First Sentence Friday

This excerpt comes from Bound by Night by Larissa Ione.


"Go fuck yourself."
    Hunter, MoonBound clan's leader, leaned back in his chair and gave Riker an expectant look. "Go fuck yourself..." He made a come on gesture with his fingers. "Finish the sentence."
    Riker rolled his eyes. "Go fuck yourself... sir."

A WOMAN OUT FOR BLOOD...
A VAMPIRE OUT FOR REVENGE...

Nicole Martin was only eight years old when the vampire slaves rose up in rebellion and killed her family. Now she devotes her life to finding a vaccine against vampirism, hoping to wipe out her memories—along with every bloodsucker on the planet. But there’s one thing she cannot destroy: her searing, undeniable attraction for the one man she should hate and fear the most . . .

A member of the renegade vampire MoonBound Clan, Riker is haunted by demons of his own. When he recognizes Nicole and remembers how her family enslaved his loved ones, his heart burns for vengeance. But when he kidnaps Nicole and holds her in a secret lair, his mortal enemy becomes his soul obsession, his greatest temptation, and, perhaps, his only salvation—a hot-blooded lover who could heal him with her touch . . . or bury him forever.

Random Excerpt: Grave Illusions

This is currently a free read from Amazon. Buy here. Author site here.

Grave Illusions
(Jess Vandermire, Vampire Hunter)
Lina Gardiner
Highlight Loc. 61-158

