“I had a vision, Gabe. I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying because of me.”
“So you took ten years off my life by trying to get killed yourself?”
“It made sense at the time.” She studied the worry lines around his eyes, his ashen skin, and the untamed beard. “What happened to Joey?”
“He’s fine. He said the storm scared him so he went to his special place. There’s a little door under the staircase. He fell asleep there. Donna’s recovering, too. They’ll both be just fine. Because of you.”
“And you.”
He took her hand. His eyes were bleary and his hair needed brushing, but he was still the best-looking man she ever saw. She loved him more than her next breath.
“Your Gran’s outside waiting to see you, but I had a question for you before I go.” He cleared his throat. Then he got down on one knee and offered her the engagement ring she’d given back. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He stood up, leaning down to kiss her. Then he straightened and took her hand once more. “Let’s get one thing straight. You have a vision about me, you tell me. You don’t run away or put yourself in danger. If you get a warning again, I will heed it. I trust you, Hope. I want you to trust me, too.”
“I do,” she said. “I was so scared, babe. The thought of losing you… it was too much. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad we have a second chance. Together, we can conquer anything.” He kissed her fingertips, the heat of his lips more healing than the meds dripping through her IV. “I love you, Hope.”
She looked at him, her heart full. “I love you, too, Gabe.”
The End
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About Michele Bardsley
MICHELE BARDSLEY IS a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads books, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.
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RAGING WINTER
Max Denton Book 2
by Colleen Gleason
PROLOGUE
~ Resolve ~
February 5, 1925
London
MAX DENTON STOOD at the open window, welcoming the icy breeze that cut his bare skin. The slicing cold reminded him that he could still at least feel something.
He couldn’t sleep again, as usual.
The nightmares he’d fought for years had recently become even more dark and insistent, more horrifying and violent… for they’d moved from being the memories of his dead, brutalized wife to even more haunting images.
Felicia was gone these thirteen years, ravaged at the hands of the vampires Max Denton hunted because of his family legacy. But their daughter Macey still lived—somewhere in America—and would soon become an even more compelling target for the undead.
Macey was destined to follow in the footsteps of her father, for Max was one in a long line of Venators—divinely empowered vampire hunters—in the Gardella family. She was soon to be called to take up the stake, to wear the protective vis bulla amulet, to spend her life hunting the undead. Living a life of violence and loneliness and sacrifice.
For all Max knew, she’d already done so.
And that was part of the reason he stood at the open window in February, clothed in nothing but a pair of trousers. He couldn’t sleep. He needed to experience something other than numbness… yet he dared not allow himself to feel anything but physical pain. Silent and still, he looked out over the frosted city of London, watching the full moon play over the rooftops and along the rippling Thames.
And even as he thought of, worried for, missed Macey—whom he hadn’t seen nor contacted for thirteen years—it was the loss of another woman that haunted his dreams.
Savina.
He closed his mind off to the nocturnal memories that had ultimately pulled him from sleep—the ones of sleek, warm skin, soft curves… a wide, smiling mouth that pursed softly when she spoke to him. Thick, ink-black hair, soft moans, and delighted laughter. Intelligent brown eyes, exotic in shape and color, flashing with determination, bright with love.
A love he’d been terrified to take and keep.
So now the bed behind him in this small, anonymous hotel room was empty of everything but rumpled sheets and bunched-up pillows.
Once again Max slept alone. Traveled alone. Ate alone. Hunted and planned and strategized alone. It was necessary, he told himself over and over, for he was determined to destroy the amulet that had belonged to the mysterious Rasputin, confidante of the Russian royal family. The powerful pendant had been missing since Rasputin’s death eight years ago, and Max needed to find it before it fell into the hands of the undead.
Or, more accurately, before it fell back into the hands of the undead—for the sly, mysterious Rasputin had been a powerful vampire himself. He’d wormed his way into the affections and confidences of the Romanov family of Russia beginning around 1908—particularly the tsarina, who came to adore the rough-looking, lecherous, and supposedly holy man when he healed her son of hemophilia.
In reality, Rasputin was as far from holy as Nicholas Iscariot was—and as Nicholas was the powerful son of the first vampire, Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus Christ, that was saying a lot. Unfortunately, the Russian royal family hadn’t seen—or hadn’t been able to see—the evil permeating from the man they trusted with their lives… and that put not only their crown but also their country in mortal danger.
The vampire Rasputin might still be alive today if it hadn’t been for Max, enraged and still grieving over the loss of his wife. He’d arrived on the scene in St. Petersburg very early in the morning on December 17, 1918, to find Rasputin still alive after several assassination attempts by Prince Felix and the Grand Duke of Russia.
Of course, the men who’d been trying to murder the vampire had no idea he was an undead—they just knew he was evil. Therefore, the poison they’d served him earlier that night had no effect on Rasputin. And the desperate bullets they’d put into his body later on in the evening (two in his back and one in the head) hadn’t done anything but cause the creature to become enraged and attack Felix with a truncheon.
