His Captive Mortal
“She scanned the dark downtown streets for anyone she ought to avoid on her five block walk to her duplex. Downtown should lend comfort in numbers, but unless it was a weekend, the only people who roamed Congress Street after midnight were looking for trouble.A man approached and while he didn’t look menacing, she held her keys pointed through her knuckles the way she’d learned in her college self-defense class, then added her own self-devised protection—imagining a giant ball of light surrounding her.The moment she pictured it, the man stopped in his tracks, staring as if he could see it. Her breath froze in her chest, heart pounding.A slow grin spread across his face. “Is this for me?” he drawled in a sexy British accent.Vampire.She didn’t know how she could tell, but the word entered her mind clearly.His grin broadened, showing sharp canines. “Yes,” he purred as if she’d spoken the word aloud. “And you are…what? Fey? Or a witchling?” He cocked his head to the side, “Priestess?”
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