Other authors appearing among the twenty strong line-up include Sommer Marsden, KD Grace, Elizabeth Coldwell and Lucy Felthouse, to name but a few.
As promised, here's a little...ahem...taster of my hot-blooded vampire tale, Skin Deep. Hope you enjoy.
‘I know what you are,’ she stutters.
In a flash I have her by the scruff of the neck and out of the fire door, utilising that strength and speed to take us well away from the clamouring sound of the alarm and any responding pursuit. Half way down a deserted alley, I swing into a shadowed doorway and push her against the door. Using the weight of my body I hold her pinned, leaving her dainty feet dangling a foot off the ground.
‘You might think you know me, little girl.’ I lean close and snarl right into her face. ‘But you’ve no idea of the trouble you’re really in.’
‘I d … do know.’ She can barely choke the words out past the terror squeezing her lungs and I have to give her points for courage. With one hand she attempts to push me away, while with the other she scrabbles around in the neckline of her top. Pulling out the end of a long silver chain, she brandishes a crucifix at me. ‘I’ve been w … watching you for weeks. You’re a vampire.’
I’m stunned that she appears to know the truth, but given her current predicament, see no need to deny it. I laugh nastily, making sure she gets a good eyeful of long, sharp fang. ‘And who the hell do you think you are – Buffy the Slayer?’ Wrapping my hand around the useless talisman, I rip it from around her neck and toss it away, gaze locking on the thin red graze left by the rough pull of the chain … and the pulse ticking hard and fast beneath it.
'Oh God, don’t you bite me!’ She struggles harder as she registers the intent stamped on my features. Her heart races flat out, pitter-pattering through the layers of our clothing to tickle against my ribs. ‘I’ll scream!’
She really hadn’t taken the time to think this through to the end, had she?
‘I don’t doubt it, darling.’ I clamp a hand over her mouth and use it to push her chin to the side, stretching out the long line of her neck. Leaning down, I inhale her scent, running my face from clavicle to jaw. She smells good enough to eat. ‘It’s really just a question of how loud,’ I say with soft menace into her ear.
With that she goes wild. Screeches muffled against my palm, she lashes out with hands and feet, elbows and knees. She scratches and hits and kicks, hair flying around her and skin growing flushed as she fights for her very life.
All of which the beast in me absolutely loves.
Goaded, ravenous, I go straight for the jugular, teeth piercing through gossamer-fine skin to sink deep into the hot, living rush of arterial blood.
