Out for Blood (Blood Vice Book 8) Chapter 1 Preview

At some point in nearly every girl’s youth, she fantasizes about being a princess. She dresses up as Cinderella for Halloween or has a royally-themed birthday party. She beams at pet names like Daddy’s little princess. Longs for a regal homecoming crown in high school.

Sure, it’s a tired cliché. But that doesn’t seem to matter to millions of girls the world over. The animated princess movies keep rolling out, and the costumes and tiaras continue to sell. If they knew what being a princess was really like, I was sure it would reduce most of them to tears. If they knew what being a vampire princess was like, they’d run screaming.

Vampire princess. Before my rude initiation into undead society, I imagined the only place I would have found such a title acceptable was on a cheap, all-in-one costume kit. The kind that filled the seasonal isles of grocery stores around Halloween. I never expected the title to apply to me, or that it would weigh so heavily on my heart.

I stood as still as a gargoyle in the BATC war room, doing my best to pay attention to Dante’s discussion with the Blood Vice generals and council representatives seated around the massive table. Ursula had excused herself hours ago. I was beginning to regret not slipping out with her. I was too invested now. Too curious and equally terrified.

Dante sat at the head of the table. I had a perfect view of him from my corner behind Ursula’s empty seat. Even as the new unofficial Princess of House Lilith, I did not feel right about sitting with and discussing war with centuries-old vampires. A vampling’s input would mean nothing to them. Less than nothing. 

Tonight, I was here to listen and learn. To be an extra pair of eyes and ears for Dante. We had far more questions than answers, and after Kassandra’s betrayal, it was hard not to suspect that our enemies had infiltrated the Vampiric High Council, as well. What other households had the Freeblooders wormed their way into?

Notah Álvarez, alpha of the largest pack in St. Louis and the Midwest representative of the American Alpha Association, sat to Dante’s left. I’d never met the man before, but Mandy had helped find his daughter last year after the girl had been abducted and buried alive. 

Notah was twice Dante’s size with long, dark hair and proud features that spoke to his Mexican and Navajo heritage. He wore a necklace of animal teeth and turquois over his suede dress shirt.

“The Moreau Pack have always been outliers,” he said, addressing the council’s concerns regarding which werewolves could be trusted to assist Blood Vice. “When Marcel began attending alpha conferences, I knew he was up to no good.”

“And yet you did nothing,” Lord McCoy injected. I couldn’t decide if the statement was more question or accusation. Notah didn’t seem to take offense. We’d mostly moved beyond the blame game and were well into brainstorming counterattack strategies.

“I kept a careful eye on the Midwest packs Marcel attempted to endear himself to,” Notah said. “The Raymores in Kansas City and the Rosco Pack in Denver are among those I’ve maintained tabs on—though given Marcel’s recent attacks, I fear he relies on covert agents to carry out the worst of his dirty work.”

“Yes,” Dante agreed. “His public associates are sloppy henchmen, serving only to distract from larger threats.”

Sloppy or not, there was power in numbers. The firefight that went down at the Hearty Harem warehouse proved that much. And the threat had felt significant enough when the building caved in on top of Mandy and me. Still, I tried not to take Dante’s words too personally.

Lili and Alexander were dead. Really dead. The attack that had claimed their immortal lives and destroyed the queen’s manor in Evergreen was clearly the larger threat.

Dante had felt the prince’s death the night of Laura’s wedding, when he’d inherited the Eye of Blood. Then the captain of the Blood Vice division in Denver had called with the rest of the horrific news. What was left of the queen’s harem and staff were crowded inside the base infirmary and spare barracks.

All the pride and prestige that had inflated my ego after uncovering Arnie Moreau’s harem food service bomb scheme was gone. Sucked straight out of my soul until only the bitter throb of failure remained. The evidence had been there plain as day. And like every day since my death, I had missed it entirely. 

Bart Haulette, the patsy Arnie had used to conduct his terrorist plans through, had human roots in Denver but no pack ties. Yet he’d been making regular trips to the Mile High City, confirmed by his girlfriend who’d worked at the Nightfall Opera House.

Instead of another harem food service, Haulette had set up a housekeeping business front in Denver under a stolen vampiric identity. He established employment with the royal family months prior to the incident in St. Louis, and by the time the attack on the queen’s manor went down, Haulette’s people were long gone, their base of operations vacated and bleached clean.

We had nothing. And this tired meeting in the war room was getting us nowhere.

Notah’s brow creased. “However trivial a role the other packs play, Marcel’s drafting methods are…troubling. I have it on good authority that he was a catalyst to the Raymore alpha’s death. It’s how Marcel assumed full control of their pack—”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Lord Sorano said. “But we are not here to discuss retribution for a slain traitor.” 

Vanessa’s grandsire looked down his bony nose at Notah as if he hated sharing the table with a werewolf even more than sharing the room with a vampling. Any time he spoke, my pulse quivered in my throat. He’d spared me a fleeting scowl upon his arrival but had avoided making eye contact since. I was glad for it.

“No, of course not.” Notah ignored Lord Sorano’s sour expression and directed his reply to Dante. “But it may be useful to know Marcel’s intentions. You’re familiar with Spero Heights?”

Dante nodded but then took notice of the confused faces scattered around the table. “A small, supernatural community in the Ozarks,” he explained.

“Small in numbers, perhaps,” Notah said. “When Devin Raymore’s pregnant mate sought asylum in Spero Heights, Marcel hired witches to assist him in retrieving her.”

“Witches?” Sergeant Carmichael’s nose crinkled. She and Notah were the only wolves in the war room—along with eight vampires and two half-sired humans—though being a fellow shifter didn’t appear to earn the alpha any brownie points with her. “You expect us to squirm over a few magic dabblers?”

