by Michele Hauf
“We’re almost there, glamour wolf. Half a mile—”
“Please?”
She must be as nervous as he was. A few minutes to take a deep breath and chill was a good idea. He shifted into Park and they sat in the Ford truck, the engine idling, the radio quietly broadcasting a country tune.
“They will all love you,” he reassured her. “But never so much as I do.”
“I’m not worried.” She crawled over and straddled him in the tight confines of the cab. “Are you worried?”
“My dad’s the tough one,” he said. “But I know he’ll love you.”
“It was a good idea to come here for Christmas. I’m already in love with your state after seeing all this snow.”
“You may be the only one who has ever made such a confession.”
“Well, I don’t have to shovel it. And so you know, I will never shovel snow or do the manual labor in this partnership.”
“Wouldn’t dream of letting you lift a pretty little finger to do anything but this.” He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, one by one. “Sure you don’t want a diamond engagement ring?”
“Never. This one is perfect. It’s you, wrapped around my finger. I adore it.” She leaned in and whispered aside his ear. “I want to give you your Christmas present now.”
“Really? You got me something? Blyss, you shouldn’t have. Us together is all I want for Christmas.”
“Then you don’t want this?” She took his hand and placed it over her stomach, which was softly swollen beneath the thick sweater she’d bought yesterday in town at the local thrift store.
“What, sweetie?”
She tilted her head at him and told him to close his eyes. “Now,” she said, “concentrate on what you feel. Can you feel it?”
Stryke slid his hand across the soft pink sweater. He could feel her warmth radiate out and into his skin. And beyond the subtle hum of her sensual being, he picked up...
He flashed his eyes open to meet her expectant gaze. “Really? I think I feel a tiny heartbeat.”
She nodded. “Our family is already growing.”
“Blyss, this is amazing. Really? I’m going to be a daddy?”
“And a very fine dad you will be. We’ll raise our family here, in the place that makes you most happy, sending them off to school in the fall and winter, and then in the summer we’ll vacation in Paris. Can the pack handle that?”
“They’ll handle whatever their leader says they can. You’ve got great plans. You really think you could live in Minnesota?”
“So long as the summers are in Paris and my shoe closet can be shipped back and forth.”
“Why not keep a shoe closet here and one in Paris?”
“I adore you, mon amour.”
He bent and hugged his cheek against her tummy and tried to listen for the tiny heartbeat. Detecting it, Stryke smiled. “This little one is going to love his werewolf mommy.”
* * * * *
Read on for a sneak preview of
GODDESS OF FATE
by Alexandra Sokoloff
and
POSSESSED BY THE FALLEN
by Sharon Ashwood.
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ISBN-13: 9781460379707
Moonlight and Diamonds
Copyright © 2015 by Michele Hauf
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
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One kiss could cost him everything...
When Blade Saint-Pierre encounters a beautiful stranger who’s lost her memory wandering near Tangle Lake, he has no choice but to defend her from demon attackers. But who—or what—is she? And why, despite her alluring vulnerability, are Blade’s vampire instincts on high alert?
To Zenia’s knowledge, she’s never had any interactions with angels or demons—at least not since a bus accident erased her memory and changed everything. As Zen and Blade’s craving for each other deepens, they must contend with a jealous adversary who wants to claim Zen as his queen. And then she learns that by reclaiming her magical identity, Zen could very well lose the only thing that feels real to her now...
Zen’s mouth landed on Blade’s with graceful precision.
He grabbed her arms to push her away. Not expecting a kiss, he’d been blindsided. And when he wanted to shove her off and march out of the room, he suddenly relaxed his grip on her arms and leaned into the kiss.
And then he leaned in a little more.
He pulled her closer, sliding a hand up her back to keep her there. Her mouth fit his like no other woman’s had. She felt…not so much right, but rather as if she’d found something and did not want to again lose it. A missing piece to her puzzle? Despite being unable to remember things about herself, she’d certainly not lost the skill of delivering a kiss.
Blade moaned deep in his throat and then opened her mouth with his and slid his tongue inside her heated kiss. She felt impossibly exquisite. She smelled like honey and her body was warm and supple against his. A sweet thing.
And that was the kicker. Her scent did not allude to her identity. What was she? And worse, could whatever she was be bad for him?
