by D McEntire
Marie vehemently shook her head. Hearing his harsh, hateful words sent knives of pain through her chest. She needed to make Kern see he was in danger, and she was only trying to save him. The man who put together this lab needed to be stopped, but not at the price of Kern's life.
"Kern, I'm so sorry. I need you to understand the man will be here soon. You can't fight him because he will win. Please. You have to believe me."
Hot tears streamed down her face. She hated to see the anguish in his eyes at being locked in the room once again.
"I'm going to find someone to help us. Maybe someone from the clinic. Perhaps a security guard. I don't know what else to do to save you. Please, you have got to trust me."
Marie had spoken loudly in hopes Kern could hear her words over his tirade, but she could tell from the look in his eyes and on his face he was too far gone to listen to anything she had to say. He was caught up in his anger at the belief she had betrayed him.
It was all too clear. If she returned, Kern would kill her as soon as he was free of the room. The intent was written on his face and blazed in his eyes.
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Bullets won't bring down this killer. It'll take a vampire.
Trust the Night
(C) 2008 Sara Saint John
Having survived a violent husband, Homicide detective Beth Andrews has no patience for abusers. In her eyes, "Mad Jack" is committing the ultimate abuse against the women of Oklahoma City--murder--and she she'll stop at nothing to bring him to justice. Even risk her own life.
The sexy "mind scientist" she's been paired with is a distraction she doesn't need, but he's getting under her skin in more ways than one. She spends her days investigating the murders. Nights, discovering Sam.
Criminal psychologist Sam Jordan knows he is two things Beth doesn't trust: A shrink, and a man. But Beth needs his help more than she knows, because like the killer they hunt, Sam is a vampire. And he's been pursuing Jack the Ripper for longer than Beth's been alive.
Revealing himself would do more than destroy her fragile trust. It could make her Mad Jack's next target.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Trust the Night:
Stakeouts were to be kept confidential, but something inside Beth superceded the requirement for secrecy. She needed to reveal this one to Sam--and with the telling, give him the right to know. Besides, it might be her last chance to hear his voice before tonight. Definitely a sound she wanted to take with her. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
"Hello?" It was the old lady again.
"It's Detective Andrews. Is Sam still sleeping?"
"He won't mind waking for you, dear. Hold on, I'll get him."
Beth waited, wondering what Sam had told the woman. Who was she anyway? His housekeeper? His mother?
"Beth? Is anything wrong?"
The sound of his voice calmed her nerves. "Thank heavens," she said. "I didn't know if I'd get the chance to talk to you."
"Why? What's up?"
"I'm going undercover. Tonight we're setting a trap for the Ripper."
"No. You don't know what you're up against."
"Yes, Sam, I do. You did a very complete profile on him. Don't worry, I'll be surrounded by Oklahoma City's finest."
Exasperation filled his voice. "You don't understand. He's deadly. Far deadlier than you can imagine."
"Sam, I've seen what he does to his victims. Seen the blood smeared on his face. He's crazy. I'm not stupid enough to try and take him alone. Tonight I won't be alone. It's better than having him come upon me when no one else is around."
"Damn it! Can't you just listen to reason?"
She sighed. "You and George. Who appointed you guys my knights in shining armor?"
"Don't try to change the subject. And who's George?"
Sam's jealousy warmed her heart. "He's my partner. I'll introduce you next chance I get."
"Fine. Do that." He paused. "Please, sweetheart, I'm asking you for a favor. Don't go out there tonight."
Emotion swelled in her throat. Beth swallowed it, then managed the words. "I have to." She heard a crash on the other end of the line, the sound of breaking plaster.
"Damn it all to hell!"
"Sam?"
"Okay. Do this. Risk your life. But while you're at it, keep this little thought under your hat. I'll be watching out for you. Like it or not, I'll protect you if need be."
"No. I told you I don't want you out there. You're a civilian. Strong as you are, you don't know how to handle yourself in this kind of situation."
His voice held the hint of a growl. "You can't tame me like some kind of pet dog. I do what I want. Evidently, I'm as stubborn as you."
"Please, stay home. I want you safe."
His voice softened, the sound of it sending shivers up her spine and heat somewhere else. "Then you know how I feel. I couldn't live with myself if I let anything happen to you."
"I want this over, Sam. I want to be with you."
"Don't go."
"Sorry, that isn't an option."
"Then, for God's sake, be careful. I'll see you tonight."
Beth heard the click of his handset, a dial tone. She hung up the phone, then pulled out the killer's profile to study once more. The written text sprang out at her, reminding her of the terrifying threat that was the Ripper. The hand holding the file began to shake.
