Blurb
One hundred ninety-eight seasons after the
mushroom-shaped clouds first blossom to poison the humans of the Rising Sun,
near the beginning of the Season of Inundation, Atlantis will return.
With
those words ringing in their ears, vampires Christine Javert and Jordan
MacNaught find themselves in a race against time to stop the return of
Atlantis. As they hunt for the deadly Ares, they discover the true depths of
his plot to incite a world-wide species war, turning the humans against all the
non-humans, not just the vampires as they’d originally thought.
Excerpt
“Dude, next time just tap me on the shoulder.”
She needed to lodge the protest, though her body sang
at the familiar touch. She and her body needed to have a good, long talk about
this situation. He shouldn’t be able to make her go mushy just by putting an
arm around her. Not when they’d sated their lust so recently.
As expected, Jordan wore a suit that evening, and it
suited him perfectly. No tie for a change though, and his crisp shirt was
unbuttoned at the collar. So for him, he was going for a casual look.
The arm around her back drifted south until his hand
rested on her ass and gave it a gentle squeeze. “My way’s more fun. Admit it,
wasn’t it fun, seeing him slink off?”
He grinned. How a grown man frozen in his early
twenties could continually look like a mischievous little boy when he grinned
was beyond her. But it worked for him. Chris shook her head and groaned. Protest. Remember? You’re doing the whole friend thing, and friends
don’t grab friends’ asses. Not even friends you bounce at every opportunity. With an effort, she leveled out her breathing. “I
didn’t expect to see you here so early. I was heading out soon.”
Even with the attempt to moderate her voice, her words
came out breathy. She cringed internally. If Jordan noticed, he didn’t comment.
“You need a keeper. I’ve appointed myself to the task.”
Arrogant jackanapes. Rather than
draw a scene by having a conversation in the middle of the dance floor without
dancing, she sighed and looped his arms around his neck. At least she didn’t
have to bother with the intricacies of a waltz. The last time she’d danced with
him had been in London, the night before he buried her.
The hand on her butt squeezed again. “What was that
thought? You just scowled.”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He frowned, but let the matter drop. “You look
smashing, Chrissy. Why were you wasting it on the dog?”
“It was a dance, nothing more. Not that it’s any of
your business.”
Dozens of people surrounded them, but she saw only
Jordan. Felt him as his other hand trailed lazily down her back. His lips
brushed her ear as he leaned close. “After earlier, I might just make it my
business.”
Her mouth went dry, and she blinked at him. “Huh,
wha’?”
“I
make a lousy friend, as you well know.” He cupped the back of her head and
kissed her. Her knees threatened to buckle. “And since I intend to be inside
you again at the earliest possible moment, the ‘friend’ label doesn’t fit.”
Oh. Wowser. She licked her lips, saw an
answering flare of arousal flash in the green eyes staring into hers. “You’re
not serious. Like, you want to date?” He blew my mind, but
it was that good for him, too?
“Such a dull word, but sufficient.” He drew her closer.
Fire followed the path of his lips around the bottom of the dark-blue choker
she wore to cover up the nasty scar from the attack that left her almost dead.
He took a long sniff, no doubt smelling the Princess perfume she daubed on. “You smell good enough to eat,
Chrissy. I could spend hours doing just that.”
The already warm nightclub turned scorching. Maybe it
was just her temperature.
“In that obnoxious pink bed of yours.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tried not to picture them in her room. It
definitely was her temperature soaring, not the club’s.
Jordan’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Arms and
legs restrained, holding you open for me. No escape, no retreat.”
Her non-existent imagination conjured the image up in
startling detail, bolstered by the memory of the handcuffs around her wrists
earlier. She whimpered, couldn’t help the moisture that trickled from her to
soak her panties. Oh damn, no. That should not turn me on. Not him. Not like
this, not again.
She moved with the music, turning to press her back
into him. His strong, sure hands pulled her hips against his in a dance they’d
done so many times together, one that had nothing to do with music.
“And the thought, being with me like that, excites you.
Letting control go earlier like you did, gave you a rush you’ve never gotten
before in sex.” Jordan pushed the hair at her neck to the side. Sharp fangs
sank against her throat, not quite breaking the skin, his other hand drifting
up to cup her breast. The fabric of her dress did nothing to shield her against
the heat of his palm. “Did you sneak out afterward because of how it made you
feel?”
Teasing touches trades down her sides until he reached
the hem of her skirt. His hand slid beneath to caress the skin of her thigh
just above her garter.
Take back control, Chris. You steam-roller. Men don’t do this shit to
you. Nor did she want them to. Right?
Except him, damn it all to hell. And he was talking about feelings? What the fuck? Struggling to keep
her head against the sensuality he dragged out of her, she clamped her hands
over his wrists to still his movements. With only a hint of her normal
forcefulness, she said, “Knock it off, MacNaught.”
“Or what, hmm? Let go, Chrissy. You’d enjoy yourself
more if you relaxed. Remember?”
He twisted his wrist, broke her admittedly weak grip
on him, and the exploration of her leg continued. She colored, prayed no one
was staring at them. The display, while making her hornier than a bitch in
heat, was mild for the ‘Cor. It didn’t
matter, because she flat out didn’t do public affection. None of her boyfriends
crossed the line with her, knowing she’d flatten them if they pushed too far.
She couldn’t flatten Jordan though. To make it worse,
she didn’t want to.
Goosebumps rose in the wake of his caresses over her
thighs. His fingers inched upward, just brushing her mound, only blocked by the
flimsy barrier of her soaked panties.
He laughed softly in her ear. “You say no, but your
body, your oh-so-pretty pussy says yes, doesn’t it?”
Chris twitched. If she didn’t move away, didn’t break
this off, the bastard would think he could maul her whenever he wanted. And what’s wrong with that? So what if he does the caveman thing? You
read the trashy romance novels, and are surprised when someone acting like
those alpha assholes turns you on?
A harsh blast of noise from behind her head where it
plastered against Jordan’s suit coat worked as effectively as a bucket of
water.
Author Bio
Originally from the Sacramento Valley, Tory
packed up and moved all the way to Southwest Florida in 2004 with her husband
(a Florida native) under the premise that ‘hurricanes almost never hit that
part of the state.’ That year, 4 blasted the area. 4 more came the following
year, and her husband blames her for bringing the hurricanes. She now resides
in Jacksonville and is relieved that, thus far, no more hurricanes have
followed her around.
She began writing in kindergarten when a
turnip wished to be human and, other than a hiatus shortly after getting
married, has never stopped. Her love of vampires began somewhere in junior
high, and combining the two loves didn’t take long. She loves music, considers
herself a ‘book slut’ whose reading habits would break her family financially
if given free reign, and is (usually) delighted to be a mommy of twin
Shrimpettes and a Shrimp.
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