Table of Contents
DRAWING BLOODLINES
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
DRAWING BLOODLINES
The Princeton Allegiant Series
DEBORAH GARLAND
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
DRAWING BLOODLINES
Copyright©2019
DEBORAH GARLAND
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-845-6
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For Uncle Jack,
who starts every conversation
by asking me about my writing.
Thank you for your early and unwavering support.
And Pretty Mary,
who was waiting for this book.
I hope you won’t be disappointed.
Acknowledgments
More than two years ago I was sort of ‘forced’ to join Romance Writers of America. And was further told to join the local Long Island chapter. Writers are very solitary. Rarely is writing a book a team activity. It becomes one after with respect to publishing. I truly couldn’t see what I could get out of it. However, I went to a meeting and then another and another. I joined the email loops and Facebook groups and realized, slowly I was making…friends. It hit me recently that right now, nearly every person I reach out to outside of my family is someone I met through RWA and LIRW. I even spread my wings further and joined the New Jersey chapter. There I made some excellent contacts, people I could reach out to with a question or a comment or if I just need a virtual hug. Which writers today need a lot of. We call ourselves a tribe, which is accurate, because it is a jungle out there.
Chapter 1
October
Princeton, New Jersey
I lay on my back with my legs spread and cold steel slides into me.
If this were any other Friday, the weekend would be off to a fantastic start. Except, I’m at the OBGYN, and it’s the only thing to slide into my lonely vi-jay-jay since the last appointment. This is just . . . sad.
“How are your classes this year, Elizabeth?” Sarah, the nurse practitioner, asks me.
I don’t plan to have children again any time soon so there’s no need to waste one of the obstetricians’ time.
“Great. They finally gave me AP classes.” After years of teaching ninth grade math, and losing my mind trying to calm down poorly prepared teenagers with raging hormones, the head of my department moved me to the advanced placement roster. Plus, the previous teacher got knocked up with her fifth kid and called it quits.
I would stay there forever except I’ve slowly gathered master’s credits to get into the Ph.D. program at Princeton University so I can teach college one day.
“And how is Annie doing?” Sarah likes to make small talk while her head is between my legs.
“She’s great.” My seven-year-old daughter and I moved to Princeton after my Marine husband divorced me and forced me to move off the military base.
During our marriage, we moved around so much, the only place I ever considered home was Princeton.
I grew up in the sleepy university town and since my father still lives here, it made sense to come home. He’s a math teacher as well. While he wasn’t much of a father while I grew up, he’s been a wonderful grandfather. My mom, who died from skin cancer complications while I was in college, couldn’t have any more children after I was born.
Sarah snaps off her gloves and rolls her way to a pink laminate desk that juts out from the wall. She taps into the computer keyboard and fingers through my chart. “We haven’t done a blood panel on you in a few years.” Her eyebrows rise and cause wrinkled pleats of skin to form on her forehead.
“Oh.” Swinging my legs across the exam table, I ask, “Is there anything you’re specifically worried about?”
“It’s good to see where your FSH levels are periodically.”
“FSH?”
“Follicle Stimulating Hormones,” she answers as if that clues me in. When I don’t say anything, she adds, “The number tells us if you’re getting close to menopause.”
Menopause! I hoped since I’m not even forty, the dreaded M-word wouldn’t come up. It makes my single status all the more tragic. “Okay.”
“Great. Get dressed. I’ll send someone in to draw blood.” She tosses me a sneaky smile. “Our usual girl is out sick today, but I don’t think you’ll mind the replacement the hospital sent us.”
Mind about what? Slipping off the gown sends a chill through me. My body covered in gooseflesh demands more of my attention as I quickly get dressed. My skirt is on and my blouse partially buttoned when a knock sounds at the door. “Yeah.”
The shadow of a person on the other side of the privacy curtain plunges my changing corner into darkness.
“Hello?” Men’s dress shoes tap the floor patiently.
“I’ll be right there.” My fingers curl around the edge of the curtain to get a peek.
My eyes lock on a tall man with broad shoulders. Golden blond hair sweeps up and off his forehead. His high cheekbones and perfect square jaw, put him in the movie-star handsome category. Yu-um. The white lab coat, however means he pr
obably has the wrong room. I assumed Sarah prepared me for a cute male nurse. This man is a doctor.
