Fear showed in her sister’s eyes when she responded, “But we are still waiting, and it’s partially my fault. I’ve known Daddy was working with the vampire’s for years. We all thought that was the way things were supposed to be. I had no idea it was this bad!”
Carissa patted her leg. “But we all know the truth now, so it’s really okay. Yes, we’re still waiting for the Vampire Council to make their next move, but we’ll be prepared when they do, and they won’t win. Aden won’t let that happen.”
“How do you know, Rissa? You love him, but you don’t really know him.”
Instead of becoming angry, Carissa laughed. “And how well did you know Rafe before you got married? Before you completed the ritual?”
“That’s different. Ours was arranged, like most unions are these days.” Gwen sighed. “But that’s neither here nor there. I get your point, Rissa, and I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t be. Besides, Garrett’s the one that should be worried. Mom may be human, but she carries one hell of a grudge.”
Finally, Gwen laughed. “You’re right. I’m just an emotional mess.” She smiled and pressed her hand to her belly. “I took the other pregnancy test this morning. I haven’t told Rafe, yet, and even though I know he’ll be pleased, it still worries me.”
Carissa leaned in and hugged her sister. “Don’t worry, Gwenny. We’re all here for you, and we’ll make sure everything’s fine.”
Gwen returned the hug. “Thanks, Rissa. You always were the smart one.” She stood up and took a deep breath. “I guess I better go tell my husband.”
She disappeared down the hallway, and Carissa walked up to her bedroom a short time later. Aden was asleep in the bed with the window completely covered in a dark cloth. Carissa no longer needed light to see through the dark, so she didn’t bother switching on the overhead. She crossed to the bed and placed her hand gently on Aden’s forehead. The fever that persisted over the last week finally seemed to have faded. His skin was once again pink and cool.
Carissa sat down beside him. She heard an excited squeal from the room next door and smiled. She wished her sister every happiness, especially since whatever came next would put a blight over everything. Gwen was right. They were waiting. However, Carissa knew it wouldn’t be for long. Eleanor had come by the night before and informed Aden that the rest of the Council was on its way from their base in Europe.
Aden opened his eyes and watched Carissa in silence for a moment. She looked sad and deep in thought. He knew what was on her mind.
Aden lifted his hand, placing his palm against her cheek. “You shouldn’t let it bother you, Carissa. I know they’re coming, but it’s going to be all right. Your father has a strong pack, and he’s gone right now recruiting more.”
“I know, but I’m scared it won’t be enough. There are a lot of vampires that believe the same as the Council.”
Aden sat up and gathered her into his arms. “Yes, but Daniel is looking for ones that don’t. I’m confident there will be more than you think.”
“You’re right.” Carissa rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I need to do something to distract myself from thinking about it.”
In a flash, she was on her back, Aden leaning over her. “Really?”
Carissa laughed. “Yes, but you aren’t healed yet.”
A wicked gleam in his eyes, Aden pressed her hand to the bulge still hidden by the sheet. “Try me.”
Please enjoy this
sneak peek
From
Savage Bayou,
Coming
April 2017
Chapter One
-August 1745 –
Lightning struck the tree outside the window, sheets of rain pouring down to sizzle in the scorching heat. Pain beyond fire, beyond fear, beyond life, crippled and bloomed in the woman drenched in sweat atop the bed. Jaqueline screamed her ire to the heavens, her fists tight, gripping the blanket on which she reclined. A cool cloth was pressed to her forehead, but it didn’t dim her agony. In the corner of her tiny room, a nun sat quietly on a spindly chair while she rolled the beads of her rosary in plump fingers, her mouth moving in soundless prayer.
The pain ebbed for a moment, and Jaqueline could breathe once more. A cup of water was lifted to her parched mouth. She drank the welcome liquid in greedy gulps as she waited for the next wave of pain. It hit with the force of the thundering gale bashing against the convent walls. Her belly tightened, pinching and twisting as she fought to bring life into the world. Something popped, and fluid soaked her legs and the bed.
The pain crested, churning in her gut as more sweat beaded her skin, but it didn’t fade as before. The terrible clutching of her muscles tore another scream from her throat to clash with the lightning in the sky. Gentle hands sponged her face and massaged the top of her distended stomach. With a great grunt, Jaqueline lifted her head, pressing her chin to her chest as her body bore down. Once, twice, three times under the soft urging of the midwife she did push. And finally, the babe slid free with a wail of indignant protest, flailing tiny fists in the air as if to ward off the offending world.
