Rated R Excerpt:
Why hadn’t he killed the little bitch yet? He clenched his fists trying hard to resist the rising urge to punch something. She’d been chained in his basement for a week. He’d yearned so long for the sweet taste of revenge yet now he sat here like some pansy ass wondering why he hadn’t exacted it. Hell with it! He’d go do it right now. He’d drain the last drop of blood from her scrawny neck and watch until the last flicker of light vanished from her lifeless eyes.
He lunged out of the high backed leather chair he was sitting in with such force it fell backwards. But, before it crashed to the floor, he spun with lightening speed and yanked it back up by the arms then flung it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into several pieces, splintering wood speared the air. The loud crack upon impact reverberated through the room. He’d be pissed about his broken favorite chair and the hole in the wall later. Right now he was too occupied with his current problem. He dug his fingers through thick jet-black hair, pulling at it as if he could yank the warring thoughts from his brain. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring in anger, and sucked in several frustrated breaths.
For the past week something had halted his every attempt to kill Sabrina. Some nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, some emotion he was not familiar with. He’d never been a man ruled by emotions and the new feelings sparked by the current situation angered and frustrated him. He wasn’t one to tolerate such weakness. He had not lived over four hundred years by allowing sappy feelings to rule his life. He considered himself fierce, loyal and a damn good fighter. There was no room in his life for crappy road trips down emotional lane.
“Fuck!” he pounded his fist so hard on the desk it shook and threatened to break in half. The one moment he’d yearned for, lived for, hungered for, the day of vengeance was now a reality waiting for him in his cellar, and yet Sabrina continued to breathe, continued to live. Her every breath called to him, mocked him for the coward he was.
Sabrina Johnson became his enemy the night she’d killed the one woman he had ever come to feel anything for in his long existence. Jade was beautiful, strong and his match in every way. He planned to spend his life with her until Sabrina turned that dream into a nightmare by murdering Jade in cold blood. The images of that ill fated night were forever imprinted on his brain, each crystal clear detail as vivid as if it happened only yesterday.
100 years earlier . . .
Jericho opened the front door of his home, returning after feeding, to a sight he never imagined to witness. The body of the woman he loved, the woman he made love to night after night lay on the floor limp and lifeless. Her soft blonde hair fanned out under her as if the wind gently blew it, mixed with sticky, half-dried blood. The rich red liquid matted the silky waves and the macabre contrast of colors only emphasized her beauty. His heart leapt, skipped then settled into a sporadic rhythm that ached with each beat. His woman was dead. Bled dry from the jagged slice across her pale throat. Jericho was so stunned by the vision in front of him it took his brain a moment to process the slight movement in the shadows.
The red-headed bitch, Sabrina Johnson stood near Jade’s lifeless body. He didn’t know Sabrina well only having run across her on a few occasions, but he would’ve never pegged her as a murderer. By the time the shock wore off his body, allowing his shock frozen, cramped muscles movement once again, Sabrina had pulled a disappearing act.
He sat on the wood floor that was nearly as cold as the lifeless body he now cradled in his lap and vowed to hunt Sabrina down and kill her for taking his woman from him. There was nowhere she could hide from him. He would turn over every rock, every stone, every pebble, every damn grain of sand. Look in every nook and cranny. Scour the earth until he found her. Then, he’d bring his full wrath down upon her.
The present. . . .
Images of Jade’s life force flowing across the floor had haunted his every waking hour, his every dreaming moment for so long he couldn’t remember what life had been like before the memories had been forever stamped on his brain. After almost one hundred years of hunting her, he’d finally caught up with Sabrina a few nights ago. She’d evaded him at every turn for so long, he’d never believed his luck when he got a tip she was at a restaurant only a couple hours from his home. She should have known better than to have the audacity to set foot so close to his neck of the woods.
Yet, now instead of wallowing in the belly of revenge he was full of anger, confusion and questions. Why did he let her live? Why had he brought her to his house? He’d planned on taking her out onto a deserted road somewhere in the swamps and bleed her just dry enough where there was no chance for her to survive then throw her to the gators. But, instead he’d continued driving and driving until he was back at his own house in Baton Rouge.
He pulled his six foot five frame straight, every muscle tense, ready for battle and sucked in a deep breath. “No more excuses,” he muttered. Jericho Tavi was not a man to go back on a vow. He would finish this tonight. And, still a small voice buried deep in a corner of his conscious whispered doubt and wondered if it would be heard.
