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Blood Sin by Jenn Lyons
Blood Chimera Book Two

Everything is permitted… and everyone has their price.

Zander Sin is the bad boy of rock-n-roll, known for his wealth, his temper tantrums, and his love of hedonism, but to K&R expert and newly born maran vampire Jackson Pastor, Zander Sin is something else: murderer, monster, and kidnapper. After Zander’s Whore of Babylon tour comes to Los Angeles, Jackson also learns that Zander Sin has a grudge with Jackson’s family that goes way beyond money or power, and stretches all the way back to ancient Rome.

Zander may be on everyone’s hit list, human and supernatural alike, but when Jackson learns that Zander’s keeping his younger sister Monika prisoner, he finds himself face-to-face with the most objectionable of outcomes: being forced to help Zander Sin get what he wants. Even if it means Jackson may have to betray everyone he loves to do it.

Genre: Paranormal Mystery
Content/Theme(s): Urban Fantasy, Vampires, Shifters, Suspense, Musicians
Release Date: November 4, 2014
Publisher: World Weaver Press

Excerpt & More

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Excerpt:
He shot me twice before I reached the rusted old screen door.

It hurt him more than it hurt me: his face was ashen and his hands shook so bad it was a miracle he hit anything but air. He clicked through empty chambers while he stared at me with wide, insane eyes.

Then he tried to run, but really, that should have been plan A.

I had tracked him down to a rundown Arts and Crafts bungalow over in Rampart Heights, which was probably a sterling neighborhood once upon a time and now had the faded, worn look of a middle-aged stripper working the lunch shift. As if to compound the insult, the house itself was white with Pepto-Bismol trim and accents, suggesting Barbie might live there as an old lady after Ken ditched her for another guy. There was nothing about that place that qualified as well maintained--the windows needed washing, a dried yellow infestation of crabgrass tried to pass for a yard, and dead or overgrown bushes lurked at the edges. The place was bad enough at night; it was anyone’s guess what horrors daylight would reveal.

Yeah, well who was I to talk? I wasn’t exactly there representing the local homeowner's association.

I ignored the burning pain in my chest and shoulder as I slammed open the front screen door, tearing the metal off its hinges. He shuddered as he saw what I had done, threw the gun at me in token TV show protest, and ran.

I stopped for long enough to pick up the discarded revolver before I chased.

He wasn’t built for this. He was the same age as me, but he’d spent too much time behind the wheel of a delivery van and not enough time at a gym. One of the trucks he drove delivered uniforms and fresh linens for a service, and maybe that was how he’d put his paws on the police officer’s uniform. The hardware wasn’t hard to buy if you knew where to shop or how to order off the Internet. He looked the part. One might even argue the pudge worked in his favor.

Anyway, he didn’t clear the fence in the backyard before I was on him.

“Where’s the boy?” I turned him around to face me.

“I don’t know what you’re--” He looked into my eyes and screamed.

I wondered what he saw.

I’d have felt sorry for him, but I smelled the boy’s scent on him. He wasn’t receiving anything like sympathy from me.

I shook him. “I’ll only ask one more time.”

“God, don’t hurt me! He’s upstairs. He’s fine! I haven’t hurt him! I want my lawyer!” The whine in his voice reached a high pitch that made my teeth ache.

I patted him down, retrieved a handful of bullets from one of his uniform pockets, and loaded a single bullet in the chamber. “Is this the first one? Have there been others?” I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and started to wipe down his gun.

His eyes went wide. “You’re not a cop.”

“Do I look like a cop?” I closed the cylinder and offered him the gun, holding it so the cloth was between my hand and the weapon.

That confused him. He stared at me, then back at his revolver, like I’d booby-trapped it somehow. It had to be a trick.

“Take the gun.”

“What, but I--” Emotions crossed his face, ran into each other, screamed and fled, leaving numb confusion behind.

“What’s your name?”

“Pet-Peter.”

I leaned closer to him. “Here’s how it’s going to work, Peter. Someone reported those shots. The cops will be here soon. Real cops, not pretend like you. Even in this neighborhood we’ve about five minutes before they show. There’s an Amber alert out for that kid you grabbed and a good description of you. LAPD will arrest you, and they’ll put you in jail as a pedophile, and since you impersonated one of our proud boys in blue for the snatch, there will be no sympathy from anyone, anywhere. They’re going to put you in with the nastiest, dirtiest bastards LA County lock-up has to offer, the folks who will take what you did as an excuse to unleash every torture ever devised by men with too much free time and stored up hate.” I offered him the revolver again. “There will be no dignity in that. None at all. With someone like you? They’ll make a point to strip it from you.”

He looked at the gun, and then past my hand to the upstairs part of the house. “I didn’t mean to. They’re just...” He swallowed. “They’re so pure. You don’t know what it’s like. To touch something that good--”

“Okay, Peter. You need to be quiet now.”

He took the gun from my hand and stared at it.

“If you’re thinking of using it on me, take a good, hard look at where you hit me before. All you’ll do is piss me off.” Truthfully, the bullets hurt like hell and I was lucky he hadn't punctured a lung, but damned if I was going to let him know. It might give him ideas. Some of those ideas would work. A bullet to the head kills most anything, even my species.

At least, it kills my species temporarily.

His eyes were pale, watery brown, and if ever a man’s eyes looked like a cornered rat’s, his did. He stared at the gun like a junkie eyes a dirty needle.

Fifteen seconds, more or less.

The sound of a last gunshot sent the crows scrambling skyward.
~~~~~~
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