Hello Readers, For the entire weekend of Halloween, Dusk of Death will be on sale for $0.99 on Amazon and then slowly creep back up to its original price throughout the week until November […]
Conor perched on the chair like a bird, perfectly still, not making a sound. He’d been watching the slayer for a few hours. The scent of his blood drove Conor mad, but he didn’t dare touch him. He’d surely be killed for such an action. He spoke with one of the others in his mind to distract his thoughts from the mortal man bound to the chair, and it helped some. It helped more with Trent controlling the level of the bloodsong. It was uncanny he had the ability to do so. None of the others attempted to understand why nor questioned the reason.
Dana Nyliin Yang (short for Yangowski) cautiously stepped inside the oversized hacienda. The door had been locked, but it was a simple trick to open it; one she learned long ago from her master. She’d grown accustomed to the darkness she’d found inside the vamps’ homes over the years. She shut the door behind her, pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, and waited for her eyes to adjust.
A shout cuts through the music as half-naked women scatter, and my eyes dart to Mike the bouncer, who’s pulling some guy out of his chair. Probably touched the girl dancing for him—big mistake. Clancy watches Mike handle the situation. He doesn’t need to intervene; Mike’s already pushing the guy toward the side door, expecting the break bar to spring the door open. Instead, Mike slams into him from behind, and I hear the guy’s loud ugh over the music. I cringe because that must’ve hurt like a mother. Mike’s a big guy, and I mean really big. He’s got a good run on the last guy I dated, was engaged to, who left me, motherfucker.