Her body limp from her exertions, she reached out to touch a tiny hand, to caress the baby’s head. The midwife cradled the tiny babe and gently placed the child against Jaqueline’s chest, where she immediately quested for her mother’s breast, the crying quelled with the first taste of milk. Tears stained Jaqueline’s face as she stared in awe at the most perfect gift after a terrible beginning. She held the little body against hers as her daughter suckled, and she vowed, no matter the future, that her power and love would always belong to this child. And one day, one day after she was no longer Jaqueline’s, her mother would be sure that she knew it.
-June 19, 2014-
In a cramped motel room in Omaha, Nebraska, the faded carpet illuminated by no more than the glow of an alarm clock, Daniel Blackwood defied his vampiric nature and dreamed, as always, of death:
Watery moonlight filtered in through the holes of a tattered piece of cloth. It shone dimly on a scene pulled straight out of a nightmare, a scene intensified by the drip, drip, dripping sound echoing through the silence. It was this, the rhythmic drumming of liquid as it hit the ground, that woke the man just after sundown. Head pounding, he sat up and rubbed his temples, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Each drop resonated, clanging with malice against the aching nerves in his head. One hand pressed to his ear, he wrinkled his nose against the horrid smell that accompanied the sounds. He could smell death. The putrid stench of it permeated the tiny room, the scent of newly dead flesh and old blood as obvious as the run-down shack he lived in. His movements slow, he turned his head from side to side, trying to make sense of the little he could see in the dark—the little that was becoming clearer the more he stared. Sickening puddles of red darkened the ground, sending bile rising in his throat.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
A red haze covered the walls and ceiling, lines of the thick, oozing, substance leaking down to form the puddles on the floor. In his eyes, there were obvious signs of a struggle. He shook his head vigorously, sending the nerves behind his eyes jangling, but he couldn’t remember what happened the night before. Groaning, he stood up and made his way across the floor, eyes searching for the cause of the loudest dripping sound.
Drip. Drip. DRIP.
A narrow bed on the other side of the room offered up a gruesome answer. Dark shapes lay tossed atop the flimsy mattress, and a small hand hung over the side with blood dripping from the fingertips.
Drip. DRIP. DRIP.
His heart squeezed in his chest as the man stepped closer, the smell of semi-fresh blood triggering a chokehold of hunger around his throat. He hissed, fangs bursting forth from his gums, seeking to taste the sweet red liquid. He reached for one of the bodies, and the movement caused the lifeless face to turn to him. Pale blue eyes pleaded for mercy they would never receive.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
He knew those eyes, those lips, and that head of lovely bouncing curls. Hunger retreated in the face of shock as the man’s gaze studied the other bodies. He backed away, his heart pounding in horror. A wave of nausea beat back the fangs, forcing them to retreat into his gums. He knew what he was, what happened, now, but he wouldn’t begin like this. Falling to his knees on the blood-soaked floor, he clutched that tiny hand in his own and wailed his grief to the heavens. The sun would be up in but a few hours, and when it rose, he would greet it for the last time, and embrace the raging death of the vampire. He had nothing left to live for.
His family was dead.
To be continued…
Acknowledgements
Jessica—your editing skills have saved me a world of headaches, and I feel blessed to have had Belle of the Books Editing recommended to me. Your command of the English language and your deep comprehension of the inner workings of Crimson Bayou have enabled me to morph this little story into a novel I can be proud of.
Jennifer—your friendship, if not the single most important factor in me pushing on, has been a much-needed backbone when I felt like giving up. You were always there, even at your lowest points, to offer words of encouragement, and read even the most twisted scenes. I love you so much for simply being there. I could not ask for a better friend.
About the Author
The year was 1984, the day a dreary December Monday. At 3:30 in the morning, the screaming began…and there hasn’t been an ounce of silence, since. From verbal to written, words have always held a peculiar fascination for Alizabeth Lynn, so much so that the only dream she’s ever had was to be a writer. From that glorious Kindergarten moment when she first learned the proper way to hold a pencil, to 1998 when computers offered her a new way to save the never-ending flow of story-thoughts that lived in her mind, she’s always had an idea brewing.
Her career has run the gamut from atrocious poetry, to The Book that Shall not be Named, but she lived, and she learned. Since those lessons, Crimson Bayou, the first book in her Things that go Bump in the Bayou series, was officially released in December of 2014. She was also included in two anthologies, which were published independently in October 2015, and she has more books waiting in the wings.
Alizabeth is a Northwest Louisiana native that currently calls a little West Texas town “home.” Living there with her fiancé, two children, and feline writing buddy, she balances her writing with taking care of her family, running an independent formatting company, and trying her best not to lose what’s left of her mind. Copious amounts of coffee and chocolate help, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to one simple thing: she is living her dream, in every way that matters.
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Crimson Bayou (Things that go Bump in the Bayou Book 1) Page 28