Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 537

Sometimes you hit it…sometimes, not so much

I've been seeing some very nice reviews for True Heart!

"…The tenderness and erotism Honey, True and Lonny produce is so spectacular that I can't help but embrace the lovingness they have for each other. I love how Honey and True openly confess their tormented past, shedding the painfulness in their lives yet produce some clarity and calmness for what the future holds for them. I love how these characters are not your usual cookie cutter characters…"~ Just Erotic Romance

"…All and all this was a great quick, hot read filled with two very sexy cowboys. I will be putting it in my keeper pile…" ~Whipped Cream Reviews

"…True Heart is an enticing tale that quickly weaves it way into a compelling story about finding your way to a second chance of love. I thought the story behind True was fascinating, he is a captivating character. A delightful read…" ~Sensual Reads

"I have a definite soft spot in my heart for the strong silent type and True in this story…that's my kind of guy. A little rough around the edges that loves as hard as he works. Can I PLEASE have a True? Man alive." Taryn Elliott's blog

And then there's this little story I started that stalled out at chapter five because my heroine's a bitch, but so's one of the heroes. I'll prove it to you. PLEASE don't hold this little snippet against me. It's unedited and very raw, but you will see my dilemma.

The little red Miata ground to a halt, kicking up caliche to pepper the porch's underskirting like bomb shrapnel.

Joe Halloran suppressed a grin and tipped up the cowboy hat riding low over his brow with a lazy finger. Minutes ago, when the sound of an engine screamed down the long private drive, he'd groaned because this was his first break of the day, and he really wasn't up to company. But as soon as he'd seen who it was, he settled deeper into his rocking chair.

Trouble had arrived. And about damn time.

He slid his boots inches to the left on the porch railing to get a better view as the driver ground the gear into park.

Joe glanced to the side. "What the hell do you suppose she's doin' here, Cam?"

His buddy grunted from the beneath the hat he had dipped low enough to shade his entire face. "Not a clue. Suppose her old man didn't tell her?"

Joe gave a snort, lowered his brim again and settled deeper into his rocking chair, ready to play. What had been the end of a hellacious day had suddenly taken a mighty interesting turn.

A car door slammed. Between the porch slats, he watched a pair of long legs scissor with brisk precision. High heels tapped on the steps.

Still, he didn't give a single indication he'd heard her. Instead, taking a deep breath and scratching his chest.

A fingernail dug into his forearm. "Hey, cowboy."

He muttered, but didn't move a muscle. She knew his damn name.

Her nail poked him again. "Cowboy, wake up."

The hint of irritation in her silky voice gratified him in a way that didn't bear too much introspection. He leaned back his head and squinted at her. "Peaches!" he exclaimed, a grin stretching his mouth. "Long time, no see."

Stormy Jordan's gaze narrowed into a mean glare. Yeah, she hated the nickname because she knew he'd given it to her based on the shape of her delectable ass. To make matters worse, the name had stuck like glue when her daddy began calling her it too. Funny, she'd never told him why she detested it so much.

"Cowboy," she said, her voice dripping with syrup. "How 'bout you move your butt and go get my bags?"

Again, he tipped his hat up to stare into a pair of silvery-blue eyes that cut him like the Ginsu knife. "You talkin' to me, ma'am?" he said, deliberately slow because he knew it irked the hell out of her.

Her dark brows lowered over that cold stare. "Well, who the hell else would I be talkin' to? My bags? I'd like to get a shower. I've been on the road since dawn."

Still, he didn't move. He let his gaze slide over her curves, taking a slow detour downward then up again. When his gaze reached her reddening face again, one side of his mouth twitched. He could almost hear the steam hissing.

A toe tapped impatiently. "Since you don't have anything better to do…"

He arched a brow and bolted forward in his chair, rising so swiftly she didn't have a chance to move back. "Sure thing, ma'am," he said, crowding her against the rail. "I'll get on it right away, ma'am." Only he made another slow perusal of her body to make sure she knew he was talking about more than her damn suitcase.

She cleared her throat and side-stepped him. "Cowboy, don't get 'em dirty."

"Now sweetheart, that would be a cryin' damn shame."

Cam hid a smile as Stormy stomped to the far side of the porch, and Joe ambled down the steps to her car. Those two had always been at each other's throats.

Watching them spar was more exciting than any UFC fight and far bloodier.

Still, as much as they poked and prodded at each other, he'd never seen either of them back away. And Stormy always came back for more, so he assumed she liked it.

Their own interactions were quieter, but no less intense. The woman had a way of setting a man's libido on fire even while she did her best to make him feel two feet tall or like he had two left feet. It was a talent. One that had kept the boys flocking all over this very porch when she'd been in high school. Which had kept Joe mean and edgy because he'd wanted her, even back then when she was still jail bait.

The years hadn't dulled the edge of her attraction. Sun streaked blond hair was held up in a clip, exposing her delicate neck and ears. Her black tee was two sizes too small, emphasizing the swell of her B-cup breasts and revealing the sliver of bare skin between the shirt and the top of her tight jeans. That hint of firm belly was enough to make him hard enough to hammer a nail.

He recrossed his legs and interlaced his fingers to let them rest above the swell of his cock. If she looked close enough she'd know how she affected him. Even after all this time.

Two years ago, he'd made the mistake of surprising her with a kiss. He could still remember the softness of her lush mouth, the way her curves had fit against him. Something he'd never told Joe and never would.

The kiss hadn't meant a thing to Stormy. She'd probably only been experimenting and forgotten about it long ago. But he hadn't. And sometimes, late at night he pulled out that memory when he needed release. Her face, that mouth, had inspired many a late night fantasy. However, he knew she wasn't for him. Stormy Jordan was destined to be some rich man's trophy, not some cowboy's girl.

Joe popped the trunk and walked around to the rear of her car. Two cases, both leather and with a designer logo stamped all over the hide, lay inside. He picked up the first and set it on the ground beside him, then hefted the second, larger case. Footsteps clicked down the steps, but he didn't glance around the open trunk door. He placed the large case on the gravel road and slammed down the trunk.

He bent to pick it up, but it slid to the side, landing hard, dust billowing up and laying a fine powder over the burnished leather. His fingers wrapped around the handle, but before he lifted the case to right it, a foot landed on the back of his hand, the heel grinding.

Joe pursed his lips, then aimed a glare at the woman whose features were set, her eyes alert. "Better lift that shoe, sweetheart, or more than your suitcase is gonna be sittin' in the dirt."

"I told you to be careful," she said softly.

"Darlin', sometimes I can be," he murmured. "But I think this thing needs a firmer hand." He let go of the case and twisted his wrist to grab her ankle, then slowly slid his hand up her calf and over her knee.

