An Excerpt from Forever Kisses Vol. 2

 

Vampire agents, SEALs, captives, and bodyguards fight their way into their women’s hearts.

Hope’s Kiss: When a police detective discovers a chamber of horrors in the basement of an old house, she’s horrified to find her ex-lover, Mark Wilder, locked in one of the cells. Naked and covered in bites and blood, he’s been changed into a vampire. And he’s insane with bloodlust. Unless Hope can reawaken Mark’s humanity, he’s doomed to remain the slave of a vicious predator. What’s worse, his vampire sire intends Hope to become Mark’s first victim.

Kissing the Hunter: Navy SEAL Logan McLean is on a quest for revenge against the monsters who murdered his wife. Virginia Hart is a sexy vampire searching for her lost soulmate, only to find him in a man determined to kill her. She must convince him all vampires aren’t psychotic murderers -- if he doesn’t get her first.

A Candidate for the Kiss: on the trail of a hot story, reporter Dana Ivory stumbles across a truly explosive scoop -- a handsome secret agent who happens to be a vampire. She wants her story, but Gabriel Archer has something much sexier in mind. He’s been looking for someone like Dana for a very long time: a candidate for the kiss.

Blood and Kisses: A murderous vampire assassin is hot on the trail of Beryl St. Cloud. Her only hope lies with yet another bloodsucker, James Decker. Broke and desperate, she offers herself as payment for the mercenary’s protection. But will the price end up being her very soul?

"Angela has compiled another hit in her 2nd volume of Forever Kisses. Vampire agents, SEALs, captives, and bodyguards fight their way into their women’s hearts. Just part of her variety of stories to heat your imagination. So sit back and enjoy."

-- 5 Stars from Ken Thompson, Amazon Review

Links:  Amazon      Amazon Print    Barnes and Noble   Apple Books     Kobo    Changeling Press

He was naked, covered in blood, and lying on the floor of a steel cage.

She’d still know Mark Wilder anywhere.

Detective Hope Barton scanned the room from the bottom step, eyes flicking from the cage to the bloody wooden table beside it, to the shackles that hung from blood-splattered cement walls.

The big, dimly lit basement reeked of murder: body fluids, rotting gore, and helpless suffering. Her stomach heaved, but Hope had been a violent crimes detective for two years, and she’d stood over her share of slaughter. Swallowing hard, she forced her dinner back where it belonged and did her job.

“Mark.” Hope strode toward the cage, ignoring the sticky puddles drying on the cement underfoot. She was too busy scanning the room for the key to his cell. There was no sign of one, dammit. “What the hell happened to you?” When he didn’t move, she raised her voice in a cop’s bark. “Mark!”

He stirred and lifted his head from the cage’s dirty floor. One dazed green eye met hers under a shock of matted blond hair. Blood and filth streaked his face, his lips were cut and bruised, and his left eye was swollen shut.

Somebody had beaten the crap out of him. And judging from his bloody knuckles, he’d fought back hard. Which was no surprise. Mark never took anything lying down.

Her gut twisted. How was she going to get him out of here? She grabbed the thick iron bars in both hands. “Mark… Mark, it’s Hope.”

For a suspended instant, he stared at her without any recognition at all.

“Arrrraaah!” With a tortured animal howl, he leaped at her in an impossible eight-foot bound. Pure reflex had her jolting back, barely dodging his hand as it shot through the bars.

How did he do that? Nobody could jump like that!

Mark’s lips peeled off snapping teeth, his powerful body straining to reach her with fingers curled into claws. His bare, bloody feet thudded on the bars as he kicked them savagely, trying to bend the steel. His one good eye glittered in frenzy.

He has fangs. She froze, staring at his sharply pointed canine teeth. Sweet God, Mark has fangs!

He sure as hell hadn’t had them in high school. She’d put her tongue in his mouth often enough to know.