Notah opened his hands and laid them palms-up on the table. “I expect you to examine this information and consider the possibility that if Marcel is willing to work with witches, he might also be consorting with other shifters—or worse—the fay. We must exercise caution.”

“We are not without our own wild cards.” Dante’s eyes flicked to me.

I could guess who he had in mind. But Dr. Delph, Spero Heights’ psychic therapist, wasn’t exactly what I would’ve called a wild anything. He was more of a faded, dog-eared tarot card. If we brought someone like him into this battle, sure, he’d be able to read the enemy’s mind—right before they bashed in his.

“These witches killed Raymore’s mate,” Notah said. “Then they carved the pups out of her.” He paused at Carmichael’s sharp intake of breath before going on. “Word is, Spero Heights’ new pack showed up to even the score. They’re very loyal to those they offer refuge.”

“And the pups?” Carmichael asked.

“Unaccounted for, though some suspect one of the Raymore deserters delivered them to Spero Heights for their own safety. The pack has yet to announce a new leader,” Notah added. “The Raymore namesake is nearly extinct, but Marcel has promised to help them…reclaim Devin’s twin heirs in exchange for the pack’s allegiance to the Freeblooders. Whether their intentions are to groom one of the pups to become alpha or to tie up loose ends before assigning a new head family is still unclear.”

At the mention of twins, I thought of Selena Chase and the pair of car seats I’d spotted in her truck. If I had babies in need of serious protection, I could think of no one better for the job than the she-wolf Roman and I had met in Spero Heights. She was fierce. Just the memory of her intimidating gaze sent a tremor up my spine. 

Now she was a wild card. Not that she’d give two shits about our cause. And I was certain she wouldn’t abandon her post in Spero Heights or the babes in her care. If only Marcel had promised the Raymores he’d tangle with her first instead of us. Maybe we’d be spared the trouble of dealing with him at all.

Lord Sorano cleared his throat, drawing the table’s attention once again. “We should seek out these lost heirs ourselves in order to buy back the Raymore’s loyalty.”

“For shame, William.” Lady Peyroux shook her head. “You would have us stoop to their level? We, the ambassadors of order and civility among our people?”

“What do you know of war, Louise?” Lord Sorano’s hateful gaze found her at the opposite end of the table. “Your toxic flowers notwithstanding, perhaps these unsavory endeavors are best left for those with the stomachs to carry them out.”

“Tread carefully, my lord.” Lady Peyroux’s dark eyes narrowed. “Your empire relies upon my toxic flowers.”

Dante ended the spat with a slash of his hand. “The pups will remain wherever they may be. If the Raymore’s loyalty is so easily shifted, it is not worth our time or energy. Besides, we have Marcel’s brother.”

After news of the attack in Evergreen reached the council representatives escorting Arnie Moreau to Denver, they’d gone straight to the BATC hidden under the airport. It was the most secure location for a prisoner who could communicate telepathically with his sinister alpha brother. 

The bat cave was also the safest place for House Lilith now that the Freeblooders had gotten a taste for our blood. Regardless, being here made me feel like a coward. I was just thankful it had been the council who’d requested the meeting venue. Apparently, being in the same building as a member of the royal family right now wasn’t considered good for one’s health.

“We are back to the drawing board then.” Lord Sorano scoffed. 

As much as he unnerved me, I found his frustration relatable. I was ready to get out of here and do something useful. And if there was nothing constructive to be done, I was happy to take up space somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Dr. Marquis, the half-sired dean of Renfield Academy, folded his hands over the table. “If I may, Your Highness?” he asked Dante. 

The new title of prince wasn’t yet official, but everyone had adopted it as if to win Dante over. Except for me. I could see how much the idea of taking his sire’s place wounded him. The way the lines in his face deepened at every reminder.

“Yes, Dr. Marquis,” Dante said, nodding his approval.

“Every werewolf at Renfield Academy has taken leave from training in order to join the Cadaver Dogs in their search of St. Louis,” Dr. Marquis announced.

“Same for the werewolf cadets here,” said Sergeant Carmichael. “They’re assisting in the Denver sweep.”

“So what?” Lord Sorano threw his hands up. “You expect us to sit and stay like good little dogs? You forget who you are dealing with.”

“We will carry on, as is expected of us,” Dante said. “Beginning with the Imbolc celebration tomorrow night.”

“Do you think that is wise, Your Highness?” Lady Peyroux asked, a gentle note entering her voice.

I’d posed the same question to Dante before the meeting. His reply had not changed, but he delivered it with less venom and conviction this time.  

“We must present a strong front and not let our enemies take more from us than they already have.”

“This attack must be countered,” Lord Sorano insisted.

“And it will be.” Dante pressed his lips together and took a slow breath. “But as Lady Peyroux said, we are the ambassadors of order and civility. Our traditions and ceremonies are the cornerstones of that order. We will not sacrifice them on the altar of wrath.”

But it was wrath that boiled in all our veins, and no amount of pomp and circumstance would quell our desire for vengeance. I just hoped the time Dante was buying us would be enough to yield something useful.

Flesh and Blood (Blood Vice Book 7) Chapter 1 Preview

I could not get my fangs to suck back up into my gums.

I crinkled my nose and tried to think of unappetizing things, but all I could come up with was cold cow blood. A line of drool spilled over my bottom lip, thanks to my mouth hanging open like an idiot. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my coat and made a slurping noise that only kids who wore retainers had a good excuse for.

The bedroom closet in Casey Poe’s apartment was dark, but enough light seeped through the slats on the door that Mandy took notice of my condition. The whites of her eyes swelled as she glared at me.

“You didn’t drink enough blood before we left,” she accused in a razor-sharp whisper.

“Did too.”

“I told you to have a second pot.”

“I had three,” I hissed.

“Must be the adrenaline then,” Mandy said, her voice dropping lower. She readjusted herself in the small nook we’d made between the hanging clothes. “You haven’t been out of the house in a good while.”

