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Jude was a predator, and right now she believed it to her very bones.
Theresa froze, instinct taking over.
Then he leaned toward her, slowly, as if he didn’t want to frighten her. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
She didn’t think she could have, at least not at that moment. Was he about to drink from her?
His hands cupped her cheeks. His skin was cool and smooth, smoother than human flesh. Jude touched her mouth with his. A light touch. His lips were parted, and he inhaled, taking her breath into him. He sighed, and she felt the coolness of his breath like an autumn breeze.
Then he kissed her.
Dear Reader,
What would a vampire fear more than dying permanently? Like most of you, I’ve read Bram Stoker and Anne Rice, and some other tales about vampires. The myth continues to evolve.
But I got to wondering: This change to being undead and surviving on blood, what would it do to a person if it really happened? Would need kill conscience? And what in the world would cause a vampire more fear than the thought of dying permanently?
Out of that came Jude Messenger, vampire private investigator and demon slayer. Jude not only fights the evil of the night, but he battles himself as well. Then he meets Terri, a rather independent medical examiner who drives him nearly insane with needs he has long battled, and worse, she puts him in danger of the thing vampires fear more than permanent death: The Claiming.
Hugs,
Rachel
About the Author
RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Claim the Night
Rachel Lee
Chapter 1
He smelled her long before he saw her. A sweet, luscious smell wafted to him on the breeze, the kind of scent that raised his hunger to dangerous levels. He paused for a moment, invisible in the dark shadow of a building on a nighttime street dotted only infrequently with the yellow of street lamps.
He gave himself some time to drink in the intoxicating scent, a few moments of masochistic torture because he knew he wouldn’t heed the siren call to feed. He’d stopped heeding that call a long time ago, except for an occasional, harmless but necessary half-pint.
Besides, he had found those willing to share, a few trustworthy humans who would allow him to feed in exchange for the sexual thrill.
But this scent called to him, as only a few had over the centuries. He lifted his head, drinking it in, forgetting for a few seconds that he had work to do, a job to complete. For just a few seconds he allowed himself to remember how it had once been when he’d hunted freely, merely to satisfy himself.
Then he shook himself out of the hunger, and closed off his needs. He had changed, times had changed, and practice made control easier, though no less painful.
The job, he reminded himself. The address was only two blocks away. He moved freely, shadow to shadow, with a speed that would make him nearly invisible to all but the most perceptive. In this part of town there were no crowds to mingle with and thus hide among. The warehouse district was almost deserted and at night, only those with evil in mind dared to emerge after darkness claimed the street.
Evil had brought him here.
He was still half a block away from his target when he smelled the intoxicating scent again. But this time it was even more compelling because now it definitely held an overtone of fear.
And fear was another siren call for his kind, a part he had come to loathe.
He paused, torn. The evil he had come to deal with or the evil he sensed about to happen?
A woman’s cry pierced the night, making his decision for him. Forgetting the shadows for speed, he dashed toward the sound, the scent, moving now at a speed that rendered him invisible to human eyes.
Three blocks to the east he found her. She stood surrounded by four punks, one of them holding a knife, every single one of them looking as if they enjoyed frightening her as much as one of his kind might. He could smell their evil intentions. And something else. Something he couldn’t identify, but it disturbed him.
“Don’t touch me,” she demanded, taking an aggressive posture, as if she was willing to attack them. Little good it would do when she was outnumbered. “Don’t. Take my money. Take my credit cards.”
“Hey, sweetie,” said the guy with the knife, “what makes you think we want your money?”
The others laughed. “Naw,” one said, “she’s got a better treasure than that.”
He could have, in less than a minute, killed all four of the thugs. Once he might have. But the sight of the frightened but feisty woman prevented him. While those four didn’t deserve to live, neither did the woman they threatened deserve the nightmares he would leave her with if he savaged those men.
He stepped forward so they could see him. “You don’t want to do that.” The Voice.
They all hesitated, looking at him as if suddenly confused. The woman herself looked at him as if he were a savior. He knew better. She had no idea the kind of danger she might be in from him.
“Go,” he said. “Go home now.”
Slowly, almost like zombies, the four men turned away from the woman and began to disperse.
“Go home now,” he repeated with more force, and they began to run.
The woman stood there, frozen, even though she should have responded to the Voice as well. Perplexing, but not the first time someone had been immune.
She was dark-haired, petite. Even with his extraordinary night vision, however, he could not see the color of her eyes. Probably too dilated from adrenaline.
“How did you do that?” she asked, barely whispering. His acute hearing picked that up, too.
“Cowards are easy to intimidate,” he answered, a half-truth.
He walked toward her and she took a quick, stumbling step back. “Stay away.”
He stopped. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. Where do you live?”
“I’m not telling you that!”
He
