Bloody Crystal
A Dept 57 book
Cerys is happy working in the bar in her hometown of Llandudno, Wales. Nobody knows her secret until she meets dark, brooding Rhodri Tryfanwy. He knows her at once, because he’s like her. Vampire.
Rhodri sees the ethereal Cerys as everything he’s ever wanted. Light to his darkness, he takes her and she responds. Long nights of passion give him the hope he’d almost given up on finding. But events move too fast, and Rhodri has to return to the dangerous, violent world of Department 57. His old adversary, Geoffrey Wilkinson, gives him no choice.
Thrown into a new world, Cerys is forced to leave everything she knows behind to search for him. She is Rhodri’s only chance. Without her help, he’ll be taken apart, piece by piece, and sold to people who will exploit what he is to make money and take power they’re not entitled to.
Without her love, he is dead. Without his love, she will want to die. Only together can they hope to survive.
eBook ISBN · 978-1-61118-639-0
Publisher · Loose-Id Publishing
Genre ·Paranormal Romance
Length · Full Length Novel |
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You must be 18 or older to read the following excerpt.
There’s lovely.
Rhodri looked up and saw a vision approaching him. Or, no, approaching the increasingly rowdy crowd of men at the next table. They’d been here for a while now, drinking solidly, getting louder as the hours went by. They’d never make midnight. It was barely eight now. He hadn’t seen this waitress before. Perhaps she’d just come on duty. He let his mind drift, touching hers without seeming to do it deliberately, much as a person would gaze with seeming aimlessness. Then he sharpened and did a mental double take.
Surely not her. There was a Talent nearby, a well-disguised one. Someone with mind firmly closed to contact. He couldn’t tell if he was in the presence of a shape-shifter, a vampire, an anthro, or whatever fucking Talent sat out there. Waiting for him.
He huffed a mirthless laugh. This job was making him paranoid. Maybe the Talent preferred not to be known, simple as that. Some people tried to ignore what they were, others refused to accept it, and others preferred a quiet life. It could be one of those or a number of any other reasons. His training had made him hyper-aware of others around him, but that didn’t mean they were after him. And he kept his inner thoughts well hidden, his outer layer open to anyone who asked, but otherwise silent. He had a “leave me alone” aura set around him. He should just leave well alone.
Too late. He could no more do that than he could fly. He watched her from under half-closed eyelids. Like a fairy in this place, tiny, barely five feet, her form as ethereal as he’d ever seen, and when she glanced nervously at him, he got a flash of her blue eyes. Heavenly blue. Jesus, what was she doing here, around those bastards? They’d eat her alive.
But she skipped around them, brandishing the small circular tray that seemed to be her only weapon. Except for him. He tried to tell himself he’d watch out for any woman around a bunch of men in this state. Well, sure he would, but maybe not with as much attention. Or as much interest.
One of the men lifted his hand and swung it at her, as if to swat her backside, but skimmed past, raising a breeze and making her knee-length skirt flutter. She wore a summer skirt in some light color, but since the lights here were biased toward the warmer end of the spectrum, he couldn’t tell the precise hue. She’d teamed it with a pale shirt. Nothing too overt, but on her it looked sexy as fuck.
All the men laughed, and she smiled, but tight-lipped and wary. She grabbed a pencil and pad from her skirt pocket and waited. “You want anything to eat? It’s snacks only now, guys.”
“Yeah, we know. Another round will do.” While the men outlined what they wanted, Rhodri watched her. More than pretty, she stood poised with an unconscious grace that called to him. She’d tied her hair back in a messy ponytail. Strands of it haloed around her face, giving it a glow. She wore a little makeup. He discerned the sheen of lip gloss and a dark gleam of eye shadow, but her skin glowed with health. Mid twenties, maybe. He felt so old.
But he watched her. Her back tensed as one of the men pushed his chair back and gave her a visual once-over. “Very nice,” he drawled. “Would you call me a chauvinist if I asked you if I could buy you a drink after work?”
“No, but you’d have to wait a while.”
“For you I’ll wait.” He grinned.
Rhodri grated his teeth, but he couldn’t say anything. So far, it was all harmless flirting. But this guy was only after what he could get. So who was he to say that? When was the last woman he’d stuck with?
