Once Bitten
Tina Glasneck
ONCE BITTEN © 2017, 2020 Tina Glasneck
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Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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ASREW-09132020-01a
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Leslie
Chapter 2
Alistair
Chapter 3
Leslie
Chapter 4
Alistair
Chapter 5
Leslie
Chapter 6
Leslie
Chapter 7
Leslie
Chapter 8
Alistair
Chapter 9
Leslie
Chapter 10
Alistair
Chapter 11
Leslie
Chapter 12
Leslie
Chapter 13
Leslie
Chapter 14
Alistair
Chapter 15
Alistair
Chapter 16
Leslie
Chapter 17
Leslie
Chapter 18
Alistair
Chapter 19
Leslie
Chapter 20
Alistair
Chapter 21
Leslie
Chapter 22
Alistair
Chapter 23
Leslie
Chapter 24
Leslie
Chapter 25
Leslie
Chapter 26
Leslie
Chapter 27
Leslie
Chapter 28
Leslie
Chapter 29
Alistair
Chapter 30
Alistair
Chapter 31
Leslie
Chapter 32
Leslie
Chapter 33
Leslie
Epilogue
Leslie
Want a Bonus Scene?
About the Author
Also by Tina Glasneck
Blurb
The dragon's blood that saved her had one little unforeseen consequence—it turned her into a vampire.
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Leslie always wanted to be number one at something, and the Readers’ Cruise was her chance to make a big splash into the romance writing world.
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Until she fell into the Atlantic Ocean.
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With her life hanging in the balance, it would take a miracle to save her from death’s icy grip.
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That miracle is Alistair McLeod, a handsome dragon-shifter, who shouldn’t exist. But now she's counted among the living dead.
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Marked and hungry, Leslie awakens as an unwilling vampire and a new member to the Order—the supernatural security force for a secret society of the shadow world.
Danger, intrigue, and murder are her new reality. And when women end up drained, their bodies mangled by a vampire’s bite, Leslie is the Order’s top suspect.
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These murders threaten everything the Order stands for, which means the Order now threatens her.
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To save her life, Leslie must now embrace her magical destiny—or fall victim to a deadly menace.
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Discover what’s at stake in Tina Glasneck’s new take on vampire lore with Once Bitten!
Chapter One
Leslie
“It will be the beginning of the end when the hybrid takes shape. Able to walk in the light, thirsts for blood, and walks among the gods without being one of them. She will be a wielder of magic, seer, possessor of all. In darkness's death would come forth a shining light—able to tame the monster, not only as its mate but its chosen bride.” — Dreki Edda, Provision XVIII
“Are you breaking up with me?” I whispered.
Sitting across from my literary agent, I couldn’t help the feeling of dread that began to climb up my legs into my hands until they tingled. Not like a heart attack, or even a stroke, but more like my life was soon to flash before my eyes.
My thick manuscript of five hundred pages still sat on his desk, in the copy-store’s-logo-marked brown box—not a page read or touched.
It had taken me years to find an agent. I’d created a manuscript I loved, pitched at writers’ conferences, sessions, and cold-queried. Not to mention the contests, as well as stalking agents on social media for a chance to even thrust a few chapters to one in an elevator, or under a bathroom stall door.
Desperation. It stunk to high heaven, even I knew that, but if I failed at this dream, I’d have nothing to land on.
“You need to think about your career,” Maurice Abernathy said in his rich Baltimore accent. Scrawny, but with an air of confidence of a middle-age gatekeeper, he leaned back in his leather chair behind his overly large and neat desk. No manuscripts piled high, not a speck of dust to cloud that polished shine. Instead, he steepled his fingers and ogled me through designer glasses that matched his green checkered suit. “Vampires are some of the oldest of legends, and here you go trying to improve on something that people don’t want to be changed. We know they have superstrength and speed, so what is it you think they should have, but don’t?”
“Magic?” I croaked. “What if you have a Viking vampire and—”
“With magic, you need a magical system. It doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
I’d been method-writing for years—learning all that it took to make my characters come to life. And the rituals I’d delved deep in. I bit back the tears that threatened to fall. Change was coming, and it wasn’t going to be good.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Maurice continued, “but the publishing house doesn’t want to renew your contract in this new direction.” He patted the manuscript to emphasize his point.
I stared at his hand resting on my painstakingly written manuscript and then back to him, shocked. “But paranormal romance is hot right now.”