The most goddamn gorgeous doctor I ever laid eyes on.
“Take your time.” His voice is deep and his lips so full, my tongue instinctively slips out to lick my own—to which an eyebrow raises at me.
“I’m waiting for a nurse,” I say. “You must have the wrong room.”
Holding my chart he says, “Elizabeth Lock—”
“Lockspier.”
“Lockspier.” He repeats my last name and raises intensely focused black eyes back up to meet mine. “I’m here to draw your blood.”
“Really? Okay.” I lower my head in disbelief.
Shoving my foot into a shoe, I hop out from behind the curtain.
“Have a seat.” He points to the waiting chair. “I’m Dr. Manning, by the way.”
Instead of holding out his hand for me to shake, he gives me a slow and thorough once-over. The blatant exploration brings my skirt and hair fussing to a halt. Most men today sneak those glimpses at a woman. Not this guy.
My attention reverts to his elegant hands with long sleek fingers as he gathers medical supplies. He takes out four empty vials from a drawer in a set of cabinets, a lengthy tube with a thin needle on the end and a rubber tie to wrap around my elbow so my veins pop out. The shiny gold nameplate on the pocket of his white lab coat glitters in the overhead halogen lights. Dr. Alexander Manning. Alexander.
“I hate having my blood drawn,” I say and take a seat.
“Relax.” His fingers circle my wrist with a firm touch on my skin.
The hold feels permanent and distracts me because of the coolness of his skin. The roaring beats of my heart grow with Dr. Manning’s increased grip and the prolonged stare into my eyes.
“Something wrong?” I manage.
For a moment, he’s so still it’s as if he stopped breathing. He quietly answers, “No.”
His arm reaches past me toward the drawer where he removes two more vials. His scent, clean and crisp, is at odds with his striking and smoldering presence. A man like this should have some wild exotic smell that screams pure male heat. All I detect is the scent of a freshly laundered dress shirt with a subtle hint of woodsy outdoors.
“Make a fist,” he says and shifts in his seat.
Needles make me woozy. I usually stare at the opposite wall, but I can’t turn my head away from this man if someone paid me. Our stares collide and his gaze sweeps across my face making my brain tingle. I wouldn’t mind if a man like this kissed me and held me in his strong arms.
He blinks a few times and leans his entire body into mine, snugly holding me against him. If the room caught fire and he ran off, my arm would go with him.
With graceful precision, he guides the needle into my vein the way a knife disappears into room temperature butter.
“Wow,” I murmur, impressed that I didn’t feel a thing.
Eyes flicker back to mine, black as onyx. Odd for a fair-skinned man with hair the color of spun gold. It’s brushed back now, but when he’s not being all professional and doctorly, do the front strands fall into his eyes? Like during sex? My heart races as that vision takes shape. His eyes open wide. Perhaps my thoughts cause more blood to shoot through my veins. I catch an iridescent shine beneath his lashes, and for a few blinks, his eyes turn emerald green, then back to black.
“Almost done.” Dr. Manning unsnaps the temporary knot of the rubber fastener and loosens his tie.
Masterfully, he fills vial after vial, switching them out from the long tube streaked dark red with my blood. The room feels like it’s spinning and when my eyes start to roll, a low throaty voice commands my attention.
“Keep your eyes on me, Elizabeth.” He says my name as if I use an alias and only he knows who I really am.
“I just don’t like needles,” I offer softly. Alexander.
“Most people don’t like the blood.” He changes out another vial.
“Blood I can handle.” I prepare to elaborate that having a kid forced that on me, but his stare silences me.
Where did this man come from? How is it, this Adonis has been walking the streets and no one mentioned the most beautiful man on the planet is right here in Princeton?
Alexander slides the needle from my vein and a tiny bubble of blood settles on the pinprick. The grip on my wrist tightens enough for me to release a throaty sigh of protest.
“Sorry.” His fingers soften and the pad of his thumb presses against the hole in my skin.
His bare thumb. He’s not wearing gloves!
I was so caught up with his face, I didn’t notice. When his eyes flash to mine, his lips tighten then open. A slow breath glides into his mouth past full lips, but not for air because his chest doesn’t expand. His tongue dances behind his teeth like he tastes something in the air. I shockingly consider where I want to feel that tongue.