I nodded, refraining from speaking again as my elongated eye teeth made the act uncomfortable. Besides that, if I accidentally cut my lip and spilled fresh blood, our hiding spot would be blown all to hell. The werewolf we waited for would scent us long before he entered Casey’s apartment.

I still wasn’t convinced that the activated carbon we’d dusted onto our clothes would fix that, but Mandy had insisted it would make any lingering trace of us smell like ancient history. She’d also said that the pile of dirty laundry on Casey’s bed was strong enough to draw flies from the next state over.

Thank goodness the girl was such a shitty housekeeper. At least breathing through my mouth meant that I didn’t have to endure the odorific fog hanging in the air.

Mandy squinted down at her watch. Again. Her nerves were just as itchy as mine. We’d both be getting our asses chewed when we returned to the duke’s manor—though if our suspect made an appearance tonight, the backlash would be tenfold.

Can’t have your blood and drink it too, I reminded myself. Saving the day—or night—was worth the royal reaming that was sure to follow.

Casey Poe was Phillip Salinger’s daughter. The half-sired minion Kassandra had sent to kill off Dante’s potential scions had knocked up another donor-in-training at the blood finishing school he’d attended as a teen. Casey’s mother had died giving birth. She never outed him as the father, and he’d decided not to officially claim the child either—not after being accepted into the Duchess of House Lilith’s personal blood harem.

As sleazy as that made Phillip in my book, I respected him for keeping tabs on the girl. Dante had granted me access to Blood Vice’s resources and permission to investigate after Phillip and Kassandra had been coffin-locked. I wanted to know how the duchess had done it—how she’d convinced someone to commit such awful crimes and forfeit their life for hers.

Was it blind devotion? Blackmail? Hypnosis?

Between Blood Vice’s private DNA library, their back door into Interpol’s DNA database, and Phillip’s online search history, I’d pieced together the big picture.

Casey’s youth had been far from ideal. She’d played musical foster homes until her seventeenth birthday, then dropped off the grid until five years later, when she ended up in a Chicago hospital after being viciously raped and left for dead. The news article about the incident mentioned a series of similar attacks in the area, and the only other survivor had been murdered the day after she was released from the hospital.

The creep was covering his tracks. Blood Vice only stepped in if a crime was glaringly supernatural or wild animals were suspected, especially in a big city. By not shifting, he’d managed to keep the evidence within human jurisdiction—until I’d taken a closer look at Casey’s lab results.

Spawning non-consensual werewolves was punishable by death. If the guilty party wasn’t pledged to a pack, then the sentence was carried out by the Vampiric High Council.

A second article that turned up in Phillip’s search history detailed how Casey had made a miraculous recovery before going missing from the hospital. From there, she dropped off the grid again, though Phillip’s bank account statements were noticeably lighter from then on.

He’d sent gift cards for groceries, signed her up for a subscription butcher box under a fake name, and made rent and utility payments for the apartment—which, while not the fanciest of abodes, was close to a conservation area where she could run during full moons. Phillip had taken care of everything for her.

Right up until All Hallows’ Eve when he’d been laid down for a long, velvety nap.

I should’ve turned the information over to the duke and Blood Vice. But the last time Dante had allowed me to help with a case had been…anticlimactic. He’d pulled me at the first sign of progress—after I had made a significant discovery. Like snatching a baby bird out of the sky before it could fly more than two feet from the nest.

I couldn’t stomach that again. Not after all the time I’d spent training to be a part of Blood Vice. Not after all the legwork I’d put into this investigation. It was ridiculous. Frilly dresses and regal balls were nice, but I belonged out here, where I could make a difference.

Besides, it wasn’t as though any of House Lilith’s enemies knew what Mandy and I were up to tonight. No one did. We’d kept the simple yet brilliant plan we’d hatched to ourselves for days. Tonight, it was just us—well, us and the big bad werewolf prying open Casey’s bedroom window.

I still couldn’t close my mouth, but I held my breath and silently begged my pulse to find somewhere other than my ears to do its relentless thundering.

Mandy stood perfectly still beside me, eyes level with a gap in the closet door slats. The skin between her brows creased, and I realized that she hadn’t expected this to work. Hell, I hadn’t expected it to work. What kind of creep-o stalker responded this quickly to bait? And years later, at that.

Red flooded my vision, and the man’s outline came into view as he hooked a leg over the windowsill and climbed inside. The fire escape stairwell rattled behind him, and he paused, tilting his nose in the air.

I could smell the tequila that saturated Casey’s bed sheets from the closet. We’d found it in her kitchen and helped ourselves. It was a nice touch, considering the fake DUI claim included in the carpool requests I’d posted online—after sending Casey off on an all-expenses paid cruise to the Bahamas.

At least someone was enjoying my life savings.

When tall, dark, and creepy closed the window behind him, my grip tightened around the silver-pronged stun gun I’d brought with me. My coat felt uncomfortably light, considering I usually kept a .40 in each breast pocket. But shooting up an apartment in north St. Louis would involve the human PD. We were going to have hell to pay with the duke as it was, so I’d resigned myself to the stun gun.

Mandy’s eyes took on a golden sheen as the man turned toward the closet. She could shift in a matter of seconds, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be fast enough to keep us out of Shit Creek if this guy decided that he wanted our hiding spot.

As his head turned back toward the bed, drool oozed from the corner of my mouth, and I instinctively slurped. It was just a small sound, but for a werewolf, it might as well have been a fire alarm.

I shoved Mandy into the shadowy corner of the closet—under the longer items of clothes and behind a cheap wicker hamper—just before the closet door ripped open. It smacked the bedroom wall and rattled as if it might break right off its hinges.

Then a fist connected with my jaw.

My mouth snapped shut at the impact, and both fangs broke the flesh of my bottom lip. Hot blood filled my mouth and dribbled onto my chin. The man’s yellow eyes glowed in the dark as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose.

