bottle of cheap Chardonnay and resumed walking to her car, where she lived. She could always jump into the dam tomorrow. After all, it wouldn’t do to waste the wine.

***

Sleep came hard that night. It wasn’t the wailing of police sirens, or the rumble of semi-trucks on the freeway, or even the sounds of a couple screaming at each other a block away. Something else drowned those incessant city noises.  A voice in her head sobbed despairingly, “Why? Why? Why!”

That voice had grown so loud that she could barely hear anything else. And still the keening cry rose higher… “Why? Why? Why!”

A real headache was dangerously close.

“Why indeed?” she murmured as she uncapped the wine bottle and took a deep drink. She knew perfectly well what the voice was asking.

Why have I been reduced to this pathetic state?

Jayden still did not have an answer.

Only three months ago things had been normal. Or had they? She’d had a decent job that fit with her college schedule, taking care of people with developmental disabilities. It fulfilled her hungered spirit and was a step closer to becoming a counselor, a secret dream she’d nursed since childhood. Jayden had been working in the group homes for almost a year when she began having the visions. They were quick and faint at first, making her blame her imagination even though her instinct argued furiously. Just too much work, she would tell herself. All I need is a break. Things will get better when the semester ends.

But the next day the visions would come back stronger and soon the breaks did little to hold them off. Jayden became convinced that she was losing her mind. It was beginning to look as if she was going to end up like her mother after all. Stark raving mad in a psychiatric ward, heavily medicated in a padded room until, unable to take it any longer, she died a slow painful death of a broken heart and shattered mind.

Shortly after summer break began, Jayden’s supervisor fired her for being unproductive and upsetting the clients.

The next month, her landlord evicted her from her apartment. By then Jayden was half-insane from the severity of the visions, so she didn’t really care.

Mechanically, she’d packed what little belongings that would fit in her little Toyota and left the apartment. She then withdrew the rest of her money from the bank and closed the account. Going back to school in the fall was not an option.

Besides the hassle of showering, going to the bathroom and having to move to a different location every night, living in her car was kind of liberating. She didn’t have to pay bills or work or answer to anyone. The self-delusion only lasted a week when Jayden saw how quickly she was running out of money. She tried a few times to get a job, but every place she walked into and every person she encountered gave her such a cacophony of visions that she soon gave up, realizing that she would probably never be able to exist with the rest of humanity ever again.

Now it was early October and she almost froze to death every night.

“Why? Why? Why?” the voice cried again, despite all the wine she drank to muffle it.

“I told you already, I don’t know!” Jayden growled. “Besides, why doesn’t matter anymore. What I need to figure out is what the hell am I going to do?”

She put on her headphones and turned the volume up on her MP3 player, seeking solace in the music of her favorite band. For a blissful half hour, Rage of Angels’ latest album blocked out the voices until she turned it off, mindful to conserve her batteries.

Her heavy eyelids drifted closed.

Glowing eyes… Blood-dripping fangs… A dark shadow closes over the figure of a woman, about to drain away her life. Jayden’s voice screams, “No! Take me instead! I want to die, I need to die.” Mocking laughter rings in her ears, “An ironic sacrifice I do say. Very well, a life for a life.”

The shadow gently engulfs her and she begins to drown in thick velvet blackness. The sinister voice echoes, “A life for a life… A life for a life… a life for a life.”

The piercing trill of a car alarm shunted Jayden from the dream.

“Damn it,” she groaned and pulled the blankets over her head. Even nightmares were preferable to her miserable consciousness.

As she shifted in a fruitless attempt to seek comfort, Jayden realized that she had to pee. Cursing again under her breath, she sat up and pulled her shoes on. It was freezing cold outside. She shivered and her breath came out in big puffs of steam. She hurried into the alley to find a safe spot to relieve herself. When the street was out of view she crouched and unzipped her pants.

Just when she finished, a scream of terror tore the air close by, making her jump. Jayden yanked her pants up, zipper forgotten, skin prickling with acute alertness.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me!” a woman demanded haughtily. She had to be only twenty feet away.

Jayden knew she should get the hell out of there and drive as far as her near empty gas tank would take her, but her legs propelled her relentlessly forward. Her heart pounded with a heady mixture of terror and anticipation as she came upon a scene that had only before existed in her dreams.