The next evening Britt wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face with a towel and slapped on a palmful of aftershave. Pressed against the edge of the bathroom sink he stared hard at his reflection. He looked like hell. Since he’d been kicked off the force, he’d been through hell. For that matter, he felt as if he was still in hell.
     Had it been two years since he’d made the mistake of confronting his partner about taking bribes on the beat? Randy had slugged him in the jaw, and he’d responded by punching Randy in the gut. In the gut!
     If only he could take back that moment.
     He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. How many times had he wished for that one favor? One miracle in a good cop’s lifetime? Good cop? He made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. Good cops don’t kill their partners.
     He tried to push the memories away, but he couldn’t. They’d been stirred up again because yesterday, out of the blue, his former captain, Drake Abbott, had telephoned him. He wanted Britt to meet him at the precinct, but he wouldn’t explain why. Britt had reservations about going. Cop killers should never hang around police stations. But Drake was a good guy. One of the few Britt respected. He had no choice but to agree. He owed his friend that much. Drake had stuck by him when everyone else had turned their back on him.
     On the way to the Police Station, Britt convinced himself he was happy enough. It had taken over two years, but he had made peace with his transition from cop to cabby. Even so, he couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done to deserve this life.
     Now, here he was, walking down those familiar corridors again. His gut clenched at the sights and smells inside the building where he’d spent more than ten years of his life. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t need reminders of how his life could have been if he hadn’t screwed it up.
     When Britt reached the office, Drake rose from his chair and hurried across the room to greet him. “Glad you came.” Drake grabbed his hand and pumped it hard. “Just a second. I’ll close this door then we can talk.”
     Britt saw the woman immediately—long, luscious legs in dark hose led up to a short skirt. Shoulder length sable hair, flawless skin and full lips that instantly elevated his blood pressure. He swallowed before he said, “Hello.”
     She didn’t speak, just continued to stare at him, sizing him up like it was her God-given right.
     Britt groaned inwardly. Drake better have a damned good reason to bring him here, because the way this lady was eyeing him made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Strike that. Extremely aroused and uncomfortable.
     “Okay.” Drake rubbed his hands together as he sat behind his desk. “Let’s get down to business right away.”
     “Aren’t you forgetting an introduction?” Britt tipped his head toward the eye candy in the corner.
     “Right. This is Jess Vandermire, Lieutenant of our new unit. Jess, I’d like to introduce you to one of the best cops I’ve ever worked with, John Brittain.”
     Britt started to ask Drake what new unit he was talking about but cringed instead as Drake added the last. Even though he felt honest-to-God gratitude at Drake’s statement, guilt surged through him. He didn’t deserve that kind of praise.
     “Mr. Brittain.” Her voice slipped over him like silk. Crazy as it sounded, he felt as if she’d physically caressed him—with her tongue!
     He shivered. Embarrassed by his reaction to her, he mumbled something hopefully unintelligible, before dragging his gaze back to Drake. He had a sinking feeling Drake was going to ask him to do bodyguard duty or something equally distasteful. He’d decided a long time ago that he’d never stoop to that type of job. He’d been one of the best cops in the city, and if he couldn’t be a real cop, he sure as hell wouldn’t settle for the next best thing. That’s why he’d become a taxi driver. Driving a cab was about as far from being a cop he could get.
     “Before you say anything, Britt, listen to what I have to tell you.” Drake screwed up his leathery face. “Fact is, I’d like to offer you a job with the police force.”
     Britt felt as if a sudden weight had fallen on his chest and was affecting his breathing. “Not funny, Drake. You know that’s not possible. Hell, I’d give my eyeteeth to be able to come back. But not with my partner’s death hanging over my head. No one will accept me, and I don’t blame them.”
     “Did you say eyeteeth?” Drake said.
     The lady’s eyes sparkled dangerously at Drake. Talk about giving him the “you’d-better-watch-yourself look.”
     Drake suddenly went a sickly pale and said to the woman, “Sorry, Jess. That was in bad taste.” What the hell did Drake mean by that?
      Britt stood and scraped the chair back with his legs. “Never mind. I’ll just pretend you didn’t ask me to return. I’m leaving.”
     “No! Hear me out first.”
     Britt glared at Drake and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m a freaking outcast, man! I’ll never be able to come back. And, to be honest, I can’t believe you’d even suggest I could, even if I was innocent. Which we both know I’m not. So stop yanking my chain.”
     As far as ticked expressions went, Jess Vandermire’s registered at least an eight on a scale from one to ten. Apparently, she didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “This offer is legit,” she said. “The real deal. You’ll be a New York City Cop again with full pay and benefits.”
     Britt threw his hands into the air. Christ! Didn’t these two understand the word no? “If you think I’ll work with some private company, I’ll tell you right now, I’m never going to work as a damned bodyguard. Not even if you call me a cop in the process.” His shoulders slumped. No way could he tell them how much saying those words hurt; how much he still wanted to be a cop.
     “Nah, it’s not like that at all,” Drake said. “I’d never ask you to be a bodyguard. You’ll be a New York City Police Officer again. Your record will be expunged.”
     Even though Drake’s voice emphasized the “expunged” part, he looked squeamish as hell. Britt didn’t miss the fact that his eyes kept darting toward Jess.
     Britt bit his bottom lip and squeezed his hands into tight firsts. “Can you expunge the fact that I killed my partner?”
     “No. I wish I could.” Drake at least looked repentant.
     “So do I, Drake. So do I.” He looked at his shoes and swallowed.
     Suddenly, Jess Vandermire said, “The unit I run is a top-secret operation. Absolutely no one outside the Special Ops team can know about it. Before I can give you any details, you have to decide if you want in.” Her soft, velvet-smooth voice was about as erotic as a voice could get.
     He gaped at her. Didn’t she just hear what he’d said? And, damnit, as much as her voice affected him, he was too irritated to be distracted by her. Did they think they were talking to a rookie, for Christ’s sake?
     “Isn’t that slightly backward? If I don’t know what the job is about, how am I supposed to make an informed decision?” Britt countered.
     “You’re not. You have to decide if you want in without knowing the full details. You should know, however, that this unit isn’t for wimps. It’s a dangerous job. People will die. If you accept the position, your life will be on the line every night.”
     “And that’s different from being a cop how?”
     “Cops aren’t necessarily in constant physical danger. You will be.”

* * * *

Jess watched John Brittain frown, saw the rigid jaw muscle flex. His eyes registered anger and could probably instill fear about as efficiently as anyone she’d ever met. Of course, she wasn’t afraid of him, but that look could come in useful if he accepted the job. Yeah, he was tough all right, but could he handle the whole truth?
     She leaned forward. “Now’s the time to ask yourself if you want back on the force bad enough to risk dying for it. Only the strongest and smartest cops will make it out of this alive. We need you, Britt. We need the best we can get. I wish I could tell you more, but right now isn’t the time.”
     “What are you going to do, infiltrate a biker gang or something?”
     “That, Mr. Brittain, would be a cakewalk compared to what this unit will have to do.”
     “Is that so?” He put his hands on his hips.
     “And then some,” Drake added.
     Jess looked at Britt. He looked plain haggard, though she liked his hazel eyes, the firm line of his mouth. She’d bet he wasn’t the kind of man who’d back down in the face of danger. She could smell fear from Drake, but nothing from Britt. He wasn’t in the least affected by what they’d just told him. His expression remained deliberate, calculating. She was impressed by his cool demeanor. He’d be an asset on her team.
     Britt shoved his hands into his pockets. “The best I can tell you is I’ll consider your offer.”
     Drake wouldn’t accept a negative answer right now, and Britt knew it. Jess marveled at how men could interact with each other without saying a word. Drake nodded his head and let him go.
     Later, after Britt left to think their offer over, Jess crawled into the chair he’d been sitting in. No use trying to absorb the former occupant’s warmth, he’d been out of the chair for too long. “Do you think he’ll say yes, Drake? He looked pretty indecisive when he left.”
     “I’ll admit he’s been through a lot the last couple of years, but he was never a man to jump in without weighing his options. That’s what made him good. He thought quickly, but he also made sure he took the time to make good decisions when time allowed. I’d sure as hell like to know what happened with his partner. It still doesn’t feel right. I guess everyone has some evil in them, but Britt—he’s not a killer.”
     “If that’s true, he won’t do very well on my team. I need killers. The best killers in the game.”

