BLOOD PROPHECY by Marie Treanor
Blood Hunters Series Book Four
"The junkie whore shall save the trinity in the first hour." So spoke the insane Luk, last of the Ancient undead prophets. The enigmatic vampire Dmitriu believes he knows the junkie whore in question, destined to save the daughter of his creator Saloman.
But the Edinburgh prostitute Janine, who once showed Dmitriu kindness, has not only got clean; she's become a vampire hunter, determined never to be helpless in anyone’s power again; and Dmitriu's pretty high on her kill list. Instead of renewing his beguiling sexual relationship with her, he has to kidnap her to force her cooperation. Bombarded with sensual memory and the lust Dmitriu still inspires in her, Janine also has to fight her way through renegade hunters, Dmitriu's rebellious creation, Antonia, the bizarre Militant Church for the Defence of the Holy Trinity and the first anti-vampire protests. It’s too much; the prophecy could be broken.
Unless Janine's destiny is Dmitriu.
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Excerpt
“How monstrous, exactly, do you think I am?”
“As monstrous as you want to be?” she guessed.
“Good answer,” he approved. “And about right too. I will do my utmost to save this baby. And I think you’ll want to as well. You smell good.”
She blinked at the sudden change of subject. He didn’t appear to be inhaling her, but his eyes had darkened, and a faint smile played around his lips. He looked—predatory.
Her breath caught. “Like good, fresh meat?” she retorted.
“Like a summer day in the hills,” he said unexpectedly. “It’s an old memory. Can I have the stake now?”
“Fuck off.”
He considered her, his head leaning slightly to one side. “You do know I’m humoring you?”
Her heart thudded once, but she refused to be cowed. “You do know I’m grateful?”
“You should be. Why do you think I killed your other visitors? Just to clear the competition?”
“It crossed my mind,” she said evenly.
His gaze dropped again, this time to her lips, but his next words, although softly spoken, were hardly romantic. “I could have killed you here two years ago. I was tempted, but I didn’t do it. I could have killed you in London, in Essex, or on the train. I could have killed you tonight and still taken out my enemies with my free hand.”
She forbore to mention the vampire she’d killed. And the one who’d run away. She had the lowering feeling that it had made no real difference to the inevitable outcome of the fight.
“I know who you are,” she said coldly.
His lips curved. His head bent closer. “Then say hello as if you remember.”
There was nothing she could do. A quick, instinctive jerk only confirmed his immovable strength. Desperately, she tried to glare at him, but she was concentrating so hard on keeping the fear at bay that God knew what he read in her face as he slowly, inexorably, lowered his mouth onto hers, and fastened.
Jesus, she remembered the soft, tender surface of those lips, a tempting, seductive disguise for the controlling hardness that lurked beneath. Memory, emotion battered at her as he took his kiss and coaxed, gentled, persuaded her mouth to give up its response.
She couldn’t remember much of what had really happened two years ago. She had a vague idea she’d never kissed her ‘clients.’ But she knew she’d kissed Dmitriu, and he’d kissed her like this before. Before he’d taken her to bed. After he’d drunk from her, like a thank-you, as if the orgasm hadn’t been enough.
Shame tangled with past and present pleasure. His tongue dipped between her lips, over her teeth, and inside her mouth, caressing, exploring, inviting. Kiss me. Give me your blood, your body.
She shuddered beneath his mouth, against his hard, lean frame. She couldn’t escape him; she could only deny him her response, and so she hung in his powerful arms and let him deepen the kiss, devouring her mouth without violence, using only the devastating sensuality of his cruel, tender lips.
She could force herself not to kiss him back, but she couldn’t prevent her body’s arousal. Hot dampness had gathered between her thighs, flooding her with new weakness. She shook with the effort of resisting, of not lifting her free arm to his neck. But she’d never be that willing victim again. Never.
And yet his mouth was so sweet; his body felt so good crushing hers. One of his hands slid down her arm to her naked wrist, feeling her pulse, the bastard… His thumb moved to her fingers, her palm…
And she realized he’d taken her stake.
She gasped into his mouth, jerking against him once more, but he didn’t release her, just took advantage of her further opened mouth to deepen his kiss even more, drawing her tongue into his mouth, stroking, caressing, kissing.
“Bastard,” she whispered against his lips, and they smiled against hers and kissed some more before finally he raised his head. His eyes were impenetrable black, and yet somehow they glittered with naked lust.
His long, cool fingers touched her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Now you remember me.”
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