The woman was a tall leggy blonde in designer clothes. Jayden fleetingly wondered what such a classy lady was doing in a dark seedy alley. But then a vision assailed her. This woman had been so spoiled all her life that it was sickening. Her love for herself and utter scorn for all others rose up more noxious than the scent of her expensive perfume. Scenes of her temper tantrums flitted through Jayden’s mind. She didn’t really start to hate the woman until she saw her kick a bum on the street.

“H-how did I get here?” the woman demanded shrilly, trying to hide her fear. “I don’t belong in this filth!”

“As a matter of fact, this is exactly where you belong,” another voice replied. His voice was deep, smooth as velvet and faintly accented.

Jayden’s eyes shifted to the dark form looming before the woman. It looked like a man, but it wasn’t a man. This thing was far older and far more terrifying than a mere mugger. She started to take another step closer, but then it spoke again. His voice was so rich and enchanting that it held her motionless.

“I have brought you here, Charise, because it is time for judgment to be passed upon you.”

Charise’s eyes widened in terror. She gasped and put a dainty hand to her throat as if she were rehearsing for Broadway.

The creature nodded. “Yes. I know of your crimes. I know everything. And it is I who will decide your fate. In fact, I already have.”

“What is it then?” she whispered.

“Death.”

Slowly, he cupped her face in his hands. She shrieked and tried to scratch out his eyes with her long manicured nails, but the man easily restrained her, seizing her anorexic-thin wrists with one hand and tilting her neck to the side. His eyes began to glow with an unholy light, reflecting on his bared fangs.

Jayden saw the monster for what he was immediately and at the moment she didn’t take the time to examine the impossibility of it all. She just flat out accepted it. Vampire.

“Wait!” she cried out, surprising herself.

Those glowing eyes now turned upon her, freezing her heart. Jayden stumbled back with an icy intake of breath.

“Yes?” The whisper was silky, invoking tendrils of fire in her belly despite the chill of the night and its events.

“D-don’t k-kill her,” she found herself stammering. “T-take me in-instead. I want to die.”

COLLAPSE

Wrenching Fate

Off
Brooklyn Ann

Brides of Prophecy, Book 1

ISBN: 978-0615934907

When a brash young woman with superhuman strength meets a vampire who’s been looking for her for centuries, is it love at first bite?

Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Akasha Hope trusts no one. Solely interested in beer, heavy metal, and muscle cars, the coarse young woman is in hiding from those who gave her superhuman strength after a government experiment went off the rails. So when a sinfully sexy older guy insists she’s under his protection, she isn’t sure whether to laugh in his face or fall for his charm… and his five-car garage.

Silas McNaught has searched for his fated mate for centuries. But when she turns out to be a foul-mouthed mechanic instead of the delicate flower he imagined, the hopelessly romantic vampire lord is left reeling with surprise. Adjusting to the shock and doing his best to embrace her rough exterior, he can’t help noticing her inhuman power and suspects she’s keeping a deep secret.

Already confused by their sizzling chemistry playing havoc with her need for a safe haven, Akasha is thrown when she discovers her would-be protector sports fangs. And just as authorities are closing in, Silas fears he’ll lose her permanently when his vindictive ex puts his new love in the crosshairs of vampire wrath.

Is their newfound bliss about to be torn apart by a deadly double-threat?

Wrenching Fate is the delicious first book in the Brides of Prophecy paranormal romance series and can be read as a standalone. If you like tough heroines, preternatural book boyfriends, and an unconventional opposites-attract bond, then you’ll adore Brooklyn Ann’s taut tale of blood and desire.

Buy Wrenching Fate to dive into a sensual adventure today!

Excerpt:

Akasha looked at the clock to see if she had enough time to call the machinist and see if the Datsun’s cylinder head had been finished.

Nope, it was after five.

She cursed and turned back to the engine block then stopped. Silas would be home soon. Then at least she could ask him about the concert. She looked down at her hands. They were black with grease and oil. For some reason she didn’t want him to see her covered with grime. After giving Xochitl’s car one last longing glance, she left the garage and dashed upstairs to clean up.

When she had fixed her appearance, Akasha went downstairs to wait for Silas. She paced back and forth through the hallway, eyes darting every few seconds to the front door. No, I must not look too eager. He’ll think I missed him or something.

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She forced her attention to a painting of a beautiful oil landscape of the Scottish highlands with a mighty castle in the background. It was crooked. She tried to adjust it, but her hands were still shaking from excitement and it came off the wall, clattering to the floor. Oh, great. The damn thing probably cost a fortune.

Cursing under her breath, she scooped it up and quickly checked for damage. It was fine. She lifted it back to the wall and froze when she saw something strange.

