Praise for the
Gods of Midnight Novels
Red Kiss
“This is a sensual, action-packed, steaming-hot romance! Filled with demons, Gods, immortal warriors, and unique world building, Red Kiss will leave you begging for more.”
—Armchair Interviews
“Ms. Knight did a wonderful job blending the old-world sensibilities with the modern age.”
—Eye on Romance
“Red Kiss breathes life into some of history’s most amazing men, gives them new purpose, and spins a captivating web of honor, deceit, and the overwhelming power of love.”
—Darque Reviews
“A sensational story that packs a ton of heat, action, and fantasy into its pages, Red Kiss is an enthralling read you just can’t miss!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A must read for any romantic at heart.”
—TwoLips Reviews
“The women are strong and the men are hot! Deidre Knight really knows how to steam up a cold night.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“A terrific tale that once again will have readers believing in the Knight world, where Gods and immortals intervene in the lives of expendable humans.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Just as action-packed and passion-filled as the first one. Definitely a must read!”
—Fresh Fiction
“Deidre Knight has outdone herself with Red Kiss, a novel that will rest on our keeper shelf.”
—Single Titles (5 stars)
“Knight’s expertise at combining sensuality and pulse-pounding action is on full display. Make room for another ‘Knight’ on your keeper shelf.”
—Romantic Times (4 stars)
Red Fire
“Knight expertly blends scorching passion, gritty danger, and a wildly creative plot in Red Fire, the first in an edgy new paranormal series.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Exciting…a fantastic series.”
—Romance Junkies
“An incredible tale populated by only the most incredible characters…fast-paced, emotional, riveting…. I promise you’ll love it!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“What an exciting beginning to this new Gods of Midnight series! Very well-done by the talented Deidre Knight. I loved it!”
—Fresh Fiction
“Knight provides an intriguing new twist to both Greek mythology and legendary Spartan warriors with this searing new series.”
—Romantic Times
“Scorching-hot with a pace that never lets up.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd
“White-hot immortal warriors, heart-pounding romance, and thrilling action. It doesn’t get any better than this!”
—New York Times bestselling suthor Gena Showalter
“Deidre Knight has created a fascinating world of gods, demons, and immortal warriors. I can’t wait for more!”
—New York Times bestselling suthor Angela Knight
“Hot Gates, hot men, myth, and magic in modern day…. Sign me up for more Gods of Midnight!”
—Jessica Andersen
“A fantastic and riveting new voice in paranormal fiction.”
—New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning
Also by Deidre Knight
Gods of Midnight
Red Demon
Red Fire
Red Kiss
The Midnight Warriors
Parallel Attraction
Parallel Heat
Parallel Seduction
Parallel Desire
RED BLOODED
A GODS OF MIDNIGHT NOVELLA
Deidre Knight
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © Deidre Knight, 2010
All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into 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 above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
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.
ISBN: 9781101428979
This novella is dedicated to all those who serve or have served in uniform. For your bravery, sacrifice, and willingness, we remain forever grateful.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Eliza Gayle and Mike Cummings for helping with Marine Corps details. Thanks for responding to my Twitter call for help! Also, big thanks to my friend Seth Wilson for all the guide dog input. Also, thanks to Dr. Ken Tennant for the information about traumatic brain injury and blindness.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
The room smelled musty, like old books and cobwebs, dank like his parents’ basement back in Nashville. Dillon’s nose twitched from the dust, burned with the odor of forgotten things. His buddy Mason had described this cellar as the “room of secrets,” the moldering place where Mason and his demon-hunting clan kept their vast library of supernatural lore.
Unbeknownst to Dillon until only a few hours ago, Mason wasn’t just a crack shot with an M-16, but a fifth generation demon hunter, as well. And since Mason Angel was one of the most levelheaded dudes Dillon had ever known, inside the USMC or out, his revelations about the family biz meant just one thing. Evil was real and alive, and it hunted mankind from the squalid back alleys of Basrah to the downtown streets of good ole Savannah, Georgia, USA. In turn, Mace and his squad fought back, with this cellar serving as the main bunker for those organized campaigns.
