They've
got a second chance. But can love - and trust - rise again from the ashes of
honor?
Blurb –
A month ago, Cheryl Parker thought she was an ordinary woman – a nurse, a
mother, a woman whose lover had walked out. Now she’s gained incredible power
thanks to an alien spirit who has made her immortal.
She
looks twenty again. And her ex is back.
It’s
not unusual to discover an old lover kept secrets. Ulf’s secret is that he’s an
immortal vampire Knight of the Round Table.
The
good news is, he still loves Cheryl. The bad news is, he thinks the creature
inhabiting her is a potential threat to humanity.
The
worst news is, there is a threat – and it could well kill them all.
Ulf
wants nothing more than to be with Cheryl again. The problem is her magic
resembles that of a dragon who tried to set a small town ablaze. And she knows
more about the creature than she’s saying.
Even as
passion rekindles between them, Cheryl and Ulf must overcome years of lies and
mistrust. Otherwise they’re doomed -- and so is everyone else.
Because
the creature stalking them is something worse than a dragon. Much, much worse.
Master of Honor will be released April 3 at the retail price of $4.99. It will be released at the Changeling website in all formats March 27 at the reduced price at $4.24.
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Charleston,
SC, 1981
Ulf
couldn’t get that last image of Grigori Kuznetsov out of his head. Bloody.
Broken. Dead.
Two KGB
agents had hurled the young engineer out a tenth-story window after a brutal
beating. Payback for smuggling blueprints for a Soviet fighter jet to the CIA.
Since Ulf had been the one to convince Grigori to pass the information to the
Americans, he felt responsible -- especially given that he’d been comatose in
the Daysleep when the KGB kicked in the engineer’s door. Yeah, he’d hunted down
those responsible and exacted his revenge, but it was a little Goddamn late at
that point.
I’m
getting sick of watching innocents pay the price for my heroics. He grimaced, hearing the bitter self-pity in
the thought. No wonder Arthur had told him to take a month off.” You
need a break, Ulf. You’re so burned out, you’re one long ash.”
So here
he was. Charleston. The lovely South Carolina town had always called to him,
with its art, architecture and beautiful beaches. Maybe it could help him
rediscover his commitment to humanity’s survival. Though some humans really
need killing. With extreme prejudice and suitably agonized screams.
Brooding,
Ulf turned down King Street, though he had no interest in quaint shops or art galleries.
Hunger gnawed at him, making the roots of his fangs sting. A block ahead, he
spotted a red neon sign. Scarlett’s. Probably a bar. Just the thing --
he needed to get laid. Or failing that, a good fight would blunt the edge of
his frustration…
“Dixon,
you’re drunk.” It was the tone that caught Ulf’s attention. Tense, alarmed,
tightly controlled. “You need to leave now.”
“Now,
don’t be like that. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.” The reply
sounded alcohol-slurred and nasty.
Eyes
narrowing, Ulf glanced around, homing in on the source of the voices. They were
so muffled, a mortal wouldn’t have heard anything at all.
“I’m
going to call the cops if you don’t get out.”
“Baby,
all I want is a little kiss…”
A
scuffle, a soft, outraged cry, ugly laughter.
“Get
off me!”
There.
The shop across the street. Granger’s Books. A plate glass window
displayed a poster of a shirtless man with long blond hair walking out of the
ocean. Between the poster and the shelves beyond it, Ulf couldn’t see who was
doing what inside. He crossed the street at a jog, ignoring the squeal of
brakes and the blare of a horn. Jerking the bookstore door open, he stalked
inside.
“Dixon,
you prick, I said no!”
Ulf’s
upper jaw ached. He clamped his mouth shut, knowing his fangs had emerged in
his rage. He paced through the shop, spotting a man’s dark head over a set of
bookshelves in the back. The drunk seemed to be wrestling with someone too
short to show above the shelves. Ulf stormed down the aisle and rounded the
bookshelf.
Just as
the woman tore herself out of the beefy young man’s arms, snatched up the
carpet sweeper lying on the floor, and drove its business end into her
attacker’s crotch. The guy bent double with a howl, grabbing himself, and she
slammed the sweeper into his jaw.