Even drowning the man hadn’t seemed to work—until Max found them struggling to slide Rasputin’s bound body into the iced-over river. He took over, shooting a silver bullet into the vampire. That kept Rasputin paralyzed—as silver tended to do to an undead—making him appear dead. Only much later, after the man had been retrieved from the river and slipped into his coffin, had Max secretly returned and plunged a stake into the vampire’s heart.
Now the coffin, which was buried in secret, contained a corpse that wasn’t Rasputin’s and only the trace of foul-smelling vampire dust.
The worst thing about the fiasco related to the disposal of Rasputin was that somehow during the original assassination attempts, the protective amulet the vampire wore around his neck had gone missing.
It shouldn’t have been difficult to find, for the pendant was the size of a peach pit. It was made from copper and had a faint green glow emanating from it. The glow was only discernible in the dark, which should have made it relatively easy to locate once the sun went down… but no one had seen it for more than eight years.
But now, Max believed he was on the path of the amulet. He’d been living undercover for months now, developing a persona and building up his reputation simply so he would have a chance—one chance—to find out if he’d followed the trail correctly and had tracked down the mystical pendant. He believed it had been sold with a collection of mixed Russian jewelry and accessories at an auction in Amsterdam, and he was fairly certain Lord and Lady Glennington had purchased it.
Nevertheless, it would be months before he would actually find out whether all of his work a
nd planning had been worthwhile—for he couldn’t simply show up at their home and search for it. There was, however, one positive in the situation: whoever had possession of the amulet wasn’t using it. Whether it was Glennington or not, the new owner either didn’t know of its powers or didn’t know how to utilize them—for which Max was infinitely grateful.
Because of the sensitivity of the situation (he didn’t want anyone—mortal or immortal—to know the amulet was missing), and his need to live as Dr. Elton Melke, only Wayren—the mystical woman who seemed to know everything anyway—was kept updated about where Max was and what he’d been doing for the last year.
It was better this way that he was alone, that he worked solo once again—safer for everyone, himself included… Hell, safer for himself mostly, in fact. But he missed her. By God, he missed her more than he’d ever thought possible.
Savina.
He pushed away the memory of hard brown eyes that masked the hurt and bewilderment he caused when he left. On Christmas Eve, no less, a little more than a year ago.
I have to leave. I need to do this alone.
It was mostly true. But a good portion of his decision had been self-preservation. A way to prove to himself that he was strong and unwavering in his vocation.
Yet he couldn’t forget the way her wide, sensual mouth flattened in an effort to hold back arguments, accusations, pleading—no, no, no. Savina didn’t plead. She would never plead.
She’d flay his skin with her tongue, perhaps even cry furious tears as she tore into him with her fury. But she would never plead.
His lips quirked in spite of himself, then tightened.
It was better this way. Easier.
He could go about his business, his life’s work of bringing down as many of the damned—literally damned—undead he could, without worrying about anyone left at home. Anyone left behind, anyone attached to him, anyone who expected to know where he was or what he was doing, anyone who worried about him, who watched him with large, silent eyes, who was a target for the brutal vampires—
It was a weak argument. Oh, he knew it. Max was not blind to himself, and he knew precisely how weak and cowardly he was acting. Savina, much more so than Felicia, truly understood the violence and danger of his life. She’d been part of it for nearly as long as he had. She was so much stronger.
It was Max himself who was the weak one.
When I get my hands on the amulet and it’s safely put away…
But there would still be threats. Always there would be threats. Until the end of his life, there would be undead to kill, vampires hunting him, loved ones to protect, sacrifices to make. Every day.
It was better that he lived such a life alone.
When Nicholas Iscariot is dusted to ash, maybe then.
Yes. Maybe then, when the most powerful vampire on the earth was permanently dusted… maybe then, Max would be able to have a normal life. To love again. To see his daughter, who was now a young woman of twenty-one.
But until then, he was devoted only to the stake. To annihilating evil. His life was a sacrifice, a gift, a vocation.
And damned if he hadn’t even been able to do that.
It had been months since he’d wielded a stake, dozens of weeks since he’d slipped into the hard, fast, violent, and necessary work of slaying vampires… It’d been too long since he’d been able to expend the built-up energy and rage that rumbled beneath his skin. He’d had to suppress his natural instinct and skill, for he simply couldn’t take the chance that someone would put two and two together if an undead was missing and Dr. Elton Melke had been in the vicinity.
And so he’d moved carefully among the vampire-worshipping Tutela Society of mortals. He’d ignored the ugly, eerie shiver that chilled the back of his neck whenever an undead was in the same room as he. Max had even had to turn away when he knew a man with whom he’d just sat and drank was slipping out to go on the hunt… to find an unsuspecting mortal on whom to feed and, likely, destroy.
Thus the nightmares. Thus the heavy, dark cloud that had cloaked him for months.
Thus the growing sense of frustration, guilt, and fury… the knowledge that he had made these choices. The knowledge that he was alone.
He despised himself.
