Amber Fire by Lisa Renée Jones Page B

another letter in front of her.
    Her brows dipped. “What’s this?”
    â€œOpen it.”
    Amber unsealed the envelope and read. Let out a little squeal. “Oh, my God! I’m going to publish my father’s work!” They’d picked up all of his journals to take on the road, and she’d worked through them, weeding out what was safe to print and what was not, as Jareth had finished one of his novels. In a flash, Amber was on her knees, hugging his neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much for arranging this.”
    He pulled her across his lap. “The proposal you did was brilliant or they wouldn’t have offered.”
    â€œOnly because you helped me,” she said. “I didn’t know how to put together a book proposal.”
    â€œI’d do anything for you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
    She gently caressed fingers down the side of his face and smiled a mischievous smile. “Anything?”
    He arched a brow. “What did you have in mind?”
    â€œI have a list.”
    â€œDo you now?” he said. “What exactly is on this list?”
    She tugged on his shirt. “Once you get out of your clothes, we’ll start at the top. Or the bottom. No particular order.”

Keep reading for a taste of hot vampires from
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Prologue
    â€œW e’ll all be dead by morning.” Martin’s voice quavered as he emptied another glass of Frau Sophie’s precious peach schnapps.
    â€œWho’d have guessed it’d be nigh onto impossible to find a virgin in this valley?” his companion said.
    â€œPah! Even my own daughter,” Martin moaned. “What’s the world coming to, Edgard? Young women giving themselves like barmaids . . .”
    Edgard’s shoulders slumped. “I tell you it was the last May Day celebration. The bürgermeister should never have let Sophie provide the drink.”
    â€œWe should have locked every last one of the unmarried maidens in a cellar. Well, no use grousing.” Martin set down his glass. “We have a problem. Now’s the time for clear thinking.”
    â€œThere’s no solution. The village will disappear, swallowed by Hell itself when we fail to provide his bride.” Edgard’s reddened eyes widened. “Couldn’t we mount a raid on Fulkenstein down the valley . . . take a girl or two . . .”
    â€œThere’s no time left. We only had the new moon to give that devil his due. It ends tomorrow night. We’d never be back in time.”
    Edgard shook his head, sighing. “We’ve failed. Daemonberg will be no more. Best get the women packing tonight so we can flee come morning. A thousand years of prosperity and health—gone for the lack of a single maidenhead.”
    â€œWe’re doomed, I tell you.” Martin lifted the schnapps bottle and tilted it over his glass. He gave it a shake, and then slammed it down on the table. Turning toward the bar, he shouted, “Sophie, liebchen , bring us another bottle, will you?”
    As he turned back to his friend, he saw a woman step through the doorway of the inn. Her beauty arrested him: far prettier than any of the strapping blond women of the village, this one was slender and delicate, with deep reddish hair that glinted like fire in the torchlight, reminding him of the bay