Michele Hauf has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries feature in her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com. You can also write to her at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303.
Books by Michele Hauf
HARLEQUIN NOCTURNE
Saint-Pierre Series
Ghost Wolf
Moonlight and Diamonds
The Vampire’s Fall
In the Company of Vampires Series
Beautiful Danger
The Vampire Hunter
Beyond the Moon
HQN Books
Her Vampire Husband
Seducing the Vampire
A Vampire for Christmas
“Monsters Don’t Do Christmas”
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
THE
VAMPIRE’S
FALL
By Michele Hauf
Dear Reader,
I’ve written
more than twenty stories for Nocturne and I have to say I never get tired of writing about paranormal creatures. I could write vampires and werewolves, faeries and witches, demons and angels, well...forever. And some of my characters live that long! Could you imagine forever? I don’t think I can. Some days I think it would be amazing; other days I’m thinking a good century on this earth is more than enough for me. But if I had the added history of having walked through various centuries, perhaps that would make hitting the millennial mark more interesting.
The vampire in The Vampire’s Fall is not that old. He’s one of the four Saint-Pierre brothers. Blade is the quiet one. The mysterious one. The dangerous one. And he’s not all vampire—he’s got some faery blood (from his mother’s side) stirring around inside him. I admit he was a difficult hero to crack open and figure out. I’m still not sure I know much more about him than that he possesses the same desire most of us do—to be loved.
Here’s to a long and loving life,
Michele
Contents
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 1
It wasn’t often Blade Saint-Pierre walked through the Darkwood without a purpose—or a weapon. Tonight he’d craved the exhilaration of awareness that always accompanied such a venture. Instincts on alert and every muscle in his body strung tightly, he closed his wings against his back as, barefoot, he strode toward the clearing that opened to a mossy bed edging a stream.
A dark forest of no return, the massive acreage edged his property. The Darkwood was a no-man’s-land that was principally Faery, but as well, a place for all breeds to congregate. It provided respite for those who could not walk amongst humans. A wayside stop for those paranormals traveling this realm that wished to take a breath before meeting the challenge of humans.
No humans dared enter the forest, for rumors told it was haunted and that the former residents of Blade’s property—the original 1910 mansion had been razed—had killed themselves after hearing voices tell them to cut out their hearts.
Great rumor, Blade thought. It helped him maintain his privacy. It wasn’t at all true. But it worked for him. Though he respected the boundaries of the Darkwood and only entered it with a certain reverence and much caution. Even then, he only stayed so long as his comfort level allowed.
Rumors told that people went into the Darkwood and they never came out. Deer, squirrels and wildlife? They didn’t exist within the dark thickness of evil that formed the murky wood.
Blade smirked as a squirrel scampered past him, its goal, the stream. And at that reminder that all was not as it seemed—or was rumored to be—he let down his shoulders and knelt on a mossy stone, pressing his fingers into the thick, verdant frosting. For the moment, he connected with it all. The grass, stones and trees. All creatures small and large whose heartbeats he could sense. The atoms that formed his body were the same atoms that formed nature, the very air, earth and flora.
How blessed was he?
You are alive. You have survived. Move on, yes?
He was trying.
While principally considered vampire, Blade had also his mother’s faery genetics coursing within his system. His black wings were not so faery-like, and the leathery edges were serrated and sharp, as if demonic. He didn’t mention his faery side to others. It was his dark beast, which craved unnatural tastes, such as demon blood, that others knew about—if they knew at all.
Blade honored all of nature’s creatures, including those breeds considered monsters by humans who would believe in myth. And yet, he hated demons. That a part of him looked similar to the creatures disturbed him. His wings shamed him and defined him as different. And different amongst the varied species was not always a saving grace.
Such a difference had attracted cruelty to his life.
He’d kept to himself over the past year. To the point that his brothers and sister had begun to call him a hermit. The quiet one.
He’d always been quiet. More in tune with nature than with what was going on with the human realm. The cruelty that his difference had attracted? He’d suffered torture a year ago. And following that, he had hidden away. Not wanting to show his face, his scars, to anyone. Not wanting to put himself out in a world that could attack at any moment.
For if attacked, he would retaliate.
He didn’t wish to harm others. Unless it was necessary.