It was hard to get a bead on the area’s actual size, but Dillon figured on a low ceiling because of the way their voices reverberated. Which marked three of them in the room—Mason and his older brother, Jamie, and then Dillon himself. They’d left a few others from Mason’s wrecking crew upstairs. Or at least Dillon was pretty sure they’d stayed up there. He battled away the sudden urge to bark, “Sound off!” just to be sure.
Running his fingertips over the big bookshelf behind him, Dillon felt rows upon rows of cracked leather volumes, some with embossed lettering and others with bindings that had obviously been worn away by long-term use. Dust slipped beneath his fingertips, making his nose twitch even more. Leaning lightly against the edge of the shelf and assured that he wasn’t going to trip or stumble over anything, Dillon folded his cane neatly in his palm. Once a Marine, always a Marine, and he’d be damned if Mason Angel, his onetime commanding officer, saw him clutching the thing like a lifeline. He’d left his guide dog, Lulu, upstairs, and without her, he was dependent on the cane for doing recon. That and his friends’ description of the room’s layout.
Starting at the train station, Mace had narrated the sights and obstacles to Dillon with natural efficiency. Yeah, ole Mace had always had a sensitive streak, a big one, and he’d already proven himself more attuned to Dillon’s disability than most of his friends and family had been back home in Nashville. His mother had cried all through his recent ordeal of getting wounded and then shipped stateside to the naval hospital. He often wanted to remind her that he was blind now, not deaf, as he heard her sniffling.
Mace, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had changed, which was all Dillon wanted––to be the man he’d always been, with his friends treating him just as they always had.
Dillon shoved his cane into the back pocket of his cargo shorts, which Mace obviously noted. “Nothing on the floor around you, bro,” his friend said. “You’re good for several feet either way. The walls, they’re lined with bookshelves like the one you’re feeling right now. My dad’s old desk is over in the corner, nine o’clock to you. A big rolltop that Jamie hogs most of the time.”
“Shut up,” Jamie growled, but Dillon could hear the smile in his voice. Mason had often talked about how close he and his siblings were. If nothing else came from this little reunion, it meant a lot to Dillon just to meet Mace’s family after hearing about them for so many years.
Mason continued his verbal tour of the cellar. “Some of these books go back to ancient times, but we keep those in a temperature controlled case,” he explained. “We’ve had museums contact us and offer huge sums of money, but we can’t afford to let go of the collection, not a single volume.”
“Yeah, too much power between the pages,” Jamie agreed, his voice filled with the kind of healthy, cautious respect Dillon had encountered plenty of times in the Corps when Marines discussed their rifles or an insurgent who proved particularly difficult to extricate. You didn’t underestimate the effectiveness of either one—friend or foe.
Dillon trailed his hand along the shelf behind him. He couldn’t get a fix on how tall it was, and out of habit, he blinked. It was hard to shake the sense, even now, that if he could just clear his eyes, he’d be able to see his surroundings. But the fact was Dillon lived in pitch blackness, had from the moment of the explosion over in Iraq. His eyes worked fine. It was the wiring in his brain that was fried to hell, rendering him sightless.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, annoyed a Marine more than working blind. That’s why the Corps relied on night vision goggles and infrared and every other tool of the trade to defeat the full darkness Dillon now lived with 24-7.
“These books, they’re our intel,” Mason explained. “Information is king, just like back in our recon days. We study what hunters before us learned and tried, we read firsthand accounts and religious texts. And all that’s in this room.”
Dillon folded arms across his broad chest, grinning in mild amusement. “In other words, this is where you plot to overthrow the forces of darkness, Mr. Super Bad.”
Mason made a low rumbling sound as he laughed. It reminded Dillon of old times. Better times. When there’d been plenty of reasons for all of their best friends to cut it up together.
“Make us sound like freaks, why don’t you, Foxy?” Mason said, using one of about ten nicknames his friends had given him back in the day.
“Freaky is as freaky does, bud,” Dillon fired back, laughing, too. “But how do you fight these demons without any juice?”
“Dude,” Mace said. “This is firepower of the printed kind. Haven’t you heard the one about the pen being mightier than the sword?”
“I don’t think Al Qaeda got that memo,” Dillon said, growing deadly serious. “And when I’m facing off with the enemy, I need the feel of a weapon in my hand. The kind that locks and loads. So I’m just wondering where you keep the real rock ’n’ roll around here.”
