Promotion Hosted by Bewitching Book Tours
Hunting the Siren
Book Two in the Blood Currency Series
By Jeffe Kennedy
A vampire queen grown powerful with age, Imogen has protected her band of nightriders through the centuries. When refugee vampires from earthquake-shattered Europe seek shelter and sustenance, she’s honor-bound to feed them, by any means necessary. When her lieutenants dump the vengeful human man Kasar at her feet, Imogen succumbs to his masculine vitality and her overwhelming hunger for his blood—and his body.
Kasar has survived the breaking of the world, only to discover the vampire queen has slaughtered his sister and her unborn child. With the last of his bloodline dead, only his desire for vengeance keeps Kasar alive. He imagines he can pretend to succumb to Imogen’s seduction—not that he has much of a choice, chained as he is to the foot of her bed—and bide his time until he has an opportunity to kill her. The passion he finds in her arms is unexpected, and impossible to resist. But this haven of desire and satiation could easily destroy them both.
An Excerpt From: HUNTING THE SIREN
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Shock flashed across the vampire queen’s face. At least, that’s what it looked like, from Kasar’s peripheral vision. Perhaps a flash of something else. A bit of a wound there, like the death pain in that little goat’s eyes.
An absurd thought, since this woman—this vampire—was clearly all lithe predator, with nothing fragile in her.
Had he remembered her as beautiful? Now she seared him, all fire and skin, lounging on her throne, that extraordinary cape of hair spilling over the sides of it. A laced-up black leather vest left her tan, lean arms bare and pushed up the tempting upper curves of her breasts. The lovely line of her throat led to a pointed chin and full lips worthy of prima donna at the Bolshoi.
Dragging his eyes down from the memory of her compelling golden gaze, he tried to focus on her feet. The leather boots hugged her ankles and calves, showing every curve, then revealed her naked thighs. The short skirt she wore rode high, nearly revealing the shadowed recesses of her sex. Even as she toyed with him, he found himself looking again and yet again, hoping she’d spread her legs just a bit more.
When she’d lifted his chin with the toe of her boot, he hadn’t resisted, taking the opportunity to see another inch or two. He was lost.
“It seems, my lovely human man, that your plans are for naught.” Her rich voice poured over him. He couldn’t quite pin the accent. She had an almost European turn of phrase, but that cinnamon-gold skin looked as if she was born to the Steppes. “Now I have captured you.”
“Then kill me,” he told her for a second time. Truly he’d been surprised to wake up, not to be dead already, along with everyone else. His survival was a mistake. Soon to be rectified. “Drink me dry and have done.”
She turned the keriss in her hands, the precious blade catching the firelight, even sullied with blood.
“I don’t think so.”
“Shall I send him to join the—”
The queen cut off the big vampire with a flick of glossy red nails.
“No, Sandahr. I believe I shall keep this one for a bit.”
A murmur of surprise ran through the yurt.
The big vampire stepped forward, knelt down, close enough to Kasar for his cloak to brush his shoulder, and took her hand. This was the one who had pulled Mélanie off him. Seven feet tall, Kasar guessed, and yet he prostrated himself to this petite woman, leaning his forehead on her hand.
“My Queen—you’ll take him for your pet?” The vampire’s voice trembled with emotion.
She brushed a hand over the vampire’s shining thick braid of hair. “This pleases you, Sandahr?”
“You know it does, my Queen.” Sandahr stared up at her in fervent adoration. “I had been afraid that—”
“Shh.” The queen laid a crimson nail on the vampire’s lips. “We will talk later. Meanwhile,” she raised her voice, surveying the room, “take my new pet to my yurt. Clean him up, but keep him chained. No one is to speak to him, understood?”
Anger surged in him, but Kasar also saw opportunity. He might yet have the chance to kill her. Perhaps his resistance tempted her. The best hunters could rarely resist the trophy of the most elusive prey.
“I will not belong to you.”
“But you already do, my— What is your name?”
“Isn’t it customary to rename a new pet?” he taunted her.
“True.” She leaned over, her hair following in a silky slide, and cupped his face in her hands. “What shall I call you, my sweet kitty cat with such sharp tiny claws? I think…Lapushka. My little paw. We’ll just see if you can scratch me.”
Her breath feathered over his cheek, her proximity blocking the light. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Instead of flowery perfume, or the chemically calculated musks modern women had worn, she smelled of leather and horses, and the salt of blood as she exhaled.
His cock, already hard for her, throbbed. The terror of imminent death, rage at his easy capture, the desperate hope that he might yet have the opportunity to succeed in his revenge—all of it faded at the hot brush of those lush lips against his cheek.
“What thoughts stir you so, Lapushka?” Her whiskey voice murmured in his ear and her nails scraped lightly down his chest. “I hear your heart pounding and smell your lust. Perhaps being mine sounds not so awful to you, hmm?”
Her tongue flicked into his ear, catlike, and he clenched down on the moan of raging desire. Her pleased chuckle rolled over him.
“Oh yes. I shall have fun breaking you to ride, my fine stallion.”
CHECK OUT BOOK ONE IN THE BLOOD CURRENCY SERIES:
Feeding the Vampire
Book One in the Blood Currency Series
By Jeffe Kennedy
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Date Published: August 3, 2011
Through good luck and healthy cowardice, Misty has survived the earthquakes that have torn the world apart, but has no skills to speak of. Or so she thinks. She does have blood, and someone must feed the vampire who has offered his protection and strength in exchange for sustenance.