"I hope I live that long," she whispered.
Sam stood by the terrace doors and cursed the gathering darkness. Things were moving strobe light fast, out of his control and he felt like a character in a two-bit horror flick. Hunger gnawed at his stomach to underline the reality of the creature inside him. And, for once, he felt grateful. Only someone with his unnatural powers could protect Beth tonight.
But first he must feed.
He went to the bar and pushed the button. Removed the plastic container of blood from the hidden refrigerator. Heated it in the microwave, wondering why the life giving properties in the blood were unaffected by its heating. He tipped it back, drinking deeply. The blood is the life. Truer words had never been written. With great gulps, he drained it dry. Then he prepared another.
A gut-wrenching feeling tore at him. He would need all his strength to fight for the woman he loved.
Hand on her hip, breasts thrust forward, Beth slinked into the squad room doing her best parody of a Hollywood movie siren playing a hooker. Wolf-whistles and catcalls made the room sound like a strip bar. Praise from her enthusiastic colleagues--she couldn't help but smile. She did look like a two-dollar bargain in her long platinum-blonde wig. Crushed red velvet clung to every curve of her body, molding to her like a second skin. She wore black nylons held up by a black lace garter belt accentuated by tiny red ribbon rosebuds. Her shoes were red with very spiked heels. There was no way she could run in shoes like these, but, if worse came to worse, she could kick them off and run in her stocking feet. And they might come in handy as extra weapons.
"Very nice, Andrews," Aikens said. "I'd go for you myself if we didn't have this job to do."
Beth laughed. The captain wasn't known for his subtlety. He knew a little humor went a long way to diffuse a bad case of nerves. She played along, pouting as she batted her eyelashes and said in her most sultry voice, "I know, Captain. Perhaps we can make time...later."
He did the most unlikely thing. Like a dad, in front of everyone, rough old Captain Bob Aikens leaned over and planted a kiss on her well made-up cheek. "Be careful out there. I want you back alive," he said so only she could hear.
He pulled back with a leer and raised his voice to include the others. "Time to go to work. Our boys are planted all over the streets thicker than trees in a tropical rain forest. Keep in sight, Andrews. We don't want any mishaps."
Beth checked her bag to make sure it still held her gun. So far, so good. She tilted her head back, took a long, calming breath and released it slowly. She only hoped her good fortune would hold.
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tents]
Love--it's the real thing. And complicated as hell...
The Egyptian Demon's Keeper
(C) 2009 Ciar Cullen
Archeologist Eliza Schneider assumes her meeting with an exotic stranger in the Egyptian desert was a heat-induced hallucination...until he materializes in New York. She has to give the tall, handsome Egyptian high marks for originality with his pick-up line: they're fated to save the world together. The master/servant thing goes a long way toward sweeping her off her feet, but it's easier to believe he's just another in her long line of poor romantic choices.
Kasdeya, the Fifth Satan, waited eons for his Keeper to find her way to his tomb amongst the ancient ruins. He only has a limited time to convince Eliza that her role is critical to help defeat the loathsome Deumos, a female demon who has laid her claim to bearing his child--a child that will bring down mortals.
Trouble is, Eliza doesn't even believe Kasdeya is real. If he can't convince her he isn't an illusion--and neither is their love--Deumos will win.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Egyptian Demon's Keeper:
Eliza opened one eye and gulped back a scream. If she was asleep, then the dream was astounding. She wiggled her toes to make sure she wasn't in sleep paralysis.
That man was humming. He was two feet away from her, staring at his palms as if a secret message were about to appear on his skin, and humming.
Okay, she thought, this is pretty bad. Unless the laws of physics had suddenly changed and rain could defy gravity, she had lost her mind, and this guy seemed a permanent part of her new psychosis. At least he was beautiful. Eliza hoped fervently that if she had to remain mad, he would continue to be part of her altered state.
"You hear about sunstroke killing people, you know, but you never hear about this stuff."
He jumped to his feet and stared down at her, running his hand through his long black locks. "I was meditating. You..."
"I frightened you?"
His cheeks reddened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Of course not. Mortals cannot frighten me." He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, as if the stance would somehow convince her that she hadn't startled him.
"Mortals? Did you say mortals? As opposed to...non-mortals?"
"Correct." He tapped his foot in a very mortal gesture of impatience.
"This just gets better and better. Okie dokie then. I know I'm supposed to be your keeper or servant or something--isn't that what you told me in Egypt? Excuse me, should that be 'the land of pharaohs'?"
