Book #2 in The Dealing Trilogy
By Jude Mason
Publisher: BWLPP Spice
Genre: m/f, vampires, fiction, erotica
Sabrina and Matt have got to leave LA. There are too many opportunities for someone to recognize him. Neither seems to really care where they go until Sabrina has a dream/vision of her sire, Brand, being chased and brutalized by a mob. She recognized the place as Whitby England from the Abbey in the background. She also sees how her sire is murdered and the faces of those responsible.
The decision made, they pack up her casket and head for England. Once in Whitby, the pair shelter in the ruins of the Abbey while looking for the culprits. Will the vampire pair find the vengeance Sabrina so desperately seeks, or will the murder escape? Will their love hold them together in their hunt?
His eyes flew open. A scream, her scream woke him. She stared at him. Terror, pain, panic—all written on her face, blazed in her eyes—held her frozen in his arms.
"Brand!" she sobbed. Matt pulled her close; gasped in shocked confusion at the horrible vision that filled his mind. She clung to him desperately. He'd do anything to protect her from whatever had robbed her of her peace, but he was still partially lost in his own nightmare. She trembled in his arms. Tears wetted his chest as she gazed off into some distant memory he couldn't see, and from the look of horror on her face, he was glad he couldn't.
"Sabrina, what is it?" He managed to ask; his voice was still rough from slumber and his own mysterious visions of death and hate. He wrapped his arms around her and soothed her, tenderly stroking her hair. He pulled her against him, molding her body to his in an attempt to take her obvious pain into himself and away from her.
"My sire," she whispered.
Matt didn't understand. Sire—what an odd thing to call a father. "Your sire? What do you mean? Your father? What about him?" He urged, confused but needing to know what had frightened her so badly that she lay trembling in his arms.
Sabrina pulled away from him, just enough so she could look up into his eyes. Sadness, deeper than any he'd ever seen before, darkened hers. "He's gone. Dead. Not my father, he died hundreds of years ago. My sire, the man who created me as I am now—he's been killed this night." She shuddered and again leaned against him, as if taking strength from him. "We're going to England." There was no question in her tone; she would allow no argument on this it seemed. They would go to England.
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