“Vampire,” he whispered.

I expected the revelation to spook him, but something in his tone suggested that he was more intrigued than threatened. I covered my aching mouth with one hand and thrust the stun gun at his chest, but he caught my wrist, leaving the silver prongs to crackle mid-air.

“Are you here for my girl?” he asked, taking hold of my opposite wrist and prying my hand away from my mouth.

“She’s not your girl.” I spat the words at him, dotting his face with my blood as he pulled me out of the closet.

Though the room was dark, the Eye of Blood picked out the man’s every detail—the thin mustache, a chipped front tooth, receding hairline. He drew my arms apart, forcing me closer to him so he could take another whiff.

“Mmmm,” he moaned. “You have a weakness for the she-wolves.”

I took the opportunity to jam my knee into his groin. Fair fights were for the sparing ring.

A human would have released me and crumpled to the ground. Not this one. A slow, rolling growl that sounded more like a purr rushed past his lips.

“I prefer humans myself,” he said, tightening his grip on my wrists until I felt something pop. “I’ve never had a bloodsucker.”

 Then he wrenched me off my feet. The tips of my boots grazed the ceiling. Half a second later, my back flopped heavily onto Casey’s cheap mattress, and all the air left my lungs.

Before I could regain my breath, the werewolf was on top of me. His thick legs straddled mine, pinning me to the bed. Another grating purr echoed in my ears as he lowered his face to mine, lapping at the blood that had spilled from my mouth and trailed across my cheek. His weight pressed me deeper into the mattress, and I wheezed out a pathetic noise in protest.

The joints in my wrists felt loose. My hands and fingers tingled at the lack of circulation, but I hadn’t dropped the stun gun. I squeezed the buttons on either side of the device, taking comfort in the motion despite its uselessness. The werewolf still had hold of my wrists, and now my arms were stretched over the booze-soaked mounds of Casey’s laundry.

Just as the creep’s tongue reached the corner of my mouth, he paused and lifted his head, sniffing the air. I feared that he’d finally figured out Mandy’s scent wasn’t coming from me, but rather the closet where she was likely mid-shift. But then I smelled it, too.

Smoke coiled up from the dirty socks and tee shirts on the bed beside us. I stared at it, just as confused as my assailant—until I realized how close my hand with the stun gun was. The clothes suddenly ignited, and we both gasped as flames reached for our faces.

I tried to roll onto my side, away from the fire, but I couldn’t move. As alarmed as he was, the werewolf refused to let go of me. I wasn’t going anywhere fast.

He brought my wrists up over my head and tried to grasp them in one of his meaty hands. I didn’t make it easy for him, which earned me a sharp slap once he managed the feat. Then he attempted to snuff out the fire with one of Casey’s pillows.

I squeezed the stun gun again, angling the prongs down at the stretch of mattress above us. Without the pile of clothes for cover, he noticed this time.

“Sneaky bitch.” He abandoned the small fire to reach for the device, but he didn’t quite make it.

The bed jolted, and then Mandy’s dark wolf was on his back, teeth sinking into his shoulder. The man garbled out a broken scream. He balled his free hand into a fist and punched Mandy in the muzzle. A whine punctuated her growl, but she held on, jerking her head as she tried to pull him off me.

I bucked my hips, hoping to unbalance the creep. The flaming pile of clothes burned brighter, spreading now that it had been left unattended. It sent our shadows dancing across the walls of Casey’s room and a film of slick sweat over my skin.

I ignored the throbbing pain in my wrists and groaned through clenched teeth as I strained to pull my hands apart. The werewolf’s grip was failing, thanks to Mandy and the fire.

One hand finally sprang free. The creep let go of my other to grasp at the stun gun, but Mandy gave his shoulder another yank. His hand came down on my face instead. My bottom lip seared with fresh pain as he clawed at my face, and I felt the pads of his fingertips roughen against my skin.

He’s attempting to shift. My mind exploded with panic. We were having a hard enough time with him in human form. As a wolf, he’d be ten times worse.

I stabbed the stun gun into the man’s chest. The silver prongs ripped holes in his shirt, and his eyes faded from yellow to dark brown as I lit up his world. My fingers shook violently, but I had enough strength left to squeeze the device until the asshole began foaming at the mouth.

Mandy pawed my arm and yipped at the fire. She pressed her muzzle into the man’s arm as he slumped and began to slide off me, pushing him toward the flames. She intended to use his limp body to put the fire out. At least one of us still had their head screwed on tight.

I did what I could to help. The man’s chest flopped onto the bed beside me, covering the bulk of the retail kindling and blowing hot ash in my face. I scrambled off the bed and to the opposite side of the room before hacking my lungs out.

Mandy shifted and used Casey’s pillow to put out the rest of the flames. When she was done, she clicked on the bedside lamp. Her naked body was spattered with blood and soot, yet she crinkled her nose at the mess I’d made of Casey’s bed.

I wondered how Blood Vice would cover this up for our unaware host. She was a wolf, so maybe the truth wasn’t entirely out of the question. All I knew was that my work here was done.

“So…” Mandy said, taking in the charred sheets and unconscious werewolf. “High-five now or later—after we call this nightmare in and survive the aftermath?”

“Later. Much later,” I said, rotating my bruised wrists.

I was already debating whether I should use my mild injuries to gain sympathy from the duke. I’d receive none from my sire. But whatever cross words they had for me was a small price to pay compared to what Mandy and I had accomplished tonight.

That’s what I told myself anyway as I watched Mandy retrieve her cell phone from her abandoned coat and punch in Dante’s number.

"Dying Day" is out now! Don't miss the epic finale in Kory M. Shrum's Dying for a Living series!

