 Blue
Twilight
The idyllic town of
Endover, New Hampshire, looks innocent. But below its surface a
thirst and a desire both powerful and ancient boil fiercely. When two
girls go missing, only one person can delve deep enough to find them —
Maxine Stuart, a private investigator who has finally started to
believe.
"Mad Maxie" understands why she was asked to help — no living mortal
knows as much about the undead as she. But the dark force controlling
Endover can see all, and will use Maxine's knowledge against her to
strengthen his hold on the town. Not even the influence of Lou Malone,
the man Maxie most desires, can convince her to abandon the crusade
against a madman's yearning for power…and resurrected love.
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Reviews
"Maggie Shayne provides
another splendid paranormal romance with her latest
Wings in the Night Twilight thriller."
--Harriet Klauser,
The Best Reviews
"The
latest in Shayne's popular Wings in the Night series,
this is a strong effort. The pace lags a bit in the
middle, but it's not an impediment; the characters and
their interplay more than hold the reader's interest."
--Catherine
Witmer,
RT BookClub
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Blue Twilight
Prologue
The woman cowered on
the brown velvet chaise in his parlor, her eyes wide with fear. Blue
eyes. Flaming red hair. He would have preferred a blond with eyes as
black as coal–that stunning contrast in a female’s coloring never failed
to stir his passion. Or his memory. But so long as they were in the
parlor, in view of the portrait, any female would do. It had to be the
parlor. He always took his victims them there.
Fieldner had brought
him a lovely morsel tonight. She was, perhaps, close to her thirtieth
year of mortal life. She was lean and tall, (he’d preferred them
petite) and trembling in a way that aroused him. Her pale skinned face
was finely made, her lips a bit on the thin side, nose a hint too
straight, but the cheekbones were high and prominent. He loved good
cheekbones in a woman. Yes, his drone had done well this day. The fear
in the woman’s eyes, though, that would have to go.
It would be no
trouble, he thought as he moved toward her, mustering a smile, and
hoping he appeared attractive to her. Women held less fear of
attractive men. Foolish, of course, but true. It was difficult not
being able to look into a mirror to judge his appearance and its impact
on a woman. He knew his hair was long and dark and that his eyes were
deeply set and brown. But it was difficult to remember the precise
structure of his own face, or to guess how much he could smile without
revealing the unnatural length and razor sharpness of his incisors.
Even if he were
frightening to behold, however, he could ease the fear from her mind.
He held an entire town in his thrall–day and night. Asleep or awake.
One frightened woman was hardly a challenge.
“You have nothing to
fear,” he told her, moving slowly closer, infusing his words with power
even while keeping his voice soft. “This is nothing more than a dream.
A fantasy. Nothing can harm you here.”
Her wide eyes
flickered. She drew a stuttering breath.
“Look into my eyes,
lovely one. Hear my words. Feel them. You are not afraid. You are
safe, and warm, and completely relaxed.”
He watched as more
of the tension left her body. Her eyes were no longer wide, but
becoming heavy lidded. He moved a little closer, reached out an touched
her cheek. “Your mind is completely at ease now. You’ve relinquished
all control, all responsibility–released it to me. You know only what I
tell you. You feel only what I make you feel. You want only what I
tell you that you want.”
Her eyes fell
closed, a slow, deep sigh eased from her lips. The tension eased from
her shoulders. That was much, much better.
“Right now, what you
want, my precious, is me. My touch. My caress. You want it more than
you want to live. More than you’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t you?"
“Yes,” she
whispered, rubbing her cheek against his hand.
“You will know the
most exquisite pleasure you have ever known this night. Perhaps, for
another night as well, or maybe several more. Do you want that?”
“Yes,” she
whispered.
“Very good.” To
reward her he let his hand drift across her cheek, over her jaw, and
neck, and down to brush across her breast. She shivered in reaction and
he smiled. It would be good for her. He would make sure it was good
for her. He would plum her mind, find her deepest fantasies and fulfill
them all. And she would remember nothing when it was over. She would
be returned to her home with no harm done to her. And he would be
sated. At least for a short while.
She rose to her feet
and unbuttoned the dress she wore, then slid it from her shoulders and
let it lie on the floor. He watched her as she removed her bra and
panties without a hint of inhibition, and he was careful to keep his
attention on her body, not her face. The only face he wanted to see was
above and behind her, gazing down at him with love in her eyes.
He drew the woman to
him, touched and caressed her, using his mind as much as his hands to
make her feel sensations everywhere at once. And he probed inside her
mind to hear every desire. When she wished he would touch her breasts
he did so, caressing until she wanted more, then tugging the responsive
nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. When she wanted
his mouth, he kissed her, and eased her backward onto the chaise. When
she parted her legs to him, he moved his hand between them, every touch
infused with his power. He could make her climax without even touching
her, but he preferred it this way.
When she was
twisting and writhing against him, he laid atop her. He hadn’t
undressed. He didn’t need to. She would feel him penetrating her even
though he had no intention of doing so. She would experience him deep
inside her, and he would take the satisfaction he so needed in his own
manner.
From her throat.
“Call me, ‘My
Prince,’” he instructed.
“Yes, you are my
prince.”
He tipped her head
back, gently moved her hair away from her neck. She was moving now, her
hips rocking to take him, even though he wasn’t there. Humping air and
a fantasy he’d implanted in her mind. “Say it in my tongue, pretty
one. Say ‘print mau.’”
She repeated the
phrase, even as he gathered her upper body, lifting her slightly, so
that he could keep his gaze on the portrait above. And then he lowered
his head, pressed his mouth to the tender skin of her neck. She
whimpered and clutched the back of his head, straining to reach her
peak. But he wouldn’t allow that, not until he was ready. “Tell me to
take you. To drink you into me.”
“Yes, print mau.
Take me. Drink me. I need you to. You must!”
“Then I shall.” He
parted his lips, closed his teeth over her throat, and pierced her
jugular, his eyes riveted to the ebon-eyes of the portrait as the
elixir, the stuff of life, flowed into him. He drank, and as he did,
the woman shrieked and shuddered as the orgasm rocked her body.
Still staring at the
portrait, he lifted his head, sated. The woman reached for him, but
with a wave of his hand, she relaxed back against the cushions, her eyes
falling closed. He curled up on the chaise and wrapped her in his arms,
holding her gently against his chest. Gazing up at the portrait, he
whispered, “Can you feel my love, where you are? I hope you can, my
heart. It was you, you know that. It was you. They all are.”
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