First of all, I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving holiday. Today is Cyber Monday. A truckload of Colorado Romance Writers are putting their holiday books on sale—Jessica Aspen, Aidy Award, Sandra Kerns, Holley Trent Leslie Breene, Bonnie McCune, and Sean Thomas. I’m so excited to be part of this awesome group. A Vampire’s Fallen Christmas Star is on sale today.
Summer, Present Day, Frisco, Colorado
Eleanor Baines ran down the deserted street. Pain throbbed in her arm, and blood dripped down her sleeve. She couldn’t believe the damn vampire killer had nicked her with a blade that was coated with hallowed mud. Usually the assholes sported a tattoo of a dagger stabbing an opened-mouthed skull with long incisors, but this kid didn’t have one. Luckily, she had built a resistance over the years to hallowed mud, but it wasn’t enough. Her muscles were weakening, and her vision was becoming blurry.
Donna pass out.
She glanced over her shoulder. The chubby killer hurried after her and would soon overtake her. He’d surprised her at the post office when she went to open her safe deposit box. Her fault. She hadn’t thought he’d be threat—he wasn’t even sixteen. How had he known she would be there at midnight? She had even used a pseudonym.
Her heart beat hard, and each time, terror thumped between her temples. Nausea gripped her stomach. Damn! The poison was working swiftly, breaking down organs and closing up veins. Only human blood would stop the shutdown of her system. Her mountain home was a mile away, and she’d never make it in time to drink the harvested blood in her refrigerator.
She glanced over her shoulder to find the damn killer gaining on her. Her legs were so heavy it felt like she was trudging through mud. She turned, but slammed into a brick wall and stumbled. Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from her falling down.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Her rescuer lifted her to her feet. She stared into the darkest, midnight-blue eyes she’d ever seen.
A shirtless man held her arms. He had chiseled abs, and long brown hair that flared over his broad shoulders. God, he smelled good. Pine with a hint of lemon and sage. She panted. “Help…me.”
“Get away from her,” her pursuer said. “She’s a vampire.”
The man shoved her behind him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” her enemy said. “But it’s the truth. She’s going to rip your throat out.”
Please. She hadn’t ripped anyone’s throat out except for Emmet Carver’s. This young killer had watched too many vampire horror flicks. Eleanor’s legs wobbled, but she drew on her strength. If she fainted, she’d fall into the death sleep with hallowed mud pumping through her system—then she’d never wake.