Primal Passions

Separated by war, she's awaited the return of her lover and mate...until now.

ISBN: TBD

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Excerpt

The night club was packed for All Hallows’ Eve with many partygoers in costumes, which made those that needed no such embellishments fit right in…not that blending in meant much anymore. Since the Day of Enlightenment, there was little point in hiding true identities nowadays.

Desireé had chosen to go costumed as a human, which meant she wore what she normally did: a hoodie plus a simple top with jeans and flats. Nothing dressy or special. She was in no mood to attract attention from anyone other than Logan, who was an apparent no-show…again.

Plenty of other supernaturals were in attendance. She was certain she’d spotted at least two real vampires, three nymphs, a quintet of witches, and even a leprechaun. The latter was not short or redheaded, nor attired in all green, but his thick brogue was a dead giveaway…along with an affinity for spinning a gold coin between dexterous fingers. Surprisingly, she’d identified no shifters yet, at least not that she could tell, but then shifters had ways of easily blending into the human populace. After all, they were human part of the time.

One glance at the clock on her cell phone told hermidnightwas only moments away. The witching hour some might say. “The moment of truth,” she murmured.

Would he appear at long last? Was he still alive? Would he even recognize her after all these years? Of course he would. They were mates. They would know each other anywhere. He could find her easily, or he should be able to, unless of course her presence amid the masses diluted her scent. A pang of anxiety in her gut testified to her inner battle. Hope dwindling, she frowned. If he doesn’t show, it’s for the best, she told herself. Liar, she admitted seconds later.

He’d vowed to come for her when the moon was full—a vow sealed with a bite. She hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind the mark he’d left on her back then, but she did now. If he didn’t return, he’d sealed her doom, and she tried to hate him for that.

There had been many full moons since they’d last been together, too many, and he hadn’t appeared once in five long years. She prayed tonight would be different.

Surely a full moon on All Hallows’ Eve would be even more special, more sacred to him.

With one hand she cradled her wine glass, sipping from it as her other palm drifted over the faint scar left by his teeth years earlier. A tingle of arousal swept through her at the lightest stroke of her fingers across the scar. Flashes of the steamy, decadent moments preceding his bite teased her mind and heightened her arousal, so much so she squirmed a little on the barstool.