Kylie Scott is unleashing an all-new vampire romance next week, and I have an awesome sneak peek for you to sink your teeth into.
Excerpt
“Why me?” I ask as we drive through West Hollywood.
“I needed a tour guide to this century and there you were.”
“Great.” I’ve spent my entire life never being chosen for anything. Being average height, average weight, and bookish, I tend to blend. Neither the cool kids, nor the jocks wanted anything to do with me in school, and men like him have looked straight past me ever since. “That’s just great.”
“People have begged me for the gift I just gave you. Offered me riches beyond imagination. Yet all you do is whine.”
“Dude, you killed me. You actually killed me. Do you seriously expect me to thank you?”
“How long is it going to take for you to get past that?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But when I do, we’re going to have a long conversation about consent.”
He shakes his head.
“When I was dying…you said something about me reminding you of someone?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maybe I imagined it. My memories of the attack and him turning me are shadowy at best.
There are plenty of people out tonight, and so much traffic. He must have been awake sometime in the last century because he knows how to drive. And he drives my ten-year-old Prius so I don’t accidentally break it. Like how I cracked the wood banister as we were heading out. All I did was put my hand on it and bang. I obviously don’t know my own strength. Or speed, for that matter. Every move I make now needs to be slow and steady and careful. Given my general lack of patience, this is no easy feat.
The vehicle’s keyless start and automatic transition were new to him. I also had to talk him through the various electronics. For a while, he just sat and stared at the dashboard in a daze. Guess there are a lot of lights and information. Now I stare out the passenger-side window in a similar state. I think I’m in shock. I know this is happening, but it doesn’t seem real. Like I am watching it all from a distance.
“Women such as yourself used to be more accommodating,” he says. “Less sharp-tongued.”
“Women such as myself?” I ask archly.
He doesn’t respond. But the word homely appears in a still and silent corner of my mind. And I absolutely bet it’s what he means. Asshole.
“How long were you in that room for?”
“A while.”
“Did we even have the right to vote the last time you were awake?”
“Yes. That happened in 1920,” he says. “You don’t wear a wedding ring. Are you a spinster or a widower?”
“Neither. I’m single. Spinster isn’t a term that’s used now.”
“No boyfriend?”
“No. And no girlfriend or partner either.”
“So you live with your family?”
I snort. “I have my own place. Thank you very much.”
He does the furrowed forehead thing. Like he is judging all of my life decisions. Again.
“You may not realize it, but there have been multiple studies done proving that single women living alone are one of the happiest subsets of people in the world.”
“Is that so? What does this button do?” He pushes something and music blares out of the stereo. A song by Halsey. “Is this if you want to torture someone at the same time as you’re driving?”
“No, it’s for enjoyment. Halsey’s great.”
We stop at a red light, and he examines the sports car beside us with interest—along with the handsome Asian man sitting behind the wheel. They exchange smiles, and I would really rather not be part of whatever he is doing. Hunting for sex or blood, or I don’t know what.
The air tastes different in the city. At that house it tasted of dust and stone inside, and sweet jasmine and the perfume from the climbing roses in the garden. But here there’s smog and a dash of salt spray from the distant Pacific Ocean. It has a definite aftertaste. As do the people nearby.
I turn away before I can fixate on the sight of all that blood rushing beneath their skin. Hunger will not control me. I am not an animal, no matter what he’s done to me. The light turns green and away we go.
“What are the rules for being a vampire?” I ask.
“Do as I say.”
As if.
It’s truly ridiculous how attractive he is, with his flawless skin, deep blue eyes, and glossy, thick hair. The driver’s-side window is down, and a breeze tousles his locks. He’s like something out of an ad for cologne or designer jeans. Though, I guess that helps them ensnare the next meal.
His gaze is constantly on the move. Taking in the people on the sidewalks, other vehicles on the road, and the buildings we’re passing. High-rises amaze him, and the digital advertising billboards fascinate him to no end. Along with a group of scantily clad people spilling out of a bar. And following close behind them is a woman who absolutely cannot be human.
“That woman,” I say in horror. “She had amber eyes, and her teeth…holy shit!”
“Sounds like a werewolf,” he says. “Such things have always been here. You’re no longer susceptible to the human unwillingness to see what’s in front of you. To excuse away the things that scare you. Don’t be so shocked. What you consider unnatural is really just the parts of our world you have yet to experience.”
None of this makes me happy. “So, what do you want at my work?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But it’s interesting that they had the house keys.” He runs his tongue over his fangs as he looks people over as we drive. “The style of clothing has certainly changed.”
“Your suit is dated. But people wear all sorts of things now. Dressing in vintage clothing is common enough.”
He nods.
“Have you ever even seen a TV?”
“Yes. I bought my first one at the 1939 World’s Fair.” He points toward the circular Capitol Records Building. “They’d only just started work on that the last time I saw it.”
“How old are you exactly?”
“Have I mentioned that your manners are appalling?”
“You attacked me, drank my blood, and turned me into a vampire. Do you really want to discuss manners?”
“Drinking blood is a matter of survival,” he says. “I won’t apologize for it. And I could have left you to rot. I still might.”