She didn't pull away. Didn't gasp or flinch. Joe kept on going, rising up her inner thigh. When he was inches from feminine heat, she called him on his bluff, her hand reaching down to shove it away. "Think you can handle it from here, cowboy?"

Joe drew in a long slow breath, inhaling her spicy scent. "Why don't you just wait and see?" Then he lifted the bag, reached for the smaller one and turned on his heel.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of her heels. His gaze lifted to Cam's, and he arched a brow.

Cam's expression was neutral, and he glanced away.

Joe trudged up the steps, Stormy right behind him.

They had Stormy to themselves, but she didn't know it yet. His mind spun with the possibilities. Ones that didn't have to leave Cam in the dust—if he was willing to play along. But mostly thinking about how soft her skin had felt beneath the scrape of his callused palm, and the little quiver he'd detected before she'd snatched away the prize.

He had years of "Stormy" fantasies stored away. A whole damn menu of acts he wanted to perform—some not legal in most southern states. If she gave him even the slightest hint she was interested, he wasn't going to let a little thing like the fact she was daddy's little girl get in the way.

I don't think Joe or Stormy deserve a happy ending. How about you? Have any ideas how I can salvage these two unlikeable people? Or should I consign this stinker to the manure pile?

Sunday Report Card

A view of the pond in the back yard…

For a week that played out the way it did, I was surprisingly productive.

I spent two days driving the folks back and forth to Little Rock for surgery appointments, in not so great weather. However, I brought along pen and paper and scribbled out two proposals for new anthologies. Clever ones, I think.

Then the weather turned worse and we had our second snow storm of the season. The red-headed hellion's pipes burst, and suddenly, I was covered up in children 24/7. That should have been it, but somehow (maybe because it was a mental escape!), I managed to get nearly halfway through a new novella. So for those writers out there—there really are no excuses!

Summing up accomplishments:

* I completed two proposals for short story collections to follow up Girls Who Bite.

* I revised a synopsis and shipped it to an editor at her invitation.

* I brainstormed a fresh idea for a Kindle novella and am 42% through the manuscript.

The weather thawed enough yesterday that my daughter was able to get her pipes fixed. Hopefully, the repair will hold. This next week I want to finish that short novella, finish a free short story, and begin a new novella for Ellora's Cave. If my wordcount meters don't start filling in quickly, give me a nag!

Saturday Snippet: Winter Wonderland

Psst! Yesterday's winner is at the bottom of this post!

What an appropriate title! Did Lauren curse us? This morning, the snow is still deep enough to warrant UGGs. Not that I have any ambitions beyond snuggling deeper into my Snuggie and watching cartoons with the kids. Maybe I'll find my ambition again after a round of Fairy Odd Parents.

"…ARCTIC DRAGON is a captivating fairytale…"

4 Kisses, Two Lips Reviews

"…Delilah Devlin is an awesome author who knows how to get a reader's attention and keep them coming back for more…Ms. Devlin has written a fantastic story that explodes right off the pages…"

5 Angels & Recommended Read, Fallen Angels Reviews

Headstrong, and seeking a little respite from a suitor's relentless wooing, Queen Larikke rides the arctic wind far beyond the bounds of Northland, only to have her horse bolt at a shot from a hunter's gun. Her "rescuer" is a handsome, mysterious man who lives alone in the wilderness, his cabin filled with erotic images of women.

Rather than fearing her fate, Larikke sets out to seduce him, hoping for one last fling before she settles down to do her duty and wed. Thinking he was saving a life, Drake dragged a very strange woman home, stripped her, and warmed her by his fire. Now he finds his long, self-imposed isolation may have made her allure impossible for him to resist and that he'll endanger her when he shares his special kiss.

A blanket of fresh powder muffled his footsteps. For a moment, the bitter cold wind died down. The stillness invited him deeper into the clearing. Something in the air alerted him, an intuition that was part of his true nature told him to wait.

Wind had blown snow against large tree trunks, forming deep banks where the tall green sentinels stood close together. Everywhere pure, pristine white dusted the tops of branches, cloaking them in rich, thick wonder. Precious sunlight peeked from behind a dark gray cloud and refracted like a billion tiny prisms on frozen crystals that gilded the uppermost layer of the snow.

His breaths seemed loud, intrusive and he concentrated on being quiet so that he didn't disturb—not that anyone was would hear him this deep in the wilderness.

Rather, all was hushed, expectant. Quiet like he preferred now. Content at last with his own company.

The first few months had been the worst. The silence had nearly driven him nuts. Now, he barely noticed. Sounds other than voices, the hum of electricity or the roar of a passing engine were replaced with softer, more predictable ones—the rustle of pine needles as a breeze swept through outstretched branches, the resonant creaking when snow weighed the branches down. The rustle of animals as they scratched in the snow for food.

The voices inside his head had also faded. The strident ones that had called him a freak and the startled screams—well, they couldn't reach him here.

If he missed the company of a woman—so be it. Other parts of his existence flourished in the solitude. Almost filling the aching void. The decision he'd made had been the right one. He'd spend the rest of his life—however long—alone.

Do no harm.

He lived by that rule now. At least in regard to people.

For now, he had a stew pot to fill, and he'd tracked a lone deer through the forest to this spot. A soft snort, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the snow.

Drake tugged off his mittens and raised his rifle, setting the stock snug against his shoulder. He had the doe in his sights and slowly pulled back on the trigger, when an unexpected tinkling sound, like bells carried on the wind, drew his attention. His gaze strayed for only moment. As his attention returned to his quarry, a sudden icy wind swept up snow, obscuring his view.

The shadow of the deer still in his scope, he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel upward at the last moment when he realized he wasn't looking at a doe at all—but a woman on a bay-colored horse!

The shot went wild, but the horse gave a high-pitched whinny and reared, dumping the woman to the ground before bolting.

Drake threw down his rifle, swearing silently as he clomped on unwieldy snowshoes toward the figure lying like a spill of red paint against a white canvas. Her fur-lined scarlet cloak fanned around her slender body. He knelt in its folds to reach for the woman who had yet to open her eyes.

He ran his hands over her body, checking for broken limbs, cursing himself for a horndog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold gown. But it had been a long time since soft curves had yielded beneath his palms. Not much in the way of padded layers of clothing protected her from his inspection, just the soft fabric. What in hell was she doing wearing a costume in the wilderness in winter, even one made of heavy velvet?

Finally, she stirred, moaning softly.

He sat back on his haunches, noticing at last the luster of her mink brown hair and brows and the thick lashes that fanned the rims of her delicate eyelids. They fluttered then lifted, revealing gold-flecked brown eyes.

