Dark Hunger
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Rita Herron
Excerpt from
Forbidden Passion
copyright © 2009 by Rita Herron All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: August 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-55200-4
Contents
“I’m here, Annabelle. It’s all right.”
Praise for Rita Herron and her previous book in this series, Insatiable Desire
“I’m here, Annabelle. It’s all right.”
Quinton touched her tattoo again, then soothed her with soft whispers.
She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him, and he heard her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud.
She wanted him. A man who could kill coolly without blinking an eye, without an ounce of remorse, but a man who’d saved her life more than once now.
A man who made her feel more alive, more aroused, than she’d ever thought possible.
A threat to her—yes.
Would she have him?
She had to.
Quinton’s gaze locked onto hers, his hunger evident in the deep blackness of his eyes. Sensations rippled through her in erotic waves.
“You’re shivering,” he mumbled in a fierce tone.
“Because I want you.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re in shock. Let’s dry you off and put you to bed. I’m not a good guy. But I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
She licked her lips, desperate, her body crying out for him. “Why in the hell would you start doing the right thing now?”
Praise for Rita Herron and her
previous book in this series,
“Experienced romance suspense author Herron… kicks off her new series with a bang.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Rita Herron never fails to deliver a compelling story with memorable characters… Every scene is filled with emotion.”
“Deep, dark, and tragic,
Insatiable Desire
will pull you in from the first page… Out of all the demon romances I’ve read recently,
Insatiable Desire
is the most plausible and most enjoyable… Herron writes a spooky and formidable romance—few do it better. I recommend reading it—and I’ll definitely pick up future works from this gifted author.”
“Herron is a good writer who pulled me right in. I had to keep reading.”
“An exciting dark horror thriller filled with characters who personify good and evil… exhilarating.”
—
Midwest Book Review
“Herron casts a sinister dark cloud on the demon paranormal and it’s a delightful treat. With excellent dialogue and scene spinning, this book is a home run.”
“A twisted paranormal story that features some incredibly hot romance.”
“4½ Stars! With the gritty feel of a mystery and the elements of a paranormal romance,
Insatiable Desire
is a surprisingly unique start to a new trilogy, and I can’t wait for the next installment!”
—
TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“A good foray into the paranormal realm.”
Also by Rita Herron
Insatiable Desire
To DragonCon fans for welcoming a new series!
Hope you like book two in The Demonborn!
Thanks once again to my wonderful editor, Michele Bidelspach, for her great insight and for making this book stronger; to the art department at Grand Central Publishing for a fabulous cover; to my critique partners Stephanie Bond and Jennifer St. Giles for all their support and input; to my sister for her never-ending faith and encouragement; to my husband, who loves me even when I scare him with my thoughts; and to Raven Hart for the vultures!
AVANNAH
, G
EORGIA
: A
LL
H
ALLOWS
’ E
VE
Quinton Valtrez was a killer.
A loner. A man without a conscience. A man who roamed the world as a ghostly gun for hire.
He needed no one. Wanted no one to need him.
But it was All Hallows’ Eve, and dammit, he was going to get laid.
Still, the Glock inside his jacket rubbed against his chest, taunting him with the fact that he could never relax. That evil never died.
That it was his mission to stop it at all costs. Even if he didn’t survive.
And All Hallows’ Eve was the time when the veil between the world and the underworld was thinnest, when the spirit world could mingle with the humans and the ghosts of the dead came to life.
A buxom redhead in a pussycat costume smiled at him across the crowded Savannah street, and he put thoughts of the evildoers on hold as she glided toward him.
Even assassins deserved the night off.
“Hey, sexy,” she purred. “Where’s your costume?”
He cut her a sideways smile, letting his gaze dip to her ample cleavage. “I am in costume. I’m going as a nice guy.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Want to head over to the party boat?”
“Sure.” Despite the lust burning through his body, his heightened senses kicked in as he followed her through the dark, ghostlike alleys along River Street toward the lit-up ship.
The odors of refuse from the late-night partygoers—stale beer, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume—permeated the air, along with the pungent aromas of fried fish, shrimp, and oysters floating from the pubs.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he paused and scanned the crowd, searching for the source of his unease. Kids, teenagers, and adults swarmed the streets in costumes portraying both colorful cartoon characters and the dark and macabre—everything from witches, zombies, pirates, werecreatures, birds of prey, and goblins to demons.
Twinkling orange lights, jack-o’-lanterns carved with scary faces, skeletons, ghosts, spiderwebs, and cardboard tombstones decorated the storefronts, while the sounds of spooky music, ghostly clanging, hooting owls, and moaning zombies added to the atmosphere.
Calling upon his chi, he focused on thumbing through the thoughts of various bystanders, searching for the evil one among them.
It was as natural as breathing, using his gift. He’d honed it when he’d lived with the monks. They’d taught him to access his inner being, drawing on nature and spirituality to strengthen his power. He’d expanded that power to a sharp tool in the military, searching and destroying the enemy on clandestine operations no one would ever admit existed.
His heart picked up its pace in recognition; he could feel the enemy, sense his presence. But an otherworldly sensation inundated the darkness of the enemy’s soul.
Was this the demon the monks had warned him about?
Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on a stooped old man in a ratty green corduroy coat, his wire-rimmed glasses held together with duct tape. A terrible screeching sound suddenly reverberated from the dark skies.
He glanced up, sweat beading his brow as he spotted a vulture soaring above—not a new-world vulture but an old-world one, black with strong feet and a craving for carrion. And like the raven, this creature’s bloodlust was for not only animal flesh but human meat as well.
Just like his own bloodlust.
A feeling of impending doom engulfed him as he connected with the vulture. The black bird was hovering above, ready to swoop down and gather the dead meat of an animal in its sharp talons and bury its bald head inside the carcass and feast on the remains.
Part vulture—part raven? Where had this creature come from?
He glanced through the crowd again, noticing a strange acidic odor emanating from the old homeless man in the green coat. Quinton pressed a finger to his temple, his head throbbing as he struggled to tap into the man’s thoughts. His frail body trembled in the stiff wind, his mind a blank slate as if it had been wiped clean, all thoughts erased.
The old man’s skin held a dull gray-black pallor, as if he’d already met death; his eyes were glassy and vacant, dazed, a shell of a human.
The redhead tugged at his elbow. “Aren’t you coming, sugar?”
But a different woman’s scent assaulted him. Delicious. Sultry. Enticing. “Go ahead, honey. I’ll catch up,” he murmured.
She raked her sharp nails down his arm. “All right, but don’t make me wait long. I promise I’ll destroy that nice-guy image of yours.”
He chuckled. As if he’d ever had one.
She pranced toward the ship, and the enticing scent of the other woman quickly obliterated the redhead’s cheap, flowery perfume.
Then his gaze fell upon the source.
Shiny, straight long blonde hair cascaded over slender shoulders. Intrigued, he forced his mind to drown out the sounds of the night. The party whistles and noisemakers prepared to ring in the celebration of the supernatural with witchcraft, séances, and pagan rituals that transcended time and worlds.