As he bellowed and clawed, Hope damn near drew down on him. She managed to drag her hand away from the grip of her shoulder-holstered 9mm Glock, but it took an effort. I’m not going to shoot Mark Wilder. God, she ached to call for backup, but she no longer trusted anyone in the department.

Mark finally stopped howling. Clinging to the bars, he stared at her, his good eye feral and desperate, like a wolf with one leg in a bear trap.

“Mark, dammit, it’s me!” She all but screamed it, her voice raw with frustration and fear.

Recognition flickered in his gaze. “Hope?” His voice sounded broken, raspy, as if he’d been screaming. Screaming for a very long time.

Pity raked at her heart, along with a certain tense relief. At least he’d recognized her. “Yeah, it’s me.” She gave him a twisted smile. “Guess you were right. There is a vampire in Reede County.”

“Told you.” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as if fighting some powerful urge. “I warned you… what he was.”

Yeah, but she’d thought he’d lost his mind. The story he’d told her last week had certainly sounded insane.

* * *

They’d been working their way through a pizza in his den as Blade: Trinity roared away on the big flat-screen television, Wesley Snipes killing vampires with a fanged snarl and flashing arcs of his sword.

It was a DVD choice Hope later realized was deliberate.

She’d folded a slice of the pizza and was about to take a healthy bite when Mark said, “I know who killed Joy.”

Hope dropped the slice back on her plate. He’d said he had something to tell her when he’d invited her over, but she’d had no idea he’d meant anything like this. He looked tense, as if he dreaded telling her whatever he had in mind, his green eyes narrow and wary. “I’m listening.”

“Patrick Stone came to my folks’ house the night after Joy died.”

“The tent revival preacher? You think he killed your sister?” She wished she could reject the idea, but she couldn’t. Sexual predators often assumed religious covers that gave them access to victims, and they moved around a lot to keep from getting caught.

“Yeah. We thought Stone was going to offer to pray with us or something, like my folks’ pastor had.” Mark braced his elbows on his knees. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he bit off the next words. “Instead, the fucker told us all to forget about her, that she was nothing but a little slut.”

“Oh, my God. He said that to your parents? So how hard did you kick his ass? And how many punches did your daddy get in?” She grinned, imagining Ted Wilder’s reaction to anybody saying something like that about his little girl. Preacher or no, Ted would have taken the guy apart.

“None. Dad believed the bastard. They both did.” Mark’s big hands flexed between his knees.

“What? That makes no sense. What did you do?”

“Invited Stone outside and tried to knock his teeth down his throat. He blocked every punch, tossed me on my ass…” Mark stopped and took a deep breath. “And then he told me he was a vampire. Showed me his fangs and told me exactly what he did to Joy. In sickening detail.”

“He actually had false teeth made to look like fangs?” That would explain the puncture marks in the victims’ bite wounds.

“No, Hope. He really is a vampire. He said that’s how he made my parents believe him -- he’s got psychic abilities no human can resist.”

A chill raced over her skin, and Hope had to work to keep her face expressionless. On the screen, Wesley showed his fangs in a flash of white against his dark skin. “Let me get this straight. You believe your sister was murdered by a vampire?”

He didn’t look away. “I know how crazy it sounds, but yeah, that’s exactly what I believe.”

 

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An excerpt from Passionate Prisoners!

 

Here's an except from my newest book, Passionate Prisoners, out now. Links below. 

 Handsome warriors butt heads with heroines who don’t back down from anything – especially love.

Blurb:

Roarke’s Prisoner: Starship captain Elise Morrell remembers the eager animal submission she’d known at Captain Michael Roarke’s ruthless hands. Though she’s determined not to become his toy again, she has no idea of the delights he’s got in store. Please note this is my first published romance, written in 1996, and it revolves around dubious consent. It may be triggering for some people.