“No, the market has cooled, and what you are supposing is a historical romance mash-up with your vampire Vikings. Next thing is, you’re going to throw in other shifters. I tried to warn you that readers just weren’t grabbing the Viking subgenre as much as the Scottish Highlanders. You wouldn’t heed my advice to write to market.” He leaned forward, and for a moment, I saw the pity that drifted across his eyes… but then again, maybe I just saw what I reflected.
“What am I supposed to do now? I have this conference you booked me on—this Woo Cruise.”
The Woo Cruise was an annual event where romance authors from the various subgenres, readers, photographers, and cover models mingled for seven days and six nights, with the ship’s itinerary including stops along the British Isles and Iceland. There would be sessions on writing, as well as more pitching and, of course, alcohol with half-naked models to bring the cover art to life.
I adjusted my position
in the uncomfortable chair, my chai-spiced coffee forgotten. “I’ve already paid for that out of my planned advance. You promised me—”
“I misspoke. I took Jim from the Publishing House out for lunch, and he assured me that the House was truly considering your potential, but the stats are what they are. No top rankings, no awards since your debut novel. Maybe you’ve just lost some of that passion. Some of the reason why you’re writing. Let’s face it, Leslie. You came in as a historical romance writer, and that is what we expected you to turn in.”
“It’s historical paranormal romance. It still fulfills the contract.” I crossed my arms. He’d given me free rein to create this story from hours upon hours of research, wherever the story took me. It all started by finding a grand old book in the library stacks, but that memory was a bit blurry. Long story short, well, the tale took me to paranormal romance that still tied into my cornerstone Highlander series.
Plus, what did it matter? Maurice was already getting his fifteen percent from my efforts. He had all the contacts, and all I had to do was write. At least that’s what he’d promised me three years ago. It had all been a lie.
Writing served as my therapy. I just shared it with the world. It healed my pain, but right now, I was at rock bottom. Grief compounded all of this. Although the memories surrounding my father’s passing and funeral were shrouded in a weird haze, I was still grieving this new hole in my heart. He might have been an ass, but he was still my father. He taught me exactly what I didn’t want in my life, and I refused to settle for less.
But living in New York, Manhattan no less, was expensive. The gods had always made a way. I shook my head to reground myself, to force out the bad energy that hammered against me as Sunflower, my esoteric friend, had taught me all those months ago.
I really needed to call her.
Again, a haze cut across my memory as though I was standing in front of a door but couldn’t quite recall why.
Without something coming in soon to change things, this dream would pop, and my livelihood would be gone. I couldn’t combat the bad vibes any longer. Suddenly, an invisible heavy cloak of darkness settled over my shoulders. Words whipped around in my mind, creating a toxic and fearsome cocktail of desperation mixed with the bitter taste of fear. But right at that moment, my tongue was tied. No sound made it past my lips.
Instead of comforting words, Maurice pressed the button on his office phone and buzzed his assistant. “Molly here will see you out and make sure you make it home okay, but as you leave, don’t forget to take a package of my business cards to share with your author friends. When do you plan on picking up Stacy for the cruise?”
“Stacy?” I sputtered.
“Don’t you remember? You asked for an assistant.”
I pulled back my shoulders. “Well, if I need an assistant, it will not be from here. I might have to make it through this ridiculous cruise, but I will do it without your help.”
“I understand. It is never easy to have to start over. Maybe it is time for you to find yourself again.
“But will I be starting over? I am—”
“Writing is often like wearing a placard while naked and asking people to tell you how you look.” Maurice lifted his hand. “In this sense, unfortunately, you were found lacking.” Molly entered the room. “Please see Ms. Cutlass out.” He’d kindly reminded me of my government name, instead of the pen name I’d been using, Leslie Love.
“Leslie,” Molly greeted me, not unkindly. “Please, come with me.”
I tried to pull my shoulders back even further and lifted my chin as I rose from my seat, to keep tears from streaming down my face in humiliation. He didn’t get to see me cry. No.
When I’d signed a contract to become a published author with Maurice’s firm, here in prestigious New York City, I thought I’d made it. Wasn’t that what every author wanted?
On kitten heels, I silently followed Molly out of the office. Away from the Fifth Avenue décor, away from the scented air that tasted like fresh oxygen being pumped into the rooms, away from the crystal vases filled with golden sunflowers, and original Tiffany glass. The overly plush carpet that practically swallowed my steps, and the floor-to-ceiling glass that partitioned the office space—all things I’d helped to pay for on my mid-list earnings.