Struck by her beauty, he stared. Her eyes were wide set and large; her nose elegant and straight. The shape of her face was slightly triangular with a small chin that took no attention away from the sweet curves of her soft, plump mouth.

"Who are you?" she asked, with a voice as light and sweet as the bells he thought he'd heard before.

He shook his head to clear away his lustful thoughts. "The idiot who nearly shot you," he said, his own voice thick and rusty from disuse. He cleared his throat. "Can you move? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I think."

"What the hell were you doing out here?"

She gave him a distracted frown. "Riding." Then rising on her elbows, she glanced around her, blinking. "My horse, Windancer…"

"He bolted when I fired."

Her confused stare returned to him. "He's gone?" Her eyes widened until the white surrounded the brown iris. "We must find him."

No "I must find him". She'd included him, without even wondering if it was wise.

Snow had begun to fall again—thick, fat flakes that swirled in the rising wind, a blast of arctic chill. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but seeing no other choice, he said, "I'll look for him after the snowfall ends. We need to get you inside."

Oh hell. He'd have to take her to his place. Something he'd sworn he'd never do. She might not be any safer there. He'd lived alone too long. With her lush beauty, she was too much of a temptation.

Her mouth opened, but then closed, her lips forming a thin line. "I have to find my horse. I can't stay here," she said, casting a wild glance around them.

"In a few minutes, we won't see more than a few feet in front of us. A storm's coming in."

"You don't understand—"

Although, it was the last thing he should do, he held out his hand. "Come. We'll talk later. After I get you out of the cold."

* * * * *

Larikke stared in dismay. She couldn't go home with him. They'd be alone. Her, alone with a human? Unthinkable! Humans were so short-lived and violent. Think of the scandal it would cause!

"We'll both freeze if we don't get out of this weather," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child—one not so very bright.

Only she knew she wouldn't. Freeze, that is. This is what she got for her stubborn bid for freedom. Stranded in a wild land—with a man. Her mage would no doubt cluck like a hen when she recounted the tale of how she'd ridden the wind and landed on her backside in a snow bank before a human as handsome as any damnable frost faerie.

She'd only wanted to put Thure firmly in his place. Remind him who was in charge of her destiny—that she had a will of her own.

And maybe to inspire him to anger and to let go of the firm hold he kept over himself whenever they were together. She wanted to see the powerful male beneath his princely trappings.

Rather like the prime specimen before her.

Oh, why couldn't this human have been as hairy as a polar bear? Or as ugly as a walrus? Oh no! His eyes were a crystalline blue. His hair was silvery blond and fell well past his broad shoulders. Clean-shaven, his jaw was sharp-edged and strong. His brows, although drawn together in a fierce frown, were full and nicely shaped but hooded piercing eyes. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could tell his frame was tall and thickly muscled.

The few humans she'd met long ago, thickheaded and thick-bodied warriors stopping on their journey to Valhalla, didn't compare. A crude, ungifted species, they'd never aroused much interest. But this one, with his rumbling voice and burly frame, nearly stole her breath away.

Perhaps she was simply addled by her spill. Or maybe she was just feeling the familiar, deepening need for something different from her prescribed future—something wicked and deplorably wrong. She cleared her throat. "I must insist we find my horse."

He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. Then before she could brush away the snow clinging to her mantle and give him the setdown he deserved for daring to handle her so familiarly, he bent and swept her over his shoulder.

Larikke's mouth gaped. Now, this was a view of the world she'd never seen. Upside down, suspended on the shoulder of a barbarian, several long moments passed before she could gather the breath to do more than sputter in feigned outrage—for his rough handling of her person was…intriguing. "What do you think you're doing?" she gasped.

"What you haven't the sense to do yourself," he grumbled, as he trudged through the snow.

Blood rushed to her head and temporarily northern parts, filling her with a breathless expectancy—something the Prince of the Frost Faeries had never managed to do with his polite wooing. Larikke gave a huff, but didn't bother to struggle against his firm hold.

Instead, she brought her fingers to her mouth and issued a piercing whistle. The expected whinny never came. Could Windancer truly have deserted her? Was he even now making his way back to the palace without her? Gudvin would have his guts for garters!

Well, there was only one thing to do. Since she was truly at his mercy, she might as well play nice. Pressing her hand against his lower back, she arched up. "I accept your hospitality, sir. You may put me down now."

"We're already there," he said, his voice deliciously gruff. He set her on her feet next to what looked like a snub-nosed metal sled.

"It looks as though you've lost your horses too," she sniffed.

His startled gaze landed on her.

She shrugged. "You really should have let me wait for my horse. He'd have no trouble pulling your little sled."

Proving his barbarian pedigree, he grunted. "Climb on." He pointed to a leather saddle atop the odd conveyance.

Only to humor him, Larikke gathered her clothing and clumsily straddled the sled then tugged her skirts to straighten them around her. When she glanced up, he shook his head.

"What?"

"Scoot back."

When she hesitated, he swung his leg wide, climbing over the sled, just behind its steering handles, then he pressed backward, nearly sitting in her lap. Larikke slid as far back as the seat would allow, but still found her front plastered to his back—and her thighs snug alongside his.

Before she could voice an objection to his proximity, the conveyance roared to life, jerking forward, and then skimming over the snow fast as a seal in water. Hastily, she grasped for something to hold on to, her hands sliding around his waist to grip him hard.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and squeezed shut her eyes as they sped past trees that blurred the faster they went. Just when she was beginning to enjoy the heat of his body pressed close to hers and the vibrating rumble between her legs, the sled hurtled over a crest and left the ground, only to land with a thud on the far side before speeding away again.

The idiot would kill them both! Her immortality seemed a mite more finite by the second. "Will you please slow down?" she shouted above the roar of the invisible horses.

"Already there," he said, this time sounding suspiciously smug.

"You said that before," she muttered.

The sled slowed, and then drew to a smooth halt.

Larikke peeked around his shoulder to find they'd stopped in front of a rough log cabin. "I was wrong. Not a human. A troll," she muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Never mind. I assume this is our destination?"

He climbed off the sled and looked at her expectantly.

She stared, wondering when he'd offer her a hand. When he didn't appear to take the hint, she decided to outwait his bad manners and gathered her skirts, willing strength into her trembling legs.

"For fucksake." The blond barbarian bore down on her, his hands outstretched.

Larikke squealed when he gripped her waist and lifted her from her seat. He deposited her next to the sled and raised one eyebrow. His message was clear. He'd carry her again, if she refused to move along.