There was a knob on the wall where the painting would have hung. At least it looked like a knob… She set the painting down and peered at it. The silver gleamed dimly, making it look like a tarnished bauble. It was cool to her fingertips. Slowly, she twisted the knob, shuddering as it moved.

Creak!

The sound made her jerk in surprise. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked around for the source. There it was. A hidden door had opened in the wall beside her.

“Holy shit!” Her whisper echoed in the corridor. “A secret passageway! I knew he was hiding something.”

For some reason, being right all along didn’t feel as good as she’d thought. Her stomach pitched as the opening gaped at her, a pitch-dark abyss. Akasha fished inside her pocket for her Bic. The feeble light revealed a set of stairs going downwards. Slowly, she made her way down, noting that the air wasn’t musty as one would expect. What is he hiding down here? She hoped it wasn’t dead bodies. She glanced over her shoulder, watching for Silas’s approach until her neck cramped.

Just when the lighter was getting too hot and burning her fingers, the stairs turned sharply, and she could see a bit of light below. She licked her stinging fingers and pocketed the lighter. As she neared the light, an eerie feeling crept over her and the hairs at the nape of her neck stood up. The feeling intensified, and by the time she reached the bottom her body was covered in goose bumps.

A long shadowy hallway stretched across five doors. Akasha shook her head. Another basement? Does this fucking house ever end? With a trembling hand, she reached for the knob on the first door, one fist held up and ready to beat something to a bloody pulp if it startled her. The door moved soundlessly open. There was a faint light in the room. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

Akasha stood awestruck in a candlelit chamber. It was too dim for her to see how large the room was, but in the center she could make out a large bed. All of her instincts screamed at her to go back, to run out of there as fast as she could, but her curiosity was relentless and pushed her legs forward. As she approached the bed she saw that someone was in it. Yes, there was definitely a body tucked under the covers, lying as still as a corpse. The realization terrified her, but her treacherous legs brought her yet closer. She could almost make out a face.

Then she saw him.

Silas lay on the bed, still as death. Then his chest moved up and down almost imperceptibly. Unbidden, a relieved sigh escaped her lips. As she drew closer, his beauty hit her full force. His chiseled features and sensuous mouth looked so inviting, making her stomach clench. She drew in a breath as her hand reached out of its own volition to touch him.

Silas’s eyes snapped open, and he saw her. Akasha gasped when she saw his green eyes glowing with demonic radiance. Time seemed to go in slow motion as his mouth opened to reveal sharp fangs.

Vampire.

The word hit her mind like a bucket of ice water. Silas sat up and threw off the covers, fangs bared, blazing gaze fixed on her like a target.

“Oh shit!” Akasha turned and fled the room, darting up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

Her heart pounded louder than Aurora’s drums, drowning out all sound, but she didn’t need to hear his footsteps to know he was behind her. She could feel him. Not daring to look back, she continued running, stumbling up the dark stairs, terror gripping her mercilessly.

Finally, she made it out of the passageway and ran down the hall, lungs heaving. If he caught her… no, she wasn’t going to think about that. She got to the living room and almost cried out in relief when the front door was in sight.

But then Silas appeared, blocking her escape. She tried to turn around, but with obscene speed, he caught her, imprisoning her in his arms. Cold seeped over her as she raised her eyes to look up at him. His eyes still glowed like green fire. She shivered. I’m going to die now. I might as well do it on my feet.

Gazing up at him resolutely, Akasha took in the sight of his tall, dark form looming over her. His bare chest was surprisingly warm against her palms. He has muscles like iron, a part of her mused distractedly.

She flinched as his lips curled upward, revealing the glistening fangs. Time seemed suspended as she stared at him, spellbound by his dark beauty. His grip tightened on her and she held her breath, waiting to feel his teeth sink into her neck.

Will it hurt? Or will I like it?

The slow motion movie sensation continued as Silas lowered his head. His hair tumbled forward to caress his face. Akasha’s fists clenched, resisting an insane urge to tangle her fingers in those silken tresses.

His lips came down on hers.

The heat of the kiss encompassed her body like the fire in a combustion chamber. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the mind-bending pleasure. Unconsciously, she reached up to put her arms around him, but suddenly it was over.

She opened her eyes. He was gone.

Akasha sank to the floor and hugged her knees, unable to stop trembling.

COLLAPSE

Bonus Content:

 

Fan Art of Akasha

Artist: Kayla Marie Miranda

 

Brooklyn Ann