Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  “But, Conrad, th-the children…”

  “Will get over it!” Conrad bit back a growl, still struggling for control. “Do you think I’ve given no thought at all to how this will affect them? Trust me, my friend, it’s the children with whom I’m most concerned, at the moment. I know you too well, I suppose. And, I’m far too acquainted with my own shortcomings as they relate to you. It’s for the children’s sake that I cannot risk letting you stay if you’re only going to try and convince me to do what we both know will put them in harm’s way. I dare say it will be hard on them at first, getting used to your absence, but that would be the case whenever you left, would it not? If it’s your choice to leave them now, then they must learn to accept it. After all, is that not part of life, accepting things you don’t particularly like?”

  “My choice? It’s my choice to make?”

  Conrad shrugged. “As I’ve said. I will not make it for you.” There were a few rules Conrad had set for himself and mostly adhered to. He did not compel those he cared about, except as a last resort. He did not make slaves of his family or his friends or accept anything from anyone that was not freely offered. And, most important of all, no matter how much he was tempted to do so, he never forced his love—or his attentions—on anyone. “Make no mistake, I still intend to leave here with the children as soon as a new home can be found for us. The sooner the better, for that. But I will not ask you to accompany us. It’s up to you whether or not you do so. You are welcome to stay on here, if you prefer. This house is yours to use for as long as you want it.”

  “But… No, that’s not what I want. Not at all. Please, Conrad, won’t you let me come with you? You need me.”

  “Yes, well, as I’ve said before, you’ve been quite invaluable. I don’t believe I’ve ever suggested otherwise. But you must be certain that it’s what you want as well. I will not be held responsible for any more of your unhappiness.” His score in that regard was already quite high enough.

  “I am certain. Very certain.”

  “Are you?” Surprise and relief flooded Conrad in so vast a wave, he felt positively faint with it. It was a feeling he’d not known in far too long. He hadn’t lost him then. Not yet. Or, at least, not completely. Even so, Conrad was determined not to appear too gleeful in the face of what had to be a very painful decision on Damian’s part. He shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Very well then. If that’s your decision, so be it. We need say no more on the subject.” Maybe someday they could move beyond this awkward distance, this rigid dance. Maybe someday Conrad could find a way to bring them back to where they once had been, where they were always meant to be. Together. For now, this would have to be enough.

  Damian was quiet for a moment. Finally, “I’ll just go back to my packing then, shall I?” There was a hard edge to the words and, even as quiet as his voice was, the pain was still apparent.

  Conrad’s heart ached for him. He had to resist the urge to go to him, to take Damian in his arms, to remind him that Paul was not the only one who loved him, that he did too, and always, always would. What comfort would that offer? Since when had knowing you were loved by someone else ever soften the pain of losing the one your heart cried out for?

  So he simply nodded again and turned back to the window. “Yes. Thank you, my dear. That would be most helpful.”

  About the Author

  When she’s not pestering her husband to help her research scenes for upcoming books, or being amused by her two vastly entertaining children, P.G. Forte can usually be found serving the needs and whims of her characters…or her cats. It’s a difficult job, but someone’s got to do it.

  Originally a Jersey girl, P.G. now resides with her family on the extreme left coast where she writes rule-bending, genre-blending romance and paranormal stories.

  A lover of all things Internet related, P.G. can also be found on Twitter www.twitter.com/pgforte or Facebook www.facebook.com/pgforte

  To learn more, please visit her website at www.pgforte.com. Send an e-mail to pgforte@pgforte.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as P.G. Forte at groups.yahoo.com/group/pgforte.

  Look for these titles by P.G. Forte

  Now Available:

  Children of Night

  In the Dark

  Old Sins, Long Shadows

  Coming Soon:

  Children of Night

  Ashes of the Day

  Living forever is hard. Loving forever? Damn near impossible.

  Old Sins, Long Shadows

  © 2011 P.G. Forte

  Children of Night, Book 2

  1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.

  Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.

  When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.

  Warning: This book may not be suitable for readers with an aversion to emotionally damaged vampire heroes. Caution is advised if you have experienced prior sensitivity to any of the following: costume parties, fencing lessons, interspecies, inter-generational or intra-gender dating, occasional mild violence, and/or recreational blood-drinking.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Old Sins, Long Shadow:

  Skulking unseen in the upstairs corridor, Conrad watched as Damian rounded the corner and headed his way. It had taken very little time for the duke to succumb to the drugs Conrad had slipped into his wine; but it appeared to have taken Damian even less time to settle the seemingly inebriated duke in his bedchamber. Now, as he hurried along the hallway, he had the look about him of a man who’d just been let off on holiday, the look of a man speeding toward his lover’s bed, rather than away from it. Conrad wondered briefly where Damian thought he was going. Wherever it was, he was almost certainly not going to reach his destination tonight.

  Conrad stepped from the shadows and placed himself in the nobleman’s path. “My lord. I would have a word with you, sir.”

