It’s Midnight in the city that Never Sleeps . . .
Having given up his mortal life to search for his lost love through the centuries, vampire Gabriel McGraw begins his final crusade to free her from an enemy’s grip. But is she the same woman he loved and lost or an equally dangerous foe who could betray all he believes in?
Naomi Bright’s memories go back no farther than her arrival in Las Vegas. Compulsion draws her toward a medieval fantasy world, and obsession to a man she instinctively knows but can’t remember. Will finding the answers release her from her prison of fear or bind her more closely to a long suppressed act of evil?
“Fabulous! Readers will delight in the suspense and romance
as well as take joy in the vampire world so captivatingly created by this
talented author. A Rose Award nominee!
--The Word on Romance
“Booksellers Best” Nominee for Paranormal Romance
“Another enthralling and soul-stirring vampire romance about
two star-crossed lovers who never seem to get it right.”
– Midwest Book Reviews
“Great vampire story, as usual. Will steal the readers’ hearts!”
– Paranormal Romance Reviews
“An extraordinary vampire/reincarnation romance with a smooth
descriptive style.”
–The Examiner, Beaumont, TX
“Booksellers Best Award” finalist
“A Perfect 10!” Elements of suspense, romance and the paranormal world create a captivating and spine tingling tale. Ms. Gideon writes with an edge not often seen in romance. An incredible trip into the world of the preternatural!” – Romance Reviews Today
She loved walking along the Strip at night. The energy, the brilliant lights bursting like stars against the blackness of the night created a world like no other. A pretend world where she might belong as she never did during the daylight hours. A world where magic was possible and knights still rescued damsels in distress.
Lost in her musings, she didn’t notice her steps were echoed. She always felt safe on the streets of Las Vegas, just another anonymous figure in an ever-shifting crowd. Too insignificant to draw the attention of anyone bent on harm. Why would they bother? In her plain, wholesale store office clothing, she didn’t suggest untold wealth was hidden in her bulky purse. So she was completely surprised when a bump from behind was followed by a sharp yank on her shoulder strap.
Common sense told her to let go. But from somewhere deep inside came an angry bellow that said, “No!” No, she was not surrendering the few meager tokens of identity she could claim to some street punk out for quick cash.
The kid looked up in alarm when she pulled back and began battling for possession of the handbag instead of doing the sensible, expected thing. His gaunt face was a pin cushion of metal piercings. A tattoo crawled up from beneath the neckband of his dirty tee shirt. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Just a child. Then his expression grew old and ugly.
“Let go, bitch, before you get hurt.”
And a small blade appeared in his hand as if to prove that point.
Tenaciously, she dug in her heels and looped the cheap imitation leather strap around her wrist. When he jerked her purse, she was pulled forward to fall hard upon her knees. Pain burned from that rough contact. Still, she wouldn’t let go.
The knife slashed in a motion too quick to follow and she gasped as it severed the strap and her last hold upon her belongings.
None of the passersby who glanced down at the woman on hands and knees offered assistance. They quickly walked on. As if she wasn’t worth the involvement of a simple gesture. Until one hand extended down to her, palm up in expectation.
Her gaze lifted. Through the shimmer of anguish, his blond head was haloed by an ethereal light, making her think, for just a moment, Could this be my angel?
He could have been. Easily, his was one of the most striking faces she’d ever seen with its dramatic bone structure, strong jaw and a sensitive mouth that played intriguingly against that fierce setting. And his eyes . . . Set beneath the tousle of fair hair and unyielding horizontal slash of his brows, they were dark, piercing her with a brooding intensity. The kind of penetrating gaze one would feel in a crowd.
Was he . . .? Was his the gaze following her each night?
She should have been afraid once that thought surfaced. But there was no fear in the timid way her hand slipped across his palm.
Rough and cool.
His fingers closed about hers with a protective strength both confident and comforting. She rose to her feet with his firm guidance. Her knees wouldn’t stop trembling.
“Are you all right?”
Such quiet power in his voice made his words resonate with a concern far outweighing the interest of one stranger in another’s plight. The depth of emotion in that simple phrase brought a dampening of gratitude to her uplifted gaze. She tried to speak. Her lips moved but no sound issued. She was very aware that he hadn’t released her hand. His thumb moved across her knuckles in slow searching revolutions. She fought the need to tighten her grip and instead, let her fingers rest casually in his palm. As if they belonged there. Her whole body felt relaxed and comfortable in its familiarity with this man, this stranger, and she marveled at that, she who never experienced a lessening of her guard with a member of the opposite sex no matter how well she knew him.
“You should not have resisted. You might have been hurt.”
His scolding was like his voice—gentle, persuasive and driven by regard for her safety.
“I know.” Her own response quivered, not with apology but with acceptance of consequence. She gasped slightly when he extended her purse. Taking it in her free hand, she crushed it to her rapidly beating heart.
“There’s nothing in there worth the risk. Just things.”
Her chin came up a notch. Her tone firmed. “My things.”
He smiled then, just a small curve of his mouth that managed to convey his amused admiration as well as exasperation. “Nothing worth the risk,” he repeated softly.
“Thank you . . .?” She let that linger, waiting for him to finish it.
“Gabriel.”
Like the angel.
He studied her with that consuming intensity. An urgent expectation steeped in his dark gaze as if he hoped to receive something in return. Was he waiting for some sort of reward? She had a five dollar bill in her change purse. That seemed woefully inadequate.
Slowly anticipation dimmed to disappointment. She’d failed him somehow without intention or understanding and she wished she knew how to make amends.
“I will see you again, Gabriel.” Not a question, for she felt it with a certainty.
His expression lightened. His gaze dazzled with promise. However, his response was carefully tempered with restraint.
“If you wish.”
And he brought her hand up, carrying it like something cherished to meet the soft, sweet touch of his lips. Her insides liquefied with heat and a giddy delight at that surprisingly courtly gesture. He could have had her then with a word. She would have gone with him anywhere, walking away from her shell of a life without an instant of regret to chase the fleeting beauty of that moment. As if following him was the most natural thing in the world
But he stepped back, releasing her hand to break the spell.
Someone jostled her arm. She glanced away for only an instant. But it took only that instant for him to disappear, leaving her oddly bereft and so alone on that crowded walk.
He hadn’t asked her name.
He knew it, she was sure, believing the moment their gazes met for an acquainting union, that he knew everything about her. But how was that possible? How could she feel such kinship, such a compelling closeness to a man she’d never seen before?
But would see again.
He sank back into the shadows, watching her confusion as she scanned the sidewalks for him. He stayed out of sight with an anguished purpose. He hadn’t meant to reveal himself to her, not so soon, not so spontaneously without planning the result.
But he had, and he had his answer.
He passed his hand across his eyes, covering the tender torment that came with beholding her image. The sound that escaped him was half strangled sob, half moan of longing.
She didn’t know him.
No recognition sparked her gaze. No awareness leapt at the sound of his name.
He meant nothing to her.
How could that be when she was the very breath in his body, the very reason for his heart to continue beating in its unnatural rhythm somewhere between heaven and hell?
The scent of her lingered. The perfume she wore had passed from her tender skin to his hand and he inhaled deeply until intoxicated by fragrant memory. Violets. Her favorite. The delicate bouquet had teased him through centuries, quickening his hopes, his desires, his dreams.
She was here. And she would be his at last.
And he would never, ever let her go again.
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