Gathering her considerable pride, Larikke gave the invisible horses a wide berth and headed toward the house, now only a looming shadow behind the whirling white snow.

She realized with a start that the pale sunlight waned. The day had been short, but not surprisingly so, given how close to Northland they were. Would anyone at home even notice she was missing?

Nearer the door, she saw the outline of figures lining a pathway in the snow. Sentries? Around a hovel? Only when she drew nearer she realized they were encased in ice, their skin, hair and clothing translucent. Frozen solid!

Was he a powerful mage? She darted a glance over her shoulder and found him alarmingly close. Would he enslave her thusly if she didn't do as he bid? Thinking she may have been captured by a very gifted creature indeed, she was surprised she wasn't more afraid.

Then again, he'd thought only of her safety. Her comfort. He'd brought her out of the cold to rescue her after all. Not that she really needed rescuing. Only he didn't know that, did he? He had no clue as to her identity. If he knew, what would he do? Ransom her to the frost faeries? She shivered at the thought.

Thure would expect a large reward in return—rule over her kingdom. Her flight into the artic wind had been to escape his attentions in the first place.

The barbarian mage reached around her, thumbed the latch on the crude wooden door and swung it open. Dark as a cave inside except for the red embers of a smoldering fire in a hearth, the cabin smelled pleasantly of wood smoke and a strong pine scent she couldn't place. She waited patiently while he shut the door behind them, dropping a board into a brace to lock them inside.

"I'll get the fire going. Make yourself comfortable," he said, roughly, not looking her way.

She strode further inside, surprised to find the room larger than she had originally thought. As he lit lanterns on the table and above the mantle, she took stock of her surroundings. Thick braided wool rugs in a riot of vibrant colors covered the floor. Deep-cushioned leather couches flanked the fireplace. Dark cupboards, shining from a fresh application of beeswax, reflected the warming glow of the fire. A cozy room despite the cabin's rustic exterior.

However, what drew her fascinated gaze were the paintings gracing the crude log walls. In colors deep and vivid, they depicted nude women, lying atop disheveled beds and green meadows on coverlets of crimson, royal blue and yellows as vivid as the rare roses her winged suitor brought her during the midnight sun. The colors were alive, sensual, the whirling textures of the paint itself drawing her to touch, but the poses of the women disturbed her.

Legs splayed wide, palms cupping generous breasts, fingers sliding into glistening sexes. Her body stirred at the images as she imagined them tempting the barbarian with their naked flesh. Arousal rose swift and urgent inside her.

Had she landed in the lair of a mage who used sex magicks? The thought should have horrified her, but she'd seen proof of his powers in the sentries guarding the door. How else could she explain her response to the pictures and to him? She should have been horrified—or at the very least deeply embarrassed.

A footfall behind her made her stiffen.

"Let me take your cloak," he said, his voice gruff.

"Will you enslave me in ice?" she asked, glancing warily over her shoulder.

His eyebrows drew together in a frown, and his gaze swept over her. "Enslave you?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Like the poor creatures guarding your door."

"Damn." Suddenly, he gripped her shoulder to turn her toward him. Then he reached for the frog closures at the top of her cloak and plucked them open. He slid the cloak off her shoulder to let it fall to the floor.

She found herself being pulled toward the fire, but his hands didn't stop their wicked work. "Stop that!" she said, swatting at his dexterous fingers as they made quick work of the buttons at the neck and along the side of her gown.

"I won't harm you," he said, between tight lips. "You're suffering from hypothermia. Your dress is wet. I need to get you out of it."

"Hypothermia?" What was he saying? "Is that a curse?"

"It will be if we don't get you out of those clothes and warm," he said, his voice steady, but roughening.

Had he already used his magick? She was certainly growing warmer by the moment. Allowing him to finish stripping away her gown, she stood in front of him with the fire warming her backside.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Eliza Gayle

Emma Petersen

HelenKay Dimon

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Shelli Stevens

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

The winner of yesterday's contest is…Marika! Marika, you have two days to email me regarding delivery of your prize!

Flashback: Uncovering Navarro

If you post a comment today, you'll be in the running

for a free download of this book!

I chose this excerpt today because Moses Brown's on my mind. You see, he didn't get a happy ending in Uncovering Navarro, and I think he needs one. In fact, I'm writing his story right now. And you won't have to wait months and months to read it. But more about that another day. Enjoy this glimpse of Moses and his FB. Then be sure to comment so that you're entered to win!

"UNCOVERING NAVARRO is an action packed, fast paced, scorching, erotic thriller. With delicious love scenes, wry humor and non-stop thrills, UNCOVERING NAVARRO is a guaranteed page turner that'll delight the reader."

5 Drops of Blood, Vampire-Erotica.net

"I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys stories of vampires and things that go bump in the night. UNCOVERING NAVARRO is an extraordinary read by an extraordinary author."

5 Cups, Coffee Time Romance

Sidney Coffey, Seattle 's "News at Nine" girl, uncovers the scoop of a lifetime and her ticket into "serious journalism". The only problem is — without proof, no one's going to believe the victims of recent gang killings are in fact "undead" and vampires!

With her gut telling her there's an even bigger story lurking beneath the surface, she decides to beard a reclusive vampire master in his den for an interview. But meeting the master only complicates things. For a woman with a voracious sexual appetite, the tall, dark and gloomy vamp proves an irresistible challenge.

When a reporter trespasses on his estate, Navarro is at first amused, then annoyed that the little baggage is close to putting together the pieces of a dangerous plot involving an old enemy and a group of murdered geneticists. To keep her safe, Navarro issues an invitation he won't let her refuse.

"Sid, get that cute, little tail of yours behind the yellow tape, now!" Moses Brown bit back a grin at the look of pure irritation that crossed Sidney P. Coffey's face.

"Hi there, Moses. Long time, no see." She ducked back under the crime scene tape and turned, taking a moment to pull the white cuffs of her shirt from below the edges of her leather jacket.

She was stalling. Moses could almost see the gears turning over in her head. The woman didn't know when to give up.

When she glanced his way, a smile was plastered on her face. "By the way, congratulations on the promotion, detective. The new suit makes your shoulders look even broader."

His gaze narrowed. The only time she wasted a second on small talk was when she wanted something—bad. "Sid, you're not gettin' inside that house."

Her blue eyes widened. "Do you think I was trying to—"

"Uh-huh. Don't give me that Miss Innocent look. I know you, sweetheart."

Her eyebrows rose, and her sexy mouth formed a pout. "Not even for an old buddy, like me?"

Moses folded his arms over his chest. "Old fuck buddy—let's keep that straight."

She huffed, and her eyebrows drew together in a disgruntled frown. "That sounds so crass."

