Anna Abner's Blog, page 2

“I Only Have Two Hands”

Fan Fiction Written Sadie West



Short blurb : Ian Gallagher is shot during a robbery at the Kash & Grab. While Mickey Milkovich tries to save his life, Ian relives important moments in their relationship. Set in the early seasons of Shameless (US).

Ian Gallagher hated the midnight to two a.m. shift at the Kash & Grab liquor store, but a lot of times his boss Kash liked it even less and so Ian often took his place. Kash didn’t care that Ian was sixteen, that he had school in the morning, or that Ian would much rather be sleeping.

Mickey Milkovich poked his head through the back door in a sleeveless, collared shirt with the word SECURITY on the breast patch. “Hey, you,” he called in his thick Chicago accent. “I’m gonna grab a smoke in the alley. Cover for me, will ya’?”

Ian shot the boy he loved a hopelessly romantic look. If it weren’t for Kash’s security cameras trained on him, he’d join Mickey in the alley. Ian shifted against the counter, tugging at his trouser front. It had been a while, and Ian wanted to sneak outside with him. Maybe, when Mickey returned, he could find the sweet spot under the counter where he was invisible to the cameras.

Deep in a graphic mental fantasy, Ian flinched when the front doors banged open and an asshole in a ski mask pointed a semi-automatic handgun at Ian’s nose.

“Open the drawer,” he demanded.

Ian stood in the bread aisle, frozen, while Kash fired a bullet into Mickey’s right thigh. Witnessing the young man he was crushing on knocked off his feet, yelling, and bleeding had no effect on Ian. Shock, he must be in shock.

Only when Kash approached Mickey, weapon still drawn, did Ian leap into motion and shield his friend.

Mickey’s thigh bled a lot, and Ian wanted to hug him so badly, to offer some kind of comfort, but Kash stood over his shoulder with the gun, and Mickey would never allow it. The fact that he let Ian touch his wounded leg was enough.

Ian began to shake. He fiddled with the buttons of the cash register, fumbling the mechanism. Ironically, the wannabe criminal on the other side of the counter was steady as a rock.

“There’s not much.” He wadded up about forty dollars—the entire contents. “Only enough for, uh, change until we close.”

Mickey better stay outside and smoke a second cigarette. If he walked in on the robbery, his temper would get him shot. Again.

The robber snatched the cash and shoved it into his pocket. “Fuck you.” He pulled the trigger.

It all seemed to happen at once—the gun popped, pain exploded across Ian’s abdomen, and he flailed into a rack of liquor bottles and cases of cigarettes.

“No,” Ian begged, a little too late.

Full, glass bottles of Crown Royale, Jack Daniels, and Grey Goose rained down upon his head.

Pain blew away as if caught in a stiff wind as darkness descended. Light dimmed. Ian blinked once, and Mickey cupped his face, his hands impossibly warm and rough against his oversensitive skin.

The air stank like alcohol.

Ian tried to ask, What are you doing here? There’s a creep with a gun. He’ll hurt you. But, “Whuyaaa?” was as far as he got.

“Shut up, dummy,” Mickey said, smiling past a sheen across both eyes. “It’ll only make you bleed out faster.”

Mickey grasped his hand, and Ian clung to him.

Though Mickey was out of juvie and Ian had seen him a couple times, they hadn’t been together yet. Ian snuck into his yard and scratched at Mickey’s bedroom window until the boy he loved slid it open.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mickey stood on the other side of the glass in nothing but boxer shorts.

Ian chipped paint off the wooden sill with his fingernail. “Did the bullet wound heal right?” he wanted to know. Then, on impulse, “Can I see it?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do.” But Mickey left the window wide open when he climbed back into bed.

Ian slid through the portal, landing gracefully on his feet. “What was juvie like?” he whispered. In the dim light, Mickey’s shape drew him like a magnet.

“Fucked up,” Mickey grunted.

Climbing into bed beside Mickey, Ian peeled the blanket off his lower body for a better look at his bare thigh.

Mickey lay real still, unnaturally still. “Yeah, you can suck me off while you’re down there, too.”

Ian couldn’t remember what the scar looked like, but Mickey tasted like clean skin and salt. It was his first time giving a blowjob, and afterwards he sprawled across Mickey’s chest, happy to doze for a few hours, but the other boy’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.

“Get the fuck outta here, asshole.”

Ian shivered as dark spots danced like fairies in his periphery. “Mick?” he slurred.

“I told you to shut up,” Mickey said, trying for levity but the tears in his eyes ruined the effect. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

Though Mickey was careful, when he lifted Ian’s upper body onto his lap, it hurt. The lights dimmed once more, and Ian may have passed out for a second because Mickey was shaking him and shouting again.

“Stop,” Ian complained. He blinked the shadows away. God, he was weak. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore, though he suspected his fingers were still locked between Mickey’s.

“The cops’ll be here any minute,” Mickey promised.

Ian gazed down his torso at the bloody wound in his belly. “…dying…” Weird, how it didn’t hurt anymore.

“You’re not fuckin’ dying,” Mickey snapped. “They’re gonna patch you right up.”

Ian blinked, and the world went dark and silent. As quick as flipping off the light switch. Mickey moved his face directly in front of Ian’s nose, jostling him. The floor tilted dangerously off balance, and Ian tumbled through a black hole.

Lights flickered as people in scrubs spoke rapid gibberish across Ian’s torso. His whole body jerked like stepping off a curb in a dream. Someone touched his arm roughly, possessively.

“Mickey?” he mumbled, searching through the haze. It had to be Mickey. No one else grabbed him the same way.

The dugout at night was a quiet, creepy place that smelled a bit like beer and urine.

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” Mickey greeted. He was always angry, always hating someone. It excited Ian, who couldn’t hold a grudge. Being with him was like being in the eye of a storm. Ian never knew, from day to day, if he’d experience Mickey’s fury or his protective side.

“Oh, yeah?” Ian shot back. “About what?”

Mickey grabbed him by the arms and forced him to sit, knees splayed, on the ancient wooden bench. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

His pants and briefs slid down and Mickey buried his face between his thighs before Ian fully appreciated the gesture. Mickey liked getting fucked. He’d never returned the favor before.

Is that all it was? A quid pro quo between fuckbuddies?

But then Mickey palmed his balls, and Ian didn’t give a shit why.

Doors and room numbers floated past, but where was Mickey?

Ian heard the words surgery, chances, and wait. Still no Mickey.

“I’m right here, Ian.” Mickey never called him Ian. He called him shithead, dummy, fucktard, and sometimes Gallagher. Never Ian.

He opened his mouth to call for him again when the walls stopped speeding past and something sharp pricked the back of his hand. He sank down through the gurney, through the floor, through the earth itself.

His age be damned, Ian loved to party. His fake ID gained him entry into every dance club on the south side. Mickey preferred a quiet beer at home. Some pot, maybe. He rarely even visited a bar.

So, between the booze and the pills, Saturday night was veering left fast. An older guy pestered Ian right out the exit door. When he stumbled out of the club and fell somewhere down the street in the literal gutter, he didn’t know what to do. If the creep followed him, he was helpless to fight him off. Ian liked fucking, but he wanted to be conscious for it.

Ian crawled out of the street and slumped against a brick wall, pulling his cellphone.

“Who the fuck is this?” Mickey answered.

“Mick,” he said, his mouth swollen and hard to control. “Come get me.”

“Gallagher?” he asked, sounding astonished. “Where the fuck are you? If this is a dumbass prank…”

“I can’t get up,” he whined. “There’s some creep…”

Mickey’s voice, when next he spoke turned serious. “Tell me where you are.”

“…street,” he breathed. “Club Smash…” His eyes drooped, and the phone must have fallen from his numb fingers because he never caught Mickey’s response.

When Mickey arrived, though, he wasn’t quiet or polite about it. He flung Ian against the sidewalk and kicked him in the ribs.

“Is this your idea of a good time?” he demanded. “Flirting with perverts and passing out on the street?”

Ian started to cry.

“You’re a fuckin’ disappointment,” Mickey swore. “Get up.”

He couldn’t.

Mickey pulled him roughly to his feet and supported him on the walk to his pickup.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whined.

“You scared the shit outta me,” Mickey replied, thrusting him into the truck. “I thought I was gonna find you stabbed and raped, you stupid bastard. Why are you out here alone?”

Ian leaned his head against the cool window glass and closed his eyes. “No one to go with.”

“Next time you wanna party, I’ll go with you,” Mickey said, starting the truck. “You need a fuckin’ chaperone. Might as well be me.”

Ian woke like rising from the depths of the community center pool. First, consciousness returned in pieces before he began to flex his limbs. Finally, his vision cleared enough to recognize the person beside him.

Across the narrow hospital bed, a sleeping Mickey balanced on the very edge, not an inch of him disturbing a single spot on Ian’s body. It looked uncomfortable.

“Mick?” His voice was raw and throaty.