The metal tray with his equipment tips over and smashes to the floor, knocked over by his elbow. Seemingly frazzled, Alexander leans down to pick up everything with his free hand and tosses it all into the nearby sink. The metal clangs loudly, revealing the force he used, but he is gentle as he places a scruffy cotton ball where his thumb was. Slowly, he lifts my arm to a ninety-degree angle.
“Hold this in place.” Alexander’s fingers shake as he covers the cotton with a strip of bright pink tape. His wide back straightens and his eyes snag on mine for a moment. “It was nice meeting you . . . Elizabeth. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He collects the vials and hustles toward the door. The air from the corridor catches the bottom of his coat and sends the flaps dancing against what I bet are powerful legs. He must have realized his faux pas of not wearing gloves and wants to get the heck away from me.
Several seconds pass before I can stand and when I do, flashes of white stun my vision. Blinking again and again, I try to shake the dizzying sensation and wait for it to pass so I can drive. With my coat and bag clutched against my chest, I leave the exam room but lean against the door, queasy. My head jerks left and right as I wonder where is that restroom I passed earlier. I need to splash water on my face and possibly vomit.
Holding the wall, I stagger to the left and open a door to what I think is the restroom. My vision blurs, but I can tell I’m in the wrong room. The light is too bright and the room is too deep. A tall man with blond hair in a white lab coat stands at the back counter. Dr. Manning. Alexander? His broad shoulders are turned so he faces mostly away.
I shuffle a little further into the room ready to ask for help, but he takes a vial of blood, pops the cap off, and drinks from it.
The open door lets in sounds from the hallway and Alexander whips around, his face even paler. He licks his lips stained with blood. His eyes, iridescent again, catch mine and drop to the empty vial. I gasp when he stalks toward me.
Then . . . nothing.
I wake up on an exam table.
“Elizabeth?” Sarah holds a light tool in my eyes. “Elizabeth!”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” She takes the stethoscope and presses it against my chest. “Breathe for me, honey.”
“Where’s . . .” I struggle to say his name.
Did I really see what I thought I saw? Alexander drinking blood. My blood? His free hand gripped a stack of vials. He took so much from me I became dizzy. It had to be my blood.
Sarah puts the scope around her neck. “Yes?” She pulls the blood pressure cuff off the wall-mounted machine and pushes up my sleeve. My eyes fall to that arm. The one Alexander used to take my blood. The bandage is missing and the pinprick is gone. Healed. Already?
Sarah squeezes the device and checks the monitor. Nodding, she says, “Okay honey, you’re fine. Sit in the waiting room for a lit
tle while before driving home. Do you need me to call someone? Is Annie waiting for you?”
“No. She takes the bus.” My eyes squint to see the time on the clock above the door.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything or if you still feel dizzy. Eat something as soon as you get home. You’re too thin as it is.” Sarah squeezes my shoulder and leaves.
I stand to find my trench coat, but I’m wearing it. I have no recollection of putting it on and across my chest is my bag. Did I imagine the whole thing?
I stumble out to the parking lot and while I amble to my car, the crisp fall air cools my heated cheeks. The days are shorter now and the overcast sky is a swirl of gray clouds. A damp chill tinges the air, but a blast of heat slams against my neck. I halt my steps and turn around expecting someone behind me. A breath of relief escapes me when I see the entire aisle is empty.
Still, I think someone is watching me.
Pops of panic continue to bubble to the surface. I saw a man drinking blood. A beautiful man with cool skin and the sexiest damn smile I ever saw.
Perhaps Alexander is crazy and thinks he’s a . . .
Either way, I think I’m in trouble because of what I saw.
Inside my car, I buckle my seat belt with shaking hands. I glance all around and jerk my head around to make sure no one is in my back seat. Nothing.
“Maybe I’m the crazy one.”
~ ~ ~
I had to taste what was inside that woman.
I watch Elizabeth walk to her car, recalling the ridiculous rumors of those with blood extra sweet and so tempting, it’s worth dying for. Except I just found one. Thank goodness those humans are rare, or we, my kind, would risk exposure hunting them down in broad daylight.
Not to kill. To abduct.
I didn’t smell the tell-tale signs right away. I was thirsty for human blood. I let too much time go by without nourishing myself. Fooling with reality to think I’ll overcome this affliction forced upon me more than one hundred years ago.
Drawing Bloodlines (The Princeton Allegiant Series Book 1) Page 1
