Blackthorne Clan, 2 Tristan Black of the Blackthorne Clan has known heartache and pain. He is a Dhampyre (half-Vampire) and most would say blessed with extreme longevity. Tristan would say cursed as he observed the long, slow decline and then death of his human wife due to old age while he seemingly aged not a day. Now seventy years later, he meets Katrina Hammond who piques his interest.
Katrina is a romance writer on summer vacation when she meets the mysterious and dangerously sexy Tristan. Katrina now finds herself in the middle of a clash between the Blackthorne Clan and a pack of Thropes (wolf shape-shifters). Can Tristan protect Katrina, and can he protect his heart? She awakened feelings in him he thought he would not have again. He considered these passions to be little more than vampiric mythology.
She awakened his...black desire.
BLACK DESIRE EXCERPT:
Katrina Hammond observed the sensual spectacle from her corner booth. Her jaw must be hanging open because she could not believe what she had just seen. The woman had an orgasm in his arms right there on the dance floor. At least that was how it appeared. Obviously, his hand was under her skirt!
She’d watched his every move since he first strode into the place an hour ago. She glanced around, every female focused on him as she was. They gazed at him with a blatant longing and raw, naked lust and after that dirty dance, who could blame them?
Taking a long, languid sip from her glass, she let the German Riesling linger in her mouth before swallowing. The way she all but drooled was shameless. Every other female, regardless of age, was doing the exact same thing. Katrina shifted uncomfortably in the booth. Wow, she was on fire from watching this man. She needed another drink, a drink with lots of ice. Lots. He stood at the bar.
He was very tall, at least 6’4”, Katrina imagined. The man was slender but there was no mistaking the taut musculature that hugged his frame. Broad shoulders tapered to a perfect, slim waist, not an ounce of fat on this man. He was all lean and wiry with corded muscles. She could observe that fact, as his gold silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest showing rock hard pectorals dusted with curly brown hair. The black jeans were so tight it left nothing to the imagination.
His face was not what one would call classically handsome, but his features were rugged and very appealing. He had a firm, square jaw and prominent, chiseled cheekbones. A long aquiline nose did not mar his looks at all.His nostrils flared as if scenting the air. The action seemed almost feral.
A closely cropped, perfectly shaped dark brown goatee added to the dangerous look and surrounded the most luscious, sensuous lips she had ever seen on a man. His hair was incredibly long, past his shoulders and a deep rich brown. His hair was the color of aged mahogany wood and copper highlights glistened and shined under the pulsating strobe lights. However, what drew her first were his large and expressive eyes. The penetrating steel-gray shade, as far as she could make out under the subdued lighting, resembled storm clouds over a raging sea. The man looked cool and detached and the frosty, snowy morning eyes just punctuated the point. The mahogany haired Adonis downed his drink and put down what looked to be a hundred dollar bill judging from the color on the bar counter, tapped it, nodded and left the pub. Katrina was out of her seat like a shot, and she grabbed the bartender's arm.
"Alright, Greg, who is that man?"
Her cousin, Greg Hammond, was owner of the Rusty Anchor Pub in the small village of Bennington Bay, Nova Scotia.
"If you'd come over, I could've introduced you. His name is Tristan Black. His family has been here for hundreds of years."
Katrina let go of his arm and sat in the seat Tristan had just vacated. The leather was surprisingly cool. Greg set another glass of white wine in front of her.
"If you come back tomorrow night, he'll be here again I'm sure. I'll introduce you. Though it may be a waste of time seeing you are only here visiting for the summer and Tristan, well, is Tristan."
Greg ran his hand through his short blond hair, turned and left her to wait on another customer. Katrina took a sip of the wine, which tasted crisp and sweet.
She looked around. The woman this Tristan had danced with was still wandering around in a sexual haze. Dear God. Meet him? Oh yes, would be back here tomorrow night. Never had she been so intrigued.
QUESTION: LEAVE COMMENT TO WIN: What paranormal-type hero do you like the best?
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