It had taken some doing, but everything evened out in the end. No one knew I existed, so it was easy to claim having only met Erik when he sold me the house and then disappeared. Cooper was a bit harder. He had been a loved man. Well liked by his patients, with friends and family. I knew it would be a gamble to keep his face, but I adored it so.
Just like I wasn’t any of the women Erik had made me out of, Poe was not the men I created him from. What parts I didn’t use lay beneath the finished gazebo. Daffodils grew all around, brightening the yard with yellow and white bulbs. They seemed to blossom so easily there.
But this home, this life, we knew would be short lived. We would have to move on and find our place in the world.
And the love, well, some might speculate. But to us, it’s as real as anything possibly can be. Unconventional, maybe.
But, somehow, with all of the mess, and the bodies, and the stitches—the pieces fit perfectly together.
About Natasha Raulerson
Natasha grew up as a tomboy hanging with the guys, getting skinned knees, and swimming under the South Florida sun. Tattoos, Jack Daniels, and lounging at the pool are three of her favorite things. She is a wife, a mother, has two fur babies who love puppy piles, and the status of her sanity is pending.
https://natasharaulerson.com
Trace of Darkness
RB Hilliard
Diana Duvail is a police officer and a Sensitive. When her partner is killed in action, her secret is revealed and she’s transferred to the paranormal unit. Now, it’s her life that’s in danger, but luckily for her, a sexy Vampire Lord knows exactly how to save her.
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 RB Hilliard
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners
1
It’s funny how the mind works. How some memories stick with you while others can’t be recalled no matter how hard you try. Take, for example, what I had for dinner last Thursday. I have no clue. Yet, I can recall the night my partner died with crystal clarity.
It was a Tuesday night. My partner, Mick, and I were on patrol with our least favorite rookie, Bernie. I swear, the boy had no more than three brain cells to rub together. He also had a giant chip on his absurdly muscular shoulders. All rookies felt they had something to prove, but Bernie took it to a whole new level. Bernster—as Mick liked to call him—was new to Charleston. Having graduated at the top of his class made him an expert—in everything. He liked to point this out often. There’s nothing worse than a know-it-all, and Bernie thought he knew it all. It would have been one thing if he was pleasant to be around, but Bernster was a grade-A shit turd. He was the epitome of disrespectful. Not only that, but he made a point of annoying the hell out of everyone who got stuck working with him. Unfortunately for Mick and me, that night it was us.
We spent the first part of the evening patrolling the docks. As Mick and I were action junkies, the docks happened to be where most of the fun took place. The spooky kind of fun, that is. What top-of-his-class-I-graduated-with-a-4.9 Bernie—along with every other rookie—failed to realize, was that the academy was one small piece of an enormously large puzzle. Students were taught from antiquated textbooks and given basic field instructions. Basic, being the operative word. They were taught how to shoot at targets and taser dummies but not how to take down a shifter or stake a vampire. They wouldn’t learn how to handle the real shit—the unexplainable things that go bump in the night—until they were actually on the job. Bernie just thought he was an expert at firearms and bullet trajectory, but unless that bullet was aimed at the head or heart of a vampire and fired at the exact right angle, it would only manage to piss them off. Shifters were easier to kill than vamps, but not by much. As born hunters, they were ten times stronger, faster, and smarter than humans would ever be. The academy didn’t teach this. They chose to leave the important shit to people like Mick and me to explain. What my partner didn’t know—and what I’d spent the last five years hiding—was that I was one of those unexplainable things.
Mick arrived in Charleston my first day on the job. I was hired straight out of the academy— which I’m pretty sure had something to do with my parents being filthy rich—while Mick was a transfer from Ohio. Being that we were the two new kids on the block, we were forced to partner up together. Neither of us were excited about the pairing. Mick wanted a partner with more experience, and I wanted one who didn’t make me feel like an idiot on a daily basis. Yes, he was that good. The man was sharp as a fucking tack, had mad gun skills, could run miles without breaking a sweat, and was way too pretty for his own good. With his blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin,