Tarnished Knight excerpt

Tarnished Knight, book four in the Grimm's Circle series.

Think you know fairy tales… guess again…

One look at Jack Wallace and Perci knows he’s going to be trouble. Even surrounded by soul stealers, he’s a one-man wrecking crew. What does he need Grimm training for? He’s already hell on earth, a warrior bent on destruction. And something…more.

He’s too strong and fast to be a mere mortal. Even covered in blood, he makes her forget she’s only here to do a job and get out. It’s twisted. Sick. She hasn’t felt this alive in three centuries.

Born with a natural talent for killing unnatural things, Jack has always known things he shouldn’t. The fact that Perci is one of them glows all over her. Giving him an unholy urge to see just how far he can push her before don’t touch me melts into touch me there.

When they come together, it isn’t careful or cautious. It’s heaven and hell, exposing all their raw and wounded places to healing heat, resurrecting memories of a destined love from the distant past. But the evil that destroyed them once before has tracked them here, threatening their second and last chance at forever. Demanding a sacrifice no one—Grimm or human—should ever be asked to make…

Find the excerpt here.



Other books in the series, including I Thought it Was You #2.5.

Wishful Thinking: Excerpts

So far this morning she had: one—called her elderly neighbor cheap and threatened to put her foot up her dog’s ass, two—had a harrowing moment of truth with the man she loved (well, was reasonably sure she loved, anyway), three—yelled at the little blind pencil boy and broken his glasses (okay, so he wasn’t blind and he wasn’t that little, but still!), four—she’d asked one coworker a rude question, told another to shut up, called a third slut, and told a fourth she wanted to see him naked. All in all it was the worst day of her life, hands down. And it wasn’t over. In fact, until she contacted her fairy godmother, it would never be over.

“This is Josh. You know—the Josh?” she gushed to her sister. “Isn’t he hot?”

Cass looked at him critically. “I’d have to see him naked to be sure.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Phil stepped in front of her friend protectively. “He’s my best friend.”

“Meaning nobody gets to see him naked but you?” Rory wiggled her eyebrows comically.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Phil felt her cheeks start to burn. “Rory, you know I’m engaged.”

“To a complete ass,” Cass said frankly. She stepped forward, extending a hand to Josh. “Nice to finally meet you. Any male friend of Phil’s who’s not her asshole fiancé is a friend of mine.”

Setting the bar for urban fantasy

Spider's Bite by Jennifer Estep

“My name is Gin, and I kill people.”

Normally, my confession would have elicited gasps of surprise. Pale faces. Nervous sweat. Stifled screams. An overturned chair or two as people scrambled to get away before I buried a knife in their heart—or back. A sucking wound was a sucking wound. I wasn’t picky about where I caused it.

“Hi, Gin,” four people chorused back to me in perfect, dull, monotone unison.

But not in this place. Within the walled confines of Ashland Asylum, my confession, true though it might be, didn’t even merit a raised eyebrow, much less shock and frightened awe. I was relatively normal compared to the freaks of nature and magic who populated the grounds. Like Jackson, the seven-foot-tall albino giant seated to my left who drooled worse than a mastiff and gurgled like a three-month-old child.

A long string of clear, glistening spittle dripped out of his oversize lips, but Jackson was too busy cooing nonsense to the crude daisy tattooed on the back of his hand to pay attention. Or do something sane and hygienic, like wipe his mouth. I shifted away from him so I wouldn’t come in contact with the oozing mucus.

Disgusting. But Jackson was typical of the sorts of folks in the asylum.Asylum . The word always made me smile. Such a pretty name for a hellhole.