The sound roused the other boy, who whipped his head up.

Their eyes met, and Mickey hovered over him, his face a mask of anxiety and grief. “Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

He nodded because his voice was trash.

Mickey hadn’t tried to touch him yet, not so much as a pat on the shoulder. Probably, he stupidly worried about hurting him.

Ian made the first move, laying his hand on Mickey’s. The touch seemed to revitalize him. Mickey’s features softened, and his chin wobbled.

“Is that really you?” Mickey asked. “Cause you’ve been opening your eyes now and then, but no one’s home.”

Just how bad was it? “It’s me, Mick,” he promised. “Am I dying?”

“No, shithead. You’re not that lucky.”

Things must be okay if Mickey was insulting him. Ian eased deeper into the thin mattress. “Did I get shot?”

“Shot, yep.” Mickey relaxed, too, curling around him. “And your head got split open.”

“The bottles?” Ian asked, sort of remembering all that liquor bombarding him when he fell into the shelf.

“Mmm-hmm.” Ian shifted positions, and Mickey laid his head on his bicep.

“Were you worried about me?” Ian teased. In truth, Mickey’s shared body heat and the weight of his arm was lulling him back to sleep.

“Hell, no,” Mickey said, one thumb rising to tenderly stroke his cheek. “I just didn’t wanna have to tell Fiona her no-good brother died.”

Ian smiled as his eyes fluttered closed. “I love you,” he murmured.

There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence. Ian withdrew his arm and lifted his head to see into Mickey’s face.

Too soon, Ian thought. He’d fucked up and said it too soon.

Mickey bit his lower lip and then shifted around as if he couldn’t get comfortable. After clearing his throat, he blurted out, “I love you, too. Now, shut up and go back to sleep. You’re supposed to be resting.” As he said it, he pulled Ian’s arm back around his ribs. “Dummy,” he breathed into his chest.

“Douche,” Ian whispered back, resting his cheek against the top of Mickey’s head. The corners of his mouth turned up, and he fell asleep.

Thanks for reading!

Disneyland for New Year’s

My hubby, daughter, and I had the time of our lives at Disneyland Park this year! We hit Smuggler’s Run, all of our favorite rides (all 4 “mountains” and Pirates of the Caribbean) plus a few more just for fun (Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride!).

1st sighting–Anna and daughter with Pluto!



Anna ran into the Mad Hatter on her way “off planet.”



Anna and family entering Galaxy’s Edge



Galaxy’s Edge and Smuggler’s Run were so immersive, it felt like I was living inside one of the Star Wars movies. It was so amazing! I loved every minute.



Just so you know, blue milk is a coconut milk blended beverage more like a smoothie than plain cow milk. Yum yum!



Ponchos or not, we still got soaked!



Dinner at dusk in New Orleans Square.



We teased my 15-year-old that this counted as her first driving test. (P.S. she did great!)

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Pre-Order Your Next Obsession…

Click to pre-order Beasts of Vegas #4: Shapeshifter’s Prophecy, Beasts of Vegas #5: Fortuneteller’s Prophecy, and Beasts of Vegas #6: Spirit’s Prophecy–three, new, full-length paranormals!

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My First Book Signing

I had my first book signing this week, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it…

The generous owners of our local bookshop, Comic Cult HD, invited me to set up a table at their ComicFest event on Saturday. I was so nervous and shaky beforehand, but it turned out amazing. Everyone was so sweet and supportive.

It took weeks to put everything together, but I had my swag all set up–bookmarks, stickers, temporary tattoos, pens, and bookmarks. Plus, I wanted to give something away, so I collected some fun Halloween goodies (plus copies of my books) in a gift basket to raffle off. Now, I just needed some vampire-loving readers to come into the shop.

NaNoWriMo!

It’s almost November–my favorite month of the year! I can’t get enough pumpkin spice, warm scarves, and National Novel Writing Month.

One Bad Night

A Collection of Stories in the Beasts of Vegas Universe







Back Cover Blurb:

Sexy
shifters, tortured vampires, and powerful witches fight the evil horde on the
Las Vegas Strip…

Catch
up with favorite characters like Dominic Hull and Lukas Larsson in this
collection of stories set in the Beasts of Vegas universe. Meet vampires,
witches, and shapeshifters as they struggle to find love, revenge, and a little
romance on Las Vegas Boulevard.

One Bad Night, Carly: An evil vampiress
wakes up cured and pissed off.

One Bad Night, Dominic: What will shapeshifter Dominic do when his crush needs to drink blood? And he’s the only person nearby?

Download the pdf.



Or keep scrolling for the complete collection.








“One Bad Night: Dominic”



A Beasts of Vegas Story

Dominic Hull was having a bad night.

“We’ve all been there,” Ben assured, slapping him
between the shoulder blades.

Dominic danced away from the unwanted touch as the
pair of six-foot tall shapeshifters weaved against the flow of pedestrian
traffic crossing Las Vegas Boulevard and headed toward one of Ben’s favorite
clubs.

“Really? You’ve had two shots and walked around
the rest of the night with puke on your pants?” Dominic retorted sarcastically.

Jesus, he was turning into a lightweight. It
hadn’t been that long ago that he could take shots all night, dance in superheated
clubs, and wake up the next morning as if nothing had happened. What the hell
was wrong with him?

“Whatever,” Ben said. “I just want to have fun.
This curfew has been a nightmare.”

Dominic agreed. His dad, the alpha, was going a
little overboard recently with the check-in’s, the curfews, and the rules about
going out in pairs. Dominic, being dominant himself, followed the directives only
about half the time.

“Why don’t you be the alpha?” Ben gave Dominic a
scrutinizing look. “Have you ever thought about it?”

Of course, he’d thought about it. As eldest son of
the alpha, he was born to lead, but it didn’t interest him. It meant he’d have
to challenge his father and force him to submit.

“I don’t want it. All that bureaucratic bullshit.
Listening to everyone’s problems. No, thanks.”

“It’s a responsibility to care for and protect a
pack,” Ben countered. “A lot of shifters would gladly take that responsibility.
And it would get your dad off our backs.”

Dominic’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a
curse of pure aggravation, he yanked it free. A text from his friend Lukas
Larsson, a bear shifter from the Netherlands currently residing in Vegas.

Have you
seen Mercy tonight?

Dominic’s guts twisted. A strange thing to ask.
Mercy hadn’t left her suite at the Le Sort Hotel since she’d been dug up from a
twenty-year, forced slumber in the earth. Hell, she hadn’t even left her
bedroom.

Dominic stalled on the sidewalk and struggled
through another wave of nausea before texting back.

What are you
talking about? Isn’t she in her room?

Lukas didn’t immediately text back.

Isn’t she??

Dominic pictured the petite young woman with
white-blonde hair and eyes perpetually registering panic.

“We gotta swing by Lukas’,” Dominic told Ben. “Something’s
come up.”

“What’s wrong?” But Ben’s tone made it very clear
he wasn’t thrilled with cutting their night short.

“Lukas can’t find Mercy.” Not willing to waste
time, Dominic pushed his way back through the crowds toward the way they’d
come. “It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

“Which one’s Mercy again?” Ben asked with a sigh.

Dominic didn’t answer. He’d purposefully kept
Mercy’s name and story out of pack gossip. She was too fragile, too vulnerable,
and frankly too important to him to share with anyone else.

“Just hurry up,” Dominic growled.

The only sign of pandemonium on the team’s floor
of the Le Sort Hotel was Kayla. Mercy’s best friend and self-proclaimed
protector visibly shook with agitation when Dominic and Ben strolled into the
room she shared with Mercy.

“You called him?”
she demanded of Lukas, sending Dominic a disgusted look.

“I’d take his help before I let anyone else know
we have an unstable vampire on the loose,” Lukas replied. He sent Dominic his
own look of frustration. “She was here—”

“When I fell asleep,” Kayla cut in. “She was in
the other bed, rocking.”

Dominic knew Mercy’s emotional issues were
sometimes calmed by rocking back and forth. When he came to check on her, he
often found her in that position.

“And?” Dominic prompted.

“Something woke me up around 11:30,” she
continued. “That’s when I noticed she was gone.”

“Did you look for her?”

“Yes, you moron,” Kayla snapped. “I searched the
entire floor, then the hotel lobby, the promenade, and I was running up and
down The Strip when I finally texted Lukas for help.”

“No one else knows yet?” Dominic asked.

“They’ll overreact,” she said. “They’ll hunt her,
or something, when all she really needs is to see a friendly face and she’ll
come right back.”

“Which is why I called Dominic.”

Kayla rolled her eyes. “He’s obsessed with her.
The feelings are not mutual.”

That stung. Dominic recalled Mercy’s cool, soft
hand folded within his much larger one. She’d trembled everywhere but at their
point of contact.

He wasn’t obsessed.

And the feeling was very much mutual.

“I’ll help you look,” he said, though he realized
too late he hadn’t been asked. “I know her scent. I can track her more quickly
than you can,” he said to Kayla. To Lukas, he said, “I’ll let you know if I
find her.”

