Vampire Hunter: Blood of the Vines Book One - coming soon from Liquid Silver.
Tracking ruthless bloodsuckers isn’t all bad, especially when there’s a man around that slays your heart.
Once a vampire, now a vampire hunter, Regan Fellows walks a fine line with her reputation. Unable to afford her favorite Italian leather outfits, she takes any job she’s offered. When the owner of The Vines, a popular nightclub, asks her to investigate strange goings-on within her establishment, she doesn’t refuse.
Her investigation takes a disturbing turn as Regan explores the labyrinth of rooms within The Vines. She discovers blood-filled carboys, discarded bodies, and shadows that follow her every move.
But blood, bodies, and shadows aren’t the only problems. Sexy bartender, Garrett Reynolds is a bona-fide distraction, and flawless at the art of breaking down her resistance. Even in the midst of tracking a ruthless horde of vampires, Regan can’t deny him. And that attraction puts her in more danger than any job she’s ever accepted.
This is the first book in the Blood of the Vines Trilogy
Regan Fellows walked swiftly along the desolate streets, dodging broken glass and rain puddles, her eyes intent on the night prowlers. The downtown dive was nearby the location she’d been asked to meet up, the place the young woman on the phone had called The Vines. Burned out streetlamps made it difficult to see clearly, and an onslaught of garbage coated the sidewalks. It seemed a place where the trash walked and fit right in.
A bitter wind nipped at her cheeks as she picked up the pace. She pulled the collar of her leather jacket up further as a shield. Her new Italian black leather pants with matching jacket seemed to hold up well for the late autumn weather, though she should’ve thought twice about the skimpy top. Her nipples pressed tight against the lace of her bra, making her wince.
At the corner of Fifth and Halsey, Regan stopped. An obscure wrought-iron sign dangled in the breeze that read The Vines. For a supposed popular nightclub, it looked seedy. Her stomach knotted. A new job always wreaked havoc on her nerves, especially when she ended up in some sordid place. Those who knew about her line of work were often the ones she needed to be wary of. She acknowledged the dangers of her job, but she needed money to afford her fetish for high quality Italian leather.
With a deep breath, she turned the knob and entered.
She followed a winding metal staircase down into a sea of writhing, undulating bodies on a red-lit dance floor. The bass of the music vibrated so deep it shook each step. At the bottom step, a petite redhead greeted her, a tray of drinks balanced in her hand. “Welcome to The Vines. Have a seat wherever you can find one.”
Regan nodded and pressed the faux flap of skin around her neck.
“Thanks. I wondered if you could help me. I’m looking for a woman by the name of Selena. She asked me to meet her here.”
The waitress primped her corkscrew curls. “Sure, I’ll let her know you’re here. And you are?”
“Regan. She’s expecting me.”
Curls bobbing, the redhead nodded. “I’ll let her know. It might be a few minutes before I can flag her down. Have to serve customers.”
Regan shrugged. “No worries. I’ll wait at the bar.”
She tracked the young woman until she disappeared into the crowd of dancers, and then made her way to the other side of the room. Hands groped her body as she passed, some lingering longer than others. Already the temperature in the room had spiked ten degrees.
At one time, this scene would’ve worked for her. Back when she’d been naïve and curious. Addicted to the euphoric high of nonstop sexual energy as she danced naked with strangers. Wrecked in body and soul for a single drop of their blood.
But this wasn’t her scene anymore.
At the bar, Regan plopped on a stool and admired the selection of wine bottles along the shelves. Not much of a drinker, she’d never really learned the fine art of tasting wine, though she’d enjoyed several specialty Italian wines once on a weekend Tuscan getaway.
Regan turned and eyed the dance floor packed with obscenely beautiful people all outfitted in black. They danced like a raging sea, bodies gyrating and grinding to the hypnotic music. Aroused, a carnal yearning brewed inside her.
One couple eyed her with a scintillating stare. They caressed their bodies, not averting their gaze from her. Desire flickered between her thighs. She spread her legs and palmed the crotch of her leather pants. The dancers moved their hands as well. Trembling, she felt their hands reach between her legs, beneath her pants, opening her wide. She gasped, certain she’d climax right there.
Breath labored, Regan wrested her gaze away, and the erotic stimulation ended. Deep breath in, she fanned herself. She’d have to be on her guard or get lost in the night games taking place.
Damp and red-cheeked, she faced the bar, finding an attractive dark-haired, green-eyed bartender smiling back at her.
Her pussy throbbed.
“What’s your poison, beautiful?”
Regan swept her gaze along his broad shoulders, strong chin, and deep-set eyes. His voice matched his sex appeal. Speechless, she struggled to come up with the name of anything, let alone a drink.
She straightened and cleared her throat. “Anything would be fine, I’m not picky.”
“Good to know.” He selected a large-bowled goblet from a crystal glass rack that hung above the bar and set it in front of her. Her body tingled at the ease with which he moved.
He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and stared intently. “We carry only the finest vintages here.”
She squirmed on the stool. His voice, his hands, his piercing eyes heightened her arousal. Rarely did she find herself tongue-tied in the presence of a man.
“Whatever you recommend will be fine. I trust your expertise.”
Hell, she’d trust his hands all over her body.
His smoldering gaze deepened, igniting her body like it was kindle. The tip of his mouth curved upwards as he rolled his sleeves to his elbows.
“Very well. A glass of our finest red. Only the best should slip between your lips and coat your tongue.”
She squeezed her thighs at the decadent words. Powerless to look away, she watched the corded muscles of his forearms strain against his flesh as he uncorked a bottle and filled the goblet midway. The deep, ruby liquid swirled with sinful flare.
“Why don’t you start with this and tell me what you think.” He slid the glass closer to her and winked. “Consider this one on the house.”
Lips trembling, she mumbled, “Thank you.”
Their fingertips touched as she went for her glass. The brief contact resurrected her arousal, and her throat thickened. Now, more than ever, she needed a drink. As if to taunt her more, Handsome leaned across the counter and propped his chin in his hands.
His masculine scent assaulted her senses and she fought to hold the goblet. Provocative thoughts of pouring the wine down her body and watching him savor her skin with his tongue took her mind hostage.
Regan inhaled the wine and swished the glass as she’d seen true connoisseurs do. Her pulse quickened. The heady aroma, dangerously familiar. She glanced at the dark-haired hunk and admired his chiseled features. He didn’t give the impression of someone she needed to worry about. She tipped the goblet, the rim against her bottom lip. A thin stream of liquid swilled forward, her taste buds, craving.
Behind her a voice shouted, “You reckless son of a bitch! Don’t serve her that!”
Regan didn’t have a chance to turn around. The goblet flew from her hands, spiraled through the air, hit the back wall and shattered.