I adore this series! And I'm so tickled to be one of Kory's critique partners who get early access to her books. The final installment of her Dying for a Living series did not disappoint. It was everything I hoped it would be and more. ♥

If you're new to Kory and her books, you can grab book 1 for FREE on Kindle, Nook, iBooks, & Kobo.

Dying for a Living

(Dying for a Living Book 1)

On the morning before her 67th death, it is business as usual for agent Jesse Sullivan: meet with the mortician, counsel soon-to-be-dead clients, and have coffee while reading the latest regeneration theory. Jesse dies for a living, literally. Because of a neurological disorder, she is one of the population's rare 2% who can serve as a death surrogate, dying so others don't have to. 

Although each death replacement is different, the result is the same: a life is saved, and Jesse resurrects days later with sore muscles, new scars, and another hole in her memory. But when Jesse is murdered and becomes the sole suspect in a federal investigation, more than her freedom and sanity are at stake. She must catch the killer herself—or die trying.

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Dying Day

(Dying for a Living Book 7)

She was the hero. Now she is the enemy. 

Jesse Sullivan has defeated her father and saved the world from his malevolence. But as the beloved face of The Unified Church, his death has made him a martyr, and now she is public enemy number one. 
 

Yet it isn't the countless government agencies and assassins hunting her that she should fear. It is the entity powerful enough to reclaim what she has stolen and make our world its own.  

Don't miss the epic finale! Get your copy today.

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"Blood Vice" is on #Sale for just #99cents! #UrbanFantasy #Vampires

To celebrate the release of "Blood in the Water" (Blood Vice Book 3), "Blood Vice" (Blood Vice Book 1) is on sale for 99¢ for a limited time! "Blood Dolls" (Blood Vice Book 4) is available for pre-order now, too. Woot! This series is moving right along, and I have to tell you, I'm having a blast with Jenna and the gang. I hope you guys are, too. ♥

Blood Vice

(Blood Vice Book 1)

Detective Jenna Skye bombs her first week on the St. Louis Vice Squad when she's bitten by a vampire in a supernatural brothel. Her day only gets worse from there. She wakes up in the morgue and discovers that her partner is dead. Before the sun rises, she realizes she is too.

Jenna vows to continue their investigation until justice is served, but a werewolf squatter, an unexpected visit from her estranged sister, and a nosy FBI agent stand in her way. Not to mention her fresh aversion to sunlight and a thirst for something a little stiffer than revenge.

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Blood & Thunder

(Blood Vice Book 2)

Being a vampire isn’t easy. Jenna Skye thought she could pull it off without giving up her old life, but the compromises are taking a toll—and not just on her. Jenna’s sister Laura is eager to return to her glamorous life in Hollywood, and Mandy, Jenna’s wolfy partner, is getting sick of playing her K9 sidekick to get around the police department’s red tape.

Jenna’s never been good with change, but with her human existence slipping further and further out of her reach, she has no choice but to accept FBI agent Roman Knight’s offer to help the supernatural police force ruled by House Lilith hunt down a serial killer targeting new vampires in St. Louis…like her. Playing bait isn’t exactly what Jenna had in mind, but it’s a rookie lump she’ll have to take if she wants a shot at joining Blood Vice—and if she wants to survive her new life as a vampire.

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Blood in the Water

(Blood Vice Book 3)

Jenna Skye and her blood harem are off to boot camp in Denver. If she can survive the three long months at the bat cave (the Blood Authority Training Center), she’ll become an official Blood Vice agent. But not everyone is thrilled about the duke allowing a baby vampling to train with the big fangs, and the undead have some pretty rotten ideas when it comes to hazing.

The training program also opens Jenna’s eyes to House Lilith politics, and she’s soon swept away into the dark current of warring vampire families and an empire on the verge of collapse—an empire no one can know she’s an heir to.

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Blood Dolls
 (Blood Vice Book 3)

Jenna thought becoming a Blood Vice agent would solve all her problems, but now she’s sworn to solve House Lilith’s problems, too. And there’s no shortage of trouble when dealing with the most regal vampire family in the United States.

The duke’s first assignment for Jenna and company is to locate Ursula, the estranged Duchess of House Lilith suspected of murdering her sire. It’s a tall order—a wild bat chase, some might say—and the long hours with half-sired agent Roman Knight soon drive Jenna to distraction, and possible destruction. Lusting after another vampire's pending scion is a dangerous game, one with legal ramifications in Jenna’s brave new underworld.

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Blood Vice (Blood Vice Book 1) 

Detective Jenna Skye bombs her first week on the St. Louis County Police Department's Vice Squad when she's bitten by a vampire in a supernatural brothel. Her day only gets worse from there. She wakes up in the morgue and discovers that her partner is dead. Before the sun rises, she realizes she is too. Jenna vows to continue their investigation until justice is served, but a werewolf squatter, an unexpected visit from her estranged sister, and a nosy FBI agent stand in her way. Not to mention her fresh aversion to sunlight and a thirst for something a little stiffer than revenge.

Get it now for just 99¢ through July 2nd!

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B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940154311745
Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1217053724
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/blood-vice-1


I did a lot of different things for the launch of this new series, and I'm excited to see how it all turns out. I'm also excited to hear what everyone thinks of the first book! For my fellow authors out there wondering about the behind the scenes aspects of the marketing, stay tuned. I'll be posting those details and their results in the coming weeks. ; )

Until then, happy reading! xoxo

Angela

Chapter 2 of "Blood Vice" #SneakPeek #TuesdayBookBlog

The release of Blood Vice is 3 weeks out!!! I'm really pretty tickled with this new series and can't wait to share it with everyone. ♥  If you missed the first chapter I posted a couple of weeks ago, you can find it HERE. Chapter 2 is below, and I'll be sharing chapter 3 shortly before the release. Also, Blood and Thunder (Blood Vice Book 2) is now up for pre-order. I'm so in love with these pretty covers that Rebecca Frank made!