Ben’s phone chirped, and he reappeared from the
corner he’d been hiding in. “Oh, shit. It’s the alpha. He wants me back inside
the compound.”

“Then go. I’ve got this.”

“It must be nice having an alpha for a dad,” Ben
grouched.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Though faint, Mercy’s scent—a mix of blood and
calla lilies—lingered around the elevator doors. Without a thought for anyone
else, Dominic took a big breath of her scent and stepped into the next elevator
heading down.

As he crisscrossed the busy lobby, Dominic asked
himself what a vampire fresh off a two decade long dirt nap would do next. The
lights on The Strip were calling to him, but to someone like Mercy, they’d be
terrifying. The crowds, too, would intimidate her.

Dominic scanned the lobby for the least populated,
least lit area of the hotel. He started away from the glittering main lobby,
away from the promenade full of shops and restaurants, and deeper into the
bowels of the hotel. Down a long hallway, her scent grew stronger. He followed
her footsteps through an emergency exit door, across a patio covered in twinkle
lights, and into a garden area that must be meant for smoking or doggie relief.
It was unlit and probably free of CCTV cameras, too. The perfect place for a
traumatized vampire to hide.

“Mercy?” Dominic hissed, following the ever-increasing
scent of fresh blood. “Don’t be scared. It’s Dominic.” He still couldn’t see
her, but he scanned and scanned, edging nearer the source of the blood.
“Mercy?”

A rustle. An intake of breath.

Dominic zeroed in on a corner in the block wall, a
junction made darker by a vine-covered lattice. There, crouched Mercy.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked gently,
pausing ten feet away, not wanting to spook her. “We were worried about you.”

“I’m so hungry,” she whispered.

Dominic’s sight began to focus more clearly in the
dark. “Mercy, are you bleeding?” He blinked, and her entire figure came into
focus. Her face and hands up to the elbows were coated in blood.

“I’m so hungry,” she cried.

“Where did the blood come from?”

Mercy pointed off to the right. Immediately, a
crumpled shape became obvious. Dominic rushed over. “Buddy?” he urged, shaking
the man.

He caught a pained groan, and relief like Dominic
had rarely known flooded his system. Thank
God. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. Just sleep it off.”

There was no reply from the man, but Dominic was
confident he’d survive, the feeding marks would heal, maybe before he woke up,
and Mercy wouldn’t be implicated.

“Mercy?” Dominic returned to her murky corner.
“Are you ready to leave here?”

She raised her big, blue eyes to him. “I’m so
hungry.”

Dominic crouched down low. “Then feed from me.”

His words seemed to startle her. “But you’re a
shifter. If I infect you, it’ll kill you.”

It was true. As far as legend went, shapeshifters
couldn’t survive the vampire infection. If they were exposed to the
virus—transmitted through blood—in their human forms, they’d die almost
immediately. In their animal forms, however, they were immune the same as any
other animal.

“Then don’t infect me.” He lowered himself to the
cool lawn, crossing his legs. “Come here.”

Mercy crawled hesitantly from her hiding place,
her eyes locked on his.

Touch was a tricky concept for Dominic. Most of
the time, it repulsed him. It didn’t matter who touched him or why. But there
was something different about Mercy. She was so damaged, he felt compelled to
protect her.  Hers was the only touch he sought.

Now, he held out a wrist to her, staying
absolutely still otherwise, to avoid spooking her.

He’d never been bitten by a vampire. Mostly, he
was excited by the thought of Mercy’s red lips on his skin, of her pointed
white canines sinking into his flesh, of her sucking his life blood down her
throat…

Dominic expected her to take his hand, but she
pounced instead, biting deep into the fleshy part of his arm. It was quick,
like a snakebite. And then she slithered into his lap, curling into a soft,
blood-soaked ball.

The first few pulls only hurt a little, and he
recovered from his initial surprise. He pet her silken hair, one long stroke
from scalp to the middle of her narrow back. Her heart raced in her chest,
thumping like a bunny’s.

“Better?” he prompted.

Her only answer was a re-shifting of her weight
and a guttural groan of assent. He caressed her hair again, tangling his
fingers among her tresses and digging his fingers in.

“I got sick tonight, too,” he said into the quiet.
“I took a couple shots at a club and threw up. You can probably still smell
it.”

Tiny nod.

“It happens to the best of us.” Oh, his legs were
numb. He clenched his jaw through a dizzy spell. “Maybe drinking so much bagged
blood made you…” What was he saying?

Dominic’s spine softened, and he would have hit
the turf if Mercy hadn’t reacted so quickly. She grabbed him by the shirt and
shook him gently.

His mind cleared only enough to see into her eyes
and sigh in pleasure. “Your eyes sparkle.” Good Lord, had he said it aloud?

She stood and hauled him to his feet, but when he
swayed into her, his body brushing hers, she stepped away and forced him to
hold his own weight. Luckily, his shifter DNA included rapid healing. Already,
he was feeling fractionally stronger.

He cleared his throat, folding his arm closed over
the bloody wound. “You okay?”

Rather than answer, she hung her head, no doubt
listening to everything, but reacting to nothing.

“Well,” he inhaled deeply, sensing the blood, the
victim across the way, and her unique lily scent. “Let’s get upstairs, then.
I’m not feeling so good.”

She followed him into the main lobby, keeping to
his shadow, using him like a walking shield from the lights and crowds they
encountered the nearer they got to the bank of elevators. Dominic pushed for
the fifty-first floor, keyed in the access code, and wavered slightly.

“You’re a heavy drinker,” he said, attempting a
playful tease.

She glanced up at him in concern, however. “You
tasted so delicious,” she told him in a small voice. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

On the team’s private floor, the elevator doors
swept open, and Dominic recognized Kayla and Lukas at the other end of the
hallway. Without a word of thanks or farewell, Mercy scurried away to her waiting
friends, leaving the scent of blood and lilies heavy in her wake.

Read more about Dominic and Mercy in Shapeshifter’s Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas #5)…

“One Bad Night: Carly”



A Beasts of Vegas Story

Carly Alvah was having a bad night.

Gaining consciousness in an ambulance headed for a
Las Vegas hospital wasn’t even the worst of it. Because when she came to, she
remembered everything—the overgrown bear shifter named Lukas Larsson she’d been
running from, his beefy hand clamped around her throat, and oxygen becoming a
limited commodity. That son of a bitch had snuffed her out. Her. Like he had any right to raise his
eyes off the ground in her presence, let alone put his dirty hands on her.

She was a goddess among mortals, a monster, a
blood-worshipping vampire, for God’s
sake.

Speaking of…

Carly quickly took stock of her current situation.
She lay in an undignified sprawl upon a gurney inside a slightly smelly
ambulance. A bored EMT swayed beside her with every bump and roll of the
vehicle.

“You’re okay,” the man said. “Take it easy.”

Not going to happen. She needed to get back to her
minions among the Four Sons. Now.

She sat up, tearing at the blood pressure cuff
around her arm and the oxygen cannula in her nose.

“Nope.” The EMT sighed in annoyance. “Lie back.
We’re almost to the ER.” He pressed on her chest and, with an embarrassingly
small amount of force, held her flat to the gurney.

She snarled and attacked, striking like a cobra
for the tender, blood-infused flesh below his jaw.

Rather than eat his throat out and bathe in a gush
of warm, slick blood, Carly lurched half off the gurney and landed with her
head in the EMT’s lap.

What the hell?

Had she been drugged? Lobotomized? Where were her
enhanced speed, strength, and senses? Come to think of it—she ran the tip of
her tongue along her teeth—she had no fangs, either.

Stunned, Carly allowed the EMT to settle her back
onto the gurney and reattach the cuff and cannula, clucking under his breath
the whole time.

What was
happening?

“What did you give me?” she demanded. God, even
her voice sounded pathetic.

“Nothing,” he said. “But you were unconscious when
we found you. Do you remember what happened?”

“Where did you find me?” she asked, narrowing her
eyes.

“In a white van. Is that ringing any bells?”

That tricky, tricky shifter. He must have dosed
her with something debilitating and dumped her back in her own vehicle. She’d
be tempted to ride out this little annoyance, but she couldn’t let anyone draw
and test her blood. They’d discover she was infected with vampirism and she’d
never see daylight again. The US Army, in particular, was known for imprisoning
and experimenting on infecteds indefinitely.

She had an empire to run. She was too powerful for
captivity.

The ambulance slowed to a stop and, before she
knew what was happening, the doors were open, her gurney was in motion, and she
was whisked against her will down a wide corridor lined with ill humans and
medical equipment.

“No,” she complained. “I’m fine.” Her enhanced
healing abilities would take care of any lingering damage the shifter had
caused in short order. She didn’t need help, she needed out. “I can go.”

Carly sat up and attempted to leap from the gurney
to land like a cat before sprinting away. The reality was much more humbling.
Again, she reeled forward and a firm hand held her down.

