Sourcebooks Casablanca
Paranormal Historical Romance
April 7, 2015
ISBN: 9781402274503
$7.99 Mass Market Paperback
About the Book
Her interest is purely scientific
Cassandra Burton wants to study medicine, surgery, healing,
and everything related to the human body and its mysteries—and she's willing to
rob graves to do it! But a lady can meet dark and dangerous characters lurking
around the cemetery. And who could be more fascinating than Rafael Villar, Lord
Vampire of London? If she could study his physiology, she could learn so much
that would help humans. After all, he’s immortal—and Cassandra is now his
prisoner…
Until she gets close enough to touch
As if Rafael didn’t have enough to worry about, with a
rebellion brewing and his allies out of reach, now he’s confronted by a
beautiful, fearless lady who wants to heal the scars he's borne for centuries.
He can’t keep her, and he can’t let her go, and worst of all, he’s every bit as
intrigued by her as she is by him.
My Review:
It has been quite a while since I have dived into a paranormal romance and I am so happy that Brooklyn Ann's BITE AT FIRST SIGHT, the third installment of the Scandals With Bite series, has brought me back. This book is wonderfully written and so descriptive, it makes me want to jump right in and enjoy the show. Cassandra and Rafael are strong and intriguing characters who keep the reader's attention from the first. The story is brimming with action and the perfect amount of romance to keep the reader on edge. This happens to be the first book I have had the pleasure to read by Brooklyn Ann and I have already gone and grabbed up the first two books in the series. Combining my fascination with vampires and historical romance, Brooklyn Ann has a new fan.
~KIMBERLY~
Scandals with Bite series:
Bite Me, Your Grace (Book 1)
One Bite Per Night (Book 2)
Bite at First Sight (Book 3)
Purchase Here:
BITE ME, YOUR GRACE – eBook now $0.00
ONE BITE PER NIGHT – eBook now $1.99
BITE AT FIRST SIGHT - $7.99
About the Author
A lover of witty Regencies and dark paranormal romance,
Brooklyn Ann combines the two in her new vampire series. The former mechanic
turned author lives with her family in Coeur d’ Alene, Idaho.
Connect with Brooklyn Ann
Praise for Brooklyn Ann
“Solid writing, a tasty dash of originality, and realistic
relationships that zing with sexual energy.” —Publishers Weekly
“Clutch the pearls, ladies. It’s wonderful.” —Lit Bites
Excerpt from BITE AT FIRST SIGHT
28 September 1823
St. Pancras Cemetery, London
“If one desires a task accomplished correctly, one must do
it herself.” Cassandra Burton, Dowager Countess of Rosslyn, repeated the litany
as she pulled the rickety little wagon through the moonlit aisle of tombstones.
She shivered under her velvet cloak. Her fingers had long
since gone numb with the effort of navigating the dratted conveyance over
uneven ground and across slippery, damp grass. Shovels and pry bars clanked
across the wagon’s worn pine boards. The winch rattled on its frame.
Something flickered across the corner of her vision.
Cassandra jumped. She stopped and rubbed her gloved hands
together for warmth, surveying the graveyard. The area was still and silent
as…well, a tomb. Yet the chill in her spine refused to abate. A scornful frown
turned her lips at such irrational behavior. Ghosts were an illogical figment
of uneducated imaginations, and no one could possibly have business out here at
this hour…except herself.
“Worthless curs,” Cassandra whispered in as haughty a tone as
she could manage.
If only the men to whom she’d offered a more-than-generous
sum to perform this troublesome task had done their duty, rather than
disappearing. She shook her head. If not for their unreasonable negligence, she
would now be comfortably ensconced in her laboratory unraveling the secrets of
the human body…not out in this cold, dreary place, jumping at shadows.
Surveying the newest graves, she read the dates to decide
which would be the best specimen. The mysterious disappearance of her hired
hands nagged at her. Could a murderer be on the loose? She shook her head and
pulled the folds of her cloak tighter. No, by now the authorities would have
found their bodies and the news would be sensationalized in The Times.
They were cowards, but she was not. To prove her lack of
fear, Cassandra halted her wagon and fetched out a shovel. Her hands trembled
nervously as she grasped the wooden handle.
Removing the dead from their graves was illegal. If a
constable caught her, she’d be sent directly to Fleet Prison. A fresh surge of
trepidation curled in her belly.
Exhuming a corpse was quite a different matter from having
one ready on her operating table. As objective as she tried to be, the prospect
of removing the body from its carefully arranged resting place by winching it
out of the ground and loading it onto her cart was undeniably gruesome.
However, gruesome or not, Cassandra needed a specimen to continue her work. And
she would acquire it, no matter how much her nerves protested.
