Then an extraordinary thing happens. When it is my turn I float up the steps and onto the temporary stage as they put on Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.
It’s from before.
The notes breathe through the auditorium, making the fine hairs of my neck stand at attention. The music robs me of thought, forcing my body to execute moves I forgot I knew. My arms sweep, and I pirouette, spinning and snapping my head to find my corner. The soreness from earlier melts away as my body heats with familiarity. As I whip my leg up, my foot is parallel to my head for a fraction of time and then I land softly, only to immediately rise to the balls of my feet as I approach the judges with their riveted stares. The length of the song and its sad ending beg my limbs to undulate in a perfectly timed flutter of classic swan arms. I draw nearer still while keeping my elbows level as my arms float in a wavelike pattern and the balls of my feet propel me forward just as the final piano notes fall.
Then once more their sorrowful notes swell and fill the auditorium in melancholy triumph.
I stop, dipping into a graceful plié, and assume first position.
My hands are cupped slightly and I tilt my head, looking off to the right of my position.
The utter lack of noise causes me to look at the judges as I relax my shoulders and my hands drop gracefully to my sides.
They have stood and every eye is on me. Including the gray gaze of a certain hunk named Mitch.
When the applause breaks out I don’t know whether to cry or run.
In the end, I stay.
My eyes scan the crowd and notice the one person who does not clap.
A man leans against the back of the cavernous gym auditorium, his black eyes seeming to attack me, and I take an involuntary step backward from the burning intensity of his gaze.
Carlie interrupts the moment, throwing herself at me.
“I knew you could,” she whispers, strangling me in an epic hug that cuts off my airway.
I gently push her away and look for that disconcerting male presence. Hostile.
But he is gone.
Just like he was never there.
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VAMPIRE: ALPHA CLAIM 1
Copyright © 2014 Marata Eros
Kindle Edition
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.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
Chapter 1
Narah
My legs are kicked up on the desk, the toes of my left combat boot stacked on the heel of my right. I lean my feet a couple of inches to the left and look at my boss.
Kinda wish I hadn't.
The tongue-lashing was going to be brutal, and not the fun kind. I just barely hold back a snort of self-serving comedy.
“Narah,” Casper leans into the desk, edging a butt cheek on the only part not covered by my assortment of shit. My eyebrow cocks. Perturbed doesn't cover it. If I wanted a butt on my desk, I'd ask.
“What?” I bark with anticipation.
A vein in Casper's forehead throbs and I dial it back some. No need to bring the guy to heart failure.
“What?” I repeat more good-naturedly, though both of us know I'm nothing of the sort.
He sighs, scrubbing a palm over his face. Hair almost as white as swan feathers glows under the LED lighting in my tiny office, and his glacial eyes tighten, fighting for a view of my face over the top of my boot.
I jack my feet down and stuff them underneath my desk. My fingers itch to go to my smart phone. Anything to not commit to this conversation.
“You know we appreciate your skill set.”
Blah, blah, stinking-blah.
“But we can't have you pulling firearms on all your bounties.”
My bottom lip pops out in a pout. “It was a very small gun, Casper.” I put my index and thumb almost touching.
“Using manstopper ammunition?”
He might have a small point.
“Outlawed in 1898,” Casper adds.
I shrug a bare shoulder, my tank top skin tight against my small frame. I find loose clothes are handles to make a bludgeon against me easier. I nail the targets but if there's nothing for them to grab onto, so much the better.
“I like antique weaponry and ammunition,” I say with deliberate nonchalance.
“Really?” Casper says and I wince at the sound of his voice. “Let's run down the list of target fatalities.”
Hmmm.
“Target 103, lethal stabbing.”
I lean back in my chair and cock my neck back, staring at the dingy ceiling. A water stain has spread out from the center in a pattern of copper lines that somehow resemble a flower opening.
It's sort of like watching clouds outside, but inside.
“Narah!”
I sigh, answering the ceiling. “Yeah.”
Yeah, that'd been messy.
“Again, I was in fear for my life,” I say, not sounding defensive.
At. All.
“Thirteen times?” Casper asks softly.
My chin snaps down and I meet his eyes. Mine are big and golden hazel like a cat's, and that's why I hide them behind my aviator shades. The sun hurts like hell. I've always been sensitive to sunlight.
I shrug. It'll get me nowhere to fight with Casper.
Who has the nickname in the office of, The Ghost. No one says it to his face though. I fight a snicker.
“We are the last profession for use of lethal force, you know. It's not goddamned 2015, when everyone thought all physical force was necessary in some capacity.”
I'm in the wrong era, I muse with regret.
“We are the last stand against the criminals of our time. When the police can't nail them, then it's up to us. But Narah,” Casper scrubs his head, his crewcut bristling from the contact, “we can't have you killing all the targets. They must be brought to justice.”