“No,” she repeated, struggling. “Don’t touch me.
I’m fine.”

A restraint latched around her left wrist, another
around her right. “Settle down, honey, we’re only trying to help.”

“Fuck you,” she screamed. “I’ll eat your heart.
I’ll swim in your blood.”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” a calm voice
instructed.

She fought so hard against the restraints, her
back bowed off the gurney. God damn it, she hadn’t felt so helpless in years.
“I’ll kill you all,” she bellowed. “I’m a vampire queen, you bitches. I’ll eat
every single one of you.”

“Five of Haldol,” another voice directed. “Call
for a psych eval when she wakes up.”

Carly was asleep before she knew she’d been
pricked with a needle.

#

This time, when Carly woke up, she understood the
irritating situation she was in. Somehow, the shifter Lukas Larsson had taken
away her vampire powers. They had to return soon. The infection flooding her
system would put her back to normal in no time at all.

Carly tested her right restraint. She sensed it
was a fraction looser than the other. She worked at the cuff. Little by little,
her hand slipped out. Her thumb ached in pain, and the muscles in her arm
quivered in fatigue, but she made progress.

Her right thumb dislocated, and her wrist slid
free as a man carrying a clipboard close to his extended belly barged right
into her curtained space. Carly cocked her hip to the side, concealing her free
hand.

“Hello, young lady,” he greeted with a sickly
sweet smile. “How are you feeling?” He checked his notes. “I’m Dr. Wayne, who
do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” He waited, pen poised for her
response.

“Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.” She rattled her
remaining restraint. “I’m not injured. I’m fine.”

A little disappointed, he straightened. “I heard
you were shouting about being a vampire.”

“Are you deaf?”

He talked on as if he hadn’t heard her. “First
thing you should know, your blood was taken and tested by the hospital. You
definitely do not have the vampire infection. I promise you that. So, why don’t
you tell me why you thought you were
infected?”

Finally, reality struck Carly, and she couldn’t
respond. The shifter hadn’t dampened the infection. The fucker had cured it.

She blinked numbly at the well-meaning staff
member. “You’re sure?”

The man seemed relieved he’d broken through her
psychosis. “Absolutely, one hundred percent certain.”

“You tested my blood for vampirism?” she repeated.

It couldn’t be true. There was no cure.

Yet, it made sense. It explained her sudden
weakness and the departure of her fangs. It explained everything.

Lukas had had a witch with him. Maybe… Could she…?

“The government,” Dr. Wayne told her, “has
mandated testing of all drawn blood for vampirism since the early two thousands
when several stray infecteds popped up in U.S. hospitals. It’s done
automatically anytime blood is sent to the lab, and you tested negative for
vampirism.” He eyed her carefully. “Does that surprise you?”

No. Carly was more pissed than surprised. She
barely controlled her rage enough to nod politely. Sanely. “I must have hit my
head,” she said through gritted teeth. “I was confused. I thought I was
infected, but I can see that I was wrong.” She forced a sneer of a smile. “I
feel much better now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He didn’t buy her act at
all. In fact, he pulled up a chair and settled in. “Let’s talk about why you
thought you were infected.”

Twenty-four hours ago, she’d have torn these
restraints from their anchors and shoved them down the good doctor’s throat.
But then she’d come across Lukas Larsson, and now she was practically helpless.

Not completely helpless, only practically.

She discreetly scanned the room, searching out
potential weapons. Not much. A plastic jug of water. The chair the man sat in.
The sheet curled around her hips. But Carly was creative, and she’d had lots of
experience killing on the spur. She settled on the IV tubing connected to her
arm via a needle.

Carly ripped off the final restraint, and a split
second later, the doctor realized she was free. As he struggled upright in
surprise, Carly launched herself onto the doctor’s chest. She wrapped the
tubing around his throat twice and yanked, silencing any attempted call for
help and pinching off his air supply. They tumbled to the floor. He tried to
kick the chair over to attract passerby, but Carly merely doubled the tubing around
her forearm. She glanced at the IV pole that had fallen across the doctor’s
chest. A nice heavy weapon all its own.

Sneering, she leaned back on the crass garrote,
refusing to be fought off until the man went first stiff and then limp. Even
then, she waited another fifteen seconds before climbing to her feet and taking
the IV stand in hand. Sore thumb be damned, she slammed the base into the
doctor’s face until his nose broke, his lips split, and one eyelid ripped away.

Alive with adrenalin, Carly swiped a hand through
his bloodied face, and licked her fingers clean. Blood still ruled her, vampire
or not.

Her heart pounding, she ran for it. Screw any
further deception or subterfuge. She simply wanted out.

Through doors, down hallways, and finally into a
loading bay. She was free.

And she knew exactly who to punish first.

Read more about Carly in Spellspeaker’s Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas #2)…



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Enjoy this Free Red Plague Sneak Peek PDF full of excerpts and extras!

Hunter’s Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas #0)

Back Cover Blurb:

Sexy shifters, tortured vampires, and powerful witches fight the evil horde on the Las Vegas Strip…

In this short prequel, Connor Beckett is on a mission to thwart his cursed future and kill Oleksander the Destroyer. The vampire warlord, however, is locked away in a secret army prison. In order to find him, Connor must confront his very first vampire.

Except he can’t possibly comprehend the violence awaiting him.

With the help of his best friend, the witch Roz Carrera, Connor will track a vampire along Las Vegas Boulevard as he defies his prophecy and his future.

Open your free pdf file here.



Or, read the entire story below.

Ilvane’s
Prophecy #616: Connor from Cleveland will release the Destroyer and trigger the
apocalypse.

Unable to
sleep, Connor Beckett propped his arms under his head and clenched his eyes
tight as he contemplated his prophecy. What a way to prove himself a fuck-up.
The damning words affected him as deeply this morning as they had the first day
he’d read them in the newspaper.

Connor from
Cleveland.

The moment
he’d seen the post, he’d known to his core, it was meant for him.

Connor from Cleveland.

He rolled
onto his side in the nylon four-man tent and drew his knees toward his chest.
What else was he to do about the prophecy except thwart it?

Roz Carrera
shifted uncomfortably, and the entire structure quivered. “It’s so freaking hot,” she
complained. “What time is it?”

“Around five. I thought you’d be used to the heat. You’re from
Miami, aren’t you?” He seemed to remember she’d talked about Miami. How she’d
ended up at the University of Chicago, he still wasn’t sure, but he was damned
glad she’d enrolled. He couldn’t have chosen a better partner, though he
wouldn’t have guessed it until she’d outed herself at a frat party as a
real-life spellspeaker.

“It’s humid in Florida,” she returned. “This is dry as fuck.”

Las Vegas at any time of the year was bound to be both dry and
hot, and there wasn’t much they could do about it. They’d spent most of their
combined funds to purchase the tent, a couple of packs, and two flights out of O’Hare.
The little money they had left was to keep them from starving to death and not for
luxuries like hotel rooms with AC.

“Get some sleep,” Connor said. “We’ll search the casinos again today.
You’ll be in the air conditioning, then.” They’d been searching for days for
leads—eyewitnesses to vampire activity or a real, live infected. They’d run
into a lot of rumors and cosplayers so far. No actual vampires. “Any new
leads?”

“Not really.” With a huff, she spun and punched at the extra clothes serving as
a pillow. Connor turned the opposite way, his back to her. Maybe another guy, a
regular guy, a guy without a prophecy hanging over his head would have pulled
Roz closer and enjoyed her long, lithe body.

But Connor wasn’t a regular guy, and he did have a prophecy
hanging over his head. So, he settled in, closed his eyes, and tried to catch
one more hour of sleep. Their partnership was all business, and he needed the
witch on his side much more than he needed a hookup.

Besides, Connor preferred blondes.

“I can’t sleep,” she announced. “Do you mind? I
need to change clothes.”

Connor roused, stretched, and stepped out of the flimsy structure
into the sizzling desert air. Around him, people slept on, oblivious, in other
tents, trailers, and RVs across the campsite sprawled in the shadow of the Le
Sort Hotel. Squinting, Connor stared up at the shiny towers and endless rows of
reflective glass blocking out the sky, imagining staying in a resort with all
the luxuries money could buy at his fingertips.

“Must be nice,” he grumbled.

He’d grown up poor in Cleveland, the only child of a single
mother. An engineering degree from the University of Chicago was supposed to
change his trajectory, but then he’d gone and carpet-bombed his life by running
off to Vegas with a strange witch.

There may still be hope for his fiscal future, though. His
grandfather had died recently and left him an enormous trust fund, but then an
aunt he’d never met had contested the will, and the money was still tied up in
probate. Connor might never see a cent of it, which was fine with him. He had
so many great memories growing up with his grandpa, and they were worth more
than any fund. Somehow, he and Roz would make their plan of finding a real
vampire work. Money, or no money.

