Embraced by Blood. Laurie London

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      To my sister, Becky,

      because without you, there’d be no this.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      Writing a story may be a solitary process, but making it a book isn’t. I am truly thankful for so many people.

      In addition to my sister, I’d like to thank Janna, Kandis, Mandy, Shelley, Kathy and Barb for giving me invaluable feedback. When I count my blessings, these women are seriously at the top of my list.

      Thank you to Cherry Adair, who opened her heart and her home to a bunch of fledglings and encouraged us to fly.

      To my Romance University friends, particularly Kelsey Browning, thank you for everything. To Vicky Dreiling and Delilah Marvelle, thanks for your friendship and the marathon phone calls. To the Cherryplotters, thank you for the laughs and the creative inspiration. Thank you to my agent, Emmanuelle Morgen, my GIAM x4 buddies, and my fellow GSRWA writers.

      Thank you to my talented and thoughtful editor, Margo Lipschultz, as well as all the hard-working people at my publisher who’ve been so enthusiastic about this series.

      A giant thank you to my mom for all her help and to the rest of my family who’ve been so encouraging. Thank you to my two wonderful children who think it’s cool to have a mom who writes books even though they’re not allowed to read them.

      And last but not least, to my sexy sidekick, my incredibly supportive husband, Ted: Thank you, baby, for holding my world together. With every breath, I love you.

       CHAPTER ONE

      GALE–FORCE WINDS BLEW IN from Bellingham Bay, funneling rain between the darkened lecture hall buildings like a raging river. Red Square in the middle of campus should’ve been deserted at this time of night.

      A lone student dashed under the covered walkway of Haggard Hall and slipped off a heavy backpack. It hit the bricks with a splatter.

      In the shadows behind her, a dark figure watched her movements with interest. He didn’t bother stepping deeper into the doorway—the darkness rendered him invisible to humans.

      Alfonso Serrano sniffed the air and let his pupils dilate with hunger.

       Don’t they tell students, especially the female ones, not to walk alone at night?

      Fortunately, there were always a few who didn’t follow directions.

      Breathing hard, the student brushed off her rain-sodden hood and swiped her nose with the back of her hand.

      Alfonso moved a step closer and reached for her.

      But when she grabbed a cell phone from her pocket, he hesitated and dropped his outstretched arm. If she made a call, he’d wait. If she texted, he’d continue.

      She brought the phone to her ear, and he retreated into the seldom-used doorway, careful not to disturb the waterlogged pile of leaves in the corner. Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets, he clenched them into fists to stop the tremors. Her call had better be quick, otherwise he was likely to drain her dry when he struck. Four weeks between feedings was way too long.

      She yelled into the phone and he bristled at her harsh tone. Fighting the urge to plug his ears, he rethought his decision to wait. He didn’t know how long he could listen to this.

      As she carried on her heated conversation, a blast of wind swirled around him, blowing his chin-length hair into his eyes. He pulled out a knit skullcap, stretched it over his head and tucked the hair beneath it.

      But when the damp wind changed direction, it brought with it an odd smell. A sickeningly sweet odor, like that of rotting meat, and he froze.

      Darkbloods.

      He scanned the darkness and unzipped his coat with quiet precision. From a leather sheath strapped to his chest, he eased out two silver kunai and held them by their rope-twined grips. The custom-made weapons, small but deadly, were designed to be thrown. They fit perfectly in his hands, like the contours of a lover.

      What were Darkbloods doing in Bellingham? The Alliance didn’t normally set up cells in small northern towns like this. There weren’t enough people and, given the low ultraviolet index, the residual energy level in the indigenous population was too low to make it worth their trouble.

      Christ, СКАЧАТЬ