And of course, if I kill a target, Casper doesn't get credits. That's what this is really about. I bring in the most targets in our office. I get results and he gets credits for my hard work.
We stare at each other. I won't break and Casper knows it. “You're the finest bounty hunter we have. Your instincts are uncanny, and you never let being a woman get in your way...”
I lunge to my feet and Casper jerks to his, eyeing me warily.
Good, my desk is finally free of his ass.
“Nothing about me being a woman comes into play here.”
Casper shoots out an exhale like a cannon. “Everything about it matters. You're smaller, you're vulnerable to things a man could never be.”
Rape is the clear inference.
“You think a man can't be raped?” I bark out a laugh. “You think that my looks don't disarm. They do, Cas.” My eyes laser down on him and his shift away. “You know I'm a proficient, Level Ten.”
“Nothing to sneeze at,” he concedes and opens his mouth to add more, perhaps dig his grave a little deeper.
I raise my palm. Nothing to sneeze at. I can feel a royal conniption fit brewing. “No. If I've killed while gunning for a target,” Casper frowns at my wording which causes me to grin, “then they needed dying. Period.”
Casper walks to my office door. “I'm sorry, Narah, I've done what I could, but the law states that there can't be more than ten sanctions in one quarter. You have thirteen. I got the bonus three waived.” He whips his palm in the air like he's performing a magic trick. “Now you'll have to go before the magistrate.”
Fuck. They'd plug me a se
cond ass after a first class reaming. If—if I could even bounty again.
I jerk my leather jacket off the back of my chair and sling it on. A bright headache, a new friend of mine of late, settles into my temples with zeal. I press my fingers against my head.
I hate not having a target. The chase is the one thing that makes my life worth living. No longer an outcast—always in the game.
Now the rules are being threatened.
And all I want to do is play.
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Acknowledgments
I began The Druid Series with the encouragement of my husband and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue.
There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support. But know this: TDS novellas continued past HARVEST only because of you.
I truly feel connected to my readers. It is obvious to me, but I'll say the words anyway for clarity: a written work is just words on pages if they are not read by my readers. As I write this I get a lump in my throat; your enjoyment of my work affects me that deeply.
You guys are the greatest, each and every one of ya~
Marata xo
Special Thanks:
You, my reader.
My husband, who is my biggest supporter.
Cameren, without whom, there would be no books.
Beth
Crystal
Dii
Lori
Shana
More Books by Marata Eros:
The DRUID Series:
Reapers
Bled
Harvest
Sow
Seed
Plow
Thresher
Exotic
The Druid Breeders
Baird
The SIREN Series:
Ember
Constantine
Brandon
The DEMON Series:
Brolach
The TOKEN Serial:
The Token
The Token 2
The Token 3
The Token 4
The Token 5
The Token 6
The Token 7: Thorn
The Token 8: Kiki
The Token 9: Chet Sinclair
Dark Romantic Suspense:
A Terrible Love
A Brutal Tenderness
The Darkest Joy
In Broken Love
ALPHA CLAIM Series:
Brief-Bites novelettes
Vampire 1-6
Lycan
Demonic
Angelic
Hunter
Harborer
The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8:
A Hard Lesson
To Protect and Service
The 13th Floor
The Boardroom
The Four Whoresmen
The Masquerader's Balls
The Ball Player
The Cock Tale
The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8:
Smoldering Wet
Cold Fire
Internal Combustion
Back Draft
Charged Hose
Pike Pole
Point of Ignition
Boiling Over
The Zoe Scott Series, 1-8
BLOG: marataeroseroticaauthor.blogspot.com
Books written under Marata's real name, Tamara Rose Blodgett:
BLOG: Tamara Rose Blodgett
The DEATH Series
(Dark dystopian fantasy):
Death Whispers
Death Speaks
Death Inception
Death Screams
Death Weeps
Unrequited Death
The Death Bundle, books 1-3
For the Love of Death
Death #8- 2015
The SAVAGE Series
(Dark post-apocalyptic steampunk paranormal romance):
The Pearl Savage
The Savage Blood
The Savage Principle
The Savage Vengeance
The Savage Protector
The Savage Dream
Savage Bundle, Books 1-3
The BLOOD Series
(Dark paranormal romance):
Blood Singers
Blood Song
Blood Chosen
Blood Reign
Angelic Blood- April 3, 2015
*
The REFLECTION Series
(Dark dystopian fantasy):
The Reflective (The Reflection Series, #1)
The Reflective Cause- July 3, 2015
About the Author
Marata Eros, the pen name for Tamara Rose Blodgett, is the author of over fifty titles, including her NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling novel, A Terrible Love, and her international bestselling serial THE TOKEN. Marata writes a variety of dark fiction in the genres of erotica, fantasy, romance, sci-fi, and suspense. She lives in South Dakota with her family and enjoys interacting with her readers.
Connect with Marata:
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