He dismissed the view of the resort and grabbed his pack, rifling
through it for a sketchbook and pencil. Perching on an upturned log, he
balanced his book on his knee and picked up where he’d last left off—practicing
eyes. Dark, comic, feminine, furious. He drew and drew, spitting out every
variation he could think of, trying to improve his style with each stroke of
the lead.

But even while drawing, thoughts of vampires were never far away.

It had been a long twenty years since vampires—or infecteds—roamed
free in the Ukrainian mountains, spreading vampirism and wreaking havoc. Twenty
years since Oleksander the Destroyer had been picked up by the U.S. Army after his
failed attempt at invading Prague and been squirreled away somewhere in the
Nevada desert along with most of his horde. It had been so long, and vampires
had been so quiet since, that people had begun to forget. Connor believed,
though, that they were still out there, the leftovers.

“Hope you like potato chips for breakfast,” Roz said, climbing out
of the tent with her laptop under one arm and carrying a crumpled bag of chips
in the other hand. “It’s all we have left.”

“Go ahead.” He’d rather skip breakfast.

In the lavender glow of dawn, she dropped crisscross onto a patch
of synthetic grass and opened her laptop. She munched a couple of chips,
clicking the touchpad.

“More emails?” he guessed. She’d been sending messages to wealthy
people and companies with known interests in the paranormal asking for help.
She had a whole wish list of vehicles, weapons, and tech she hoped to acquire
for their mission to find Oleksander’s prison.

The only problem with super secret, underground military prisons
was they were really hard to find.

“No, but do you remember the missing persons cases I told you
about?” she asked. “I cross-referenced the ones from the last year looking for
patterns that might indicate supernatural events.”

Even though he’d gone to the same university as her, Connor only
understood about half of that. What he comprehended very well was, he needed to
locate a vampire to lead him to Oleksander. Whatever it took.

“Find anything?” While she chewed and scrolled, he put away his
sketchbook and started tearing down their campsite for the day. The tent stayed
to hold their spot, but he loaded everything portable into one giant pack. The
last thing he did was strap a hunting knife in its sheath to his hip. Just in
case.

“I don’t know, yet. It’s gonna take some time.” Her voice trailed
off as she leaned into her screen.

Connor swung their pack over one shoulder, keeping his wallet and
a bottle of water out for their walk. “I’ll go check in with Remy.”

Roz grunted a goodbye.

Remy and his common law wife Precious were sprawled on an outdoor
sofa in front of a piecemeal singlewide trailer near the center of camp. Over
time, Remy had added a front porch, a roofed garden, and a wraparound wooden
deck to protect from the blistering heat, and the structure looked more like an
arts and crafts project than a home.

“Can I leave this with you?” Connor greeted, indicating his pack.

“Hey, man.” The grizzled slice of human-shaped beef jerky peeled
himself off the sofa. “You bet. Where you off to today?”

Connor propped the heavy pack against the trailer wall. “Casino
crawling,” he said. “What about you?”

Remy grinned. “I am the king of all I survey, dude.” He swept his
arm out to indicate his campground kingdom.

“Some king,” Precious snorted.

A U.S. Army decal in the trailer’s window caught Connor’s eye.
Giving Remy a second look, Connor considered whether the guy could have served
in the Vegas area around the time Oleksander and his infected horde disappeared
into secret prisons.

“Remy, what do you know about vampires?”

The older man cleared his throat. “Well, just about everything
there is to know,” he replied. “Back in my army days, I was ordered to guard
their quarters.”

“You’ve seen them? You know where they are?”

Remy put one finger to his lips and winked.

“You think you’re going to hunt vampires?” Precious eyed Connor up
and down, all six feet of him, a huff of a laugh escaping. “Good luck.”

“What she said,” Remy replied.

The couple’s out-of-tune laughter followed Connor all the way back
to Roz and his campsite.

“Ready?” Roz stuffed the laptop and chips into a knapsack and
stomped off toward the road fronting the camp.

It was only a meandering half a mile to The Strip, not far enough
to warrant hitchhiking. So, they walked in silence through eerily quiet and
empty streets. The only other people up and on the sidewalks before six a.m. were
fitness nuts and gamblers who hadn’t gone to bed yet.

Roz bowed her head over her phone. “Whoa. Four days ago,” she said
without looking up, “a waitress named Tara Reeves was attacked in the wee hours
and drained of blood. She survived. I can’t believe I didn’t see this earlier.”

“Any details?” This could be the break they were waiting for. This
Tara person could point them toward the vampire who hurt her.

“Not in the press,” she said, scrolling and clicking at warp
speeds. “But social media is a different story.” Roz nearly stepped into a
light post, but Connor steered her around it in the knick of time. Still too
invested to look up, she added, “Here it is. She works at the Lucky Hand.”
Finally, peeling her gaze from her phone, Roz quickened her pace. “Let’s go.”

Inside the cavernous casino, Connor and Roz roamed the floor,
checking nametags. A cute little barmaid passed them named LeeAnn.

“Is Tara Reeves working today?” Roz shouted after her.

“Tara’s working the poker machines, love,” the woman said in an
adorable British accent that landed pleasantly in Connor’s ears. “Northeast
corner.”

From there, it wasn’t hard to find the right waitress.

“Tara Reeves?” Connor questioned.

A tall and svelte woman with overdone brown hair startled at the
sound of her name, her tray of half empty tumblers rattling. “Sorry, honey,”
she said, avoiding eye contact, “I’m extra busy today. Gotta cover for my
friend who didn’t show up.”

Connor elbowed Roz and gave her a nod, indicating she should take
this one. Roz had bite to her, but he sensed Tara might talk to a female more
easily than him right now. It had only been four days since the attack, and she
still sported bruises under a layer of make-up.

The unlucky woman wouldn’t change into a monster, though. He and
Roz had done their homework. Vampirism was spread through infected bodily
fluids entering a person’s blood stream through a cut. It was usually
intentional, not accidental. Tara had been a meal to her attacker, nothing
more.

Roz hurried to catch up to the fleeing barmaid. “I know you’re
busy. This job probably sucks ass. Can I just ask you a couple of questions? We
heard you told the police you were attacked by a vampire. We’d really like to
know the details.”

Tara stopped fast, and ice cubes clinked. “You want to know about
vampires? Are you two a couple of idiots, or something?”

Roz made an incomprehensible sound before Tara rolled right over
her.

“Yeah, I got bit, but the cops don’t give a shit. They talked to
him, he had some BS alibi, and they let him go. They weren’t that excited about
a serial biter, you get me?”

“You can identify who attacked you?” Roz clarified with more than
a little zeal shining in her eyes.

“You really are idiots,” Tara scoffed. “Go see him, then. He calls
himself Adrian, and he hangs out at the blackjack tables across the street.
Real great guy. Have fun.” With a disgusted snort, she was off again, weaving
into the crowd.

Connor sent Roz a nervous look. Could it be that easy?

“They’re really in the city,” he breathed. “It’s not just rumors.”

Roz nodded. “This is why we’re here, right? Let’s go find him.”

A vampire playing blackjack didn’t fit Connor’s preconceived
notions of mindless, rabid predators feasting on fountains of blood, but it
didn’t sound too dangerous. They’d be in a crowd, after all, and captured on
probably a hundred different recording devices.

With a nod, Connor turned and led the way outside into the suffocating
heat. Buffeted by the growing crowds, they crossed the street on the pedestrian
bridge and strolled into the casino. A Scandinavian-themed mega-resort, there were
probably dozens of blackjack tables studding the main casino floor, not to
mention private games on other floors for celebrities and high rollers. It
might have been a needle in a haystack sort of issue, except the casino floor
was nearly empty and Connor knew the infected in the room almost the moment he
entered it.

Adrian, who’d attacked Tara the barmaid in the early morning hours
and almost drained her to the point of death, hunched over one of the only game
tables operating before noon. He was by far the best looking man in sight—glossy
auburn hair, a bit of scruff across a well-defined jaw, and a suit that hung tailor-made
on his athletic body.

But he didn’t look so tough. He may be handsome, but handsome didn’t
threaten Connor. He’d been training for this daily from the moment he stepped
off the plane. He could take him.

After readjusting the sheathed knife on his hip, Connor made a
beeline for the infected at the blackjack table, only slowing down when he marched
to within striking distance. At Connor’s approach, the vampire glanced up.

“Room for one more player?”

Adrian didn’t even let the dealer answer. With inhuman strength
and speed, the vampire slammed the woman on the stool next to him into Roz’s
arms, toppling them both to the thick carpeting. Connor turned his attention
away for a split second just as Adrian struck at him. Teeth, meant for Connor’s
carotid artery, sank into his shoulder instead. Cloth and flesh tore. Sinew and
tendons crushed.

All Connor wanted to do was talk to the infected. A couple
questions about the army, Oleksander, and how to kill the warlord. He hadn’t
expected Adrian to attack without hesitation.

Vampires were a lot faster and stronger than he’d anticipated.

