Blood Moon

Blood Moon

Tamela Quijas

The Blood Chronicles

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Romance Author Genevieve Carter’s world revolved around daydreams and fantasy. More involved in a world that existed between her and imagination, she was unprepared for the horror she witnessed on a busy street.

He had died in her arms, the victim of a vicious and brutal crime.

Genie would never forget his gasping words, the molten gold of his eyes as he had stared at her, or the final breath that had escaped his lips. She had left the city soon afterward, tormented by his handsome image, haunted by his whispered pleas.

She had been with him when he died.

Then, why, was he on her doorstep?

 
PUBLISHED BY: Tamela Quijas
ISBN:
PUBLICATION DATE: 2010
WORD COUNT: 83335
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 4 4 4 4
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: Romantic Fiction, Contemporary, Erotica, Fantasy, Interracial, Paranormal, Vampires / Werewolves
KEYWORDS: vampire, romance, paranormal, suspense, crime, fantasy,
 

EBOOKS BY Tamela Quijas

EBOOKS BY Tamela Quijas

 
EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Tamela Quijas/2010

I awoke with a gasp, choking in a deep breath of air as I struggled under the weight of the heavy fabric. My hands tangled in the shroud covering my face, and I tore at the heavy material, my actions frantic just as my breath exploded from my tight chest. I remained where I was for a long moment, encased by impenetrable darkness, panic-stricken and sickened by the unaccustomed fear I felt. It was a struggle to remain calm, even while my frantic thoughts reeled. I didn't know where I was and wondered what had happened to me, my memories a blur.
I closed my aching eyes, groaning deeply. My head ached, throbbing with some indescribable pain. The more I struggled to remember the events of the past few hours, my frustration rose. There was a great and unexplained void, a gaping chasm, where my memories should have been. I pressed a trembling hand to my forehead, feeling the obvious wounds, and a low groan of misery escaped me. Some region of my subconscious realized I should have been counted among the dead, my injuries resulting in an obvious fatality.
I didn't understand why I wasn't dead.
Slowly, my muscles shaking with the exertion, I lifted myself into a seated position. The shroud bunched about my hips before slipping to the ground, each rustle of material agonizingly loud to my ears. I followed the descent of the pale sheet as it fluttered against the darkness of the ash-gray linoleum tile, captured in the slight breeze issued by the refrigerated air filling the room. I stared at the fabric as it hit the floor, only then lifting my head and glancing about the room.
I was alone.
I sat on a gurney in a large lab-like facility, surrounded by thick waves of darkness. At least, the room should have been dark, I thought. As my dry eyes focused, I saw into the inky darkness, as clearly as if the night were day. The room glowed in an ominous red light, my vision having illuminated my surroundings in stunning clarity. I could determine the exact location of each line, corner, and piece of furniture surrounding me and wondered at the ability.
I rose to my feet, wincing as I touched the floor. I glanced downward, kicking the sheet out-of-the-way, realizing my feet were bare. I sniffed at the air, a multitude of unexplained aromas rolling over my tongue, each scent overly sharp and intensely defined. Surrounded by the darkness, there was an otherworldly essence to the inkiness setting my senses into a frantic alarm. I knew, above all else, I could smell the thick and cloying aroma of death. Unbidden, my hackles lifted and I longed to issue a fierce and frightening snarl.
I struggled to still the urge, curiosity and the sensation of being lost more prevalent than my primal urges. I continued to slide from the gurney, wondering why I lacked the necessary footwear. I stared down at myself, frowning at what was revealed. My shirtfront was torn open, the ends hanging wide to reveal an expanse of my torso, dark as coffee and tightly muscled. I ran my hand over tight abdominal muscles, sensing but not feeling a strange and undefined hunger lingering within.
I remained where I stood, confused and struggling to remember the events of the past few hours. Images began to flash in rapid and brilliant regard before my eyes. My body twitched involuntarily with each fractured vision, my hands twisting with unexplained spasms. Another burst of light blinded me, stunning me, followed by unmentionable and an unfamiliar sense of pain. Vaguely, I remembered turning, unable to react, as another flash of light exploded in my mind.
I knew I had been shot.
Why?
The question lingered in my mind, which was dazed with a flurry of unanswered queries. I recalled flashes of movement, explosions and sounds, but nothing else. I couldn't remember anything else above the nagging pain filling my dazed mind.
Come on, damn it! I mentally demanded and winced, feeling the flesh of my forehead tighten. I raised my hand and pressed shaking fingers to my brow, feeling the gaping wounds against the sensitive pads. I should have died and was puzzled why I stood where I did, very obviously alive. As my confusion began to clean, I recognized the room I was in was cold and sterile for a particular reason.
I was in a morgue, awaiting examination by the resident medical examiner.
Why was I alive?
My fingers fell back to his side and I took an unsteady step forward.
I was alive.
I was one of the dam….
My name was Dom….
Who the hell was I?
I frowned, struggling to pull at the fringes of his memories. before the flashes of light, the explosions of pain and the smell of my burning flesh, there was nothing. All that was left was the determined face of my assailant, the flutter of dying leaves in the street lamps, the pinkness of the evening sky and the brightness of her tear-filled eyes.
The thought gave me pause. There had been a woman. Vividly, I remembered her terrified and tear-filled eyes, warm orbs of chocolate awash with moisture. She had been a voice of compassion in my hour of need. She had risked all to come to my side, to offer me a small bit of human comfort as I had breathed my last. She had held my hand close to her heart, comforting me with soft words, pleading with me to hang onto a world that didn't comprehend my type.
What was my type?
I shook my head at the question, unable to answer. However, as I inhaled, her scent rose into my lungs and empty memory. Vaguely, I recalled she had left me with a name, soft and melodic. Currently, it evaded me. What lingered behind, haunting in its own right, was her scent. The memory of her flesh filled me, bathing me in the whispered aromas of crumpled lilacs.
My tongue was dry as it flicked over my lips, tasting at what was not there. I had to find her. She would inform me of the events of the night and my name. Most of all, she might have the ability to inform me as to why I had been shot.
She would help and bring some sanity to my madness.
I knew I would be capable of finding her. There was some form of absolute determination available in my confusion assuring me I could hunt better than most.

 

 
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