Octavia's War
The next book in the Destiny’s Trinities series
Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey
Octavia’s War
This is not Octavia’s war.
In the deserts of northern Mexico, Octavia has been fighting her own sneaky war against the cartels, while ignoring her growing feelings for
Ángel,
the son of the cartel’s leader.
Ángel
Garcia hates with a passion his family and the family business. Until he can find a way out of the life he hides how he feels about anything or anyone.
When Bear Dawson, an American businessman, is executed by
Ángel’s
crazy brother,
Ángel
and Octavia are forced to run for their lives into the desert, where they are found by a man called Remmy, who has lived for two hundred years. Remmy tells them of the Grimoré who make Octavia’s war seem puny.
The bonding has begun….
This is the sixth book in Tracy Cooper-Posey’s explosive urban fantasy series that reviewers have called s
exy, dramatic and dangerous. Grab your copy today!
Warning: This short MMF vampire romance features two super-hot alpha heroes, multiple sex scenes, including anal sex, MM sexual play, and MMF sex. Do not read this book if frank sexual language and sex scenes offend you.
No non-humans were harmed except for large numbers of Grimoré, who died with satisfactory squeals…
This book is part of the Destiny’s Trinities series:
Book 1.0: Beth’s Acceptance
Book 2.0: Mia’s Return
Book 3.0: Sera’s Gift
Book 3.5: The First Trinity – Novellas 1-3
Book 4.0: Cora’s Secret
Book 5.0: Zoe’s Blockade
Book 6.0: Octavia’s War
Book 6.5: The Second Trinity – Novellas 4-6
Book 7.0: Terra's Victory
A Vampire Ménage Urban Fantasy Romance
Octavia’s War
All Romance eBooks Bestseller
The power of the trinity is extraordinary.
If you haven't read a book in this genre before, get this one. It's THAT good!
The descriptions of the smells, the scenes, and the vampeen and Grimoré make you feel you are right there.
It isn’t often the sixth in a series captures you as intensely as the first. A strong cast of characters blending into the Trinities storyline makes for that rare happening. No damsels in distress to be found here. This heroine doesn’t need to be saved.
This story was whoa…TOTALLY AWESOME!!!
I find this trinity to be the most exciting and interesting of all.
If you haven't read the series, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
With each addition to this series you fall more and more invested and almost in love with your favorite “trinity”. Cooper-Posey has such a amazing mind to be able to create and maintain each and every character.
The stink was bad. Octavia had smelled that distinctive coppery, ionized stench before and recognized it. Her heart fluttered and something rolled over in her stomach in protest. She was still twenty feet away from the door of the house. There was a gentle breeze lifting the ends of her hair and whispering around the corners of the houses nearby. Those houses were quiet and dark. It was very late and the good citizens of Manuel Benavides were tucked up in bed, very carefully minding their own business.
The night was otherwise still and silent.
Too
still. Too silent.
If she could detect the smell of blood from here, then it must be very bad inside.
Despite making everyone believe she was just a wandering girl from
León
, Octavia bent and pulled out the knife she kept in her boot and gripped it hard. She would risk being caught with a knife. Right now her instincts were screaming at her.
Swallowing hard against the mild nausea the smell was causing, she walked up to the door of the house and pushed on it. Not surprisingly, it opened. There was no guard, either. Another bad sign. Garcia always posted guards around any safehouses he was visiting.
For a distracted moment, she hoped that Garcia himself was one of the people inside, giving off that aroma. Although she wanted to kill him herself, she would be just as happy if someone else had seen to it.
There was a trail of blood right up to the front door, blending in with the terracotta tiles and staining the white grout between the tiles a dark crimson.
Octavia stepped over it, her heart accelerating. She examined the blood and listened. The house was as still and silent as the night beyond the door, only there was no breeze in here to dispel the odor. This was a charnel house.
Moving silently, Octavia went into the front room.
It was hard to tell how many bodies there were. That was because there were no
whole
bodies. There were parts.
She swallowed against the foul taste rising in her mouth and made herself study the blood-splattered room carefully. She had always known that Severo was unbalanced. He got pleasure out of carving people up with his machete. This carnage, though, put him into a different league.
It actually looked like…. Octavia leaned forward to examine the chest of the man nearest her. It looked as though his chest and belly had been ripped out and his insides yanked out by the handful.
Octavia swallowed again and looked away. She tried to get her sluggish mind to work. Survival depended on her figuring out what had happened here. The most critical question was
why
. Severo was clearly a lunatic, only why would he turn on his own family, his own extended brotherhood, in this way? It didn’t make sense.
Although, not much had made sense to Octavia for the last three days. Not since the gun that had been pointing at Bear had fired.
She clamped down on the thought and reconsidered the room.
It wouldn’t do to be caught here. There was no way to explain her presence. Why would Severo’s sometimes-companion and unacknowledged mistress be strolling through the remains of one of his execution sessions?