Connor’s arms finally came back online, and he pummeled the
vampire’s ribs, first his right and then his left, hard punishing blows that
didn’t seem to faze Adrian one bit.

A pair of beefy security guards arrived and startled the vampire who
tossed Connor to the ground like a discarded toy. He leapt on top of the
blackjack table and fled through the crowds at top speeds. One of the security
guards halfheartedly ran after, while the other radioed for paramedics as he knelt
beside Connor.

“Buddy, how you doing?”

Not too well. “Roz?” Connor called out
instead. “You okay?”

“I’m here,” came Roz’s brusque yet annoyed voice in the crowd
right before she smacked the guard’s bicep. “He’s fine. Worry about the asshole
that did this to him.”

Roz grabbed Connor by the shirt and shook him, not an easy task
considering he outweighed her by over fifty pounds. In a lower voice, she said,
“Get the fuck up before they call the cops.”

It was difficult to explain to the police why Connor was on a
mission to find vampires. They didn’t always subscribe to the Oracle’s
prophecies. Best to stay off their radar, so Connor rose on shaky legs and waved off any help from the rent-a-cop.

“I’m good,” he assured. “He was too drunk to do any damage.”

Wishful thinking. The blood may not be visible
through Connor’s dark clothing, but he could feel it oozing down his chest and
arms, just enough to piss him off.

Stumbling out of the casino and onto the sidewalk, Roz directed
Connor into the next public building and a family restroom.

“What are you doing?” he demanded as she locked the door.

“You’re bleeding.” She spread her arms at her sides and said,
“Blessed is my power. I call upon thee.” A magical windstorm whipped into
being, swirling around her legs and hips. It started at her feet, ruffling her
clothes as it spiraled up her body and played with her long dark tresses. When
she raised her eyes, they shone with power. “Heal,” she whispered.

As she spoke her spell, repeating words of healing and comfort,
Connor watched her. Rozlyn Carrera was a remarkable sight. She seemed to
sparkle from her feet all the way up to the crown of dark hair on her head as
magic oozed out of her pores.

He stared, mesmerized, as a tickle began in his shoulder. He
rolled the wounded arm and sensed the bite was closing up. “It’s working.
You’re doing it.”

A few minutes later, her power exhausted, she ceased casting.
Connor’s shoulder wasn’t good as new, but it was markedly better than it had
been.

“Thanks,” he said, holding the door for her as they made their way
back onto Las Vegas Boulevard. “I don’t want to lose him, Roz. He’s the first
vampire we’ve even gotten close to.”

“He’s had a taste of blood,” she said. “But he’s not full. I have
a hunch he’ll stick around here until he finds a victim he can drain.” She sent
him a look full of nervous energy. “We need backup.”

#

Roz stomped onto the camp manager’s front porch amid Precious’
half-hearted protests and settled her hands on her hips. “Remy, do you know
anything about vampires, or not?”

“Who do you think locked them up?” Remy inhaled, puffing up his
chest. “I was a wet-behind-the-ears private back then, but the army had me
pouring cement and bolting steel doors together so the infecteds couldn’t escape.”

“At least one of them got away. He’s on The Strip right now.”

“What?” Remy coughed, his chest deflating. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure.” She laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder and drew away a
blood-red palm. “You in?”

“You want to kill him?” Remy waggled his eyebrows at Precious. “I
know places you could dump a body.”

“No.” Connor huffed an uneasy laugh, not sure if the older man was
kidding. “No killing. I just want to ask him some questions, but he’s a little
hesitant to talk. I need your help convincing him.”

“I’m guessing he’s not too friendly.” Remy locked his front door
and jangled his keys at Connor. “You need stitches or something first?”

“Nah.” Connor ignored the pain throbbing through his chest and
blinked away a dizzy feeling. “This is more important.”

“Fine.” Remy pointed ahead. “Let’s go.”

“I’m coming, too.” Precious peeled herself off the outdoor sofa. “I’ll
get the guns.”

Remy rolled his eyes as Precious hobbled inside the trailer on plastic
wedges. When she reemerged, she carried two large handguns. With much pomp and
circumstance, she handed a .357 to Remy and a .44 magnum to Connor.

Not sure where to hold it, Connor tucked it into the waistband of
his jeans, concealing it under his shirt. He really hoped he didn’t have to use
it.

Remy stashed his handgun as well. “What kind of information you
all looking for?”

As a group, they meandered toward the lights and noise of The
Strip.

“I have to find Oleksander the Destroyer,” Connor said.

Remy stuttered a step. “You must be kidding.” When Connor didn’t
answer, he added, “Twenty years ago, the army was so scared of that monster they
had him drugged and chained until he was as helpless as a little baby. What are
you gonna do with him?”

“Do you know where he is?” Connor pressed. “You said you were
there.”

“Well… I was around, that’s for sure, but the army moved them a
lot and I don’t know…”

Connor grit his teeth. So, Remy was more storyteller than
legitimate asset. It didn’t change what Connor had to do.

“Anyone else want a shot of tequila first?” Precious asked,
veering toward a casino bar. “Liquid courage?”

Remy pulled her away from a grinning bartender. “Later.”

Ignoring the couple, Roz touched Connor’s arm, snapping his
attention onto her. “You good?”

He nodded jerkily. “The walking helps.” He attempted a smile.
“What’s the plan?”

“Well, he’d be an idiot to go back to the same casino,”
Roz said, dropping her hand. “The security staff knows his face, and now he won’t be able
to walk through the front door without being recognized. But he seems to like
the casinos,” she added. “I think he’ll strike again in the same area.”

“We have to find him,” Connor said. “This is the best lead we’ve
found since we got here.” While Remy was distracted taking care of Precious,
Connor leaned in toward Roz. “I have to kill Oleksander,” he whispered, staring
directly into her anxious brown eyes. “I can’t be the guy who lets him out and
starts the fucking apocalypse. I can’t.”

“Okay. We’ll talk to Adrian.” Roz started walking again. “But there
are thousands of people on the street in constant movement, thousands more on
casino floors, not to mention the people in hotel rooms, restaurants, malls, theme
parks… I’m estimating a less than one percent chance of finding him before he
feeds and disappears.”

“You’re not helping,” Connor grouched as they hit the street in
front of the last place they’d seen Adrian.

“This is it?” asked Remy. “This is where he took a chunk outta
you?”

Roz ignored the retired soldier and searched the crowds. “If I were
him, I’d have left here in a hurry. And there are so many other places I could visit.
So many options.”

Yeah, no kidding.

Roz continued, “But if I was hungry, I might go across the street
and start over.” She nodded her head in the direction of the palatial resort on
the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard. “More blackjack. More victims. And a
security system that won’t recognize him. Let’s check it out.” She graced
Connor with a concerned glance. “What do we have to lose? Right?”

No choice, he thought glumly as he
followed her across the pedestrian bridge and into the marble-lined entrance
hall.

Precious stumbled in her preposterous shoes. “Can we get a drink
now?”

“Soon,” Remy assured, steadying her. “Very soon.”

Adrian lounged at a low-limit blackjack table near the hotel
elevators. He wore the same immaculately tailored suit, completely unruffled
from their earlier fracas, betting on a new hand. The vampire appeared
unperturbed, but Connor could still feel the blood on his skin, dry and scaly.

“You’ve got his habits figured out,” Connor applauded. “Now, I’ll approach
him. Stay back and cover the spells in case he gets mean again.”

Connor rolled his aching shoulders, and the vampire caught his
eye. The bastard smiled a warm slow smile and wiggled his fingers at Connor
before turning back to his game.

“Son of a bitch,” Connor swore. Adrian was going to make this
difficult, he could tell. Connor didn’t want to fight him. He only wanted to
ask him a few questions.

“Is that him?” Precious asked

“That’s him,” Connor agreed, not taking his eyes off the vampire.

Adrian folded his hand, swept his chips into a pocket of his suit,
tipped the dealer, and sauntered casually toward the hotel elevators.

“You and I,” Remy hissed at Connor, “grab him and hold him still.
If he tries anything, I’ll shoot him. That seems like a good plan to me.”

Connor nodded as he and Remy followed in his wake. Once the
vampire looked back, giving Connor a flirty glance before heading past the
elevators into a suite of meeting rooms. Connor started to run. The vampire popped
open a locked door and slipped into one of the closed meeting spaces.

“Blessed is my power I call upon thee.” With those words, Roz
brought a small invisible windstorm indoors.

Betting an awful lot on Roz’s magic, Connor ducked through the
door a step ahead of Remy. The dim space was in varying stages of transformation—the
floor was stripped to the bare concrete, one stage had already been framed in,
and a multitude of electric and hand tools lay strewn about the room.

Connor didn’t have a chance to locate the vampire before a fist
with the power of a battering ram behind it hit him on the side of the head,
and he went down. Remy got tossed in the opposite direction, the weapon in his
hand skittering across the floor and under the stage.

