Blood Sin
Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR MARIE TREANOR AND HER NOVELS
“Wow! Steamy-hot fantasy, sizzling sex, and a story that makes you think. . . . Marie Treanor really packs a lot into these pages.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Witty and sensuous.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“My first impression of this work was
wow
. . . highly recommended read from an author to watch.”
—The Romance Studio
“A very unique fantasy. The passion and heat . . . was Pure Erotic but with a loving passion that made me feel all warm inside.”
—Paranormal Romance Reviews
“A fantastic story . . . superhot sex. I cannot wait for future books.”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“A strange and adorable relationship . . . so much more than a mere vampire story.”
—Romance Junkies
“Funny, sizzling, and tender.”
—Bitten by Books
“Marie Treanor always delivers a book that you’ll be talking about long after reading it.”
—Love Romances
“Hauntingly beautiful and entirely sensual.”
—eCataromance
“Clever, agreeable, and very readable.”
—BookWenches
“A superbly written story filled with suspense, action, and steamy, passionate encounters.”
—Literary Nymphs
ALSO BY MARIE TREANOR
Blood on Silk
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, April 2011
Copyright © Marie Treanor, 2011 All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Treanor, Marie.
Blood sin: an awakened by blood novel/Marie Treanor.
p. cm.—(Awakened by blood ; bk. 2)
eISBN : 978-1-101-47893-6
1. Vampires—Fiction. 2. Women—Scotland—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6120.R325B56 2011
823'.92—dc22 2010040469
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my editor, Kerry Donovan, who always sees the bigger picture.
And to
all
my editors from whom I’ve learned so much—especially Linda Ingmanson, the Adverb Slayer, for all her support, advice, and encouragement over several years and two publishers; and my other “serial” editors, Crystal Esau and Meghan Conrad, for their unfailing humor, help, and patience.
To the Transylvania trio for all the fun and inspiration. May they never know.
And finally to my husband. For the neck thing.
Chapter One
T
he vampire Saloman had not killed in two weeks. As Luiz Salgado-Rodriguez wandered toward him like a wraith among the shadows, hunger surged and Saloman anticipated the exquisite rush that came from a powerful kill.
And yet, observing the elderly professor shuffle across the vinestrewn courtyard of his Salamanca home, Saloman craved a
harder
kill, an enemy worthy enough physically to make him work. In short, he wanted a fight.
Instead, he stepped off the roof, his black leather coat streaming upward to slow his descent, and landed with impeccable elegance in front of the professor. “Good evening,” he said politely in Spanish.
Although the old man was startled—who wouldn’t be?—he neither screamed nor bolted, and in his pale, cloudy eyes, Saloman could make out no sign of fear. In fact, Luiz Salgado-Rodriguez smiled, as if he recognized death and welcomed it.
“Are you . . . Saloman?” he asked, his voice as frail and uncertain as his body.
Saloman smiled. “You’ve been expecting me,” he said mockingly. As if he were the host rather than the visitor, he waved one inviting hand at the stone bench beside them, and the professor sat, a little too quickly for grace. “The vampire hunters explained your family history, perhaps? Told you that your ancestress Tsigana once killed me?”
The old man shrugged. “There was no need. I am aware of my own heritage. Although it was interesting to learn that you had been awakened. I didn’t expect a dying old man to interest you—not until the others came.”
Saloman stirred, closing the distance between them and sinking down onto the bench with his body turned toward the old man. “The others? Other vampires have been here?”
It was the old man’s turn to smile, a weak but surprisingly charming gesture. “Not here. I’ve always known how to protect myself from your kind, so although I see them in the town from time to time, they are not aware of me or my descent.” He gazed into the distance, and then, as if rediscovering his thread, back to Saloman. “No, I meant Dante, the American. He wanted the sword.”