  Damian stopped short, surprise giving way to delight—or so it would have appeared, if the gleam in his eyes or the sudden smile that wreathed his lips had been something in which Conrad still believed. He had to stop himself from scowling. No one should be allowed to smile in such a fashion and not have it mean something.

  “Why, my dear Señor Quintano,” Damian purred as he gracefully essayed a deep bow. “But of course you may. El placer es mío. I am at your complete disposal. Only, please, tell me, in what way might I be of assistance to your esteemed self this evening?”

  “You are too kind,” Conrad replied, pleased to note the boy had finally resolved his doubts as to Conrad’s identity. That was good. After all, where would be the lesson learned if Damian could not properly recall the name of the man who was about to ruin him? “But, on the contrary, it is I who wish to be of assistance to you.”

  “Do you?” A small smile played over Damian’s lips. “Well, then I am indeed honored. Pray, do continue.”

  “I’m afraid I could not help but overhear part of your conversation this evening, with His Excellency, the duke,” Conrad said as he moved closer. Close enough that Damian was all but caged within one of the deep doorways that lined the corridor. Close enough that the boy’s heartbeat was clearly audible and the scent of his blood an almost overpowering lure. “You appear to be laboring under a small but rather grave misco
nception and I thought, if you would but allow it, I might be able to correct your thinking?”

  “Sí. By all means.” Damian’s eyes gleamed and Conrad could all but feel his anticipation. “I look forward to your correction.”

  Holding his own anticipation in check, Conrad shrugged. “Perhaps not, my friend. For I am afraid what I have to say to you will not come as a happy surprise. Speaking as one who has had a great deal of experience with…certain elements of society, I must tell you that most of the peasants with whom I’ve been acquainted have been sadly lacking in skill when it comes to the subtle art of pleasuring a man, and not nearly as proficient as you seem to think.”

  At that, Damian’s smile flickered and went out. Color suffused his face. “You read lips,” he said, his voice dull. “I had not realized you numbered that among your talents. What a very…useful skill to possess.”

  Conrad sighed. “Alas, no. I fear you are once again mistaken. I do not read lips. I do, however, possess very excellent hearing. Right now, for example, I can hear the pounding of your heart. It is kicking so fiercely against your ribs that it calls to mind a young buck that’s been pulled down by wolves and knows it’s about to have its throat ripped out.”

  Damian had gone altogether still. He cleared his throat with obvious difficulty. “How exceptionally…vivid,” he murmured, lips curling in disgust. “It is a wonderfully descriptive image your words have painted for me. Muchas gracias, Señor. I’m sure I shall treasure the memory of it always.”

  “I am sure you shall.” Once again Conrad shortened the distance between them. “In fact, I am confident I shall give you sufficient cause to remember this evening for a very long time indeed.” He stretched out a hand as he spoke, laying his palm against the center of Damian’s chest. Damian’s eyes widened in alarm. His heart lurched. Conrad smiled. “There it goes again. My apologies, my lord, I fear I must be frightening you.”

  Damian shook his head. “No, Señor. This time it is you who are mistaken.”

  “Do you really think so?” As he took in the stubborn set of Damian’s jaw, the rebellious gleam in his eyes, Conrad could not help but smile. The hunter in him was unexpectedly pleased with this sudden show of boldness. Where was the fun, after all, in a chase that was over too soon? “Myself, I do not see how that could be possible. For, as it happens, I am rarely mistaken.”

  Damian swallowed hard. “I do not doubt it.” His chin lifted infinitesimally. “But I, on the other hand, am hardly ever frightened.” And, suddenly, he was in motion. Leaning in, he erased the gap between them, cupped his hands around Conrad’s face and kissed him—hard.

  The move took Conrad by surprise. Damian seized the advantage and pressed closer. He slanted his head to the side in a bid to deepen the kiss, which Conrad allowed, giving in to his own, almost overpowering, curiosity. What is he up to? How far will he take this?

  An instant later, however, even his curiosity deserted him under the weight of a momentous discovery. Damian’s lips seemed to fit Conrad’s mouth so perfectly it was as though they’d been divinely crafted for just that purpose. Made for me. The thought was so alien it would have shocked Conrad had he still been able to think clearly, but Damian’s tongue darted between Conrad’s lips and hunger churned anew. His fangs pulsed with their need. Thinking clearly was no longer a possibility. He was made for me.

  Growling now, Conrad took a grip on Damian’s shoulders and forced him back against the door. Damian went willingly, arching against him, thrusting his hips into Conrad’s, leaving him with no doubt as to what Damian wanted from him tonight: the very same thing he wanted from Damian—wanted, and fully intended to have, with no thought to the consequences. Afterwards, they could both die on the spot, and he’d be content.

  “Careful, young one,” Conrad warned as he pressed his lips to Damian’s throat and let his tongue trace over the veins that flowed beneath the surface, searching for just the right place to begin the feast. “You’re playing with fire.” As close as he was to losing control, the same could be said of himself.

