Feral Hunger (2010)
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Vlad the Impaler? Don't make her laugh...
Vlad is un-living proof that even a shy guy with the unfortunate name of Leslie can remake himself. Vampire, cad, player, he embraces it all without a pesky thing called a conscience. Until he receives a special delivery on his doorstep. A woman on the brink of death. One look at the sexy blonde, and his inner Leslie his long-forgotten conscience moves him to do the right thing and save her life.
One minute Jaelyn is enjoying a night out at a club. The next, she's under a brutal vampire attack. Adjusting to her new life as one of them is hard enough without the added charm of Vlad's grumpiness with the whole situation.
Instead of sending Jaelyn on her merry way, Vlad gives in to another totally uncharacteristic urge to solve the mystery of who assaulted her, and why whoever it was dumped her at his place. There must be a connection, and it surely can't have anything to do with their budding attraction.
But delving into a dangerous vampire underworld could remake their undead lives once again. Permanently.
Chapter One
The body landed with a thump on his doorstep.
Vlad yanked the door open. A comely blonde tumbled onto his black boots. Her head lolled to the side, rolling off his toe, so he couldn't miss the smear of blood across the woman's pale neck. Nor could he ignore the two deep puncture wounds.
Vlad glanced furtively up and down the hallway. The elevator doors had closed, the numbers swiftly descending to the ground floor. It was 23 flights down to the lobby. Briefly, he debated making a run for the stairwell and down to the ground floor. But just as he tensed to move, the woman lying at his feet moaned. Not a body after all, but a still-living, breathing woman. That complicated things even more. He looked up and down the hallway again. Nothing moved.
He could close the door and feign innocence until the police inevitably arrived. But he was a vampire. Innocent until proven guilty didn't always apply to his kind, no matter what the law books said.
The blonde groaned softly again. Coming to a sudden decision, Vlad bent and swung one arm under her legs and the other beneath her shoulders. As he lifted her into his arms, her head rolled back against his elbow, showing him more of the damage to her throat. Vlad smothered a gasp. Whoever had fed from her had ravaged her neck. Vampire or not, he objected to a woman being treated like this. Scowling, he turned back into his penthouse and slammed the door.
Her blood dripped across his new carpet as he lowered her to his black leather couch. He hissed in irritation. He rarely involved himself in other people's troubles, vampire or otherwise. And this was his lair, his domain. The place he brought his women, his meals. The shiny black grand piano with its dripping candelabra always helped in the seduction. He'd decorated his entire condo for just that purpose.
He'd been about to go out and get himself a meal of the warm-blooded female variety. The last thing he needed tonight was the picked-over remains of someone else's takeout. He glowered down at the woman on his couch and sighed. His underused conscience tugged at him. He couldn't leave her like this.
But what was he going to do with her?
By the severity of her wound, he guessed she had to have a fair bit of vampire saliva in her bloodstream. She would turn. There was little doubt of that. Not to mention the blood she'd lost. Without a donation of vampire blood she might even die.
Vlad shook his head. He lived an unencumbered life. The last thing he wanted was a new vampire to look after.
Another drop of her crimson blood splashed onto the carpet. The sight brought a stomach-squeezing pang of hunger. He had to do something soon for her and for himself. Still, he hesitated. Making another of his kind was not to be undertaken lightly. He thought of the damage it would do to his reputation. How would he pick up women with a young female vampire in
*
Vlad the Impaler? Don't make her laugh...
Vlad is un-living proof that even a shy guy with the unfortunate name of Leslie can remake himself. Vampire, cad, player, he embraces it all without a pesky thing called a conscience. Until he receives a special delivery on his doorstep. A woman on the brink of death. One look at the sexy blonde, and his inner Leslie his long-forgotten conscience moves him to do the right thing and save her life.
One minute Jaelyn is enjoying a night out at a club. The next, she's under a brutal vampire attack. Adjusting to her new life as one of them is hard enough without the added charm of Vlad's grumpiness with the whole situation.
Instead of sending Jaelyn on her merry way, Vlad gives in to another totally uncharacteristic urge to solve the mystery of who assaulted her, and why whoever it was dumped her at his place. There must be a connection, and it surely can't have anything to do with their budding attraction.
But delving into a dangerous vampire underworld could remake their undead lives once again. Permanently.
Chapter One
The body landed with a thump on his doorstep.
Vlad yanked the door open. A comely blonde tumbled onto his black boots. Her head lolled to the side, rolling off his toe, so he couldn't miss the smear of blood across the woman's pale neck. Nor could he ignore the two deep puncture wounds.
Vlad glanced furtively up and down the hallway. The elevator doors had closed, the numbers swiftly descending to the ground floor. It was 23 flights down to the lobby. Briefly, he debated making a run for the stairwell and down to the ground floor. But just as he tensed to move, the woman lying at his feet moaned. Not a body after all, but a still-living, breathing woman. That complicated things even more. He looked up and down the hallway again. Nothing moved.
He could close the door and feign innocence until the police inevitably arrived. But he was a vampire. Innocent until proven guilty didn't always apply to his kind, no matter what the law books said.
The blonde groaned softly again. Coming to a sudden decision, Vlad bent and swung one arm under her legs and the other beneath her shoulders. As he lifted her into his arms, her head rolled back against his elbow, showing him more of the damage to her throat. Vlad smothered a gasp. Whoever had fed from her had ravaged her neck. Vampire or not, he objected to a woman being treated like this. Scowling, he turned back into his penthouse and slammed the door.
Her blood dripped across his new carpet as he lowered her to his black leather couch. He hissed in irritation. He rarely involved himself in other people's troubles, vampire or otherwise. And this was his lair, his domain. The place he brought his women, his meals. The shiny black grand piano with its dripping candelabra always helped in the seduction. He'd decorated his entire condo for just that purpose.
He'd been about to go out and get himself a meal of the warm-blooded female variety. The last thing he needed tonight was the picked-over remains of someone else's takeout. He glowered down at the woman on his couch and sighed. His underused conscience tugged at him. He couldn't leave her like this.
But what was he going to do with her?
By the severity of her wound, he guessed she had to have a fair bit of vampire saliva in her bloodstream. She would turn. There was little doubt of that. Not to mention the blood she'd lost. Without a donation of vampire blood she might even die.
Vlad shook his head. He lived an unencumbered life. The last thing he wanted was a new vampire to look after.
Another drop of her crimson blood splashed onto the carpet. The sight brought a stomach-squeezing pang of hunger. He had to do something soon for her and for himself. Still, he hesitated. Making another of his kind was not to be undertaken lightly. He thought of the damage it would do to his reputation. How would he pick up women with a young female vampire in
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