Home | AC Writing Services | Animals in Need | Bio | Books | Bookstore | Coming Soon | Contest | Fabled Towers | FAQ | First Chapters | Guestbook | Links | Merchandise | Newsletter | Photo Gallery | Publishing Credits | Writing Tips | Workshops | Works in Progress | Contact Astrid

Blood Night
Buy Now from Under the Moon
Read the Reviews

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The Excerpt:
"Don't move!" a male voice shouted behind her. "That's right. Now real slow, you stand up, move away, put your hands behind your back."

Mirrazan obeyed, caution overcome by curiosity-she liked his voice. A deep voice, harshness hiding the gentleness. A voice of contrasts, like the man-this she knew in a moment. So, she did as he ordered.

She heard his footsteps on the pavement. Looking over her shoulder she saw a man dressed in dark leather, dark hair, a gun.a Colt Python levelled at her. She hated guns-clumsy, killing tools for cowards. Hunt with honor and kill with style, this, her Law. The moonlight highlighted the gun: large, lethal, like its owner.

As he glanced down at the body, she saw his jaw tighten. He turned to her, his gaze uncompromising.

"Up against the wall, face first. Don't make me use this." The gun waved her forward.

His knee at the back of her thighs pressed her hard against the bricks, her cheek scraping the rough masonry. She gagged at the stench: it filled her nostrils and her mind, the uncounted grime and disease of generations of thieves and scum who had used the alley, done what they had done, leaving their vibrations and moving on.

His left hand moved quickly. With a sharp snap, heavy cold metal was fastened around her wrists. She was pivoted around to face him.

She tested the handcuffs; she could easily break them, but for the moment, only for a moment, would she indulge him. Bondage was a game she enjoyed, but she was never the one restrained. And she preferred to use silk cords and ribbons, occasionally a strand of pearls, but never anything so coarse and barbaric as hand-cuffs. She twisted her wrists, the metal chafing.

Interesting. But now wasn't the time to be thinking of sex games. Handcuffs might be something for the future, though.on her prey's wrists, not her own.

She watched as he bent down to the figure and stroked the dead woman's face. His touch was one of familiarity, of love. Mirrazan frowned. He knew the victim. Sorrow filled him, replaced by burning fury. Then he pushed himself to his feet, all whipcord and anger.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The Reviews:
Coming Soon


Designed & Maintained by
J & J Designs