My apologies if the handwriting in this letter is downright illegible. Kinda hard to write when your arm is cuffed to a bedpost more hours out of the day than not. And although this mansion has about as many rooms as the White House, apparently finding a pen for Anna was like asking her to seek out the Holy Grail. So please disregard the ink fading in and out. She just so happened to locate a Bic that looks like it was manufactured in the early part of the century. Perhaps demons more commonly sign paperwork in blood?
Where do I begin?
The moment I saw you, I knew you were the T-bone to my hunger. That I’m-gonna-reach-right-through-your-chest-cavity-and-rip-out-your-heart look in your eyes was all it took to fall hopelessly into the bone yard of Lycan Cassanovas before me.
Your long, brown hair, the way it tumbles around your face, has a way of making a man overlook the fact that you could end his womanizing days with one swift kick to the nuts. The weapons arsenal at your hip tells me you’re the kind of girl who likes to have fun and live a little—even if someone else has to die a little in the process. And how can I possibly ignore the no-bullshit sway of your hips as you wield your shiny, leather-clad ass in my face like a cock-tease on a mission.
So this Valentine’s Day, what do you say we lay our differences to rest? I’d really like to take you out for a nice steak dinner and show you that just because a man occasionally sprouts fur and howls at the moon, doesn’t mean he can’t show a wild cat like yourself a good time.
Think about it?
Your Prisoner of Love,
[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’]https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-jFkf5X54SOo/UPr0lqcyhOI/AAAAAAAAGFw/osS7zfjXaH4/s276/KeriLake+Author+Pic.jpg[/author_image] [author_info]Keri Lake is a married mother of two living in Michigan. She writes paranormal romance, urban fantasy and loves a good, tragic love story. Though novels tend to be her focus, she also writes short stories and flash fiction whenever distraction manages to suck her in to the Land of Shiny Things.When she isn’t toiling away on plots and protagonists, she enjoys reading, music and travel. If she could create mystical powers for herself, she’d have the ability to flash to anywhere in the world. And if she could flash to anywhere in the world at this very moment, she’d be staring at the ocean from her adirondack chair on the shores of North Carolina.
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Passion is blind in vengeance and love…
Ayden’s suburban home was invaded by a pack of Lycans.
The brutal attack is the only memory she carries of her former life.
Now, one motive burns in her soul:
KILL THEM ALL.
The Sons of Wrath—a brood of vengeance-dealing warrior demons—band with Ayden to hunt the Lycans on Detroit’s most deadly feeding grounds.
Kane Walker should’ve been her easiest kill.
Unfortunately, the newly bitten Lycan has something she wants—clues that may finally lay her past to rest. To reach them, she must be willing to submit to the sensual pleasures awakened by his touch.
Time is running out.
In seven days, Kane will become what Ayden despises most. She can halt his transformation but the antidote requires the ultimate sacrifice. As the beast takes hold, Kane becomes more of a threat.
Ayden must choose between her lust for revenge, or surrender to her enemy and discover a horrible truth.
The frigid sensation sliced through Ayden’s veins, leaving a numb trail in its wake as she stepped through the remains of the abandoned factory—one of many havens for the crack addicts and prostitutes. The old Packard Plant had become no more than a ghostly haunt for tormented souls.
Shitholes were cropping up everywhere, much more rapidly than ever before. Detroit, once a thriving city, brought to ruins. Gray and lifeless like the suffocating overcast that loomed during daylight.
A vile stench assaulted her nose, a potent blend of piss, sex and rotted meat, as garbage crunched beneath her boots. Foundation had collapsed all around where she stood, crumbled as if the building would fold into the depths of hell.
The graffiti spattering the walls gave the impression that gangs were the real threat—‘We don’t die, we multiply.’
Right. Like gangs own any part of this city, anymore.
A Beretta, loaded with silver bullets and a silver parrying dagger rested at one of Ayden’s hips, a silver bullwhip at another, as she moved past comatose bodies and decaying corpses.
Feeding grounds, like a bait pile.
Deadened eyes slowly tracked her movement in the darkness, squinting, as though craving the light that hers didn’t need to see. Humans so strung out on drugs, they failed to recognize the half-eaten carrion were once their own kind.