Despite being barred from official education as a physician
because of her sex, Cassandra was determined to learn the skills required to
become a doctor. That included studying human anatomy, and for that, she
required cadavers.
Returning to the graves, she made her selection. Alfred
Lumley, born September first, 1801; died September twenty-sixth, 1823. Two days
ago Alfred had been a living twenty-two-year-old man, three years younger than
herself. Whether or not he’d been healthy, she would soon determine. A pang of
sorrow struck her heart. His soul is in heaven, she reminded herself. A mere
shell remains. A shell that will help me to aid the living.
She raised the shovel, ready to plunge it into the soft
soil. “I am not afraid. I am not.”
“You should be.” A sinister, accented voice pierced her
consciousness.
The shovel fell from her nerveless fingers, thudding onto
the cold ground.
Cassandra knew that voice; it had the rich, dark cadence
that had haunted her dreams since the night she’d first met him. She spun
around, the hood of her cloak falling to her shoulders.
Rafael Villar stepped out from behind a mausoleum. The
shadows embraced his bronze skin, obscuring the scars on the left side of his
face while moonlight highlighted his exotic features on the right.
Known as “the Spaniard,” Villar had been an infamous
pugilist in Cheapside despite having only one functioning arm. The eccentric
and wealthy Duke of Burnrath was his sponsor. Cassandra had often encountered
Villar at Burnrath House when attending the duchess’s literary circles. Right
away she’d suspected that there was more to the relationship between Rafael and
Their Graces. And she’d been utterly and completely fascinated by him.
When the duke and duchess departed for the Continent to
travel, Villar had leased Burnrath House. By all accounts he was rich as a
nabob. For the remainder of the Season, Don Villar was all the ton could gossip
about. But when months passed without the Spaniard making the slightest attempt
to join Society, he was forgotten. Cassandra would have forgotten him as well,
if it weren’t for those damned dreams. Now he stood before her in the most
unexpected place and at the most inconvenient time.
Good Lord, will he turn me in to the authorities?
She opened her mouth to ask the reason for his presence, but
the words caught in her throat when she saw that his amber eyes were glowing
like a funeral pyre. His sensuous lips—lips she’d unreasonably dreamed of
kissing—drew back to reveal white, even teeth…with two gleaming fangs for
incisors.
Before she could scream or flee, Don Villar’s fiery gaze
widened, then narrowed in recognition. “You! You’ve been the one disturbing my
people?”
“Y-your people?” Cassandra stammered, staring raptly at
those sharp fangs. She’d certainly never seen those during their previous
encounters. Her heart leaped into her throat in dawning horror. This man was
not human.
His lips curled back in a sneer, puckering the scars on the
left side of his face. “Don’t play coy with me, Countess.” The word was filled
with disdain. “Some of my subordinates reported hunters disturbing their
lairs.” He gestured at the mausoleum behind him. “It is hard to fathom that you’re
behind this, though I should have guessed. Is that why you befriended the
Duchess of Burnrath?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are going on about. I
came here to… Well, it is no concern of yours.” A wave of indignation bolstered
her courage. How dare he speak of her most treasured friendship in such a
manner? How dare he accuse her of duplicity when he stood before her sporting
unnatural teeth and luminescent eyes? And of what exactly was he accusing her?
“What does Her Grace have to do with this?” Cassandra took a shaky step back.
“And, in the name of heaven, what are you?”
In a blink of an eye, Rafael stood inches from her. With the
same impossible speed, he grasped her shoulder, pulling her close against him.
Dizziness swarmed her mind at the feel of his firm heat and his intoxicating
scent of forbidden spices. His crippled left arm moved lightly around her
waist, his fingers delicately brushing across her lower back. The heady
combination of rough and gentle made her tremble.
His eyes locked on hers. “I will show you, Countess.”
Then his mouth was on her neck, firm lips caressing the
sensitive flesh, somehow more intimate than anything she’d experienced during
her ill-fated marriage. Cassandra melted against him, tangling her fingers in
his silken hair.
Sharp pain exploded in her throat as his fangs broke her
skin. Cassandra cried out and tried to push him away, but his iron-like right
arm mercilessly held her immobile. The pain took flight, and drugging pleasure
fluttered within her belly. A low moan escaped her throat as she pulled him
closer. Liquid desire pulsed between her thighs. Whatever this was, she needed
more, craved it with mindless longing.
Rafael pulled away, muttering a foreign curse. “You’re a
grave robber?” Lifting his finger to his mouth, he pierced his flesh with one
pearly fang and then gently touched the wound on her throat. The soft touch was
juxtaposed by his blazing eyes and furious snarl.
She barely heard his words as her eyes locked on those
deadly fangs. Cassandra froze as realization shook her to the core. He wiped
her neck with a handkerchief. In confirmation of her suspicions, blood spotted
the snowy cloth like an accusation.