"I'm just repeating what you told me, baby."

"Well, I was only being honest."

That was the thing he liked about her best—beyond her slim body and cute tush. She didn't mince her words. A man knew exactly where he stood.

She was also the only woman he knew who could keep a secret. Even though they often stood on opposite sides of the tape—him a cop, her a reporter—he could trust her. If he told her something couldn't make the evening news, she kept the tip close to her chest. Her soft, curvy chest.

She nodded toward the house, lights ablaze as the forensics team scoured it for clues. "How 'bout I promise to keep out of sight—"

He shook his head. "You know damn well the chief'd have my ass in a sling if I let you in there."

"But it's such a fine ass," she purred. Her glance gave him a once-over that left his skin burning.

He straightened and dropped his voice, "And don't you know it."

Her smile was genuine this time. "Maybe you need to refresh my memory." Her gaze slipped over his shoulder again. "What's going on in there?"

"You weren't listening to your police scanner?"

"You know I was." She wrinkled her nose. "Come on, give! A triple homicide? Who was it? More teenagers bite it?"

The little lady was too bright for her own good. He schooled his face into a mask. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Not now anyway, huh? You know, the police aren't going to be able to keep this killing spree under wraps much longer.

People are going to put two and two together. When they do, your chief's fanged friends won't be able to hide in the shadows." She sidled up close. "Later, maybe? We haven't talked in a long time."

Moses could feel his defenses crumble. Her fine blonde hair shone bright as sunshine under the streetlamp. Her flowery perfume tugged at his cock. He slipped his hand in his pocket and handed her his key. "I could be a while, sugar."

"Just wake me up." She walked past, deliberately rubbing her jeans-clad thigh against him.

He watched her hips sway as she walked away, until she turned the corner of the street. "Moses," he muttered to himself, "what the hell do you think you're doin'? That little woman's gonna wring you like a dishrag."

* * * * *

Sidney heard the creak of the apartment door as it opened. With a satisfied grin, she settled back against the satiny comforter.

Moses hadn't made her wait long after all. And soon she'd get her scoop—after a little play, of course.

Of all her recent fuck buddies, Moses was her favorite by far. His appetite for sex matched hers. Best of all, he didn't cling, didn't make more of her sharing his covers like some did. He knew the score—knew she liked her sex as most men did. Dirty, nasty—and often.

For her, sex was a purely physical release. An addiction she craved like some women craved chocolate. She ached with need. Already her nipples beaded, and her pussy oozed cream. Just the thought of his large cock sliding inside her had her blood humming in her veins.

To ease the ache between her legs, she slipped a hand between her thighs and stroked her cunt.

Moses pushed open the bedroom door. "Couldn't wait for me before you started the party?" His generous lips were stretched into a grin.

Glad she'd left the lamp atop the nightstand on, Sidney smiled and opened her legs so he could watch her play with herself. "I'm just priming the pump, honey."

He hadn't wasted any time himself. His dark chest was bare. His hands were already busy shoving his pants down muscled thighs. His cock sprang from confinement, huge and veined.

"Baby, you know I got a terrible thirst." His dark gaze smoldered as he watched her fingertips slide into her wet slit.

"I was counting on that." She dipped two fingers inside and swirled them in her juices, then she painted her nipples.

He strode to the end of the bed and crawled onto the mattress, his expression taut. His hands circled her ankles and jerked her legs wider apart.

Sidney yelped, but thrilled to his sheer physicality.

His face came down between her legs, and he made a growling sound as he sucked her lips into his mouth.

She hissed air between her teeth and lifted her hips, eager to accept his sensual kiss.

"Oh man, you know I missed the taste of you, girl," he said, rolling his face in her pussy. His large hands skimmed up her inner thighs, and his fingers spread her labia.

"Oh Christ," Sidney moaned. "Eat me, Moses." Her hands smoothed over the crown of his shaved head, and her fingers curved around his ears.

Need fortune cookie wisdom…

Here's something we haven't done in a while. A question. Just for us. And purely for our own pleasure.

What thought or sentiment would you like to have copied and put into one million fortune cookies?

My personal favorite would be, "You snooze, you lose." What's yours? Doesn't have to be cute or clever. Fortune cookie sayings rarely are.

Guest Blogger: Emma Jay

I'd been itching to write a wedding story for awhile, but I couldn't write about the bride and groom—they're already at their happy-ever-after. The Nora Roberts bride books were intriguing, but I didn't want to go to that level of research.

Then I went to a wedding in the Hill Country. It was a gorgeous setting, a limestone and glass building, an open floor plan, a gorgeous patio on the cliffs overlooking the Pedernales River. Perfect for my story.

And I watched a bridesmaid and a groomsman make eyes at each other. There was the story. Why should the bride and groom have all the fun? That it turned out to be erotic was just a bonus as Eric and Haven rediscovered the passion they'd found when they met at the bride and groom's engagement party.

In my story, I added hotel rooms for the wedding party to slip in and out of, and lengthened the wedding to a weekend-long event to give my hero and heroine lots of time to sneak around.

Do you like wedding stories? What are some of your favorites?

Two Step Temptation is available from Samhain Publishing for $1.75 this week!

Guest Blogger: Donna Alward

What Goes On Behind Closed Doors?

By Donna Alward

A big huge Thank You to Delilah for hosting me today! It's kind of a special day. I have a print release from Samhain Publishing that hits shelves today and anytime a book releases it's a reason to celebrate, I think!

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER evolved from a simple idea: what if a wife bought her husband off a bachelor auction block? The first question of course is…why is a married man in a bachelor auction? Turns out the answer that came back to me was that the marriage wasn't exactly a functioning relationship. In fact, the moment the heroine sees him on the stage is the first time she's clapped eyes on him since right after their wedding. Over a decade earlier.

Most of my published works are written for Harlequin Romance, and as such the bedroom door is closed. Sometimes stuff happens behind those closed doors, and sometimes not. I'm okay with that—the emotional journey is always first and foremost after all! But every now and again I like to write a little hotter. Sometimes I write those "closed door" scenes just for me. They don't make it into the book, but I know what's happened. And knowing the details, I know exactly what the consequences—emotional and otherwise—will be for the characters.

I have more latitude with my Samhain books, and I really enjoyed letting loose with this story. Dev is pretty darn sexy, and Ella would rather forget just how spectacular the fireworks are between them. But of course, she can't! And I let the door stay wide open for those scenes. It was pretty fun, actually, and I ended up being quite happy with the results. One reader reviewed the book and commented that, "A reader would expect this book to be 'hot' and it really is. What I didn't expect was for the 'hot' scenes to be so well integrated into the plot that the story would not have moved forward without them. How, when, where, and why the hero and heroine make love is woven seamlessly into the plot."