Jamie walked closer, his shoes, likely loafers, clicking on the floor. “We’re fully outfitted, don’t worry. Everything’s in the adjoining cellar,” he explained in a voice that was at least as deep as Mace’s, but colored by a more pronounced Southern accent. Mason’s years in the Corps must’ve blunted his own drawl. Same deal with Dillon himself. Few people believed he’d grown up in Nashville when he told them, but that’s what ten years worth of postings everywhere from Okinawa to San Diego to Anbar Province did to you. Dillon was a little bit of everywhere now, at least vocally. Even if most days he felt a whole lot of nowhere because of his blindness.
“Why do I have a feeling you won’t be showing me around that part of the installation?” Dillon laughed darkly. Yeah, who in their right mind would trust a blind man with any kind of weapon?
“We’ll show you whatever you want, Dillon,” Jamie said smoothly. “’Cause Mace asked you here to Savannah for a very particular reason….” Jamie left the sentence trail off, an obvious invitation for Mason to finish.
Beside him, Mace sucked in a breath and blurted, “We want to recruit you, Dillon. For the Shades.”
“You what?” Dillon exclaimed in stunned disbelief.
“We want you to work with us as a hunter,” Mason answered evenly. “To learn our lore, the skills we possess in battling darkness.”
Dillon snorted. “I think I’ve gotten pretty good at battling darkness, which is why I’m not cut out for your trade.”
Nah, it wasn’t too likely any of the Angel family’s books came in Braille. Not that Dillon would be able to make much out of them anyway. Despite the months he’d spent in therapy at Bethesda Naval, he remained a moron when it came to reading with his fingertips. “I can’t read for shit, man. And can’t sight a rifle, either. So I’m not really sure why your unit would want a broke dick like me.”
Mason sighed. “Jesus H., I asked you here for a reason, man. I need you. We all need you right now.”
Nobody needed a blind man. His girlfriend of two years had dumped him early and fast; he’d barely been out of the hospital when she’d pulled that maneuver. Something about his having “changed” during his two long deployments in Iraq. Yeah, right. No doubt her dump-and-cover routine was really about his fumbling awkwardness the first time they’d made love after he got out of the hospital. That, and his intense self-consciousness about his disability and his periodic memory-loss issues. The main point was she sure as hell didn’t waste any time beating tracks out of his life.
As for his beloved Marines, well…they’d given him a Purple Heart and an honorable discharge, along with his one hundred percent disability. Sayonara, Gunny Fox.
So much for brotherhood, right?
“Brotherhood,” Dillon muttered under his breath, blinking at the darkness.
Mason made an exasperated sound low in his throat. “Damn it, Dill Weed, you’re such a jackass, you know that?”
Dillon tilted his chin upward defiantly. “I don’t wanna be anybody’s pity fuck.”
“Fuck you, too. You’re not even my type.” Mace
said that last bit a lot more quietly, clearing his throat after making the remark.
Awkward.
Dillon’s face heated. He’d said too much. Mace had dealt with his own loss in the past year, but that was another story altogether, one they’d agreed never to discuss—in that nonverbal, silent avoidance way that fellow warriors were only too good at. Their comrade Kelly O’Connell’s death over in Iraq had led to Mace’s own discharge from the Corps, only two months after Dillon was nearly blasted off that fucking Iraqi rooftop. But Dillon was well aware that he’d been lucky; they’d lost two fellow Marines in the same attack. Although when you got right down to it, luck didn’t have anything to do with it. He’d been spared, period. Dillon couldn’t help feeling guilty, wondering why he’d been tapped to survive when better men, ones with kids and wives and lives back home, had died. That feeling hounded him, locked on his guts like a missile.
Dillon rubbed a palm over his short hair, thinking. Maybe they were serious about needing him. It couldn’t hurt to at least learn a little more, right? And it wasn’t like he’d found anything to apply himself to, not since his discharge.
Mason must’ve seen Dillon’s expression change, become more receptive, because he plunged ahead. “I’m not blowing sunshine up your skirt, Dill. We really need your help.” His tone was serious, a little intense and urgent.
Red Blooded Page 1