  A wild laugh escaped Damian’s lips. “Ah, but this old castle can be so dreadfully drafty at times. Do you not find it to be so? How else is one to stay warm?”

  How, indeed? Conrad couldn’t help but agree. A moment later, his mouth found what it had been seeking. He sank his fangs into Damian’s neck, shuddering with the bliss of that first, sweet taste. Made for me. Unbidden, the thought came again. For me and for me alone.

  “Dios,” Damian gasped as the venom hit. He clutched Conrad tighter, legs shaking as though they were about to give way.

  Conrad pressed him harder against the door, using the weight of his own body to keep Damian from falling. His actions had unintended results. Damian’s erection rubbed against his own, reminding Conrad that there were other needs to be met, other desires to be fulfilled. He wrenched his mouth away from Damian’s throat.

  “Your chambers,” he demanded hoarsely. “Where are they?”

  Never forget what you are.

  Community Service

  © 2013 Vaughn R. Demont

  Broken Mirrors, Book 3

  The King is dead, long live the King. And, uh, could you float him a couple bucks?

  Life as the only human sorcerer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be for James Black, the Lightning Rod. Between gremlins in the closet, paladins crashing through skylights and working spells in a storage locker, hunting a body-hopping spirit is a welcome distraction. If only he didn’t have to partner with a Coyote.

  After being punted to the curb by his roommate (with benefits), things are looking dire for trickster Spencer Crain, until an old friend offers him a shot at a big score scamming the best of marks: a vampire. Thing is, he’ll have to work with his worst enemy to pull it off.

  With lives in the balance, James is learning the hard way what being a sorcerer really means—and that he picked a hell of a time to quit smoking. Spencer is faced with the choice between his future and his friends. Yeah, like he’s never seen that movie before…

  Warning: This is a work of urban fantasy containing arguments for and against Dungeons & Dragons, a closeted My Little Pony fan, awkward flirting, switching POVs, heist-movie logic, and a Dwarf who can’t hold his liquor.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Community Service:

  “What’s going on, Spencer?” There are bags under his green eyes, his red hair mussed just on the right side of attractive, save the white streak that’s plastered to his forehead. He also sounds annoyed, but sorcerers always sound like that at four thirty in the morning, for some reason. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Time for breakfast? And some coffee? God, I need coffee. Could you let me in, I’ll even get it started.” I don’t give him a chance to refuse. It’s not like Coyotes need an invitation, so I slide past him and head out into the diner proper, getting the coffee pots ready while James follows me. “Don’t suppose you can conjure a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?”

  He gives me a blank look.

  “Jesus, James. Hitchhiker’s. I cannot believe you’ve never read it.”

  “I’m just not into satire, okay? Now what’s going on?” He sits at the counter, oblivious to Bank and Thornton who are outside.

  I glance back at him. “Regular for you, right?” I pour in the water, set the machine to percolating.

  “Spence, just spill it so I can get around to talking to you about something?”

  I peer at him. “Wait, you’re giving me the ‘we need to talk’? Don’t we need to have sex at least once before you break up with me?”

  He grumbles. “We’re not—” The sorcerer takes a deep breath. “I’m happy alone, okay? I don’t have the best track record and I don’t want to inflict it on someone else.”

  I turn, leaning against the counter. “What are the odds you’ll go out with another guy who gets…” I don’t finish the sentence. No one wants to be reminded that both serious relationships in their life ended with a scisso
r blade through their lover’s heart. “You need time, I get it. In the meantime, could you get the grill going?” I motion to the front doors. “My buddies are hungry.”

  James looks back through the window at Bank and Thornton, who wave and smile genially. He rolls his eyes. “What, recharging before you get back to the threesome?”

  What is it with people thinking I’d want to sleep with my brother? I blame the Internet. “Dude. Sick.”

  “The guy with the extra arms is okay, I guess, but Dave has a strict No Coyotes policy, remember?”

  Right. I guess a Coyote swindled the dragon out of his hoard, and he’s a tad bitter about it. Dragons love their money, which is why they’re such tempting (and easy) targets for us. Even if we don’t make a dime, it’s worth boo coo goodie points with Fate. “Fine, I’ll use the rest of my free meals to cover him.”

  He exhales hard, but nods. “Go let them in, I’ll tell Dave to stay upstairs.”

  James heads into the back while I go to the door and unlock it. I point them toward a booth, which my brother lugs his duffel bag toward. “I can get us coffee, food’s going to be a while. And, Thornton?”

  The Coyote looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “Is this diner familiar at all to you?”

  He takes in the surroundings. “No idea, I’ve eaten at a lot of diners. I think Dad took you here, right?” Yeah, and Dad skipped out on the check. Thornton suddenly grins. “Wait, is this the place the dragon owns? Shit, I took so much money off that moron.”

  Why am I not surprised that it was him?

  “Yeah, I don’t want the owner recognizing you just in case, okay? Just…cloak up or something.”