EXCERPT included below
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My name is Cam, and yes, I'm a vampire. At the worst possible time, I meet a human woman who hates my kind. Despite the inconvenience, I agree to help find her lost sister, no strings attached, to prove that not all vamps are bad. Some are very, very good...
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~ ~ ~ EXCERPT ~ ~ ~
He wasn't going to forgive me?
I’m not the one who kidnapped my aunt, tortured her, and then left her to die in her own front yard. According to my dad, the autopsy proved she’d been beaten, raped, sodomized … basically, the last few hours of her life had been straight up hell.
And Cam made a statement—I don’t think it was a vampire who killed your aunt—and I was supposed to change everything I’ve believed for the last fifteen years? I was there. I saw them push her out of the truck.
I saw it.
“You know what, screw this. I don’t need your help. I came here to find my sister, not to hang out and drink wine with a vampire who wants to give me a load of crap and expects me to believe him with no proof.” I stood and then leaned over the table, glaring at him despite that glamour business. “I have proof. I know what happened. You weren’t there. Or were you?”
The thought hit me like a bucket of ice water. Vampires lived forever. Those guys who’d killed my aunt, from what I recalled, had looked about Cam’s age. Shit. Was he—?
“Stop it and sit. Now.”
I didn’t. He sighed.
“I did not kill your aunt. I know that’s what you’re thinking. Tell me the date it happened, and I can tell you exactly where I was, likely produce a few witnesses. And I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I’ve never actually been to Oklahoma. No offense to your family, but there is nothing in that state that intrigues me enough to travel there.”
I remained standing, but a little of the tension seeped from my stance. I wasn’t remotely ready to believe everything he said, but it did seem farfetched that he had been in Oklahoma fifteen years ago, killing my aunt, and now sat in a pub in Chicago, sharing a bottle of wine with me.
“Tell me about your sister.”
“How do you know my sister?” I shot back, instantly defensive again.
He, on the other hand, was exasperated, like he was trying to reason with a five-year-old.
“You said you were here to find your sister. What happened to her?”
“You don’t know?”
Carefully placing his glass on the table, he straightened and leaned toward me. He remained seated, yet the power emanating from him was as strong as if he were standing over me, attempting to intimidate me with his excessive height. Was this what it felt like to be glamoured?
“I am not known for my patience, Anya. I am known for making intelligent decisions, sometimes on the fly, occasionally with little information with which to use to my advantage. I also have little tolerance for judgmental people who refuse to open their minds to information other than the bullshit they’ve been fed for most of their lives. On top of all that, I happen to be quite hungry, and your attitude is on the verge of making me—what is that slang term, when one is both hungry and angry?”
“Hangry?”
“Yes, thank you. Your attitude is making me hangry. Trust me, you do not want to see that side of me.”
“Why?” I challenged. “What will you do to me?”
“Send you on your way without my protection, to fend for yourself against those two men who had trapped you in the alley. And any others who might be out and about tonight.”