It was like watching himself a hundred years ago. Oh, the language was a bit different, and the approach too, but he’d had his share of women in his time. Had them and moved on. Maybe that was what annoyed him. He knew better now and only went with women not looking for anything other than a transitory good time. But he’d tired of that too, and he had to make an effort to remember the last time he’d had sex. Must have been -- five years.
A chill went through him. How had it gone that long? Everyone knew vampires were hot-blooded, passionate creatures. Yes, that was true. He was, but he’d channeled all his passion into his job recently.
He’d lost the urge. He didn’t have a private life any more. He lived in hotels, dressed in clothes he didn’t care about, dumped them without a second thought, rented cars. Nothing permanent, not any more. Maybe that was why he found his visit to his old stamping ground so dispiriting. He should move on once he’d taken care of business.
His attention wandered back to the woman. He’d never stopped monitoring her and the exchange at the next table. She left, walked to the bar. He breathed a sigh of relief and stared morosely at his beer. He should leave. And then what? Maybe he could choose one of the jerks at the next table. He could give him a high when he fed, leave him with a vague memory of kissing a man. That would unnerve the bastard. Yeah, he should really feed. He’d wait until they left, follow, and pick one off.
But that edge of evil still remained. He couldn’t tell if it was another Talent or something else. It was annoyingly there, but vague, pricking at the edge of his mind.
He shifted, stretching his feet out before picking up his beer and making a show of taking a drink. Not that he allowed a drop to pass his lips, but over the years he’d grown good at faking it.
One of the jerks at the next table kicked his foot. “What are you looking at?”
He put down his glass, carefully arranging it on the beer mat. “Should I be looking at something?”
“Not if you want to keep your balls.”
Nice. Eight pints meant aggression, and ten meant face down on the pavement. At least he could get a hit from the alcohol his potential prey had drunk before his system processed the blood. It didn’t take long, sadly. He could do with some kind of hit right now. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to his hotel.
Maybe he should take up the challenge after all and track down the evil lurking here. It would give him pleasure to take somebody apart. No, he was better than that. He snorted. Who was he kidding? No he wasn’t, but he’d rather not draw attention to himself.
He shrugged and changed the direction of his observations. He heard the sniggers from the next table but didn’t respond to them. He remembered his father saying, “It takes a real man to take an insult and walk away.” Not that he necessarily believed that, but in this case, he got the sense of his words. Unfortunately his father had believed them all the time.
“Drinks, gentlemen.” She’d returned. Despite his determination not to get involved, his protective instincts roared into life. Old fashioned, maybe, but they didn’t call them instincts for nothing. He could no more control them than he could control turning vampire after sundown.
Ribald laughter and jokes ensued while she put the brimming glasses on the table.
“Gentlemen, eh? Wanna see how a gentleman can make you scream?” “You could give us more than drinks, love.” “How about a kiss on account?” “Maybe if you undid a few buttons, we could leave you a great tip.”
“Leave her alone.” He couldn’t let this be. This fairy was no match for five strapping men, probably in Llandudno for a dirty weekend, but since he didn’t see any women with them, they probably planned to pick them up here.
Immediately, attention turned to him. “Hey? What business is it of yours?” To his shock, the men didn’t say that. She did.
He raised a brow. “I was only trying to help.”
“Well don’t,” she snapped, but it was too late.
Two of the men had stood, and they faced him, belligerence and joy limned on their features. Rhodri guessed why they looked joyful. A woman and a fight would just make their Friday night.
“I knew he was trouble,” one said.
The other rolled up his sleeves. He was wearing a button-front shirt -- maybe had come straight from work by his appearance -- but his tie had gone, the end sticking out of the pocket of what looked like suit trousers. “I told you not to get involved.”
His first swing was wild, and Rhodri stepped aside. Sadly, his would-be assailant didn’t go sprawling but swung with his other hand and caught Rhodri a painful blow on the side of his head.
Rhodri responded, but his response was by no means wild. He fended off the third blow and clipped the man under his jaw, a nice clean strike that snapped his head back and sent him staggering. He slumped, but Rhodri couldn’t enjoy his success because he was too busy dealing with the second guy.
Shit, why did he get into these scenes every time he came home?
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