HEARTS OF STONE by Tracy Cooper-Posey
The Stonebrood Saga Book 3.5
Vampire Menage Paranormal Urban Fantasy Romance Series Boxed Set
The entire Stonebrood Saga in one special volume, including the bonus novelette, Pay the Ferryman!
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 HEARTS OF STONE
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2016
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Carson Connors heard the murmur and flicker of light that meant the return of the vampires and stretched his aching shoulders and neck. Maybe now they could sort this out.
He glanced over to approximately where Peter Grey rested, a black shadow in the dark, and unformed guilt touched him again. What had happened here tonight? No matter how he probed or tried to recall the events of the night, nothing came. No memories formed. There was simply nothing there. No associations to provoke the next event in the chain. He’s broken sweat trying to bring forth the memories, and…nothing. That produced sweat of its own.
He watched the light draw closer. So who was it the two vampires had rushed out to bring in as a consultant on this? Some heavyweight hunter? Peter James Grey had been one of the best and Carson himself was no slouch — he’d been earning his chops in the field, anyway. He couldn’t think who Nicholas Sherwood would be able to scare up in the greater New York area in late August at a moment’s notice that would be able to help the great Nick Sherwood figure this out.
The two reached him and Carson could feel his heart seize and his cock stir. Sweet Jesus, his mind murmured as he stared at her. She was quite simply beautiful, with perfect symmetry. Her face was heart shaped, her eyes a stunning sea green, with dark lashes, and strong dark brows, and pillow-soft lips the color of apricots. Her skin was flawless. He had the insane urge to taste it, to slide his tongue along those cheekbones and nibble the corner of her jaw line, and that slender neck rising out of the Dark Side of the Moon tee-shirt. Full breasts lifted the tee-shirt, and the belt pulled the jeans in around a waist that looked like he could put his hands around it. Indecently long legs hidden beneath flared jeans. He’d have those off her. Very soon.
Then he realized with an almost painful start of awareness exactly where his thoughts and gaze were. He dragged, pummeled, tore his gaze back up to her face. Licked his lips.
She was staring at him. Her lips were parted softly, and she was breathing quickly. Knowledge. Awareness. It was there in her face. She saw exactly what he was thinking. It was as clear as if she had spoken. She was not offended. She wanted it.
His excitement spiked again. He clenched his fists, feeling the rope chaff and his cock and balls throb painfully. He was suddenly hot, way too hot. He’d do anything to be able to take off his coat, the coat of his trade.
He made himself look at Nicholas Sherwood. “I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t cause Peter’s death.”
She flinched and suddenly he realized who she was. Grey’s daughter. The genetic traits were there, once you looked past her beauty. Grey’s strength was there in her stubborn jaw line, her clear-sighted way of looking. She had Peter’s green eyes, but on her, they were mesmerizing.
Sherwood had brought her in because the business was now hers. When Peter died, she had inherited it. She had Peter’s Katana resting on her shoulder.
Carson looked at her. “You must believe me,” he told her.
“We’ll find out,” she assured him.
He was impressed. It would have been easy enough for her to simply believe him, to trust her instinctive reaction to him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do that. She would trust only evidence because she knew she was vulnerable right now.
She hefted the sword on her shoulder and let the point drop to the concrete to rest. “Do you know who Moss Alex Meinhardt is?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “He’s that weird sculptor nut who carves giant gargoyles.”
“Gargoyles,” Nicholas breathed. He looked up at the roof. “It’s dawn.” He put the lantern down abruptly and reached into his coat. “The demon brings them to life.”
“What demon?” Carson asked.
There was a low, reverberating swoosh overhead. Then another.
Nicholas pulled out a knife and sawed through Carson’s bonds, freeing his hands. “No time.”