I've got an excerpt for you—more of a teaser of what's to come, really. It's the first night Ella and Dev have seen each other since she left him, and they've toasted their troubles with a good amount of bourbon…

He tried to turn her and steer her to the bedroom. Good Lord, she was going to have a head on her in the morning. He hadn't meant for her to get this tipsy. Of course, she was a little bit of a thing. Compact, a bundle of energy and passion. Her breast grazed his hand and he gritted his teeth. If she hated him now, she'd really despise him in the morning if they slept together. Almost as much as he'd hate himself. He was in control. It was time she knew that. If she thought she'd get what she came for easily, she had another thing coming.

He'd take what he wanted first.

"Dev?"

"Yeah?"

"You're so tall. You know that, right?"

He smiled. She could make it so hard to hate her, especially when she used that soft, slightly plaintive tone like she had to have it or she'd just die. "Yeah, rumor has it."

"No, I mean really tall. Tall like women like their men to be tall. So that we have to tip our head back and look way up." She sighed, her sex-kitten eyelids drifting half-shut. "Sexy tall."

"Shut up, Ell." A muscle ticked in his jaw and in another strategic location. If she kept looking at him that way he was going to find it very difficult to put her in bed and walk away. But he'd be damned if he'd give in to her tonight. No matter what it cost him.

They took two steps.

"Dev?"

He sighed.

"Yes, Ell?"

She gripped his other arm so she was facing him, looking up at him with her dark eyes and lips red and slightly puffy, ripe to be kissed. He swallowed, hard. God, how he'd loved her.

She did it then, standing up on her tiptoes, melding her mouth to his, the flavor of the bourbon seducing them tongue-to-tongue. His mouth opened in an instinctive reaction to feeling hers on it. He lifted one hand and cupped her head, sending the prim twist askew, hairpins dropping to the floor. Her breasts were firm against his chest and she let go briefly to tug at the hem of his T-shirt.

"Take this off," she murmured, pulling the hem up over his abs. "Not in front of the bar. Not for Katie McGrew." She said the other woman's name with just enough venom for Dev to enjoy the surprising fact she was jealous. "Take it off for me."

For her. The words fired him up and he reached behind his head, grabbing at the collar and pulling it over in one swift movement. This much. He'd allow this much. He'd let her get a good hard reminder of what she'd thrown away. But no more. They didn't dare go any further.

Her fingers trailed down over his skin, the sensitive skin of his ribs, down his shoulder and to his elbow. "Mmm."

He slid his hand over her blouse, allowing himself one gratifying handful as he kissed her fully. Despite the Jim Beam or the years that had passed, her taste was as familiar to him as the smell of sweetgrass. Ella. His Ella. He kept his mouth fused to hers as he blindly undid the buttons of her blouse, filling his hands with her breasts once the fabric fell away. Her hand slid around to cup his bottom through his jeans.

A murmur sounded deep in her throat and he knew he had to stop, reminded himself that sex right now would only make things worse. He couldn't afford to spend Saturday dealing with post-coital fallout. She'd blame him for…what? There would be something, he was sure, and it would be all his fault and none of hers. No, tonight he'd leave her wanting more. He was the one with the self-control here. He'd get her to damn near ache for him, the way he'd ached for her for months after she'd abandoned him. And then maybe he'd sign her precious papers. After his lawyer'd looked at them. His terms, he reminded himself. She owed him that.

It took all his resolve, but he backed away, leaving her standing stunned and utterly beautiful.

"Go to bed, Ella." He pushed her towards the single bedroom. "If you don't, you'll hate yourself in the morning far worse than you hate me right now."

She turned and stared up at him with dazed, hurt eyes. He couldn't bear for her to argue, so he walked out into the cool September air, letting the screen door slap behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thanks for sharing today with me! You can catch up with me at my site, or on twitter—@DonnaAlward.

January Wrap-up

I was not a ball of fire this month.

True, I lost several days to two trips: one to Mississipi where I taught a plotting bootcamp with my sister; and the other the cruise to Key West and Cozumel. Still, it seemed like I wasted a lot of time thinking about what I should be writing rather than actually getting any pages done.

The high points of the month:

* Ravished by a Viking, my first book for Berkley, was released on January 4th! Woot!

* True Heart came out the same day from Samhain! It was still on MBaM's top ten bestsellers' list this morning, so I have plenty to be grateful for there.

* Girls Who Bite was accepted by Cleis!

* I completed two new short stories and shipped them to the editors of those collections.

* My previously published story, Sanctuary, was accepted for publication by Samhain.

Because I was soooo unproductive this month, February will be horribly frenetic!

* I have to write a 10k short story for a Kindle project (still need an idea that involves a stone or jewel!—ideas anyone?)!

* I want to finish a 25k BDSM story for Ellora's Cave.

* I want to write a 20k contemporary for my next Kindle release.

* I would like to write two short stories for upcoming collections. (Not that I expect to place both of them, but I figure it's always nice to have shorts to give away for free and I won't write them without a deadline!)

* And it would be nice to complete revisions on a couple of projects I already have mostly finished and get them out the door!

Yeah, way more than a sane human ought to consider doing in one month, but I always like to shoot high!

Sunday Mini-update & Announcments

The winner of the $25.00 gift certificate is posted at the end of this blog!

This is kind of a random blog today. For my own sake, I NEED to do a Report Card so that you can all scold me, and I can get mad at myself and get to work! On the other hand, I've been gone so long that I've missed making a few little announcements. So read on!

Real quick recap. I wrote 3 pages this last week. 3 FREAKING PAGES. Nuff said? 3 FREAKING pages a week will get you a book in a FREAKING decade. So puh-lease, tell me how lazy I am. Or better yet, how you're waiting anxiously for the next story. I need to picture your grasping hands reaching through the monitor to wring my neck if I don't get to work.

So, on to other more interesting things…

I have a newish interview up at Coffee Time Romance. Check it out if you'd like to know a little more about what was in my crazy head when I wrote Darkness Captured! Interview at Coffee Time Romance

Thought you might like a sneak peek at a book that's coming out in July 2011. I have a short story in this compilation, entitled Hot Out Here.

Twenty-five unashamedly modern romances with a strong erotic element aimed at the women's market. Twenty-five unashamedly modern short romances which don't shy away at the bedroom door from the crème de la crème of contemporary romance writers, including Lilith Saintcrow, Louisa Burton, Anna Windsor, Susan Sizemore, Michelle M. Pillow, Rebecca York, Charlotte Stein, Shiloh Walker, Victoria Janssen, Saskia Walker and Cathy Clamp.