Connor’s vision dimmed. On his knees, he reached
for a handgun that wasn’t there. Damn it. Why hadn’t he kept tabs on his gun?

Poof
went any and all magic in the room. Roz didn’t perform well under pressure.

“Hold on a goddamned second,” Connor roared.
“We’re not here to hurt you.”

Adrian chuckled. “You think you’re the wolf? No,
sweetheart, you’re the bunny.”

“Roz, run,” Connor hissed. But when he caught
sight of her, she was frantically trying to call her power.

Connor fumbled for the blade on his hip, missed,
grabbed it again and slid it across the floor in Roz’s direction in a lame
attempt to protect her.

She didn’t pick it up. The infected did.

Connor watched, numb, as Adrian threw it overhand
at Roz. She put her hands up to deflect and thwack
the blade pinned her palm to the wall beside her head.

Precious stumbled into the room, brandishing a
pocket-sized pistol. “Where’s the bloodsucker?”

Adrian’s arm snaked out, his hand closing around
the woman’s throat. As Connor watched, paralyzed, the infected slung her pistol
away and crammed his hand into her mouth. With a solid punch and a little
wiggling, he reached into her chest cavity via her esophagus.

Vomit spewed uncontrollably as Connor scrambled to
his hands and knees. He retched hard enough to cry.

“Roz?” Connor gasped. Good God, where was she? He
tried to tell her again to run, just get out as fast and as far as she could, but
he couldn’t force the words past his lips as Precious flopped onto the
concrete, blood splattering everything within a six foot diameter.

Remy, finally gaining his feet, rushed the
vampire, but Adrian used his momentum to spin him face first into the wall.

With a sickening flourish, Adrian bowed over Precious
and tore organs from her throat as she spasmed beneath him—lungs, liver, Connor
couldn’t differentiate. Whatever the vampire found, he took big, hungry bites
from.

Groaning, Connor struggled upright even as his
head spun. A concussion was the least of his concerns right then.

“Roz,” he tried again. “Go.”

Remy, coming to, made a move for the vampire and
got in a nice tackle before the infected noticed him, but it was no use. Adrian
tore a two-by-four the size of a Louisville slugger from the half-constructed
stage and captured Remy, holding the board to his throat. With a bloody smile,
Adrian pulled back.

He’d made a
terrible mistake. Roz was going to die. Remy was going to die. Connor was
going to lose everything.

He was an even bigger fool than his prophecy forewarned.

Bracing himself, he saw with perfect clarity all
the things he’d done wrong today. Everything from letting himself be led away
to bringing Precious along. There had been a lot of errors, and the learning
curve was steep when it came to vampire hunting, but he wasn’t finished yet.

No. He
could do this. He and Roz could figure this out.

His weapons long gone, Connor picked up a
discarded screwdriver and staggered forward.

“Roz, answer me,” he called into the dim room, not
daring to look back and take his eyes off the vampire.

“I’m fine,” she whimpered. “Don’t worry about me.
Just kill him.”

Gladly.

“I’m so happy you returned.” Adrian chuckled as
Remy turned horrific shades of plum. “Thank you. Really. I tried to make it
easy for you to find me, and here you are.” He jostled Remy, whose body
appeared to be seizing. “And you brought more snacks. Today could not have gone
any better.”

Adrian leered as Connor slid through Precious’
blood, his weapon up. The moment Connor was close enough to hit, Adrian kicked
out, knocking him flat without ever letting up on Remy’s throat.

The only mistake the vampire made was letting
Connor fall within striking distance. Connor stabbed the screwdriver into the infected’s
thigh with as much strength as he had left. The tool scraped bone and hit with
a wet little punch all the way to the handle.

“Where’s Oleksander?” Connor demanded. “Where’s
the Destroyer?”

The vampire swatted Connor in the back of the
head, but for a moment, his grip slackened on Remy and the man twisted free,
sputtering and puking all over the cold concrete floor. Connor pulled out the tool
and lodged it again in the vampire’s thigh. Higher up. This time when he pulled
it out, a hot gush of blood spurted. He’d hit an artery.

“Where is he?”

“You little shit,” the vampire spat. “Stay the
fuck down.” He hammered his head.

Connor didn’t so much hit the floor as floated
there, half conscious, his vision wobbly and corrupt.

Remy had gathered his strength and swung at the
back of the vampire’s skull with the board. Over and over. Fast, brutal blows.
Blows meant to not only incapacitate but to kill. Three or four of those and
the vampire lay motionless beside Connor, his crushed face a mess of blood and
gore.

“No,” Connor cried. A dead vampire couldn’t lead
them to the army’s secret prison and Oleksander. A dead vampire was of no use.

“Does he have any money?” Remy demanded, ignoring
Connor and ransacking the vampire’s pockets. He must have found something
because he arched his back and howled like a wolf into the open space. “Wooie,
motherfucker. What a rush!” Then he turned on Connor. “What about you,
dipshit?” He pulled and patted, thrusting his hands into Connor’s pockets,
discovering his last four hundred dollars. Money meant to feed him and Roz for
the month. Money that would keep them alive and off the streets.

Then he pilfered Connor’s class ring, his watch,
and his shoes.

“Thanks,” Remy guffawed. “I always liked your
shoes.”

When he went after Roz, Connor pushed himself to
his elbows. The whole room tilted so far to the left he was sure he’d slide
right off, and his stomach whined in protest.

“Leave her alone,” Connor slurred.

Remy slammed the end of the board into Roz’s gut,
doubling her over. She cried out, and the sound twanged through Connor.

There was an awful moment when all he heard were
the sounds of cloth rustling and Roz’s quick, pained breathing.

“I’ll kill you,” Connor said, on his knees now.

“Who are you going to kill?” Remy swung the bat
across Connor’s back.

He fell to his side, his body a mass of pain.
“I’ll kill you for hurting her.”

“My girl’s gone.” Remy brought the board down hard
on Connor’s lower leg. The angle was all wrong, the trajectory too. His bone
snapped. “But you don’t have anything to say about that, do you?”

Connor curled upon the floor as the lights
flickered and the only sound that reached him was the two-by-four bouncing
against concrete as Remy dropped it and fled.

Someone was calling his name. Connor peeled open
his eyes.

“Get the fuck up!” Roz smacked him with bloodied
hands. “We have to get out of here.”

“Roz?” Everything hurt.

“Get up!” she hissed, yanking at his shirt.

He slid his hands underneath him, found the .44
magnum wedged under his ribs, grabbed it, and with Roz’s help, he climbed to
his one good leg. They lurched further into the darkened room.

“I wrecked the cameras outside,” Roz panted,
pulling him toward an emergency exit door. “But we gotta hurry. We can’t be
here for long.”

Connor’s thoughts cleared enough to remember the
vampire. Precious. The blood. The organs. He looked back. There was no body on
the ground.

“Where’s Adrian?”

“Gone.” They stumbled through the door into a dark
loading area. “He took Precious’ corpse and ran.” She elbowed him in the ribs.
“Just keep your head down, and don’t pass out on me.”

#

Connor knew where he was before he even opened his
eyes. Hospitals had their own unique vibe. And he knew he’d been there for a while,
because his body didn’t hurt the way he expected it to. His leg was
surprisingly numb. His head, too. And he was in a soft, comfortable bed that
smelled of detergent instead of stale sweat and sleeping bags.

He finally opened his eyes to find Roz hovering at
his bedside.

“It’s okay,” she assured. “By some miracle, you’re
alive.”

He made a pathetic noise to mean, What happened?

Somehow, she understood. “I didn’t tell the cops
anything, so don’t worry about that. If you’re asked, we were jumped at a house
party. But,” she sighed, “Remy ran, Precious is dead, the vampire ghosted, and we’re
on our own.” She added, “I haven’t gone back to the camp, but I’m guessing whatever
gear we left behind is Remy’s now, too.”

Feeling a little stronger, Connor sat up. “Your
hand?” he managed.

She raised her neatly bandaged right hand.
“Stitches and some physical therapy. No permanent damage.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, so many conflicting thoughts
and memories chasing each other inside his head. Their first real encounter
with a vampire had been a complete fuck up. A woman was dead. Connor was
broken. Maybe he was asking too much of Roz.

How could he expect her to stay in such an awful
situation, hunting creatures that could maim her with the flick of a wrist? The
prophecy was his, not hers, to bear.

“You don’t have to stay,” he told her.

She swatted his bicep. “Shut the hell up.”

She was so brave, smart, and driven, but he feared
he was an anchor around her neck. “You should go home.”

“No.” She scowled at him as if he’d hurt her.
Again. “Don’t you remember when you sold me on this little catastrophe back in
Chicago? You said—hunt vampires, kill them, find Oleksander, kill him, and do
it with my magic backing you up. And I didn’t take you that seriously, I’ll be
honest, but then I saw you ready to die to cancel out your prophecy and it hit
me how important this is to you.”

“It’s not your fight.”