Detective Jenna Skye bombs her first week on the St. Louis Vice Squad when she's bitten by a vampire in a supernatural brothel. Her day only gets worse from there. She wakes up in the morgue and discovers that her partner is dead. Before the sun rises, she realizes she is too.

Jenna vows to continue their investigation until justice is served, but a werewolf squatter, an unexpected visit from her estranged sister, and a nosy FBI agent stand in her way. Not to mention her fresh aversion to sunlight and a thirst for something a little stiffer than revenge.

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Being a vampire isn’t easy. Jenna Skye thought she could pull it off without giving up her old life, but the compromises are taking a toll. Jenna’s sister Laura is eager to return to her glamorous life in Hollywood, and Mandy, Jenna’s werewolf partner, is getting sick of playing her K9 sidekick to get around the police department’s red tape.

Jenna’s never been good with change, but with her human existence slipping further and further out of her reach, she has no choice but to accept FBI agent Roman Knight’s offer to join the supernatural police force ruled by House Lilith. Her first assignment? Help hunt down a serial killer targeting new vampires in St. Louis…like her.

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Blood Vice (Blood Vice Book 1)

Chapter 2

As a St. Louis cop, I was no stranger to the county morgue. Of course, I’d never seen it from this particular angle. Or while wearing less than a co-ed on spring break.

Goosebumps spread from my shoulder blades to my ass, picking up again at my calves, all pressed against an ice-cold metal table positioned under an overhead light. My tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth, my muscles concrete encasing rebar bones. If I were dead, then this was surely rigor mortis.

The pong of ammonia and disinfectant permeated the air, and as my focus sharpened, I heard a trickle of music cut through the ringing in my ears.

“Don’t tell my heart, my achy, breaky heart,” someone sang along. I prayed for God to strike them dead.

When my prayer went unanswered, I turned to get a better view of hell. That’s what this had to be. It was the very spot where my life had ended. The first time, anyway.

I counted the cold chambers stacked against the wall to my left. Two down and three across. That’s where my mother’s body had remained until her autopsy was finished, and my sister and I were allowed to bury her. That was the last time I’d seen either of them.

The music and the grating voice grew louder. I twisted my head to the right and found Vin Hart, the morgue’s new forensic pathologist, pulling on a pair of blue gloves. His eyebrows lifted, and he scrunched his face a few times as if trying to encourage his glasses to move farther up the bridge of his nose. Then he picked up a scalpel from a metal cart and turned toward me.

“Vini, Vidi, Vici,” I croaked, the high school nickname sounding less teasing and more like a plea coming from my dry throat.

Vin squealed—a full-on, being-eaten-alive-by-a-giant-tarantula squeal. He stumbled backward, knocking over the metal cart and scattering his horror film arsenal across the linoleum floor. Then he squealed again and tried to climb up onto the counter that spanned the wall behind him, dislodging a desk lamp and the small clock radio crooning suicidal country music. Because, apparently, this place wasn’t depressing enough.

The scalpel was still clutched in Vin’s gloved hand. He pointed it at me as I moaned and sat upright on the autopsy table. My muscles and tendons protested, cramping agonizingly under my skin. I tried to stretch my neck from side to side, but that only made things worse.

“Y-y-you’re dead!” Vin shrieked.

I glared at him and covered my breasts with my arms. “Where are my clothes?”

He squinted at me as if I’d asked a trick question. “I…uh… I had to cut them off. They were covered in blood anyway. You wouldn’t want them.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Well, Pervy McPervertson, think you could find something else for me to wear?”

“You didn’t have a pulse. I swear!” Vin held up a gloved finger with his free hand. “This is not my fault. They delivered you in a body bag and everything.”

With all the bizarre questions rattling around in my head, clothes should have been the least of my worries. But interrogations were hard enough when dressed. Nudity took things to a whole new level.

I stared at Vin, watching his mental wheels turn as his pupils constricted until I could once again see the milk chocolate color of his irises. He glanced down at his hand holding the scalpel and quickly discarded the blade on the counter before peeling off his gloves.

“I have some gym sweats in my car,” he said, easing his way around the perimeter of the room. It was as if he expected me to give chase. And here I thought our high school feud had zapped that delusion.

Vin cleared his throat when he reached the exit. “Uh, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he added, closing the door behind him.

“Right.” I snorted and hugged my chest tighter as a shiver shook my shoulders.

There was a sour pit in my stomach, and it felt as if it were burning right through to my navel as I desperately tried not to think about the fact that Vin Hart had cut off my clothes while I lay unconscious on a metal table in a morgue. Nope. Nothing creepy about that.

The room felt as if it were spinning around me. Slowly at first, but gaining momentum as I tried to recall how I’d ended up here. The basement, the crazed suspect, the dog… Will. The dots were all there. I just couldn’t connect them into anything that made sense. I closed my eyes and pressed a hand to my face, trying to swallow the bile building in the back of my throat.

Something thudded against the door, and Vin’s clumsy return snapped my attention back to the here and now. His sneakers squeaked on the floor as he inched toward me, digging his hand down into a gray duffle bag.

“Here.” He tossed a wadded bundle of clothes into my lap from a safe distance away.

“Thanks,” I said, before realizing the clothes were damp from his most recent workout.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna.” Vin’s eyes welled, and he turned his back without me having to ask.

“Don’t sweat it,” I said, making a face at the ragged sweatpants he’d loaned me. I stuffed my shaky legs into them before easing off the table and jerking them up my thighs. They were too big, but I managed to tighten the drawstring enough until the waistband stayed around my hips.

“I really am.” Vin sniffled. “I swear, you didn’t have a pulse. This is incredible. We need to call Captain Mathis—”

“I’ll call him later,” I said, yanking his pit-stained tee shirt over my head. “I want a hot shower and some food first. Maybe a nap.”