This is writing which is more direct, less euphemistic, and frankly accepting of sexuality – fiercely hot stories of flesh and blood and feelings which will entrance and beguile romance readers.

Here's a little snippet!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Beads of condensation, glittering jewel-like in the sputtering candlelight, ran in rivulets down the sides of Jason's ice-cold beer.

Detail I shouldn't have been able to note, given the fact I wasn't anywhere near him.

As I lowered my nephew's toy binoculars, I reflected that I had indeed sunk to a new low. You see, my bedroom window conveniently overlooked Jason and Robert's fenced backyard. A fact that never registered with the previous tenants, but one that proved too delicious to ignore after the arrival of the handsome duo.

I began a furtive surveillance at once. One that had me cringing in embarrassment each time I greeted them in passing and feeling even more ashamed when we struck up a friendship.



We'd shared meals, drinks, watched football games together on their wide-screen TV. And still, I peeked into their backyard, waiting for those moments when they popped outside to mow it or catch a few summer rays. Their bodies gleamed with sweat while raw lust warred inside me along with the fear that I'd mess up our relationship if I let the guys know how I really felt.

My convenient perch on the windowsill afforded me a window into their private lives, and I was hooked from the very beginning. They'd become an obsession, one frustrated by the fact they treated me like a kid sister rather than a woman one of them might desire.

And therein lay another problem. I'd resisted the urge to seek a deeper relationship because then I'd have to choose. My libido was completely fickle, lusting after Jason's muscled physique, then sighing over the possibilities of what Robert's tall, bony frame and large feet hinted at. That their personalities were perfect bookends, fierce and funny, confused my heart as well.

Lucky me, I licked the sweat gathering on my upper lip while this night one of the handsome men living next door tilted his bottle and took several long sips. The look of pure bliss that softened his otherwise stern features made my chest ache.

I watched the movement of Jason's throat as he worked it down, imagining him sipping at my overheated flesh. My skin began to tingle. My nipples beaded, crowding uncomfortably against my lace bra. My thighs clenched as a delicious wash of arousal seeped to wet the crotch of my plain panties.

The sigh he emitted as he set the bottle on the table was echoed by my own painful groan. Watching either of them had never caused my heart to skip a beat like that hint of a moan sliding on the tail of Jason's long exhalation.

Sure, it was hotter than hell out there. I too felt the effects of the enervating heat. Record temperatures had strained the region's resources and planned service interruptions began that night. But something about that sigh felt…un-subtle, exaggerated, maybe even dramatic. And Jason was too straightforward a man for that.

I blotted sweat from my forehead, asking myself again, What am I doing?

Only this time, my peeping hadn't been deliberate. I'd rushed home from work and showered quickly to beat the brown-out. Then I'd stripped to my underwear, pulled back the curtains, and opened the window, hoping for a breeze to cool my skin. Sitting limply on the sill, I waited for the world to flicker into life again.

That's when I'd noticed him, sitting in a lounge chair alone in the dark.

He wore his usual work "uniform"—khaki trousers, white shirt and a tie. Tonight, the tie hung loosened and askew, his collar opened beneath it.

I could see it all despite the lack of electricity. Moonlight silvered his dark hair and reflected bright as a beacon against the white shirt. The golden light from the large Citronella candle leant warmth to his skin and the amber bottle he held between his hands.

As always, he was lovely to watch, but tonight his expression drew my attention more than his breath-stealing features. A sullen slanting of his brows, a bit of pout plumping his masculine lips, an edgy energy to his slight movements—he was either irritated or aroused.

Wanting an answer to the "either-or," I watched. My forte is observation; my people-radar exquisitely tuned to body language and a voice's tonal cues. My curiosity and my lust were caught. No way could I back away from my window now.

The bottle tapped the table as he set it aside. A long-fingered hand tugged the knot of his tie, dragging it from his neck.

When he began to undo the row of buttons down the front of his shirt, I settled deeper on the sill, leaning closer, but taking care to keep my pale body hidden behind the sheer curtain.

The edges of the shirt parted over a broad, nicely muscled chest. My gaze zeroed in on taut, lean abs dusted with dense fur the same color as his close-cropped black hair that stretched nipple to nipple then ran along a thin dark line to slip beneath his zipper.

His hand stroked his chest, scratching through the hair, the faint crinkling sound causing my own chest to tighten, my nipples to surge.

A light sheen of sweat glimmered on his chest and belly. Again, my tongue swept my lips, tasting salt, and I imagined I lapped the dew right off his skin.

When a lazily roaming hand slid over his belly, I tensed, fascinated as he swept the flat plane. Would he be hard or desk-soft? He looked firm. So, I enjoyed fantasizing that he was and touched my own stomach, following his path.

His hand slid down to the knot bulging behind his fly, and he cupped it. Squeezed.

My own hands itched to replace his and grew still, clenching against the fantasy of holding his burgeoning cock as it roused. My cheeks heated and my breaths shortened. No need to tease my own body into arousal, moisture already soaked my panties.

The buckle opened, and the belt slid sinuously from the loops as he lifted his hips and pulled it free. A flick of his thumb and the button at the waistband of his trousers opened. His zipper rasped as it slid down.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And the winner of the $25.00 gift certificate (from her choice of Amazon.com or B&N) is…Chelsea B! Chelsea, send me an email to let me know what addy you want your prize sent to!

Saturday Snippet: Fight

Yes! I have two posts today. Be sure to see the one just under this for contest details!

Since the theme is "Fight", I thought it might be fun to go way back—to my second book, the first in the My Immortal Knight series where you meet Dylan and Quentin for the first time.

"A wild romp of raunchy sex, laugh-out-loud humor, and suspense…" Romance Reviews Today

"Ms. Devlin's take on the vampire world is unique and creative." The Romance Studio

Love bites!

Emmaline Harris meets the perfect man at a Halloween party. After he rescues her from the unwanted attentions of another partygoer, she succumbs to his kisses and spends an evening engaged in wicked-sexy lovemaking. Sure she's just a one-night stand, she tries to exit gracefully, but soon find she needs Dylan's special skills when her world is turned upside down by a blood-drinking killer and his gang who target her for their next meal.

Dylan O'Hara only wants a night of passion to slake his sexual needs, but finds Emmy is a full-bodied, red-blooded siren whose innocence and humor draws this Master vampire like a moth to a red-hot flame. When Emmy attracts the attention of a serial-killing vampire, Dylan vows to protect her, but he fears he'll lose Emmy once she discovers her "Dracula" has real fangs!

"Dylan, watch your back!"