With a
muffled grunt, he toppled to hit the carpeted floor with a thud. The bastard
sprawled there on his back, unmoving, eyes rolled back.
Ulf
stopped, nonplussed, staring down at Dixon. The prick was barely out of his
teens, with the broad, beefy musculature of a college football player and
short-cropped brown hair. He wore a pink knit shirt with a tiny alligator on
it, a pair of hunter green chinos, and brown leather Docksiders.
Eighties
fashion could be eye-watering.
“When I
say no, I mean no, asshole!” the girl snapped, glaring. Her victim didn’t stir,
beyond the blood rolling from a cut on his swelling lower lip.
“Would
you like me to take out the trash for you?” Ulf asked, suddenly finding himself
in a much better mood.
Her
head snapped up. She stared warily at him a moment, hazel eyes narrow, sensual
mouth in a tight line. “No, but if you’ll hang around to keep an eye on this
jerk while I call the cops, I’d appreciate it.” She curled a lip at her
would-be attacker. “I’m filing charges. I hope they kick him out of school.”
Ulf
grinned. “Good for you.”
“He
thinks he’s entitled to anything he wants because he can throw a ball. Sorry,
dickhead, no.” She wheeled and stalked toward the checkout counter, grabbed the
big black rotary phone sitting there, and dragged it closer.
Ulf
walked over, leaned a hip on the counter and watched her dial. When the
dispatcher came on, she told him what had happened in a few clipped, crisp
sentences, then gave the store’s address.
Damn,
she was pretty. She wore her dark hair quite short on the sides, but long
enough on top to curl down over big hazel eyes. Her face was delicately boned,
with an angular jaw and a long, narrow nose. That soft mouth looked so
deliciously full and pink, he instantly wanted a taste.
Her
loose black T-shirt tucked into tight jeans, cinched by a wide, chunky belt.
The jeans’ rolled cuffs displayed high-top black sneakers. Dozens of bracelets
clicked on her narrow wrists, some leather, others metal.
Hanging
up the phone, she caught him staring. Her return gaze was justifiably wary,
given that he towered over her. “Thanks for charging to the rescue.” Her voice
was low and pleasantly sexy.
“You’re
welcome, though you obviously didn’t need saving. I’m impressed.” Ulf nodded at
the bruiser, who groaned, stirring. “He must outweigh you by seventy pounds.”
“Yeah,
but he’s also drunk and stupid.”
Dixon
stirred and opened his eyes. “Heeeyyyy,” he slurred. “Hey, wha’ happen’d?”
“He’s a
football player for some college, which he evidently thinks should impress me.
Told me what position, but I wasn’t paying attention.” She extended a hand to
Ulf. “Cheryl Parker.”
“My
head hurts,” Dixon moaned.
“Good.”
Ulf returned the shake, suppressing the urge to kiss her hand instead. Mortals
didn’t do that anymore. Her palm felt small and warm in his. “Paul Rogers,” he
said, giving the name on his false identification for this trip.
“Ooow!
My balls! What did you do to my balls?”
“You
had it coming,” Ulf told him, releasing her regretfully without looking away
from those entrancing hazel eyes. “And you’re lucky she got to you first.”
“Somebody
call the amb’lance. I think I got a concussion. And my balls are swelling.”
Ulf’s
gaze fell on a paperback lying open face-down on the counter. Diverted, he
lifted his brows. “The Return of the King?”
“I love
Tolkien. I was just thinking before I was so rudely interrupted…” She aimed a
pretty sneer at Dixon. “that Samwise is the real hero of the book.”
Ulf had
read The Lord of the Rings trilogy back in the 1950s, but he remembered
it vividly. “Well, he did keep Frodo in one piece.” Since Ulf had the same kind
of relationship with Arthur Pendragon, he’d always approved of Sam.
“Exactly!”
Cheryl met his eyes and smiled. The bright joy of it pierced his cynical
depression like a shaft of sunlight.
That
was when Sir Baldulf, vampire Knight of the Round Table, started falling for
the mortal girl who didn’t need saving.
“Hey.
Hey? Anybody got a bag of frozen peas?”
I
hope you've enjoyed this! I hope you'll take a look.
Angela
Knight