Vin ran a hand through his dark hair and let out a nervous laugh. “You’ve been in a locker since six this morning.” He glanced down at his watch. “That’s fourteen hours, Jenna. Can you imagine if you’d woken up in there?”

I tried to remember what time Will and I had stormed the warehouse. Will.

“Where’s my partner?” I asked, my eyes migrating back toward the cold chambers.

“Your partner?” Vin stole a glance over his shoulder before deciding it was safe to look at me.

“Detective Will Banks?”

“Oh.” His eyes drooped at the corners as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“Which one?” I took a step toward the cold chambers, trying to read the names on the doors. I spotted my own and swallowed. Fourteen hours. How was that possible?

“Are you sure you want to do this right now? I mean, after everything you’ve—”

“Which one?” I repeated, taking another step forward.

“Here.” Vin circled the autopsy table and gave me a sidelong glance before he grasped the lever of a door next to my vacated chamber. At least I’d been in good company.

The table slid out of its cubby with a sigh. And then Vin folded the sheet back, revealing Will’s ashen face and the swell of his shoulders. I begged my heart to turn to stone. I’d have myself a long, hard cry later, but not here. Not in front of Vin or over Will’s body. He deserved better than that from me. I thought of his family.

“His wife…” I said, a lump welling in my throat before I could finish the question.

“She was here this morning,” Vin said. “With their daughter.”

I belonged in hell. It should have been Will who survived the basement. Not me. It had been my dumb mistake. And I didn’t have anyone waiting at home. No one depended on me. Hell, I didn’t even have a house cat to complain about my absence.

A blossom of old scar tissue was nestled below Will’s exposed collarbone. He’d been shot there while making a drug bust with my mother. I remembered visiting him in the hospital the week before my high school graduation.

“You’re smart for going to critter school, Jen,” he’d said to me, his thumb hovering over a morphine pump grasped in his free hand. “At least you’ll know when you’re working with an animal.” I should have heeded his warning and stayed in the vet program. But when my mother died later that year, I buried my dreams with her.

I pressed a finger to the mound of scar tissue and heard Vin suck in a soft breath. A lecture about not touching evidence was winding up. I could feel it. But Will wasn’t evidence. He was a lifeline that had kept my mother’s memory alive. That had kept me grounded once she was gone.

My eyes trailed away from the familiar scar and up to Will’s neck. A jagged gash ran from behind his ear to the hollow of his throat. The skin had been folded back and in on itself, but I could see the depth of the wound where it gaped open here and there. My stomach roiled, and my hand went to my throat, feeling for the damage I knew I’d sustained.

But there was nothing. Not even a scratch. My skin was perfectly intact and as cool and smooth as marble. That couldn’t be right. I covered my mouth and tried to think. Nothing made sense right now, and I couldn’t decide if I was delusional or just dehydrated. I need some water, I thought as my tongue scraped the roof of my mouth again.

“What’d you put down on your initial report for my COD?”

“Uh.” Vin cleared his throat. “I couldn’t find any injuries, despite the fact that you were covered in blood. I was thinking aneurysm or stroke perhaps.” I snorted, and his ears turned bright pink. “The autopsy would have been more conclusive. Obviously, that won’t be needed now.”

“An aneurysm?” I folded my arms as Vin replaced the sheet over Will’s face and slid him back inside the cold chamber.

“I don’t know.” He took a deep breath and frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe you saw the assault on Detective Banks, went into shock…and had a nosebleed?”

“And it hit pause on my pulse for fourteen hours?”

“It’s nothing short of a miracle.” Vin nodded, agreeing with my sarcastic assessment. “You should really be checked out by your regular MD. I’ve already gathered any evidence from, uh…your person—” He paused to clear his throat again, and his face flushed. “There were no defensive wounds. No signs of rape—”

“Make me a copy of the report,” I snapped. The air in my lungs burned. My hand migrated back up to my neck. Something was missing. This wasn’t right. I needed to go back to the scene.

Vin’s face creased. “I’ll have to clear it with Captain Mathis first. That’s classified information for a case you’re not assigned to.”

“Excuse me?” I ground my teeth together as I stared him down. “You just stripped me naked and poked and prodded my unconscious body, and you wanna tell me your findings are classified?”

He took a step back. “I’m really sorry, Jenna, but it’s protocol. I can call Captain Mathis now if you want. I’m sure he’ll approve the request right away.”

“Forget it. I’ll read the report when I head into the office in the morning. You know, before I file a sexual assault claim.”

“Jenna.” His face crumpled, and he gave me a wounded scowl. “Don’t say that. I feel horrible enough as it is.”

“Yeah, I could really tell how broken up you and Billy Ray were when I came to.”

“Music helps me focus. It gets lonely down here by myself.” His eyes glossed over, and despite my building fury, guilt slugged me in the gut. I took a deep breath. And then another.

“I guess my gun and badge have already been taken into evidence?”

Vin nodded. “Your wallet and everything else, too. We really should call the captain—”

“I swear to God, if you try to lecture me on protocol again, I’m going to stuff you into one of these cold lockers.”

His lips snapped shut. “Got it.”

“Can I borrow a few bucks for a taxi?” I gave him a tight smile. Following my threat, the sudden request probably made me look like a schoolyard bully after his lunch money. “I’ll pay you back,” I added when he hesitated.

Vin untied his scrubs and began stripping them off. “I can drive you home.”

“Great. Let’s go.” I tugged the sweatpants up higher on my hips and made for the exit.

“But how are you going to get inside without your keys?” he called after me.

“Let me worry about that one, Vin.” I held the door open and waved my arm to hurry him along.

* * * * *

Vin drove a rust-spotted, lime-green Volkswagen Beetle. It was a classic model that came with all the classic problems. The thing lumbered like a dying bear through Friday night traffic down I-170, making what should have been a fifteen-minute drive to my house take closer to thirty minutes.

