a Vampire possessed (paperback)

He's no monster. At least, not as far as he can
remember…

Aiden Sinclair was usually a go-with-the-flow kind of vampire. Easy going. Ready for anything.

But waking up in an unfamiliar city with no memory of how he’d gotten there was a bit much even for him.

He probably should’ve focused on
finding his way home. Instead, he played hero to a cheeky witch in  distress and got himself in even more
trouble.

Grace Moss is secretive. Distrustful. Unfairly sexy. Too smart for her
own good—and his.  

She's his fated mate.

Now, he must figure out how to protect Grace, fill the gaps in his memory, and stop his enemies from destroying everything he loves…all while fighting his inner demon.

His literal inner demon.

To get through all that, he knows
sacrifices will have to be made for the greater, bloody, good.

But he’ll be damned if he’ll let Grace be one of them…

A Vampire Possessed, book 3 in the Deathless Night series, is a
sometimes dark,sometimes funny, always steamy and spicy paranormal romance between a strong heroine who has
lost her Mojo, and the vampire voted least likely to ever settle into a happily ever after. Download today!

Aiden awoke with a jerk and tried to suck in a breath. Fine grain filled his mouth and nose, suffocating him. More came in as he tried to spit it back out, and he panicked. His heart rate rose to a violent staccato as he tried to raise his hands to his face to wipe it off, only to find he couldn't move at all.

What the fuck?

Adrenaline flowed through his tired limbs, flooding them with a sudden spurt of energy. He tried to swing his arms and legs back and forth, but it was so thick it was like pushing against a wall. Determined to find his way out of this wonky situation, he kept wiggling his body around, until little by little, the grain loosened a bit around him.

More adrenaline surged into his muscles with every inch he gained, and a desperate longing to be free stimulated his exceptional strength until he was able to swim through the stuff.

It was kind of like swimming through a mass of thick quicksand, but he kept going, hoping like hell that "up" was actually above his head and he wasn't working his way deeper into the stuff. He needed air. And he needed it now.

The rough granules stuck to his sweat-soaked clothes and skin, but those that didn't stick trickled down the pile every time he raised an arm or a leg, gradually adding up enough so he had some purchase.

It was an exceptionally slow and painful process, but after what seemed like an eternity, he managed to haul himself to the top. As soon as his nose and mouth broke free, he spit the crap out of his mouth the best he could and sucked in a huge lungful of hot, stale tasting air.

Exhausted, he hung out where he was for a bit while he inhaled some much- appreciated oxygen. He didn't really need it to survive, but the habit was so ingrained, he couldn't help but freak out if he didn't have it.

Gathering up some more energy, he pushed with his legs until his entire head was

 free. He worked an arm out and wiped the grit off his face. Blinking it out of his eyes, he took a look around.

"Bloody hell," he rasped from his dry, aching throat.

He was lucky he'd stopped "swimming" when he had, or he would've smashed his head into the top of the damn metal shipping container he was in.

How in the world had he managed to get in here? And for that matter, where exactly was "here"?

Following the line of the container around to the front, he found a crack where the door must be, and he started kicking and paddling through the grain towards it. He had just enough room to keep his head above the top of the pile.

Keeping a wary distance from the opening until he saw that no sunlight was shining in, he moved closer and stuck his eyeball right up against it. Straining to make out something...anything...that would give him a clue as to where he was, he turned his head this way and that. But all he saw were more shipping containers.

So he was either in a shipyard, or on a ship, and being that he wasn't feeling any movin' or groovin' going on, he would hazard a guess that he wasn't in the middle of the ocean

Now, how to get out of this bloody thing? There wasn't enough room for him to get a decent amount of momentum going to bust his way out, not fighting through the grain that filled this thing, and not in the weakened state he was in.

Maybe he could find the latch for the door? Bust it open? But at the thought of voluntarily burying himself again to get down to it made him shudder.

Right then. Perhaps not.

He was racking his brain for an alternative plan when he heard the beautiful sound of male voices heading his way. Tilting his head to hear better, he calmed his breathing and listened, trying to make out what they were saying.

After a moment he frowned, pulled back from the door and shook his head. He must have grain in his ears, for he was having a hard time understanding them, even with his supernatural hearing.

Working his way closer to the door again, he pressed his ear right up against it.

He stared at the door in disbelief. Was that...Chinese?

He was going daft.

His heart rate accelerated back up to double-time as he pressed his eye back up to the crack: Nothing there but other shipping containers no matter how he strained to see around them.

Okay, mate. Just stay calm. No need to make things worse by having a fit.

He backed away from the door as well as he could and tried to think through this new information logically. Truly, he could be back in Seattle for all he knew. There was a large Chinese population there, and they spoke their native tongue with each other all the time. It didn't mean anything that these humans weren't speaking English. There was no need to get all riled up just yet.

No matter how his instincts were telling him to do exactly that.

The voices of the two males wandered closer, still talking. Aiden leaned in towards the crack again, and this time he could see them as they approached.

In all of his years, why had he never bothered to really learn this language? All he could pick out was a word here and there.

One of them swung his arm up as his voice rose with it, apparently to make an important point in the conversation. His scent wafted through the air and up to the small opening to infuse the air within the container.

The scent of sweat, and spices...and blood.

His gums burned as his fangs burst through, his body eager to feed. His guts felt shriveled and loose, and his stomach nearly about to cave in on itself.

A feral growl rumbled from his parched throat, and his body tensed, preparing to strike.

Crazed with thirst, he snapped into predator mode. Sweat stinging his eyes, they zeroed in on the door as the humans approached it.

A clanking noise resonated loudly throughout the metal container, followed by a

low humming sound. The box jerked as the hydraulics underneath it came on, slowly

lifting the back end and tilting it forward.

His mouth watered and his throat burned with thirst as his muscles swelled and tightened in preparation for the hunt. The grain started to shift forward as the back end inclined, carrying him with it. He let it take him, not wasting his energy fighting the heavy mass, saving what he had left for taking down his prey.

He needed to feed.

The grain engulfed him completely again just as the doors began to swing open, concealing his presence from the humans. Closing his eyes, he pushed away the fear of being buried again, opening his remaining senses and moving within the grain to keep his body upright. The back end tilted up higher, and he slid out through the opening as the doors swung open wide.

Landing in a graceful crouch on the concrete beneath a waterfall of grain, he wasted no time, launching himself to the side and barely escaping the gritty cascade of granules as it was dumped out of the container.

Following the scent of the humans, he tracked them to the back of the shipping container, where they were waiting for the last of the grain to spill out so they could switch off the lift.

They never even saw him coming. He moved so swiftly and silently, he was nothing but a dark blur in the deepening twilight.

He grabbed one of the humans around the throat. Holding him at arms length with ease, he pulled the other one towards him and sank his fangs deep into his throat, directly into the artery. Sucking down deep swallows of the life-giving liquid, he quickly drained the first male dry and tossed him aside.

The other human's eyes bulged from their sockets as he turned to him, the stench of fear and piss souring his scent right before he became the second course. The man's body quickly joined his friend's on the ground.

As soon as he finished feeding, his knees buckled and he collapsed beside them, his ass hitting the asphalt hard enough to jar his teeth. He gripped his head in his hands as he fought down the guilt that wracked him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He hated killing them. He really did. It went completely against his nature. He never killed the innocent. Ever.