Everafter Series 1 - Everafter

Table of Contents

• Synopsis
  
• By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Dedication
  
• valentine
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• alexa
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Epilogue
  
• About the Authors
  
• Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
  

Synopsis

How far would you go to save your lover’s soul?

When medical student Valentine Darrow is bitten by a Vampire on her way home to propose to her lover, Alexa Newland, her life becomes a nightmare. She is consumed—both by a craving for human blood, and by an obsession to find her attacker and bring him to justice. Alexa is determined to be everything that Valentine needs, but when Val's appetite outstrips Alexa's ability to nourish her, Alexa risks her life to save her lover.

Will Valentine be able to control her thirst—for blood and for vengeance? And can Valentine and Alexa's relationship endure against seemingly impossible odds?

everafter

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everafter

© 2009 By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-412-6

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition, October 2009

This 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 persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam

everafter
nevermore

By Nell Stark

Running with the Wind
Homecoming

Acknowledgments

The act of writing may be solitary, but every piece of writing is a collaboration. We are indebted to Radclyffe for sowing the seed of this idea years ago and for giving us the opportunity to publish this book. We’d like to thank all of the good people at Bold Stokes Books— Connie, Lori, Lee, Jennifer, Paula, Sheri, and others—for helping to put out and market quality product year after year. Cindy Cresap’s editorial expertise was instrumental in improving this project from a promising draft to a polished narrative, and Stacia Seaman’s careful fine-tuning of the manuscript is very much appreciated.

Dedication

For the ones who kept stitching each of us back together, when everything seemed to be falling apart.

You know who you are.

valentine

Chapter One

It was a perfect evening for romance. The early October air was refreshingly crisp after a warm afternoon, and wisps of cirrus clouds the color of cotton candy wafted slowly westward before a gentle breeze. Even the omnipresent car horns sounded musical, somehow. I slipped my right hand into my pocket and rested my fingertips on the surface of the suede box nestled inside. It felt soft and warm, like a living thing. I had to work at keeping my lips from curving up. It might be safe to walk around Midtown Manhattan sporting a full-blown grin these days, but the Lower East Side was still a different story.

Even so, how was I supposed to stay staid and serious when tonight was the night—the night when I would propose to the love of my life? The smile broke free after all as I thought of her. Alexa. Quick-witted, silver-tongued, tempestuous Alexa—graceful as a dancer, with hair the color of smoldering ashes. My love. She was probably just leaving her Torts class now. I liked to imagine Alexa in class—sitting in the second row, focused intently on the professor, occasionally raising her hand to ask a question or volunteer an answer. But right this moment, she would be walking quickly down the steps of NYU’s law school, hurrying toward the bus stop in her eagerness to get home for dinner.

I always cooked on Tuesdays. While Alexa was slammed with back-to-back classes, I only had Anatomy in the morning, leaving me ample time for both studying and playing chef. I enjoyed cooking and liked to experiment. But even on Tuesdays, I didn’t usually go so far as to make my own fettuccini and vodka sauce from scratch. And I certainly didn’t make a habit of running out to the liquor store with the intent to buy an expensive bottle of champagne. Tonight was no normal Tuesday. Tonight was going to be one of the best nights of my life.

I turned right on Avenue D and walked for a few blocks, past the projects on my left and a variety of small, ramshackle stores on my right. Alexa would be on the bus by now. The bus ran right past the Niagra, where I had bartended last year. Where we had first met, almost ten months ago. I could remember that night so clearly, still: something—a change in the air, an electricity—had prompted me to look up when she entered at the front of a group of already-intoxicated women. She was wearing deep red leather pants that precisely matched the color of the cloud of hair framing her face. Tiny sequins in her silver tank top shimmered slightly as she moved toward the bar. Toward me. I remember her gaze dropping first to my name tag and then lower, an unseen hand caressing the swell of my breasts before moving back up, ghosting over the hard muscles in my upper arms and finally coming to rest on my face. She flushed, but her voice was steady.

“Valentine,” she said, holding out a credit card. Her nails were that same shade of deep burgundy. “Seven lemon drops, please. And one Coke.”

My fingertips slid over hers as I took the plastic. It was an unconscious move—she was irresistible. With an effort, I turned my back to run the card, taking careful note of the name beneath the VISA logo. Alexa Newland. “Would you like me to keep it open?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Yes, please.”

I poured the Coke first, before getting to work on the seven shots. When I glanced back at her face, our eyes met. Hers caught the light like finely cut emeralds. Suddenly, it was hard to catch my breath. I remember shaking my head slightly, nonplussed at the force of my attraction. Beautiful women came into this bar all the time, and I flirted with them adeptly. Sometimes I took them home once my shift was over. None of them had ever made me feel like this—dizzy and winded after the briefest of exchanges. Fighting the vertigo, I broke eye contact. That’s when I noticed that she was sipping on the soda.

“I don’t trust a woman who doesn’t drink.”

Her thin eyebrows lifted at my challenge. “Why is that?”

I answered while expertly coating the rim of each shot glass with sugar. “Not indulging in a simple vice implies that you’re saving yourself for something much more extravagant.”

Alexa laughed. It was a beautiful sound, clear and ringing. “It’s obvious that you don’t know me.”

I poured the shots, filling each precisely to the rim. “I’d like that to change. Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.” In my three months of work at the Niagra, no one had ever turned me down. But when I returned my attention to Alexa’s face, she shook her head.

“You’re very smooth. But no, thank you.”

The rejection twisted in my gut, but I managed to pull off a nonchalant shrug in the process of arranging the glasses on a small tray. “All right.” I smiled at her as she took the drinks. “Enjoy your night.”

I remember enjoying the slight crease that appeared across the bridge of her nose at my apparent lack of disappointment. I could tell what she was thinking: that I was the consummate player, fickle and hotheaded. But she had judged too quickly, failing to bank on my capacity for patience. There was no reason to push right now. I had her name. This wasn’t over.

I smiled again at the memory of how Alexa had put that patience to the test, making me pursue her for almost two weeks before finally agreeing to a date. Two weeks of waking early each morning to wait for her in the hall outside of her first class. I came bearing a venti cappuccino the first day, and learned that she had given up coffee in college. Every day thereafter, I brought chai lattes. She was reticent, but I was persistent. And now, I was about to ask her to make an honest woman of me.

Would she say yes? I wasn’t certain. Technically, I was rushing into things—we hadn’t even celebrated our first anniversary yet. I wasn’t opposed to a long engagement, if that was her preference—years, if necessary. I just needed her to know that I meant it whenever I said “forever.” And I wanted her to be mine—not my girlfriend, but my fiancée. I wanted my ring on her finger.

I was so deep in thought that I almost passed the liquor store that was my destination. A tall, burly guy wearing a leather jacket and knit cap loitered a few feet away, smoking the last inch of a cigarette. I shouldered open the door and walked in quickly, hoping that his smoke wouldn’t cling to my hair or clothes. Normally, I would take pleasure in browsing the selection, but this time, I headed straight for the portly, balding man hunched on a stool behind the cash register. He looked up tiredly at my approach. His name tag dubbed him Stan, and the manager.

“So,” I said, extracting my beat-up leather wallet from the back pocket of my jeans and withdrawing every last bill inside it. I tossed them down onto the grimy counter top. “I just cleaned out my checking account, and I have…eighty-seven dollars. Oh!” I jammed one hand into my left jeans pocket to fish up some change. The coins clinked against the glass. “And forty-nine cents.”

“Good for you?” Stan offered. He was looking at me warily.