It was bad enough I’d been stuck here for almost a week. But what really set me on edge was the noise—and having to listen to the building around me. The screams of the damned and deranged had long ago sunk into the granite walls and floors of the asylum, the way all emotions and actions do over time. Being a Stone elemental, I could feel the vibrations in the rock and hear the constant, insane chatter even through the industrial carpet and my white, cotton socks.

When I’d first gotten here, I’d tried to reach out to the stone, to use my own magic to bring it a bit of comfort. Or at least quiet the screams so I could get some sleep at night. But it had been no use. The stones were too far gone to listen or respond to my magic. Just like the poor souls who shuffled along on top of them.

Now, I just blocked out the damn noise—the way I did so many other things.

A woman at the head of the circle of plastic chairs leaned forward. She was directly across from me, so it was easy for her light eyes to find mine. “Now, Gin, you’ve made this claim before. We’ve discussed this. You onlythink you’re an assassin. You are most certainly not one.”

Evelyn Edwards. The shrink who was supposed to cure all the crazies in this magical nuthouse. She radiated professional cool and confidence in her tight black pantsuit, ivory blouse, and kitten heels. Square black glasses hung on the end of her pointed nose, highlighting her greenish eyes, and her sandy hair was cropped into a short, tousled bob. Evelyn was pretty enough, but a hungry look pinched her pasty face—a look I recognized. The hard gaze of a sly predator.

The reason I was here today.

“I most certainly am not a mere assassin,” I countered. “I’m the Spider. Surely, you’ve heard of me.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and looked at the tall orderly standing just beyond the ring of chairs. He snickered, then raised his finger to his temple and made a circle.

“Of course I’ve heard of the Spider,” Evelyn said, attempting to be patient. “Everybody’s heard of the Spider. But you are certainly not him.”

“Her,” I corrected.

The orderly snickered again. I raised an eyebrow in displeasure. The joke was on him because that laugh had just cost him his life. I didn’t care to be mocked, even if I’d spent the last few days masquerading as a loon.

In order to kill people, you have to get close to them. Put yourself in their world. Make their likes your likes. Their habits your habits. Their thoughts your thoughts.

For this job, putting myself in Evelyn Edwards’s world had meant getting tossed into Ashland Asylum. To Evelyn and her orderly underlings, I was just another schizo dragged off the streets, driven crazy by elemental magic, drugs, or a combination of the two. Another poor, lost ward of the state who wasn’t worth their time, attention, consideration, or sympathy.

I’d spent the last few days locked up in the asylum convincing Evelyn and the others I was just as June-bug crazy as the rest of the babbling psychos. Spouting nonsense about being an assassin. Drooling. Finger-painting with the moldy peas they served for lunch. I’d even hacked off gobs of my long, bleached blond hair during craft time to keep up the pretense. The orderlies on call had taken the scissors away from me, but not before I’d used them to pry a screw loose from the rec room table.

The same screw I’d sharpened to a two-inch-long, dartlike point. The same screw I had palmed in my hand. The same screw I was going to shove into Evelyn’s throat. The weapon rested on my palm, and the steel felt rough against my scarred skin. Hard. Substantial. Cold. Comforting.


________________________________________________________________

OMG YES! I ran across the sequel to this and decided to check out book one which I bought. The excerpt above knocked me on my ass. Definitely feel the claws that ripped into my skin. Don't get attached. Don't get attached. Don't get attached.

Urban fantasy always ends up hurting me in the end...

- Soul Stealer (Prologue)

December 23, 2009


He tries to blend in, just another man caught up in the Christmas rush surging down Main Street . Pulling up the collar of his worn bomber jacket, he keeps his chin tucked down. It won't help matters to be recognized.


He glances through the window of an overstocked toy store. "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" blasts from inside. Searching, searching, his eyes rake over the shoppers clamoring for last-minute gifts. Nothing.


The night air sears his lungs, but the icy grip squeezing his heart is not from the cold. He swipes at his watering eyes. He needs to focus, stay alert.


Forcing his legs into a normal gait, neither too fast, nor too slow, he keeps walking. He is almost to the corner with the two-story brick apartment building, the one he walks past every night. The old lady who lives there now refuses to help him. The people down at the shelter are no good to him either. They all say they don't know where she is.


They lie.


Since his release three weeks ago, he has walked Main Street morning, noon and night, hoping to get lucky. Tonight he wonders if he ever will. The old anger creeps into his chest.


He stops, throws his head back and silently demands of the heavens,How long will I be punished?


