HARVEST OF HOLIDAYS by Tracy Cooper-Posey
The Stonebrood Saga Book 2.1
Vampire Menage Paranormal Urban Fantasy Romance Novella
Carson Connor’s final story.
The Stonebrood Clan is back: Savage, bloodthirsty gargoyles brought back to life by the demon Azazel before he was destroyed by demon hunter Natalia Grey and her now-husband, Carson Connors.
The gargoyles that killed her father…The gargoyles she swore to destroy.
When the Clan lures the other hunters away and Tally is nearly killed in an assault the could only have been meant for her, she must face the possibility that the hunters have been betrayed by one of their own.
With each passing holiday, the Clan grows bolder. The noose grows tighter. And the hunters become the hunted.
This book is part of The Stonebrood Saga series.
1.0: Carson’s Night
2.0: Beauty’s Beasts
2.1: Harvest of Holidays*
3.0: Sabrina’s Clan
3.1: Pay the Ferryman*
3.5: Hearts of Stone (Series Boxed Set)
A Vampire Gargoyle Urban Fantasy Romance
[*A Stony Stories tale: Short stories featuring the characters and situations from the Stonebrood Saga]
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EXCERPT FROM HARVEST OF HOLIDAYS
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Fourth of July
Mozart was playing at a volume that made the windows of the little house vibrate, but no one was listening to the majestic Fortieth Symphony. Early morning sunlight blasted through the windows. The harsh summer light illuminated the many empty and not-so-empty glasses sitting on every available horizontal surface.
It also picked out the bodies.
There were four of them. One lay face down on the sofa with his leg hanging over the edge of the cushions, the toe of his boot jammed into the shag rug.
Another body rested approximately parallel with the sofa. She was curled up on her side. A cushion from the sofa was under her head and she snored softly. Auburn curls spilled over the cushion and onto the carpet in bubbling waves.
The last two sleepers were under the dining table on the east side of the room. The table itself was littered with dirty plates, paper napkins, ashtrays, and more used glasses. There was also a collection of bottles. Wine, tequila, brandy, whiskey and more. A gaily colored plastic party cloth hung askew over the edge, partially covering the two bodies beneath.
Carson Connors stood on the bottom step of the narrow and steep flight hugging the wall and surveyed the damage with a touch of awe. He didn’t remember the party being this boisterous but the evidence was there, disputing his memory.
He took the last step down onto the shag carpet and winced at the impact. There was a reason his memories didn’t match up to the shambles he was looking at. He glanced at Jimmy, face down on the sofa. Jimmy had clapped him on the back of the shoulder around nine last night and waved a bottle of Jim Beam in front of him. “You need to celebrate your success, man.” His smile was bright beneath the dark moustache.
“Not my success,” Carson had protested. “Tally is the gargoyle hunter. She’s the one that found Ingong. I was just clean-up crew.”
Tally had lifted a hand in protest. “I’m not touching that stuff. I’m going to find something that doesn’t strip off my taste buds.” She had squeezed Carson’s hand as she left to find her own drink. There was plenty to drink and about fifteen people squeezed into the tiny living room who would do anything to find her something to her taste, because she was the hero of the hour.
Jimmy cracked the seal, poured Carson a healthy slug, then things became a little blurred. He remembered Tally leading him upstairs but after that, nothing.
He stepped over Donna’s comatose body and flipped up the lid on the record player and lifted the arm back onto its cradle, turning Mozart off in mid-sentence.
The silence almost throbbed.
Carson bent over carefully and looked under the table pushed up against the wall. From the bright red locks he identified Joy, which meant it was probably Connie under there with her.
On the other side of the kitchen door, china clattered. Damian, most likely. He still liked to take care of Tally when he could. For a short moment Carson envied Damian and Nick their vampire status; hangovers were never an issue for them, nor was a lack of sleep.
Someone thudded on the front door, making Carson wince. Before he could react further the thumping started again, insistent.
“Alright, okay,” he muttered and glanced around. There had been at least two bongs being passed around last night, but neither of them was visible. He stepped over Donna again and opened the front door.
Harsh sunlight hit him square in the eyes. He hissed and threw up his hand to shade them. “God above…” he muttered.
“I don’t think He is listening, Mr. Connors,” came the reply. “Least ways, not to you.”