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Immortal Protector By Elizabeth Finn
The Immortals Book 1

Theirs was a forever love. At least it was supposed to be…

Truman and Ember met in a cold, dark basement on the day that was to be her last. Kidnapped by a predator at ten years old, Ember wasn’t long for this world. But even Truman, a three-hundred-year-old vampire, was incapable of escaping his humanity with her.

He follows her through her life to ensure her safety, unable to stop fighting for the scared little girl he met so many years in the past.

Truman, like all others of his kind, has the ability to erase memories of himself, and he uses this ability to come in and out of Ember’s life while protecting her from the knowledge of his kind.

When Truman finally caves into his desire for Ember, he is forced to take the most precious memory she holds. But he never imagined he’d lose his ability to return those memories. After Ember is attacked, Truman becomes responsible for a woman without a shred of remembrance of him or their long history together.

She doesn’t trust him, and he resents her cruelty toward him, but as much as she breaks his heart, he can’t give up on them. As Truman fights to win back her trust and remind her of just how good they are at falling in love, a threat looms closer and closer.

Can he save her once more from the clutches of a monster intent on destroying her? Or will her life be lost before her memories are ever found?

Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: February 25, 2013
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Excerpt & More

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Excerpt:
He reached to her shoulder to steady her where she stood. He placed his other hand on her cheek and stroked her skin with the assurance of someone who had every right to touch her. Ember was a flincher—had been since the monster, but his hand, quite oddly and unexpectedly, didn’t cause even a moment of panic. His fingers were cool and soothing and left images of his body on top of her, thrusting and fucking her. These images didn’t belong to her and yet they were vivid and powerful—so very real. She was left staring with a gaping mouth into his incredible eyes. They were hazel, but with flecks of green and even blue. His eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen, and they glinted as though it was high noon and the sun was reflected in them.

His gaze regarded her in seriousness, and the class around them was forgotten. Ember could feel the heat in her furiously burning cheeks, and his touch only barely helped to calm the flush. She felt as though she knew his touch but couldn’t place it. It was as if his entire person was sitting on the tip of her tongue. When his hands pulled back from her body, it was with a curious flinch of his brow.

“Are you okay?” His words, warm and purring, sounded seductive and left her body tingling with a reminiscence she didn’t understand.

Her nod was the very best she could manage under the circumstances, and as she felt for the desktop behind her and edged back into her seat, he watched her with his eyes glinting. He inhaled a deep breath at her retreat as if he wanted to pull her essence and scent back to him. She had to get a grip.

“Okay. Let’s get started. I’m Truman Solomon, and this is Western Civilization II. I’m a last-minute replacement for this class. I live and work in Boston, and I’m filling in here for the summer. Now’s your chance to grill me, so if you have questions, fire away.”

At his invitation, every female’s hand in the room, minus Ember’s of course, shot up. Eyelashes batted furiously, boobs stuck out, legs crossed and uncrossed, and five or six heads of hair got thrown about. Ember sat quietly watching the whole scene play out but still too mortified to speak. The handsome professor took it all in stride as he answered one question after another. Ember absorbed it all but stayed quiet.

He was an adjunct professor at Harvard who taught the majority of the history classes held in the evening. He was an antique and art dealer by day and bought and sold to some of the biggest auction houses on the Eastern seaboard, including Sotheby’s, Christie’s, Doyle and Skinner. He was not married, and no, he was not gay—yes, one of the floppy-haired pretty girls actually had the nerve to ask. Ember looked up often, unable in fact to stop herself from responding to his warm and soothing voice that invaded her head as he purred out his responses to every last question asked. When she looked, he always looked back. If his gaze wasn’t already on her, it found her quickly and held her own with ease and comfort. Her own naturally faltered every time, as though her eyes were scampering away like a scared puppy.

He was beautiful. There was no question of that, and the images of him doing terribly naughty things to her body wouldn’t stop plaguing her mind. Even when it was her turn to introduce herself to the class, she couldn’t stop the images of her own mouth pleasuring his body from floating through her mind as she met his eyes and willed her mouth to speak. She mumbled through her own introduction, and he refused to take his eyes off hers. When she sat, it was with an absolute refusal to speak, whisper, look up, or even breathe if she could help it for the remainder of the class. Her fantasies continued to toy with her as he reviewed the syllabus, and her body warmed at the thoughts that were so completely invading her mind.

She wondered just how it was that her overly naive brain could create such imaginary erotic scenes, and by the time he released them for the evening, she was certain there was a small puddle on the seat. As she rose to leave, ready to escape the intensity of his presence, he stopped her with his cool touch on her forearm. “Do you have a moment, Ember?” He remembered her name already; her uncharacteristically giddy heart soared.

“Sure.” She actually managed words this time.

As the last of the students filtered out and the door closed behind them, he started his vocal torture again that had her body trembling in want. “I just wanted to make sure your head was okay. That was quite a knock from the sound of it.”

She tried for a casual laugh, but it sounded more deranged than anything, and as her hand shifted to the bump that had formed, so too did his hand. His fingers laced with hers as he felt the same spot, and as his fingers ran over the bruised knot on the back of her head, she stared at his neck, moving her gaze up to his mouth as he continued to touch her. Her breathing was quick and flustered, and their bodies were so close they were nearly touching. She wanted to touch him, she wanted to taste his smooth skin, and as she stood still in front of him, the wetness continued to build. When she managed a glance, his gaze was already trained on her. And when he finally pulled his hand from her head, he took hers along with it, allowing the clasp of their fingers to last for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll walk you out.” His words were quiet, and he swallowed over a lump in his throat and looked away.

It was still early summer yet, and the evening was chilly and brisk. Always poorly dressed for the occasion, Ember hadn’t brought a jacket or even worn long sleeves, and as he took in her clothing as they walked from the building together, he commented, “You should have dressed warmer; it’s too cold for short sleeves.” The ease of his words, as though he knew her well enough to make this judgment, left a warmth and comfort in her soul. There was nothing offensive about his approach, but it was odd from a man whom she’d only just met. When they arrived at her old, beat-up Toyota, she looked back along the way they’d come and could have sworn he’d led her to this spot, rather than the other way around, but as he bid her good night and turned from her after one more seductive smile, she dismissed it.

He climbed into a sleek black Infinity SUV, and he watched as her clunker argued with her about starting. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It wasn’t until she’d pulled from her spot that he put his into drive and left the parking lot as well.

Not until many blocks later and after he turned off on his own side street did she utter her assessment of the night to no one except herself. “What the fuck was that?”
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