“Don’t worry, Leslie. You’ll bounce back. Maurice can be a jerk sometimes, but he didn’t mean it like that. Go, enjoy your cruise, and refill your creative well. Find that story your heart needs to tell.” She signaled the elevator for me and waited until it arrived. “Plus, who doesn’t love cruises?” The elevator pinged, and I entered its steel tomb.
“Me,” I croaked. “I get seasick.”
Pride came before the fall. I wandered around the city, trying to get my thoughts together. If I had to take this cruise, well, I needed to ensure that it was going to be fruitful. Set with a purpose, and not wishing to take the subway, I hailed a cab and headed to the only one who was into that witchy stuff enough to lend me a hand, to settle my thoughts: my friend, Sunflower.
Too early for her shop to be open, I instead decided to head to her apartment, hoping to the gods she was there. Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I scrolled until I reached her number, and punched the screen with my index finger. One ring… two… three. Then straight to voicemail. She’d been quiet lately, and no matter how much I combed through my memories, I couldn’t remember why.
The cab swooped in front of her building, and Elm, the doorman, thudded forward and opened the door. Tall, stocky, and probably a former jock in high school or bouncer in the city, he wore a broad smile as the light breeze shuffled the mushed-down strands of chestnut hair over his face. The light scar visible on his forehead must have hurt tremendously when he’d gotten it but had aged well. Dressed in his doorman livery, I couldn’t remember a time of his not being a part of the scene down here. As much as he popped up around the city, I constantly thought that Sunflower had a stalker, until she’d told me of Elm’s kin that worked in this area. They strongly resembled each other with their strong jaws and towering figures. The disparity might have been the hair color, and the slight contrast in complexion.
“Miss Leslie,” he said in greeting. “It is nice to see you again. Head to the front desk and check in to see if they can buzz your party.”
Elm reminded me of my half-brother, Fitz. Papa was a rolling stone for sure, and only the gods knew how many children he’d actually sired before his passing.
No matter how often I came to visit Sunflower, it was the same routine—greeting, pleasantries, please head to the front desk. There could be comfort in a routine, especially in a time of distress.
“Nice livery,” I told him.
“Thank you. We are under new management. Charming Industries is buying up many of the older buildings around town.”
I knew little to nothing about such. Real Estate in New York was limited, with everyone fighting over the same block and willing to push the prices ever higher. The true ideals of capitalism on display.
“Do you know if Sunflower is home?” I couldn’t quite quash the exasperation in my voice, and I watched his face lose its smile.
“I’m sorry, miss. We are unable to give information about our residents. Please head to the desk to inquire.”
I acquiesced and did as he said. Policy was policy after all.
“No worries. I’ll check her shop and stop by a bit later. If she’s gone on a trip, I’m going to need to gather her mail and all, anyway.”
Elm opened the door into the dimly lit lobby. Thick raspberry-colored brocade curtains had been put up and left closed, cutting away the natural sunlight and airiness I was used to.
My body buzzed. My skin crawled as if one thousand ants raced up and down me.
Something was so wrong here.
Still, as if pulled forward by an invisible magnet and unable to stop, I walked toward the front desk manned by a man I didn’t recognize. With blond hair styled in a reverse mullet, glowing
green eyes, and I swear to the gods a large-ass crow on a wooden perch, he stared at me with maleficence heavy in his gaze. “Hello, I’m here to visit apartment 1203.”
Slowly moving, he leered at me. “You are here to see Sunflower?” His heavy accented English reminded me of clichéd vampire movies. He leaned his head forward and sniffed the air in front of me. “You smell delicious. What is your perfume called?”
Fear. But fucking fear might not be a good answer. “Oh, Sunflower made it for me. It’s her special dragon blood perfume.” I pasted on a slap-happy smile to hide behind.
The man blanched at that news, appearing even paler than before, and his nose wrinkled in distaste as though I’d mentioned skunk spray.
“I have heard so much about you, dear Leslie.” He flicked his tongue as if caressing my name in those two syllables.
I took a step back and put my hands out in front of me. “How do you know my name? I never said it.”
Everything in me was on alert. The crow then started to caw loudly, and for a moment, it seemed like the walls shifted, moving in around me. Still a distance from the door, I quickly turned on my heel. As I reached the glass, in a blur, a large-ass wolf-dog leapt by me and raced toward the man at the desk. No matter how much I wished to stop and glance over my shoulder, the same force that pulled me toward that desk was the same one to propel me from it.
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