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Once more I’m so very humbled by all the talented people who work behind the scenes to get my books out there. Esi Sogah, my lovely editor, Pam Jaffee and Jessie Edwards, the publicity ladies. Tom, who outdid himself with this cover. Hell never looked so good, eh? Adrienne Di Pietro, I just adore you. The girls at HarperCollins Canada, it was so lovely to meet!
I also need to give a shout-out to my readers for Wicked: Tracy Stefurak—thanks for all your input and enthusiasm. Amanda Vyne—again, best roomie ever, and your sharp eye is much appreciated.
Again, I’m so thrilled to have met such an amazing group of paranormal authors at HarperCollins. The Supernatural Underg
round ladies rock and everyone should check out the blog!
Lastly, a huge THANK YOU to the readers who’ve embraced my jaguars. Thank you so much for your e-mails, they mean a lot!
Read on for a sneak peek at
KING OF THE DAMNED,
the next book in the League of Guardians series,
coming December 2012
from Juliana Stone and Avon Books.
There’s nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home.
SIXX: A.M.
Darkness had fallen hours earlier, leaving only the moon’s glow to illuminate the house on the hill. Rowan cut the engine of her rental, a frown furling her features as she stared at the large, rambling home.
The wind whistled and moaned, whipping dead leaves from the ground into a chaotic dance across her windshield. In the distance a once-vibrant red sunset settled along the edge of darkness that encroached from below. The day was dying and soon nightfall would be complete.
She glanced at the parking area next to the gift shop and was surprised to see it empty. The Black Cauldron was one of the most popular bed-and-breakfast stops in Salem and there were always guests in residence. At least there used to be.
An uneasy fist turned in her gut as she narrowed her eyes and gazed toward the house. The porch light was out and the evening’s early shadows nearly hid the newspapers piled up next to the door. Leaves and debris clung to the corners of the steps leading up to the porch. It looked as if it hadn’t been swept for days.
She pursed her lips and frowned. It was too dark, too silent. Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Rowan pushed her car door open and grabbed her overnight bag as she slid from the car. Cool wind caressed bare legs and a shudder wracked her body as she paused beside the vehicle. She was still dressed for Southern California, not fall in Massachusetts. The ice blue silk blouse wasn’t going to cut it.
She smoothed the lines of her short linen skirt, exhaled, and strode toward the house.
Her nana had left a message on her machine days ago asking her to come home, but she’d been in Europe on business for the firm. Now that she was home, she was anxious to see her.
She swept a pile of twigs and maple leaves from the corner of the door and bit her lip as the knob turned beneath her hand. The house looked closed up and yet it was unlocked.
“Shit,” she murmured as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. “Nana?” Her voice tentative, Rowan set her bag on the floor and locked the door behind her.
She bit her lip. Nana never left it unlocked.
Her hand felt along the wall and she flipped a switch, bathing the foyer in a soft glow. It looked exactly as she remembered. Delicate roses adorned the wallpaper in the entry though the bottom part of the walls sported golden oak trim. The floor at her feet was worn, the oak planks smooth from years of use and polish.
To her left was an antique Queen Anne side table. It held Nana’s guest book and sported a large vase. It was always filled with fresh flowers taken from the gardens out back. Depending on the season it could hold a riot of color or the fresh greens of November. Not tonight. The water was dark and the droopy remains of sad-looking sunflowers hung over the side. Their leaves were brown and curled, their centers moldy.
And the guest book? Well, from what she could see it was gone.
What the hell was going on? Was Nana ill? Why hadn’t she called sooner?
She headed toward the back of the house. Just off the kitchen, Nana kept a small apartment. As Rowan neared the kitchen something made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
She paused. A cold shot of something slid across her skin.