Stranded: Hawke’s been alone in the alien ‘Goldfish Bowl’ for far too long. When society-girl Alex literally lands in his arms, they both soon realize they can fulfill each other’s every sexual need -- if they can just survive the monsters… 

Chain of Kisses: For years, Prince Admiral Arles of Tor has been obsessed with Gisel Vanda, who jilted him at the altar. When Arles discovers the lovely runaway is now a mercenary space captain, he captures her, determined to get Gisel out of his system. He soon discovers she’s even more intelligent and beautiful than he remembered. Too bad she’s also a political liability he can’t afford…

Armored Hearts: Interstellar mercenary Captain Nick Rand is a vampire on the verge of starvation. He needs a female blood donor. Lieutenant Zara Tahir is a female blood donor in need of a vampire. Zara’s willing to exchange blood for blood -- and maybe kinky games -- with Rand, but he’s still her enemy. Then Rand’s own enemies complicate things… 

Blood and Steel: Elyn Castel spent fifty years as the slave of a vampire sociopath. Now, thanks to cyborg bodyguard Jarl “Blade” Bladin, Kruz is dead. Now Blade is after Elyn, and she knows she’s finished if he gets his hands on her. But escaping the cyborg is easier said than done…

Links:   Changeling Press       Amazon       Barnes and Noble      Apple Books      Kobo

She hadn’t seen Roarke in a year.

Oh, there’d been plenty of encounters since then, but all of them had been over the bridge vidscreen during some military game of cat and mouse. Yet even then, with kilometers of space between them, she’d always been too aware of him, the memory of their first meeting vivid in her mind.

Looking back on it, Elise suspected that particular disaster had been another of Admiral Scordillis’ attempts to set her up. A ship’s captain had no business playing spy, yet Scordillis had sent her and Henry Voronnin to the planet Tyus with orders to pose as pirates with a captured cargo to sell. They were supposed to discover who was smuggling supplies to the rebels.

She’d met Roarke in a bar there, of all places. He’d been trying to buy ship’s stores for the Liberator, and someone had directed him to her. At the time, they hadn’t met in battle and Elise was new to the sector, so he’d had no idea who she was.

It had gone well at first. She’d even been attracted to him; Roarke was witty and intelligent, not to mention handsome enough to tempt a neophyte spy to forget her common sense. In fact, when he invited her for a walk on the beach, she’d almost accepted. But in the end, Elise decided not to take the risk, just as Roarke turned down her deliberately exorbitant price for a cargo she didn’t even have.

Still, it had been that invitation that had given her the idea for a moonlight swim late that night. After calling Henry to tell him where she was headed, Elise put on a stringsuit and went down to the beach behind their hotel.

Battling ocean swells for a brisk hour burned away the last of her adrenaline; by the time she emerged from the water, she was nicely tired. Elise dried herself off and wrapped her body in the thick, warm robe she’d brought along. Savoring the glow of heated muscles and pleasant exhaustion, she bent, meaning to pick up the sheathed knife she’d left wrapped in a towel. She was, after all, still in enemy territory.

Elise pulled up short as the wet fabric of her stringsuit dug into her skin. The outfit was nothing more than a set of fine cords which looped around her neck, wove together at strategic points as they descended, and dipped between her thighs to come up behind and tie at the waist. And at the moment the suit seemed to be chafing each and every one of those strategic points. Reaching past the lapels of her robe, she adjusted it to lie where it was supposed to.

“Lisa Morrow?”

She turned, a smile forming at the sound of Roarke’s voice -- a smile that froze across her teeth as she came completely around.

He was holding a beamer pointed between her breasts, the red glow of its charge burning deep in the weapon’s dark barrel.

“You told me you were Lisa Morrow,” Roarke said, his deep voice sounding almost metallic, chill. “But that’s not really your name, is it?”

“What else would it be?” The knife still lay wrapped in the towel at her feet. If she could get to it… Casually, she started to bend over.