Feeding Ivan is a priority, and Misty finally serves a purpose. But when she awakens tied to his bed, an unwilling gift to Ivan from the townspeople, she discovers he has hungers other than blood.
Hungers he expects her to satisfy in the most carnal manner. Under his seductive persuasion Misty discovers she has the power to sustain Ivan in all ways, while experiencing unspeakable pleasure herself.
Feeding the Vampire
I was compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really.
Earl cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Our town administrator looked around for agreement, but they weren’t meeting his eyes either. Like kids ducking the teacher’s gaze. “Thank you, Misty. We all appreciate your…” He trailed off uncomfortably.
Sacrifice? Surely no one wanted to hear that word aloud. Martyr to the cause? No, not much better.
Earl shuffled the papers in his lap. Waiting for me to get to it, I supposed. Well, he had just said that feeding Ivan ought to be the first order of business. We couldn’t very well make plans for our community while the guy in charge of our defenses wilted before our eyes, especially since we needed him alert and focused. Me? I was pretty damn expendable. I hadn’t brought much to the table so far, except my survival, which really was accidental. Right place at the right time. Turns out stolid New England was just the right place to be for the particular form this apocalypse took. Granite bedrock and all that.
My boring hometown was a safe haven and everyone wanted in on our resources. The people turning up every day were let in or turned away depending on what they offered. I counted my lucky stars I’d been grandfathered in simply because my neighbors didn’t have the heart to kick me out. Excellent keyboarding skills and a customer-friendly personality didn’t count for much in this economy. Especially without, um, customers or working keyboards.
I couldn’t afford to be a useless mouth to feed. Their hearts would harden—they already had. Tonight was pivotal. We’d acquired a vampire of our own for defense. Everyone felt better about our future—if we could keep him happy. At least I knew how to make blood. You could say I was a natural. And yet, the certainty that had propelled me to my feet seemed to be bleeding away, frightened off by Ivan’s fixed intensity and everyone else’s obvious relief. They waited, restless, for me to just get on with it. Uncomfortable silence.
Hi, I’m Misty and I’m a Fool. I haven’t done anything really unwise in twenty-seven days. Kind of a record for me really. Apparently I was due.
The vampire just stared at me.
I set my yellow pad on the chair and made myself walk across the circle to where he sat in the tacky folding metal chair. My sandals slapped lightly on the tiles, making tinny echoes. Ivan’s roving gaze sent tremors of anticipation up my thighs.
A few murmured conversations resumed. They probably didn’t like the creepy silence any more than I did. I appreciated their polite attempt not to gawk. I’d never seen a vampire feed—probably none of them had either. I stopped in front of Ivan. He leaned back, long legs sprawled out in careless indolence. He tilted his head at my hesitation and held out his hands as if to help me down from a carriage.
“Perhaps we should step out of the room?” I tried.
“I haven’t the strength to stand.” His grave eyes watched me with avid intent.
If I ran, he would definitely find the strength to hunt me down. After all, he’d walked into this room. Heck, he’d arrived at the bridge leading to our sleepy town only last night, offering his protection in return for our shelter and sustenance. He had to have gotten there somehow.
He wrapped his long fingers around my wrists, cuffing them with bands of steel. Exerting steady pressure, he drew me closer, parting his lips. White fangs gleamed with fluorescent highlights. My heart thumped in panic, hot fear filling me.
“Will it hurt?” My voice sounded thready, weak.
Hunger flared in his eyes at the question. “It always does.”
Ivan snapped me against his hard body. The sharp movement splintered any second thoughts. He pulled me astraddle his lap. My cheap cotton dress hiked up alarmingly. The chafe of his dark denim jeans sent tremors up my fully exposed thighs. Shame and terror flashed through me.
Then all thought and emotion burst in flame, immolating me through the fierce violence of his teeth sinking into my throat. The agony of the deep puncture, fear feeding pain, fired through my blood. I struggled like a wild thing, without thought. Animal instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape by any means possible.
The vampire held me trapped. There was no escape for me, the mouse flailing under the cat’s paw.
My will, never my strong point, snapped. The fight ebbed away with the tide of my blood. The steady drop of pressure left me enervated, without resistance. Darkness filled my brain, prickled with sparking stars. I wilted, becoming a bit of detritus washed upon the shore of Ivan’s body.
Pain filled my veins, pumped through my heart. It replaced my blood, spiraling through my body from the insistent penetration of Ivan’s teeth in my throat. Helpless against the crashing waves, I relinquished my last hold on consciousness and sank into the hot, tarry sea of oblivion.
About this Author:
Jeffe Kennedy took the crooked road to writing, stopping off at neurobiology, religious studies and environmental consulting before her creative writing began appearing in places like Redbook, Puerto del Sol, Wyoming Wildlife, Under the Sun and Aeon. An erotic novella, Petals and Thorns, came out under her pen name of Jennifer Paris in 2010, heralding yet another branch of her path, into erotica and romantic fantasy fiction. Since then, an erotic short, Feeding the Vampire, and another erotic novella, Sapphire, have hit the shelves.
Her contemporary fantasy novel, Rogue’s Pawn, book one in A Covenant of Thorns, will be published in July, 2012. Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, plentiful free-range lizards and frequently serves as a guinea pig for an acupuncturist-in-training. Find her on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/Author.Jeffe.Kennedy) and Twitter (@jeffekennedy) or visit her at her website http://jeffekennedy.com/.