Kelsie Connor is looking for a big headline to jumpstart her career as a journalist—like proving the existence of vampires and werewolves. She’s always felt that Others exist, though she’s never met one herself. So on the night of the Blood Moon, Kelsie goes looking for a werewolf … but meets a vampire instead. A vampire who makes her blood run hot and makes her feel things she never imagined a body could feel.
Hayden Flann had been secretly watching Kelsie for some time, drawn to her by a powerful bloodlust and equally strong sexual attraction. But Hayden recognizes that he and Kelsie are connected by more than passion. Little does she know that Hayden is not just her lover—he’s also her enemy, born to seduce her before he kills her… .
Vampire Lover
Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
MILLS & BOON
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CHAPTER ONE
The heat hitting Kelsie Connor in a wave was like a second-degree sunburn on midwestern-pale skin, but she refrained from touching her bare shoulder with the cool rim of her martini glass. Movement of any kind could prove suicidal beneath a moon like the one in tonight’s balmy June sky, if the legends were true.
The majority of Homo sapiens might not perceive anything abnormal about the blaringly bright full moon lending a reddish cast to the sidewalk, but humans weren’t the only species calling Miami home. And not all humans were unobservant.
Certainly not herself.
Tonight’s moon had a special name. Blood Moon. A moniker for the second full moon in a single month. Not a Blue Moon, as some people called it. This particular one, appearing every five years, looked more like the sun viewed through a layer of smog. Nothing remotely white or silver or blue about it. Not so benign.
Rumor had it that this moon brought out other two-legged, night-loving species besides Miami’s usual sleek human glitterati. Legends foretold these Others could smell movement, as if action was another word for bouquet. Not only that, it was said that Others had internal directional beacons spliced into their genes, and just flat out knew where to find fresh meat or fresh blood or whatever their particular dietary needs dictated.
“Disgusting …”
While poor human saps like herself had be lucky enough to utilize all of their senses, and then scramble to find two or three more in order to keep on the good side of the separation between life and death on any night in a city this size.
Kelsie took a second glace up at the strange, unearthly phenomenon overhead and rode out a ripple of internal heat at the thought of what that moon could do for her career if she was right about what might happen beneath it.
The thought actually turned her on a little.
Moisture gathered between her thighs.
This definitely wasn’t the night to be strolling around, looking for a stray ocean breeze. Nor was it opportune for taking shortcuts on dark, underpopulated side streets. Five years ago, during the last Blood Moon phase, ten people had gone missing in this part of Miami alone. Maybe not so unusual in a decadent city on a steamy summer night, but she had crunched some unpublicized numbers, turning up the names of at least twenty more MIA’s that had fallen beneath the radar.
What happened to those people?
As a fact-finder for the Miami Tribune, Kelsie knew that numbers, and the ways to get them, were her game. She was damn good at her job. Now, though, like all wannabe writers who longed to move up in the world of journalism, she needed a break.
“So here I am, in the market for a monster.” An Other. A creature out of legend that would help her get that elusive byline.
What she wanted was a werewolf.
With a grin, Kelsie leaned back against the warm brick on the outside patio of the Havana Club, untasted martini in her hand, trying not to call attention to herself. Her gray silk camisole and black skirt amounted to camouflage in this chic crowd. She had understated her makeup; nothing too red or too vibrant. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was down, straight and combed off to one side.
As a matter of fact, she might have gone a tad too far by understating everything, she acknowledged, watching the dancing, flirting hordes of men and women making the scene. By keeping her distance and blatantly showing her indifference to the art of the pickup, she might actually stand out a little.
Still, if anyone could find a werewolf—given that there were such things—she was determined to do so. If anything could lure a werewolf out of hiding, a Blood Moon would be the ticket. Her senses were keen enough to sniff out a story, honed by her journalism background and the attention she paid to her surroundings. She tried to process details in a manner similar to the way she supposed werewolves sucked up moonlight. Taking it all in.
Thus far, at this club, however, she had only come across wolves of another sort. The usual kind. Problem was, there were too many people jammed into a tight space to see individuals clearly. The hum of voices had escalated over the thump of the music as bar drinks flowed.
Kelsie scanned the crowd, darting hopeful glances here and there. For what? A bit of fur showing on the back of someone’s neck? Like finding a werewolf would be that easy?
Closing her eyes briefly, she enjoyed the arrival of a rare ocean breeze. The night was glorious, even if it proved to be monster-free. She loved the dark, the stars overhead, the night heat that seared her lungs. Miami was like no other place on earth, and about as far removed from her family’s Irish heritage as was possible.
Ireland hadn’t held anything interesting for her in some time. Living in the States made it easier to chase interests and follow her own path. She just needed this one little monster in order to get ahead. A hairy one, preferably.
“Is that too much to ask for?” she said aloud. “Kelsie Connor, on the prowl. Trolling the dark in search of adventure.” Needing to ferret out the rumors and put my strange compulsion to find Others to the test.
“Maybe you, big guy?”
Her gaze latched on to a man in a floral shirt, well beneath the club’s blue awning. A decent candidate for a werewolf? Tall, broad-shouldered, with abundant auburn hair and a perfect tan, he moved with an animalistic, lumbering step as he stalked a woman sucking down a lime-green, nuclear-hued appletini.
Hell, he actually looked like potential, the epitome of something unmorphed. After all, Weres could be anybody, anywhere, without a full moon to trip their DNA switches. Recipients of gene splicing/coding between humans and wolves could either be complete fantasy, or an actual syndrome affecting a small segment of the population. She hoped for the latter. Because if there were such things as werewolves, one informative bio in a newspaper column would make this freaky Blood Moon worth her weight in gold.