“Captain Elise Morrell of the CSS frigate Star Raker. And leave the blade where it is, Captain. I’d hate to shoot you.”

“I’d hate to be shot,” Elise said easily, though her stomach was twisting with the sick realization that everything had just gone straight to hell. “You think I’m CSS?” She shook her head in carefully feigned astonishment. “Captain, I hate those bastards. No way would I work for them.”

“So you said -- just a bit too loudly.” Roarke began to circle around her, keeping his weapon aimed between her breasts as she pivoted with him. “Oh, you’re a good actress; you sounded damn convincing talking about the way they’d screwed you. And that’s what made me wonder, because no real rebel would tell a stranger that much.” He smiled mockingly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Tyus is crawling with spies.”

She tried out an apologetic smile. “I suppose I should be more discreet, but is that really a reason to kill me?”

He snorted. “Give it up, Morrell. I got an anonymous tip half an hour ago telling me exactly who you are. I checked it out with Starforce, and they confirm.” The black eyes chilled. “But even so, I don’t intend to kill you unless you give me no choice. Lie down on the ground. Kick the knife away first.”

Elise shrugged and started to obey, but just at that moment gust of wind grabbed at her robe, dragging it open to reveal her stringsuit-clad body and its nearly naked curves. Roarke’s eyes widened.

She knew an opening when she saw one.

Pivoting her body into a hard, tight kick, she struck his wrist so hard his beamer spun out of his hand. Elise reversed direction, meaning to plow her foot into his jaw on the return stroke, but Roarke wasn’t caught napping twice. He grabbed her ankle and jerked, dumping her on her backside in the sand. Even as he pounced on her, she was launching another attack, punching her palm upward in a strike calculated to drive the bones of his nose into his brain. He jerked his head aside, turning what would have been a lethal blow into one that did nothing more than bloody his mouth. She pulled back for another shot, but he grabbed her hands in both fists and pinned them to the ground. “Surrender, Captain,” he grunted. “You don’t want to go one-on-one with me.”

“I could say the same to you,” Elise growled, fighting to brace a foot against his body and kick him away. As she surged against him, she breathed in his scent; a faint tang of male sweat, a hint of something woodsy that must have been his soap, the trace of Scotch on his breath. She ignored it and tried even harder for the throw, but Roarke applied a counter pressure and kept her down, mashing her breasts into the hard wall of his chest, his powerful thighs imprisoning hers between them.

God, he was strong. Even worse, he had the combat skills to match. There was a host of techniques she knew to flip him clear or strike sensitive nerve groups; punches that could have incapacitated him, kicks that could cripple, but he countered every move she made. With a growl of rage, Elise realized that infuriating male body would prevail; she was just wasting strength she might be able use to escape later. She had no choice but to submit and watch for her chance. Sooner or later his guard would drop.

Feeling her go limp, Roarke nodded in satisfaction. “That’s better.” He pulled back slightly. “You…” His eyes widened.

Following the path of his gaze, Elise gasped.

Her stringsuit had slipped aside in the struggle, revealing the thrust of one nipple. Something about the way the cords pressed against the hard little nub made her breast look more erotically naked than it would have if she’d been nude.

Instinctively, Elise looked up at her captor, who stared back at her with a sort of disgruntled arousal. He liked what he saw, she realized, but he didn’t like liking what he saw.

“At least let me belt my robe closed,” she snapped.

To her surprise, Roarke released her hands and sat back on his heels, still straddling her. Which was when she realized that he had a massive erection.

Without thinking twice, Elise plowed a punch right at that very prominent target.

With a roar of raw fury, Roarke caught her fist just before it struck. He fell on her like the wrath of God, crushing her into the sand, pinning her arms and legs in a wide spread eagle under his powerful body.

Looking up into the rage in his black eyes, Elise felt her mouth go dry. She forced herself to shrug. “I couldn’t help myself.”

A slow, very nasty grin spread across his mouth. “Neither can I.”

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