"Correct. You are my Keeper, my servant, and it is the land of pharaohs. I'm pleased you listened."
"Great. I'm dying to please my own hallucination. Would my hallucination mind getting me some water?" I have to try to pull it together. What if this is a real guy, and he drugged you? Come on, the door is close enough. Please, God, please let my legs work.
He gestured to the ornate decanter and glass on the low table. The smirk pulling on his lips ticked her off. So, he knew she meant to make a break for it.
"I will pour for you of course." He handed her a glass, and she pushed herself up so she could sip. Mind racing, coming up blank, she concentrated on clearing her head with the water. She stole glances at him, but his expression was impassive. What does a serial killer look like anyway? Why couldn't one look like a soap opera star? An Egyptian soap opera star? Did they have soap operas in Egypt? I'm in real trouble, no matter how I look at this.
"Look, if it's money you're after, you picked the wrong girl. Maybe the museum would belly up a few thousand for me... Did you drug me? That's it, isn't it? You got to my canteen in Egypt..."
"And then miraculously found you in New York, slipped unnoticed into your office or apartment and put a poison potion in your glass?"
She shook her head uncertainly. It didn't explain the raindrops, the change in his appearance from Dr. Kasey Smith to Kasdeya. Nothing was adding up.
"So, you don't really know David, and you don't really work for the museum in Boston."
"What gave me away?" He smiled fully for the first time, his eyes coming to life and gentle creases appearing around them.
Eliza refilled her water glass in a half-hearted attempt to stall. No matter how hard she thought about it, she could only come to one conclusion. The Egyptian desert had robbed her of sanity. Perhaps she was already in an institution and didn't know it?
"Where are we?" She glanced around the large room, what seemed like part of a larger suite. "Are we in New York?" The ornate furnishings smacked of something from an Arabian Nights tale, but with modern amenities. "It has that flying carpet thing going on."
"Not that again." His smile faded, and he rubbed at his temples.
"Sorry. I'm known to give people headaches. Do demons get headaches?"
Kasdeya took a deep breath and blew it out. Eliza knew that move. She'd watched her mother, David and just about everyone else in her life do it many times.
"Is the room to your liking? I thought you would feel comfortable with these...things." He gestured to the furniture uncertainly as if he had carved the intricate woodwork himself and was concerned for her approval. The Fifth Satan was a complicated guy--big, buff, dangerous, easily startled and oddly ill at ease. Did he need something from her? Perhaps he didn't hold all the cards.
"You didn't answer my question. Are. We. In. New. York?"
"More or less. Would you like to be in New York?"
"Absolutely."
"Then we are."
A mild tremor rolled through the suite. An earthquake in New York?
"Did you do that?"
He cocked his head to one side and studied her. "I thought you said you wanted to be in New York. Well, we're here. Or there. You are a very confused woman, and you're beginning to confuse me."
"Why don't you tell me what the fuck is going on, Mr. Kasdeya? And if you tell me not to curse, I'll...I'll curse again."
"I will warn you that some of the answers you seek may come as a bit of a shock."
"As opposed to rain stopping in midair? Try me."
The last thing Eliza expected was for her captor to strip off his black T-shirt. "Dude, there's no need for that!" Surely he wasn't going to accost her? He shook his head subtly, as if he read her thought and wanted to ease her mind. "Look at me."
"I'm looking." She couldn't take her eyes off him if she tried. Like an artist had wrapped a masterpiece of sculpture with velvety skin and breathed life into it, Kasdeya was exquisite. He moved his arm to point at the band of golden script that circled one bicep, and his stomach rippled, down to the ridges of muscles framing his slender hips.
"When was the last time you saw a man without a shirt, Eliza? I'm pointing to my arm. Look at it." She glanced at his face instead. His smirk of satisfaction annoyed her.
"Oh, so big deal, you're gorgeous. Get over yourself. All right, let me see your damned arm. I noticed that in pharaoh land. Skip the mumbo jumbo and tell me what it says and why I should care."
"I don't know what it says. You're supposed to tell me. You're my Keeper."
"What the hell does that mean anyway? Like a zookeeper? When's your feeding time? Damn, my head is killing me again."
"You're probably hungry. Come, let us dine and we can discuss things casually."
"Oh, lovely, yes, let's have a nice little chat over dinner. A night out on the town? Perhaps drinks first?"
"That sarcasm does not suit you. You will want to freshen up of course."
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Table of Contents
Midnight Unseen
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Look for these titles by D. McEntire
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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