“I’m not abandoning you. I don’t care about your
honor or any of that other crap.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “When you said
you believed in my magic, was that bullshit?”

It wasn’t bullshit. He’d seen her call magic. She was
spectacular when she controlled her power.

“I believe in you,” he amended. “But I can’t watch
you be stabbed and beaten anymore.”

“Agreed. We need a better plan and better
weapons.”

He sighed. She wasn’t getting it. “Roz,” he began.

“No. Shut up. Listen to me for a second. After seeing
you lying like a broken, bloody corpse on a dirty Las Vegas sidewalk, I
realized how much help you really need. And I decided, then and there, I’m here
for the long haul. I promised to support you with every ounce of magic I have,
and you promised we’d do some good in this world. Ridding humanity of the
vampire infection is damned good work.” She crossed her arms tightly. “I was
there in that room with you, don’t forget. I saw him eat Precious alive. I
smelled the blood. That creature is
too dangerous to live. We need to stop him and everyone else like him. For
good.”

Connor shook his head. Watching her in pain and
being unable to help had nearly split him in two. He couldn’t do it again.

But Roz spoke first, “Don’t ever tell me to go home
again. I don’t have anything to go back to.”

He caught her nervous gaze and read her
determination, fearing if he cut her loose, she’d only hunt vampires on her
own. He couldn’t risk her getting herself killed.

“Me, either,” he admitted softly. “This is it for
me. I don’t have a plan B.”

 “Then we
make a promise. We don’t leave until the job is done.” She stuck out her
uninjured hand. “Deal?”

Finally, he took her small but strong fingers in
his and shook on it. He took a breath to say more when her phone chirped. She
frowned at the screen. “It’s an international number. New Zealand, I think. That’s
weird. Do you care if I answer it?” she asked, already reaching for the green
button and then the speakerphone. “This is Roz.”

“Roz Carrera?” the female voice queried. “The
vampire huntress? Is it really you?”

“In the flesh.” She shrugged helplessly at Connor.
“Who’s this?”

“Oh, my God,” the woman said, a bit of a Kiwi
accent emerging. “Anton,” she shouted over the phone, “it’s her. Get in here.”
Then, “Roz, this is Natasha. I got your email last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Roz said, leaning back in her chair,
“what is this about?”

“Oh, right.” The lady laughed. “Sorry. My brother
and I want to fund your hunt for Oleksander the Destroyer, and we have a lot of
ideas to discuss.”

Connor’s eyes widened in cautious excitement.

“That’s amazing,” Roz said. “I have a lot of ideas
of my own. First, though, if you’re serious about funding us, we need a place to
stay and some very specific gear—today.”

“Absolutely,” the lady said. “Do you know where the Le Sort Hotel is? Daddy went to university with the CFO. I’ll get you a suite for as long as you want it. As for gear, we’ll ship you anything you need. But first, Roz, you gotta tell me—what are vampires really like?”

The story continues in Shopgirl’s Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas #1)…



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FAQ

Q: What do you write?

A: I write paranormal romances (in the Dark Caster and Beasts of Vegas series) and YA zombie dystopians (in the Red Plague series).

Q: Do you have any other pen names?

A: Yes, I also write short gay romances under the pen name Sadie West.

Q: Where can you be reached?

A: You can email me at theannaabner@gmail.com or find me on these social media platforms:

Facebook

Instagram

Amazon Author Page

BookBub Author Page

Q: Where can we buy your ebooks, audiobooks, and paperbacks?

A: My stories are available at all major online retailers, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Audible, Walmart Online, Google Play, iBooks, and your local library.

Q: How many places have you lived?

A: A lot! Even before I married my U.S. Marine, I lived in five different cities (Upland, Fontana, Hesperia, 29 Palms, and Provo) in two states (California and Utah). After my marriage, we lived on and off military bases in seven cities (Hesperia, 29 Palms, Barstow, Oceanside, Vista, Ogden, and Jacksonville) in three different states (California, Utah, and North Carolina). In 2016, we bought our desert hideaway in California, and I hope this will be our final move. (At least for a while!)

Q: What tends to serve as the most reliable source(s) of inspiration for you ?

A: Strangely, I get a lot of great story ideas from dreams, but those are infrequent. So I look to my own imagination and the stories I enjoy reading and watching. I love movies and TV, and I’ve been influenced by Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Being Human, Warm Bodies, and a hundred other top-notch paranormal/sci-fi programs.

Q: When did you begin writing and why ?

A: I feel like I have always been a writer. When I was in the sixth grade I won a young author’s contest and had my short story published. From then on, I wrote nonstop. I would fake being sick in high school so I could stay home and write more!

Q: Do you have pieces of work that you think will never see the light of day?

A: Uh, yeah! Lots. A series of novellas about a multi-generational family of mermaids I wrote in my teen years comes to mind. (Though I would love to re-work it and see it published someday as a fun, sexy paranormal romance.)

Q: How would you describe your style of writing to someone that has never read your work?

My writing has been described as fast-paced and sexy. I like to call my books: sexy, scary paranormals.

Q: What do you love about being an author?

A: My characters. They become a part of me. I love them, hate them, cry for them, laugh with them. They come to life in my imagination, and that’s the best part of storytelling, for me.

Q: Vampires – do you prefer them as sexy leads or blood hungry monsters?

A: A good mix of both, actually! I like a vampire hero, but I adore one who is a little dangerous and out of control. JR Ward does a really good job of mixing sex and violence in her vampire novels.

Q: What life advice do you wish you’d been given sooner?

A: “Don’t sweat the small stuff” is a good one. I have the tendency to get distracted by all the little things going wrong instead of focusing on the big picture.

Q:If you were a supernatural creature, what would you be and why?

A: A witch, for sure. I love writing witches because I secretly want to be one. I’d love to be able to cast spells and get things done faster.

Q: Where do you write best?

A: I don’t have a home office right now, so believe it or not, I write best wherever my laptop is sitting. Sometimes it’s at the kitchen table. Sometimes it’s in the lobby of a music store while my daughter takes violin lessons. I’ve learned to write wherever and whenever I can.

Q: If you didn’t write in your genre, which other would you prefer and why?

A: After paranormal, historical romances are my favorite to read. I would love to write a regency or a medieval romance someday.

Q: Can you say that your journey to publication was difficult? If so, what were the hardest moments to get through?

A: I wouldn’t say it was difficult, but it was long! I spent about ten years writing and attempting to get published the traditional route. About two years ago I decided to take control of my own career and self publish.

Q: How do you overcome the little voice in your head that tells you your writing isn’t good enough?

A: I hear that voice so constantly, I would think something was wrong if I didn’t. Honestly, when I feel overwhelmed and doubt creeps in I force myself to focus on one thing at a time. The next scene, the next blog post, or the next e-mail. Then I tune out the negative thoughts and get back to work.

Q: To you, what makes a good story?

A: The characters. I like fun and interesting plots, but good characterization wins me over every time. I love experiencing a hero’s redemption or a heroine’s awakening. That’s why I read stories.

Q: What is your favorite book?

A: I like so many books, but the one I have re-read the most and still love like the first time I opened it is JR Ward’s Lover Awakened. Zsadist and Bella’s story changed my life. (I’m a sucker for a brooding, emotionally damaged hero.)

Q: What books/authors have influenced your life?

A: What a great question! So many authors spring to mind. Victoria Holt and Lisa Kleypas inspired me to try writing my own stories when I was in middle school and high school. The biggest paranormal influences on my writing, though, are Kresley Cole’s smart-mouthed immortals, J.R. Ward’s dark and violent vampire underworld, and Patricia Briggs’ vibrant supernatural characters.

Q: Do you have any advice for other writers?

A: The best advice I ever received as a struggling writer was to keep writing. Even after you’ve finished your first book, even if you get rejections, even if your latest novel doesn’t sell well, keep writing. Eventually, all your hard work will pay off.

Q: Do you have another profession besides writing?

A: I have a day job, but writing is my passion. Telling stories has always been a love of mine, and I’m so grateful to be able to do it now professionally.

Q: Do you ever get writer’s block? Do you have any tips on how to get through the dreaded writer’s block?

A: I do get writer’s block, but I don’t allow it to stick around. If I’m sick, that’s one thing. But if my muse isn’t speaking to me I’ll get up, walk around, maybe make a cup of tea and then get back to work. This is my career and I take it seriously.

Review of Spiral of Need (Suzanne Wright)

Spiral of Need is my first novel written by Suzanne Wright, and it was better than I expected. The hero and heroine are very well drawn. They work perfectly together and lift each other up. The outside antagonists weren’t really scary, just bitchy, and a lot of the plot was confusing to me until it was all explained at the end.

My favorite part: The sex scenes are unbelievable and worth the cost of the book all on their own. Hot doesn’t begin to cover it.

My least favorite part: So many characters! I guess the author is stacking the cast with characters for future books, but there were so many names with no distinctions or personalities attached, I actually forgot the h/h’s names the last half of the book.

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