ALEX DIDN’T believe in the boogeyman.
Never had — not when he was a child and not at twenty-five. So why did he half expect to turn his head and see the fiend standing alongside his car?
He scanned the rear of Whitney St. John’s townhouse. Nothing seemed out of place, yet his gut insisted something was wrong.
He froze. Was someone watching him?
Nothing moved. No one crept through the shadows. But he wasn’t fooled; someone was there. In an effort to appear unaware, he settled deeper in the leather seat and sipped his overpriced gourmet coffee, the one indulgence he allowed himself.
Whitney’s stalker lurked somewhere beyond his range of vision. She wasn’t the target this time; he was.
He glanced out the driver’s side window and nearly dropped the cup of steaming coffee. A man stood on the balcony of the townhouse, his gaze focused on Alex.
Rain-bloated clouds snuffed out the moonlight and plunged the home into deep shadow. Alex eased out of the Mustang into the cold drizzle.
He maneuvered down the short, treacherous stretch of terrain between the road and the townhouse. When he reached her small backyard, the clouds drifted aside, once again illuminating the balcony.
Alex skidded to a halt.
The man was gone.
His gaze darted to the street. Old-fashioned gas lamps cast a muted glow on wisps of gently drifting fog and nothing else. Where was the son of a bitch?
Soft laughter floated down from the rooftop. He stood near the edge. “Come here,” he commanded.
Alex’s skin prickled. His hand itched to close around the grip of the Beretta tucked in his waistband, but his arms hung lax at his sides. Unable to stop them, his traitorous, sluggish feet carried him forward.
Rain pelted his upturned face while the prowler’s gleeful stare drilled him, binding them together. With tremendous effort, he broke the connection.
“Look at me,” the stranger growled.
Against his will, Alex complied and fell into an abyss, drowning in pleasant warmth.
The intruder leapt into the air and dropped, coat flapping behind him like wings. He landed in a crouch and straightened to his full height, towering a good three inches over Alex’s six-one.
Transfixed, Alex didn't move, and the man closed the distance between them in two strides.
Heavy hands clamped onto Alex’s shoulders. Sharp nails pierced his leather jacket, sending spikes of hot pain through him. Yet, he remained motionless, enthralled by the bottomless brown eyes locked with his own. The man snarled, revealing long, amazingly white, canines.
A rush of primal terror hammered Alex. Face to face with a creature straight out of a nightmare, he didn’t question his sanity or that he was in the clutches of a vampire.
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