At his friend's warning, Dylan O'Hara spun on his heels and ducked beneath a sweeping claw. He feinted to the left, and then surged upward, slamming the creature into a damp brick wall. "You will heed me!"

Arms immobilized, the beast shuddered and bared its teeth, a flash of white in the scant moonlight penetrating the narrow alley.

In its most primitive form, the creature couldn't understand him. Dylan sighed. This might take some time.

Behind him, wood splintered and metal rang against rock. "Quentin, you'd better finish your end quickly," he shouted, careful not to look away from the vampire. "We've more problems waiting at The Cavern."

"I'd be happy to oblige, but this one won't release its prize." Quentin grunted in accompaniment to the thud of heavy fists pounding flesh.

Dylan's vampire renewed its struggle.

Battling his own mind-stealing anger, Dylan barely pulled his throat away from a mouthful of jagged teeth. He slammed the creature into the wall again. "I will outlast you, bitch."

Intelligence glittered in the creature's dark gaze, and then her features relaxed, morphing instantly from snarling vampire to the cotton-candy sweetness of a teenaged girl. "Mr. O'Hara, I'm so sorry. You can let me go now."

The "Mr. O'Hara" made him feel at least a couple of centuries old. Dylan glared at the dark-eyed girl whose mane of curly, brown hair framed a pale face with sweetly bowed lips. "Who made you, little girl?"

She transformed again, from sweet sixteen to seductress with a single lap of her tongue around blood red lips. "You may," she whispered.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Your sire. Who was your sire? And how do you know my name?"

Her lips formed a moue. "Why, Nicky made me. And every vampire knows you."

Muffled blows continued to sound behind him, and he shouted to Quentin, "For fuck's sake. He's only a mosquito. Can't you finish him on your own?"

"Inexperience doesn't mean the bastard hasn't got a wicked right hook," Quentin replied.

A loud crash and dull thump followed—flesh met metal. Then silence.

"Quentin, have you finished?"

"Not quite," Quentin said, and then groaned.

The girl peeked over Dylan's shoulder.

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Not one word."

Her glance darted back to his, and she nodded too quickly.

He kept his finger pressed to her lips. "And you don't move an inch, or I'll dust you."

Her eyes widened. Maybe she was a virgin to the vamp lifestyle, but she knew enough to fear a Master Vampire's threat. She nodded slowly.

Dylan turned to aid his friend, he wasn't the least surprised to hear the scurry of footsteps heading toward the street. With a shrug, he realized he didn't care the girl was getting away. He could always catch her later.

Quentin had the foresight to remove his shirt before entering the fray, and he rose from the ground to stand bare-chested, facing a male vamp in full-blooded frenzy.

The vamp's face was contorted with bloodlust and his fangs formed two greedy rows, the long incisors curving over his lips. Carrying a human at his side like a bag of potatoes, he swung his free arm and connected with Quentin's jaw.

Quentin landed next to a trash bin. When Dylan approached, he smiled crookedly. "I've got him softened up."

Dylan slid a stake from the top of his boot. "I told you, Quent, we haven't time to play."

The beast lumbered from side to side, the girl under his arm flopping like a rag doll. Blood, spattered on his Linkin' Park T-shirt and blue jeans, indicated she wasn't the vamp's first victim of the night.

To fight a vampire at the peak of his bloodlust, Dylan needed an extra push.

So he let his own lust take him by degrees, careful to balance waning human intelligence with increasing vampire strength. He thrilled to the heightened strength and awareness—bloodlust being a dangerously close cousin to his dark sensuality.

Skin on his cheeks and forehead stretched to accommodate rising plates of facial armor. Fangs slid from his gums, pushing shorter incisors behind them. Dylan curled his lips and snarled a warning at his opponent.

When the other male vamp threw back his head and roared, the rag doll at his side stirred, and she wriggled to free herself from the vampire's grasp. The vamp dropped its gaze to the girl, and Dylan leapt to push the stake deep into its chest.

As Dylan's face reformed and his teeth retracted, the vamp staggered, finally relinquishing its hold on the girl. With a great sigh, the creature fell to its knees. Features blurred, then reshaped.

A blond, sparse beard covered the chin and jaw of another teen. The youth's fearful gaze met Dylan's the instant the young man's body disintegrated into

dust.

"Goddamn, Nicky."

Quentin stepped past him, heading for the girl. She lay on her back, eyes closed tightly. Even from a distance, Dylan heard her heart hammering. Quentin bent over her, his mouth at her throat.

Dylan shuddered, thankful his friend had taken charge of the girl, certain he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from draining her dry. He'd been too long without fresh blood…and a neck was a tender bit of flesh.

After a long moment, Quentin raised his head, blood smearing his lips.

"Open your eyes, little girl."

Her lids lifted slowly, expression dazed.

"You partied too much with the boy, and he got a little carried away." His voice soothed. "You want to go home now."

"I want to go home," she said in monotone.

Quentin pushed a strand of her hair away from her forehead. "Did he drive you here, sweetheart?"

She blinked slowly. "I drove my car to The Cavern."

"How very convenient," he murmured. "Time to go home."

"I want to go home," she repeated.

Quentin helped her to her feet, and she walked to the end of the alley, staring straight ahead. His heavy hand landed on Dylan's shoulder. "We're done here, Dylan," he said quietly. "Let's make sure she gets to her car."

With one last glance at the empty, crumpled T-shirt and blue jeans, Dylan rose to his feet. "How many kids do you think Nicky had to go through to make this one?"

Quentin snatched his shirt from where he'd hung it on a nail and shrugged into it. "Why would he even want one this young?"

"Younger humans are more resilient. Teenagers stand a better chance of surviving the transformation. And they're all out tonight, it being Halloween. Easy pickings."

"Bloody hell. We should be glad he isn't turning babies in Spiderman outfits."

Dylan raked his hand through his hair. "Let's get out of here."

They left the alley and walked toward the violet neon sign marking the entrance to The Cavern.

Just as the girl passed them in a little red Civic, soft misty rain began to fall.

Dylan raised his face and inhaled, welcoming the moisture.

"Fuck me!" Quentin said. "It's raining again. Hurry along, now."

"My friend, you're too fussy. How can you not love the rain? It smells like home."

"I hated home every damned day of my life. Why the hell do you think I was in the Caymans when I was turned? London is forever dreary."

Dylan shook his head. They were poles apart in most things, but bound by their immortality. More than lifelong friends. "Seattle's as close to Ireland as I've found in the world. The weather's soft, and the rain makes everything…" He took a last deep breath. "…Clean."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Eliza Gayle

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Sasha White

Shelli Stevens

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels