Excerpt 1
The cut was small and not deep, it would stop bleeding in a matter of minutes.
Blood seeped from the wound. It trickled down Sarah’s wrist and pooled in her upturned hand.
He froze.
Changes overcame his body. Uncontrollable. Unknown.
Breath quickened. Heart pounded as loud as a horse’s gallop. Sarah hadn’t awakened. The pain from her cut was insubstantial compared to the pain of her sickness.
The thick, crimson liquid flowing from the wound was anything but insubstantial to Caderyn. Still unable to move, his eyes hadn’t wavered from the blood. The tray left his hands and clattered to the ground. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, bringing himself an inch from the cut. The scent of blood filled his nostrils. Consumed all thought. Sight. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the reverent aroma filling his senses. Something awakened inside of him.
Foreign.
Monstrous.
Wrong.
He was hungry, yet didn’t want food. Thirsty, but didn’t want to reach for a cup of water. Another drop of blood welled from the cut. A growl tore from his throat.
It was the switch and it had been thrown.
One moment he was himself. The monster inside separate. Next the wall between the two vanished. He was the Behnshma. His humanity gone. Another growl. It echoed around the house. Filled his ears.
He was ravenous. The fact he hadn’t eaten in a little over a week ached his empty belly and burned his dry, parched throat. There were two pricks of pain in his top gum. Finger in his mouth, he found two long, sharp as knives, teeth. Like Elias. Like the wolves in the forest when they tore into a deer carcass. Their muzzles bloody, meat dangling from their mouths. Blood.
He knew what he wanted to do, what his body demanded he do. Caderyn licked his lips and his tongue nicked an elongated tooth. His own blood melted decadently over his tongue. A flood of senses erupted. Never had he tasted anything this wonderful. His mouth zinged with flavor. The blood coated his throat. He’d been dying of thirst his whole life but hadn’t known it. Warmth spread through his body.
His hands shook as he brought them to Sarah’s arm. Grasping her wrist and forearm he leaned toward the blood. Inch by inch. He was a magnet and her arm was the polar opposite.
Her inaudible yelp of fright permeated through the rushing noise in his ears. He tore his eyes away and met her wide-eyed startled ones.
Stop.
Fear was an acrid, burning stench in his nostrils. Her thoughts a chaotic jumble weaving through his mind. She tried to move her lethargic limbs. Tried to escape. To break free.
He flexed his hands, squeezing her arm as his gaze trailed from the vein in her neck to the one in her wrist right below the cut. The blood slowed and the edges of the wound begun to dry. The tangy, copper scent of the fresh liquid underneath her skin reached his nose. Caderyn listened to it pass through her veins. Faster and faster.
Ignoring his wife’s futile attempts to escape, he leaned closer and inhaled. A growl erupted from his throat. He bent. Licked the wound. Groaned. His cock hardened.
Sarah, panicked now, tried to yank her arm free. It was the most she’d moved in days. Growling, like a dog with his bone, he held down her upper arm and her squirming hand. Pushed it back until her forearm bowed, and the cut extended to him like a present.
Caderyn. Please. I beg you.
He was hurting her arm. Scaring her. She was begging.
Flicking his tongue over her wrist, he caught another drop of the thick liquid gold. Then another and another. It wasn’t enough. He bared his teeth, striking fast to sink them deep into her wrist. She gave a weak jerk. Caderyn drew her blood into his mouth with long pulls. His cock jerked and warmth spread inside his breeches. There was no stopping. Her struggles to escape were an annoying insect buzzing around the room. The pleas to stop were shouts in his head. Both were easy to ignore. Sarah ceased to struggle.
He was killing her.
He couldn’t stop.
And didn’t stop until she was dead.
Excerpt 2
Emma woke in a dark room that was not her bedroom. Moaning, she clutched her head with her hands, rubbing the temples with the pads of her fingers. Her head was killing her and her body ached. Did she have the flu?
“The headache will pass soon.”
A small scream of terror burst from her lips. She jerked to a sitting position. Her gaze bounced around the dark and she saw absolutely nothing. No light from underneath a door. Nothing from a window. It was couldn’t-see-the-hand-in-front-of-her-face dark. “Who’s there?” Emma’s voice shook as she uttered the stupid line. If someone had to ask who’s there they’d better start running because nine times out of ten they weren’t going to like the answer, especially if they were in a horror flick. With the night’s events rushing back in rapid succession, she was the main character in this scary movie.
Adrenaline kicked in and she rolled to the side to get off the bed.
He. She. It moved, too. Emma quickly backtracked. The noise—not footsteps, more like a rush of air—also changed directions. On hands and knees, she crawled, hopefully, to the edge of the bed. Stumbling on it quicker than planned, Emma pitched over the side and fell to the floor with a grunt. Surging to her feet, she stumbled, legs deciding to take a break for a moment. Bastards. Light suddenly filled the room. It blinded her. Her hands shot up to cover her eyes. Shooting pains erupted in her skull like a knife stabbing her temples.
“I know,” the deep voice said softly. “Light will make the headache worse. I’m sure with Lucas’s interference and the bump on your head, the pain is doubled, but I can’t have you bumping into the furniture or falling off the bed anymore, can I?”
The speaker was a man. His voice was closer to her than she’d have thought with the light just flicked on. Near enough that his breath brushed across her face.
Her eyes snapped open. She gasped and stepped back. It was the man from downstairs. The one who’d felt the bump on her head. He was supposed to do something to her. Erase her memory? No that can’t be right. Emma took another step back and tripped on the corner of the bed.
The man caught her by the arms. “Are you always this clumsy?”
“No.” Shit. Don’t give any information. No matter how insubstantial. Concentrate on getting out of here.
Inhaling, she tried to get her bearings. To calm her ragged breaths. She wouldn’t faint. For the second time, apparently. The light still played with her temples like sticks to a drum, but not as intense as the knives. Did she have a fever? She was chilled to the bone and weak.
“More blood has been taken than we’d hoped. Lie down. It will help your head as well. And,” his gaze traveled to her arms she’d wrapped across her torso, “keep you warm.”
Emma shook her head and grimaced when the knives returned.
His eyebrows drew together. “I will shut the lights off.”
“No.” She grabbed his arm before he could move. Emma didn’t want to be in the dark anymore. The memories swirling just below the surface would be worse than the pain in her head.
He froze, gaze locked on her hand squeezing his arm.
She snatched her hand back. What was the matter with her? Emma took a couple steps back, this time making sure to spot the corner of the bed. Relief spread. A part of the bed was in between them now. Except the door was way across the room. In the opposite direction from which she moved. Awesome job, Ace.
“How long have I been here?” She shivered and tiny beads of sweat pooled on her forehead. Excellent time to get sick.
“Two hours.” His voice low and soft.
The tone was meant to calm, soothe, and crap, it was working. Little shocks of electricity also coursed through her body causing blips in her “he’s dangerous” radar. Emma remembered when his hands felt her head. She’d been pleasantly surprised the trained killer look-alike touched her so gently.
He was tall. She reached the tops of his shoulders and had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the muscles in his arms and shoulders. Emma wouldn’t be able to overpower him. But how fast could he run?
Shoulders back, feet planted, legs spread, indicated he was ready for anything. His body language said he was in charge, but the tilt of his head contradicted the attitude. Black, shoulder length hair covered half of his face. What was he hiding?
Didn’t matter. She shook her head. Ugh, bad move.
Running was out. What was left? Distracting him with her womanly wiles then escape. Ha. The fever must be messing with her brain.
Had she laughed out loud? He looked concerned. The color of his eyes, well eye since she could only see one of them, was unusual. She’d have to mix cyan and green in order to get that exact shade of blue . . . when she did a sketch for the police . . . with her paints.
Suddenly the eye was extremely close. Blinking, she jerked back from the man who was only inches away and banged her head into the wall.
“Ow.” That did not help her head. No wonder he considered her a klutz. Not that she cared what he thought.
The man raised his hand. Froze. Retreated a step. “Are you all right?”
He was staring at her like she was a museum piece. The man didn’t fidget or twitch. Didn’t blink from what she’d detected. His chest wasn’t even mov—oh, no there it went. So he was a breathing statue.
Emma licked her lips and cleared her desert-like throat. She’d kill for a glass of water. Stupid alcohol. Stupid sickness.
“When can I leave?”
“Soon, chemda. I promise.”
She paid attention to the movement of his eyes, the gestures of his hands and lips for telltale signs he was lying. He portrayed nothing. The man was either telling the truth or he was a psycho killer. Emma hoped for the former, but kind of suspected it’d be the latter.
“Soon as in a few minutes?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Come. Lie down. I’ll have Jeeves bring you food and drink. You need to counterbalance what’s been taken from you.”
Emma made no move toward the bed. There would be no discussion about what was taken. “Jeeves?”
“Our butler.” How about half an aspirin? Exhaustion suddenly plagued her. She leaned back against the wall.
“Come, chemda,” he demanded. “You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
The bed did look inviting. The longer she stood, the more blood fought against gravity to pool in her head. Pump. Pump. Pump. She closed her eyes for a moment. A quick reprieve from the pain then she’d go for the door.
She was in the man’s arms. Her eyelids flew open. “Put me down. Put me . . .” The man walked two steps, pulled down the bed covers, somehow still holding onto her and deposited her onto the bed. He left her side and the lights went off.
Total. Complete. Darkness. No!
Alley. Fear.
Small blade. Panic.
Blood. Pain.
Emma shot up. “No.”
Excerpt 3
Cade advanced a step.
Emma retreated. “I want to go home.” Needed to go home. For her sanity.
“Don’t you like it here?” He spread his arms to indicate the pool.
“Yes, this is beautiful and I like not being cooped up in the room with nothing to do, but I want to go home. I want my own bed, my own clothes.” She lifted the black T-shirt. It grew at least two sizes since she entered the water. “I don’t like being a prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner. Consider this your hospital. A place where you’re receiving the best possible care. I’ll take you home when you’re better.”
“Why should I believe you? All I know is that you’re a kidnapper.”
Cade ran fingers through his wet hair, frustration evident. “Would a kidnapper call for a doctor, bring you food, make sure you have clean clothes, watch over you, give you medication, never raise his voice to you even when you order him around?” He’d been advancing. She hadn’t realized. He was an inch from her body.
Emma inhaled shakily, raising her hand to ward him off, unintentionally or maybe not, pushing against his bare chest. “Stop it,” she whispered. Although who she was speaking to? She stared down at her hand that touched a body cooler than the water. It was not the right moment to notice he was built like a god.
Was that a tattoo on his upper arm? Mmm, sexy.
No. No it wasn’t. Emma willed herself not to move, not to glide over to the left until her fingers rubbed over his nipple. Stop. She jerked her hand away. He grabbed it and brought it right back. With his hand on top guiding hers, his gaze never leaving her face, she rubbed muscled chest, an erect nipple, slid down his side and underneath the water to ripple along the ridges of his abdomen. A whimper escaped as her fingers danced over the tops of his swim trunks.
She lifted her gaze, not sure if she was going to plead for him to let go or not to stop.
“I want to kiss you, Emma.” His voice was husky and oh, God, what it did to her insides.
She opened her mouth with no idea of what to say. A small half-squeak, half-moan emerged.