Here’s the thing. The idea of becoming a vampire is seductive, in theory. Movies make it look so good. Live forever and all that. But the actual process of being attacked and exsanguinated is traumatic as fuck. Not to mention all of the changes to your body. The demand that you leave your everyday life behind and embrace…whatever this is.
I press my hand to my chest, waiting to feel the beat of my heart. It doesn’t happen. I hold my breath and wait. And wait some more.
“You don’t need to breathe,” he says. “You’re just doing it out of habit.”
“How were we even invented? Who made the first vampire?”
“Invented?” He laughs. “You make us sound like Frankenstein’s monster. The truth is, no one knows for sure. Or no one I’ve ever met. I believe it’s some sort of magic, though the how and why of it are lost to time.”
“Magic is real?”
“Your heart no longer beats and yet you’re still walking around. What would you call it?”
He has a point. Not that I’m going to admit that. “You haven’t told me your name.”
“Lucas.”
“Lucas. Okay. I don’t sparkle in sunlight now, do I?”
“No. You burn to ash.” His dark brows draw together. “Sparkling. What an absurd idea. Why on earth would you think that?”
“No reason.” My stomach churns. Good to know that even the undead experience anxiety. “Take the next left and park anywhere.”
“We can’t shapeshift, and nor can we control animals,” he says in a truly testy voice. “I should have beat the shit out of Stoker when I had the chance. Same goes for Polidori and Le Fanu for breaking confidences and spinning such fantastical fallacies about our kind.”
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about Bram Stoker? The guy who wrote Dracula? You actually knew him?”
“No,” he answers eventually. “He was a friend of…never mind.”
The Thorn Group owns an old, six-story building. Though what counts as old is debatable, given my current company. Imagine having beef with someone dating back centuries.
A security guard watches as I carefully swipe my card, and the glass doors slide open. He has white skin and military-short hair. And the bulk of his attention is on the man behind me in the vintage suit. The one who is staring at the sliding doors with an awestruck expression. Guess he hasn’t seen those before either.
It can’t really have only been a few hours ago that I walked out these doors. I wince at all of the bright lights. No wonder Lucas sticks to candles. It’s your standard lobby, with a security desk and couple of elevators at the back. There’s a couple of potted plants and a piece of modern art to give the space character. Keeping with tonight’s theme, the artwork largely consists of red splashes of paint.
A delicious scent hits me as soon as I step foot inside, and my mouth begins to water. I can smell the man’s blood, warm and fragrant. I can hear the way it whooshes through his veins and the steady beat of his heart. It calls to me like nothing I have ever known.
Lucas stands with his hand wrapped around the security guard’s neck. I didn’t even see him move. Then he stares into the man’s eyes and asks, “Who owns this place?”
“Miss Cole,” the security guard answers mechanically. He’s not even struggling. Lucas has put him under some sort of compulsion. “She’s working late tonight. Her office is on the top floor.”
“Thank you.” Lucas gestures me closer. “Come here, Skye. You need to feed.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
“You don’t understand. Even if I could do that, there are security cameras watching us.”
“Security cameras?”
“Yes.” Then I remind myself he’s ancient. “Like motion picture film cameras. But smaller. And they’re pretty much everywhere when it comes to public spaces.”
“What a horrifying development.” He frowns and gazes around the room. “Can the cameras be turned off?”
“Yes, sir.” The security guard nods. “Or the recording can be deleted. I’d be happy to do it for you.”
“I appreciate that. Come here, Skye. Don’t make me ask again.”
My whole body is shaking with need.
“If you don’t feed, you’ll die,” says Lucas. “That’s certainly a choice you could make. But you need to know it won’t happen straight away. Desiccation takes a while, even for a newborn. First the hunger will take control of you. We’re standing in the middle of a city. Can you imagine the carnage you would cause?”
“You’d let that happen?”
He just sighs. “The last thing I need is attention from the human press or authorities. Doing it now, with me here, is your best chance of not killing anyone. I’m stronger than you, I can overpower you if necessary. Or just compel you to behave.”
“Promise me you won’t let me kill anyone.”
After a moment, he nods. “Walk slowly over here.”
The elevator chimes and a beautiful Black woman in a suit rushes out. “Wait! Don’t hurt him. I have bags of donated blood.”
“You look just like your grandmother,” says Lucas with a smile.
“Mister Thorn. What a surprise.”
“Apparently not.”
He releases the security guard and takes a bag of blood from her. His nose wrinkles in distaste. “Donated blood, did you say?” He bites the end of the attached tube and sucks some down. “That’s disgusting. It’s cold and you can taste the plastic.”
I’ve met Helena Cole on numerous occasions. Christmas parties and such. She’s tall with natural hair, and her wardrobe is to die for. All of the best designers and shoes I would kill for. But all I can see and hear and smell right now is her blood. All I can focus on is how fast her heart is beating, and the vein raised just so in the side of her neck.
I don’t remember making the decision. I just know that I am going to drink her dry. The realization crosses her face, and out of her coat pocket, she pulls a gun. Smart of her. Though it doesn’t slow me down in the least. I am past the point of rational thought.
My body surges forward, hands reaching, ready to grab her—until I slam back into Lucas. One of his arms wraps around me, holding my arms against my body, and the tube on the bag of donated blood is pushed between my lips.
“Drink,” he orders.
And I gratefully do as told.
Find it on Goodreads:
Connect with the Author:
by