There was a whisper of sound. She might not have heard it normally. Every sense she had was racked up to the highest setting.
She whirled, bringing up the knife.
A big hand clamped over her mouth, holding in the scream that had emerged.
Black eyes, deep olive skin, shaved head, square chin and high cheeks dark with growth.
Ángel Garcia.
His brows were pulled together, as if he was thinking hard.
Octavia tried to talk and he lifted a finger up in warning and brought it to his lips.
He gripped her arm. She hadn’t realized how strong he was. There was no way she could tear her arm out of his hand. It was an iron manacle, holding her where she was standing.
“Silence,” he whispered in Spanish. “I don’t know who else is watching this place.”
There was no one watching this house that Octavia would consider an ally. Not anymore. Ángel’s father had seen to that.
She tried to wrench her face out of his hand. His grip tightened.
“If I let you go, you’ll scream or yell at me,” he said patiently.
She brought the knife up. The threat of a blade would move him.
He let go of her arm and with a move faster than she could follow, wrenched the knife out of her hand. He pushed it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll give that back to you later, when you’re calmer. Now, if I let go of you, will you stay silent?”
Octavia nodded. It made sense to keep silent, to not draw the attention of the town upon this scene of horror.
Ángel removed his hand from her face.
She rammed her fist into his stomach, without telegraphing the move. It caught him off guard, with little chance to tighten the muscles and her knuckles drove in to a satisfying depth.
Ángel gave a soft coughing sound. He didn’t bend forward as she was hoping he might, which would give her the opportunity to slam her fist upward in an uppercut that would maybe break his nose.
The grip he had on her arm tightened. “Come on. Out to the back door. Fresh air will do you good.” He didn’t sound as though her belly punch had affected him much at all.
He tugged on her arm again, making her step over the blood trail. The bloody passage ran through the middle of the house, from the front to the back door. The back door stood ajar. That was the door Ángel had used to access the house.
He pushed the door fully open and stepped aside, letting her go first. She didn’t fool herself he was being polite. He didn’t want her behind his back.
She moved outside into the fresh night. The air was cooler, bathing her face. She took deep breaths, appreciating it.
There was a small flagstone patio out here, with an old metal table and wire chairs that had once been white and were now yellow with rust and dusty. The cushions that would have once made them pleasant to sit in were long gone. The spiky leaves of Aloe Vera edged the patio.
Beyond the cactus, there was nothing but rocky hillside, sloping gently up toward the bluffs behind the town. This safe house was on the very edges of
Manuel Benavides
for a reason. It allowed anyone to come and go without detection.
Just as Severo had done.
Ángel pulled her over to the darkest corner where a stunted olive tree provided shadows. It also took them out of sight of the back door.
“Stop pulling me around,” she complained, keeping her voice down. Now they were away from the carnage, she could think properly. Questions rose. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I thought you were in Chihuahua with your father?”
“Funny, that’s where I thought you were. With my brother.” Ángel kept his voice down, too. He pointed back toward the house. “You know who those men were, don’t you?”
“Your father’s men.” She shrugged.
Ángel shook his head. “They were the ones who let Bear Dawson slip past and gain access to the compound in Chihuahua.”
“Enrico had them killed for screwing up?”
Ángel tilted his head to look at her. “You’re not upset.”
“Of course I’m fucking upset!”
He shook his head. “Angry, maybe. The average mistress would have had hysterics, looking at that mess in there.” His thumb jerked back toward the house again. “Instead, you start asking who is responsible.”
“You don’t think I was involved in this, do you?” Her heart started hurting.
Ángel crossed his arms, the muscles in the forearms rippling at the movement. “I was supposed to be here, tonight,” he said, his voice low. “I was late.”
Octavia stared at him. “You were part of this?” she asked, genuinely shocked. “I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with the family business, Ángel.”
“I don’t,” he said flatly. “More than ever now. I was led to believe it was a card game.”
“By who?” she asked curiously.
His eyes narrowed. “Does it matter?”
Octavia considered. “I guess it doesn’t. You were lured here. You were late. This happened before you got here.” She shivered. “Jesus wept, Ángel. Your father would be the only one who could arrange something like this….”
Ángel nodded. She saw his chest rise and fall. “I guess I finally pushed over his limits.”
“Because of the Bear thing?” Octavia had trouble saying it without giving herself away.
Bear Dawson had been a US businessman living in Chihuahua…or at least, that was what everyone in Enrico Garcia’s family had thought, until Dawson had been caught
inside
the family compound, at the very doors of the factory itself.
Garcia had ordered Bear’s beating and interrogation. For three days Bear had said nothing. Not even when Severo got out his machete and started working on him had he said a word.
Then information had come back from contacts in the States. Dawson was Federal. He was DEA.