He’d almost mastered the hermit role until last month when an old man filling his rusty 1970s Ford at the gas station had asked him if he’d any carpentry skills. Reluctantly, Blade had nodded and stepped outside his self-imposed prison of comfort. He’d been helping the elderly with small projects in and about their homes for a couple weeks now, and...it did feel good.
Life was beginning to look up.
At the sound of something heavy lighting onto the moss behind him Blade tilted his head. He smelled no odor out of the usual, yet his skin prickled. He should be able to pick up most scents. He rose to his six-feet-four-inch height, and with a stealthy twist, turned to stare into the cold white irises of a man with equally pale skin.
From the Darkwood? Most likely. The man looked human, save for the diagonal scars over each temple, which resembled gills, but no breath opened and closed the slashes. His brows were as black as his hair and clothing, which blended him into the night. His pale face, neck and hands were the only things remarkable; the pinpoint blue glow that seemed to radiate from around his irises especially stood out on his face.
“Blade Saint-Pierre,” the man said in tones that slithered with a sharp silver edge. “I am Sim.”
“What are you?” Blade asked, stepping up closer and thrusting back his shoulders. He unfurled his wings and they stretched out boldly behind him.
“Nothing so spectacular as a winged vampire,” the man said with a glance to take in the imposing wingspan. “I have an offer for you.”
Blade inhaled through his nostrils, frustrated that he couldn’t scent the man. Which meant he was not one of the many species he could instinctually sniff out. But for every breed with which he was familiar, there were so many more he could not scent.
The curiosity wasn’t demon. That scent always put up Blade’s hackles. And that small detail was the only thing that stopped Blade from sweeping forward a wingtip and slashing it across the stranger’s long pale neck.
“I can move much faster than your feeble mortal realm allows you,” the man warned, seeming to sense Blade’s defensive thoughts. “You do not know me, but trust me, you’ve no reason to fear or consider me enemy. In fact, what I want of you will give you such satisfaction that your faery will delight in the riches.”
“I don’t need money,” Blade countered. “You know nothing about me.”
“Not monetary riches but rather such that feeds your very soul. I know you crave demon blood, fanged one.”
Blade’s fingers twitched for the knife he’d left back home. He’d not revealed to anyone his insistent craving for demonic blood. It had developed during the torture a year ago. His family members would be appalled to learn of his new habit. For a man without a vast network of friends, their opinion meant everything to him.
He remained before the scentless curiosity, willing to hear him out.
“The demonic ranks are growi
ng in the area,” Sim stated, clasping his pale hands before him. “I want you to annihilate them.”
Blade chuckled.
“You laugh as defense, vampire. Foolishly so. You have the desire to do as I request. I know you have been humiliated and crushed by the mimicus denizen. I offer you the chance to bring them all down. Cleanse this realm of the demons who dare to tread amongst humans before their denizens populate into rages.”
A denizen was a group of demons, much like a vampire tribe. When their numbers increased or the denizens joined forces they were termed a rage, vast quantities of the merciless bastards.
The man was playing it dramatically, and that made Blade wonder if he was mentally unbalanced, or if it was just his manner. It wasn’t every day he met a dark stranger in a haunted woods who asked him to slay denizens.
But he did have one thing right—beyond the insistent craving for demon blood, even more fiercely, Blade craved vengeance.
But he was no assassin. Not without good reason.
And he had begun to step toward the light. To do good. He strived to avoid making the same mistake twice.
“No,” Blade stated simply. He folded down his wings and took a step back off the mossy rock, putting himself a head below Sim’s stance. “The way to redemption is not through violence.”
“It doesn’t concern you that the demons will soon take over? They will torment humans and paranormals alike.”
“Where’s your proof? I’ve lived here all my life. There are demons who live amongst us, sure. But not in numbers so great as a rage.”
“You’ll simply have to trust I know of what I speak.”
“I do not blindly offer something so valuable as my trust.” And Blade walked around the man and into the woods. “Get off my property!” he called back.
“The Darkwood belongs to no man.” He heard the quiet reply. “You will change your mind. I can wait. But not for long.”
Blade started to run. Flapping his wings, he soared up from the ground. He dodged a ghostly wraith that lived within the forest, but which would never leave.