I sank into my seat as a semi blared its horn and moved into the next lane over to pass us. The streetlights and headlights and flashing billboards made my eyeballs feel like they were boiling in their sockets. I tried to roll the window down to get some fresh air, but the lever came off in my hand.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed.” Vin gave me a nervous smile and cleared his throat for the fifth time. “The radio works fine, though, if you’d like—”

“If I die in this Nazi deathtrap, it will not be to the sounds of Waylon and Willie.” I propped my elbow on the windowsill of the door and covered my eyes with my hand. Maybe feigning sleep would keep him from dragging the conversation down memory lane. That’s where I always ended up with Vin. He couldn’t help himself.

“So, are you going to the reunion in August?” he asked, drawing an immediate groan from me.

“No.”

“Why not? You’re one of the most successful graduates from our class.”

I snorted. “Says the guy with a doctorate.”

“Says the guy who carves up dead bodies for a living,” he grumbled. “Trust me, hunting down bad guys is way more impressive.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pulled my hand away from my face and scowled at him. “Think everyone will think it impressive when they find out that I got a nosebleed and passed out while my partner was being murdered ten feet away?”

Vin swallowed, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You don’t know that’s what happened, and you won’t know until you get a proper physical.”

I resumed glaring out the window.

We finally exited off the highway and headed east on Olive Boulevard. I breathed a little easier then. My precinct was in the opposite direction. Vin’s persistence that we should contact the captain had me worried that he might deliver me to his doorstep straightaway.

I wasn’t ready to face Mathis. I needed time to collect myself and remember something useful to the case. Without that, all we’d have to talk about is what a complete and utter failure I was as a detective. How I’d rushed in without backup and gotten my partner killed, all in my first week on the vice squad.

My throat swelled every time thoughts of Will entered my mind. God, what was I going to tell Alicia and Serena? They’d expect answers from me, even more so than the captain would. Even more than the local news hounds, who would undoubtedly come knocking for a statement—about my partner’s fate and my peculiar resurrection. I didn’t have answers for anyone. Not even for myself.

Vin’s hand squeezed mine unexpectedly, and I jumped.

“What?” I blinked a few times to keep my tears in check before glancing up at him.

“We’re here,” he answered slowly. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say more but feared I might chew his face off.

I pulled my hand away. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll return your clothes tomorrow.”

“Keep them,” he said, giving me a lopsided grin. If he expected me to swoon over skunky gym sweats, he was dumber than he looked.

“Okay, then.” I pushed the passenger door open, cuing a gasp from Vin.

“Let me get that for you,” he said, opening his own door.

“I’ve got it.” I scrambled out of the car as fast as my aching body would allow and slammed the door behind me. “Thanks again,” I said over my shoulder as I headed up the front lawn. The grass was dewy on my bare feet, and it glistened in the yellow glow of my porch light.

“Don’t forget to call your doctor in the morning and make an appointment,” Vin shouted to me. He stood in the fold of his open door, one arm resting on the roof of the Beetle.

“Yup.”

“And don’t forget to call the captain, too. Soon,” he added.

I gave him a half-hearted salute from my front porch, hoping it would prompt him to get back into his car and leave. I really didn’t want him to know where I kept my hide-a-key. Of course, if he tried to use the thing, I’d have a perfectly legitimate reason to kick his ass—something I’d fantasized about since high school.

Vin’s brow creased as he stood there watching me. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to leave until I was safely inside, I huffed and stepped off the porch.

The mulch in the front flowerbed stuck to the bottom of my feet as I made my way to the flower box under my bedroom window. I stuffed my hand down behind a cluster of morning glories and dug around in the dirt until I found the faux rock with my spare key hidden inside. Not the cleverest of tricks, but it hadn’t failed me yet. I hurried back to the porch and unlocked the deadbolt on the front door.

“Goodnight,” Vin called as soon as had I stepped inside.

I threw my hand up, sparing him a quick wave before slamming the door shut behind me. I pressed my back against the living room wall and breathed in the cool air. It smelled like oranges and vanilla. It smelled like my mother.

My eyes brimmed with tears as Vin’s headlights flashed through the window. I was finally alone with my grief, and it came for me with a vengeance. I slid to the hardwood floor and sobbed myself into hysterics in record time. Misery and I were old friends.

Before I graduated from the police academy, I’d been required to see a shrink. They wanted to make sure my head was in the right place since my mother had died only two years before. I think they expected me to have a chip on my shoulder. A score to settle. But that wasn’t what I was doing there. I wasn’t some crazy, orphaned girl with a vendetta.

Toni Skye hadn’t just been a hero in the department. She’d been my hero. My childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian had been born out of a desire to someday work with her on the K9 unit. I was a timid, tiny girl who loved her mommy. I was terrified of guns, and Disney villains gave me nightmares—especially Cruella De Vil. I didn’t want to be a cop. But I loved animals. Well, mostly Maggie. She had been enough to plant the seed.

I didn’t find the strength to follow in my mother’s footsteps until after she was gone. It felt as if it were the only way to be close to her, to keep her memory alive. This was my way of honoring her.

The academy shrink didn’t think so. She said I was having trouble letting go, but that was better than wanting an excuse to rough up suspects in some screwball quest for blind justice. So she’d cleared me. Her final word of advice had been that I should take some time to grieve properly. I’d had about all the grieving I could stomach. And there was nothing proper about it.

When my sniveling hiccups finally tapered off, I pulled myself off the floor and clicked on the lamp in the corner of the living room. My mind was already in recovery mode. I was well-accustomed to this process. Step one: cry face off. Step two: drink a gallon of water. Step three eluded me as I rounded the corner and clicked on the kitchen light.

A half-eaten sandwich and bag of potato chips had been left open on the counter. Right next to my bloody house keys.