But then as Max looked out over the city, the sleet-stained wind blustering about, cutting into his chest and cheeks like a thousand tiny needles, he received a small gift of his own.
The back of his neck suddenly shifted several degrees colder, sending an unpleasant and familiar chill over the tops of his shoulders. Vampires. Very nearby.
Looking down from the third-story window, he reached for the stake next to his hand. It took only a moment to locate the shadowed figure waiting in an alley below. The minuscule flash of red eyes would have given the creature away even if Max hadn’t felt the chill.
He smiled with pleasure and relief as he vaulted himself through the window. No one would notice if he went after this single, anonymous undead.
Now, at last, he could unleash himself… if only for one night.
ONE
~ Determination ~
Ten months later
December 23, 1925
The Countryside of England
SAVINA ELEIASA’S FIRST glimpse of Knotwood Abbey threatened to reinstate her love for Christmas.
The large English manor house was trimmed with icicles and frosted with snow. Smoke streamed happily from twelve chimneys, and she could smell the scent of burning wood on the crisp winter air. The massive iron gates, bookended by a twelve-foot brick wall that stretched as far as she could see, boasted pine and boxwood wreaths trimmed with gold bows bigger than an automobile tire. She could practically feel the holiday spirit emanating from the regal estate.
As Liam motored them up the driveway, his capable gloved hands managing the steering wheel despite an inch of snow and an underlying glaze of ice, Savina couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. She’d loved Christmas for years, even growing up as she had in the midst of the Venators and their millennium-long fight against the undead. Not that the Venators hadn’t celebrated Christmas, but usually the celebrations were curtailed by the need to go out and patrol the streets, looking for undead who were trying to ruin someone else’s holiday.
The Venators as a whole didn’t necessarily mind. After all, they were called to this life, and with the exception of very few, carried out their work with resolve and determination.
Savina wasn’t a Venator herself, but she could certainly wield a stake when necessary, and she knew enough about the red-eyed, immortal vampires to hold her own when and if she encountered one. Not that she, or any other Venator alive, could hold a candle to the absent Max Denton and his abilities. Good grief… the man in action was breathtaking: sleek, smooth, blindingly fast, powerful. Brave. Intense.
Damn him.
Her stomach tightened with anger and hurt. She drew in a deep breath and forced her insides to relax.
This would be her second Christmas without Max. Unless you counted the one where he actually left… which would make this her third Christmas without him.
And, well, her first with Liam.
She glanced at her companion, and he shot her a jaunty smile from beneath his dark brown sunglasses. They looked better on him than the round spectacles he normally wore when he was doing his mechanical work. “You all right there, lass?”
“Of course.” She definitely was all right. Even though, as they rumbled up the drive, she couldn’t help but remember the last time she was arriving at a country manor house on a mission for the Venators with a man at her side.
That time she’d been with Max Denton. Contentious, arrogant, brooding, wry, interesting, and delicious enough to make her toes curl just thinking about him, Max Denton.
Oh, and cowardly too.
The damned idiot.
“If you weren’t hiding behind those sunglasses, I’d be able to see your eyes and ken whether you were lying.” Liam grinned, his d
imples showing and the flavor of Scotland touching his words.
“And if you weren’t hiding behind your glasses, I’d be able to see whether you were watching the road—or me.”
“Och, and I’m always watching you, lass,” he said. Those dimples deepened but—thankfully—he turned his attention to the road.
She laughed and turned to adjust the driving blanket over her lap. Liam was a delightful challenge and a boon to her pride—partly because with his almost-black auburn hair, perfect features, and deep bourbon-colored eyes, he was ridiculously handsome, and partly because he was wildly, harmlessly flirtatious. It was impossible not to feel attractive and interesting in his presence, even when one’s heart was in tatters. Not only that, but he was an extremely handy person to have around, for he worked closely with Estevan, the weapons-master and gadget-creator for the Gardella family of Venators.
Though not a Venator—vampire hunter—himself, Liam had jumped at the opportunity to accompany Savina on this little adventure. Unlike another man who’d fought a similar situation, grousing and ordering her around every step of the way. Damn and blast Max Denton. Savina’s eyes narrowed with fury at herself more than her former lover. Why couldn’t she put the idiot out of her mind?
Ah. Because it was Christmas. And he’d left on Christmas Eve two years ago.
She hadn’t heard from him since. She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Idiot.
She didn’t care. She really didn’t care.
“We’re here.” She was relieved to have a distraction from her thoughts as Liam wheeled the motorcar to a stop in front of the manor house. “I certainly hope I haven’t dragged you across Europe for naught.”
He looked at her, a smile curving his lips again. His tanned skin was awash with freckles to match his mahogany hair, and one of them made a faint, attractive dot on his upper lip. “I don’t consider myself dragged, lass. Not in the least. For one, I got to get out of that dungeon of a workroom at the Consilium. For two, maybe we will find the amulet. And three—and most happily—I get to spend Christmas as the husband of a famous woman. Now I know how my Aunt Evvie’s husband felt.”
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 7