There is no answer.


People bump into him as they hurry by, cursing as they go. "Silent Night" blares from the store behind him. Exhaling deeply, he blows white vapor toward the stars.No. He won't stop searching for her. Not until the day he dies.


And then, for the first time in his long-lived existence, his prayers are answered.


He has the sensation of being shot out of a cannon. His blood explodes through his veins and pounds in his ears. Dizzy, he can't tell if his feet are still on the ground. The street noises become background static. Colors fuzz.


He sees only her.


Walking at a fast clip on the other side of the street is the flesh-and-body version of the woman in his dreams. Nightmares.


She stops to talk to an old man who lives on the streets. Putting a hand on the man's shoulder, she points off in the distance toward the homeless shelter. When he balks, she vehemently shakes her head. It's a cold night and she doesn't want anyone out in it. Smiling, she watches the old man shuffle off in the direction of the shelter.


He is shocked to see the years on her, especially the curves where she once was athletic-slim. Her long ponytail has been reduced to a short bob cupping her chin. He wonders how different this woman is today, but when she tosses the hair out of her eyes, he sees the confidence of old, and he smiles. She hasn't changed, at least not in the ways that matter.


Somehow, she senses him. Does she feel the heat from his stare? Slowly, she turns.Across the busy street, her eyes lock onto his. With the golden glow of the lamplight catching like flames in the strands of her blond hair, she is more angelic than he remembered. And when she smiles?


Lord help him, when she smiles, she is even more beautiful than she'd been the night he killed her.

Through The Veil (pt 1)

Another Shiloh Walker book overwhelming my emotions...

Lee, 28, is plagued by nightmares of battle; of monsters and strangers. Nightmares that leave her bruised and sore when she wakes. But also in the dreams, there is a man. And though she can't recall his face, he gives her comfort and laughter amidst the horror.

In her waking hours, over and over she digitally draws that which she remembers. The man. The land. A world that could have once been beautiful but has been left cold and barren. All the while she hears his voice- 'I'm getting tired of waiting, Lee. We need you.'

On the flip side of the Veil is Kalen Brenner, 31. His world has been infiltrated by demons that are now breeding. He leads a resistance in the battle against them but his once hopeful outlook has been shattered. His people have been reduced to savages.

While Lee's memory of her time with Kalen is naught but vague dreams, Kalen's memory spans a twenty year period. Since the night she passed food to him through the veil when he was a young boy/prisoner. For years she has come into his life sporadically, saving him, fighting with him and his army. When she is with them, she saves lives, gives hope and direction. But when she's gone, they are left to fight alone. And die alone.

And Kalen has had enough. He wants her -all of her- with him, by his side, putting an end to the war.

"What did you do yesterday?" he asked. Damn it, prove me wrong … prove me wrong! It would be so much easier if she was just some elusive witch from the mountains. From anywhere—so long as she lived on this world.
But he already knew the truth.

When she remained silent, he felt something inside him die. "You can't," he answered for her. "Because you don't remember."

Something broke open inside him and he lunged for her, drawing his blade from the sheath at his hip, grabbing her forearm. She shrieked and shoved at him, startled. He could feel the fire of her magick as she pressed her hands against his chest. One hand pressed against the dull sheen on his cavinir jacket that he hadn't zipped up. But the other landed on his chest, just a little off center. Above his heart. The heat of her power burned into his skin.

Gripping her left hand, he wrenched her palm away from his chest. He could smell the scorched stink of burned flesh as he pinned her arm down. Stony-eyed, he used the blade to slice a shallow mark into her arm. His heart bled as he heard her soft gasp of pain. "Explain that… when you wake in the morning. Explain your bruises away, however you will. But explain a knife cut."

Turning away from her, he stormed away. He felt a little sick in his gut for what he had done. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to scream and rail at her. It wouldn't do any good. She hadn't listened to him in all this time.
She wouldn't listen now.

"Leave, Lee. Leave and don't come back. We'll fight this war without you."

And if she kept coming back, he would end up doing something that would destroy them both.

I find in the writing of Shiloh Walker what was lacking for me in Vivian Arends - the ability to put the reader into the place of the character. Not that Arend isn't a great writer. She has talent and I enjoy her stories. But Walker has a gift. Hell, Shiloh Walker doesn't disappoint. I wanted devastation and desperation and HELLO, KALEN. All that and Alpha, too. I was only at the end of the first chapter (see the excerpt above) and my chest was tight, my eyes wet.

Yes, this one's gonna have multiple postings.