Not that knowing would stop them. They’d apparently chosen to face danger rather than kick their addiction, roaming the streets every night in search of their next high. Lambs.
They were already dead. Death just hadn’t come to collect yet.
The blissful sigh of a hopped-up junkie reached her ears. She snarled her lip. “Enjoy it while it lasts, asshole.”
It’d be one thing if they were homeless. Hell, she might’ve fired a warning shot to evacuate.
The homeless didn’t come here, though.
Neither did the police—making it the perfect spot to get wasted and hustle some money.
Shots fired would’ve been nothing more than a momentary distraction before their minds slipped back into their ignorant state of euphoria.
For any other girl, the place promised very bad things—an opportunity for a sadist to live out wild fantasies without ever getting caught.
For Ayden? Humans posed no threat. Their fragile bodies would shred like paper dolls against the work of her hands. Luckily for them, she sought something else to sate her thirst for bloodshed, something far more threatening than their most psychopathic criminal—and she’d tracked it right to the surrounding cornucopia of human flesh.
A thin, black mesh hoodie beneath her jacket concealed her face while the shiny black leather covering her body acted as a beacon in the moon’s light.
It didn’t matter.
Contrary to the fairytales and movies, they didn’t need a full moon to change.
Werewolves, some called them—like a supernatural Bigfoot on the loose. Nothing more than fodder for the tabloids, not to be taken seriously.
Lycans is how those ‘in the know’ referred to them.
The bastards could transform at will. In the middle of the day, if they wanted. Though, like a true predator, they’d evolved throughout the centuries, eluding humans by hunting them at night, catching their prey in their most vulnerable state.
Ayden reached a door in a darkened corner. The stubborn panel held stiff against the push of her palm, giving way only beneath one heave backed by exceptional strength. Beyond, a spiral of stairs wound above and below. Visuals flashed through her mind as she imagined the stairwell bustling with men in suits who passed each other with carefree visages—every one of them ghosts that roamed the destruction.
A quick scan showed no movement.
She tipped her head back and inhaled the repugnant scent the beasts had left behind.
Her feet took light steps, hardly making a sound against the concrete as she descended further into the pit of hell otherwise known as the lycan’s lair.
With each step, she wished her heart would pound wildly in her chest, or that her pulse rate would surge—both human reactions to fear. Neither of them did.
What fragments of her human soul remained had been stripped bare the night the Alexi made her one of their own. Even that, as tortuous as the unrelenting pain that seared through her body while it underwent its transformation, was a memory she could hardly summon anymore. Only a silent blackness dwelled in the place where snapshots of her life would have roamed free, a void that she couldn’t see beyond, separating her present from past.
She’d become one of them: an Alexi soldier. A cold and remorseless killer designed to eradicate in one sweep.
A noise piqued her sensitive ears.
Two flights below.
It could’ve been the skittering feet of a mouse beating against her skull like a base drum.The thirst for blood moved like a dark storm cloud through her veins, a mix of raw adrenaline and something else—the something that came with her transformation.
Her feet moved on impulse, carrying her closer to whatever it was, rendering it nothing more than a thread-width away from its death.
In the corner of a landing, he sat hunched over on himself, body convulsing.
A grin skated across her face as she approached her first kill of the night.
Thanks so much for hosting a tour stop Carmel! Happy Valentine’s Day!
My pleasure! Happy V-day to you too! 🙂
Happy Valentines Day everyone. Liked the love letter. Loved the excerpt. This is a new author for me and definately adding this to my must try/buy list. Thanks for the giveaway.
Happy Valentine’s Day to you Carmel and Keri. Good luck with your book Keri. I am sure it’s going to be a great hit.
koonie2888 at yahoo dot com
Aww thanks so much Michelle <3 Happy Valentine's Day to you!
If Ayden doesn’t take Kane up on his offer I will! Happy Valentine’s Day <3
I love PNR/UF and follow several of the older ongoing series but it’s been quite a while since I have been this excited about a new upcoming series. I have been stalking the SOUL AVENGED tour and becoming more and more feverishly intrigued by your characters and the darkly tantalizing and steamy world of your series. It all just sounds so fresh and uniquely imaginative. Can’t wait to get started!!!