Edge of Dawn
À propos de cet e-book
Former San Francisco Detective Robert Almaden joined the Vampire Task Force five years ago when he lost his son Matthew to vampirism. But his reason remains his greatest secret; not only would Robert’s motive for joining the VTF be suspect, he’d be ridiculed mercilessly.
He’s paid his dues and bided his time, waiting for advancements in the crude treatments for vampires and watching for any sign Matthew, who stormed out in a rage after their last big fight.
The years with the VTF have been hard, and all Robert has to show for it is a hatred for vampires that runs bone deep.
When Robert spots his son in a surveillance photo taken in Bucharest, he knows he has to act before the Romanian-based Guardians’ sting operation proves tragic for Matthew. But Romania is a vampire infested hot zone, and he can’t let the VTF get wind of what he’s planning. He knows only one bloodsucker he would even consider asking for help, but after the raid on the Palace in San Francisco, he did not part ways nicely with the annoyingly spoiled vampiresse.
Cvetelina Maldonova knows Agent Almaden wouldn’t have come all the way to Romania to ask for her help if he wasn’t forced to—he can’t stand her undead guts. He’s the most pigheaded human she’s ever met. And having lived for six hundred years, she’s met a lot.
Not only does Robert believe he can cure his son of vampirism, he won’t listen when she tries to tell him an assassin has him targeted. He’s going to get his fool neck bit, and Cvetelina knows she’ll be blamed if returns to his agency in a coffin. Whether he likes it or not, she’s sticking to him like glue.
At least Robert is easy on the eyes, and when Cvetelina looks into his cool blue ones, she can almost see daylight again. But when he’s dosed with Tourin and goes mad with sexual need, that’s the last straw. She grabs the nearest thing she can find to restrain him; the sex-ties in her bedroom. Suddenly Robert is bound and helpless, and things are looking more interesting. What to do, what to do...