“Vampire,” she gasped, struggling to breathe. The
foundations of her scientific beliefs quaked within her consciousness. Fairy
tales were not true, and magic was not real. Yet here he stood, ready to devour
her blood and perhaps her soul. Terror gripped her heart like ice.
The creature that should not exist outside of myth nodded.
“Yes, but you will not remember the fact.”
His eyes glowed brighter, capturing her gaze. The intensity
caused a fresh wave of dizziness, but Cassandra fought it off. The vampire
stood like a statue, continuing to stare at her in a most unnerving manner.
After an endless moment, she shook her head and took another
wary step back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Villar blinked and the fire dimmed from his gaze. An
explosion of Spanish expletives came out in a growl as he seized her arm. “I
apologize, Countess. You’ll have to come with me.”
“C-come with you where?” Cassandra stammered in confusion,
trying to pull away. He’d already bitten her and drunk her blood. What more
could he want? “Why? And f-for how long?”
“I am taking you to Burnrath House,” Rafael snarled through
clenched teeth. “I have no choice but to place you under arrest until I can
determine what to do with you.”
***
Rafe bit back another growl. Madre de Dios, why did the
mysterious intruder have to be her? The Countess of Rosslyn was the only mortal
in over three centuries to have gotten under his skin, and he still did not
know why. And why did she have to be one of the rare individuals immune to
mesmerism?
He’d wanted a brief moment to punish her for being a
nuisance to him yet again. He’d wanted to punish her, to show her the folly in
seeking out a monster, before banishing her memory. It was the worst of luck
that the first mortal he’d deliberately revealed himself to was impervious to
his power.
“Arrest?” Lady Rosslyn struggled in his grip, her warm flesh
slipping beneath his grasp on the sleeve of her cloak, drawing his attention
back to the vexing situation at hand. “Are you a constable?”
“Constable? Hardly. I am Lord of this city.” He held her
fast.
“Lord? Of all of London? Whatever do you mean?” The countess
tried once more to pull away. “And what of my wagon?”
Rafe tugged her closer before she could trip over a
gravestone. “Damn it, woman. Devil take your wagon! You fail to grasp the severity
of this situation.”
Truly, it would have been a simple matter had he succeeded
in clearing the woman’s mind of the memory. Hell, it still would have been
simple if the woman hadn’t been her. Not when her sweet, rich taste lay thick
on his tongue. Not when her intoxicating scent of rose petals and woman
engulfed his senses.
“Well, of course I do not grasp the situation!” Lady Rosslyn
exclaimed, maddeningly oblivious to the tentative hold he had on his temper.
“You have failed to explain it! First, I had no idea that vampires existed
outside fiction. Furthermore, I have no notion why one would arrest me for
exhuming a corpse for my studies. I am fully aware that my actions are illegal,
but the logic eludes me as to how that should mean anything to you.”
Rafe sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, biting
back a stream of curses. Conversing with humans had never been his strong suit,
but talking with Lady Rosslyn was always especially trying. “Your morbid hobby
is of no concern to me. I had mistakenly believed you were hunting my people.
You’re fortunate that my people didn’t take action themselves. That you weren’t
beaten bloody by a mob, your house set aflame!”
Rafe closed his eyes, remembering how Ian’s third-in-command
and a gang of other vengeful vampires had done exactly that to a prominent
surgeon only three years ago. Ian had been apoplectic with rage. If the man’s
wife hadn’t been in the country, she would surely have perished. Ian had
punished the mob and issued a law that all suspicious mortals were to be
handled only by the Lord of London from then on.
“Morbid?” Cassandra repeated, oblivious to the rest of his
words. “You drank my blood only moments ago and you call me morbid?” Her
sea-green eyes glared up at him from beneath impossibly long lashes. The
captivating contact was broken too soon when she shook her head. “Well, if it
is a mistake, then why are you arresting me?”
Ah and what a sweet drink it was. Yet somehow her life and
memories had been more potent. Rafe usually closed his mind to his victims’
lives when he fed, but in the case of Lady Rosslyn, he had needed to discover
what she was up to.
Lady Rosslyn seemed to have been a very busy woman during
the last year. She’d had the daring to apply to Oxford, Cambridge, and Saint
Bartholomew’s to master the healing arts. All those establishments had turned
her away because of her sex. But she did not give up. Instead, she’d set forth
with her studies alone, even robbing graves to learn the secrets of the human
body.
Rafe sighed. This evening’s events had all been a
misunderstanding. Unfortunately, one that could not be rectified. The Elders
would not permit her to leave his presence alive.
“It is forbidden for mortals to know of our kind. I
attempted to banish your memory of the encounter, but it appears you are immune
to my powers. So now you must come with me until…” He trailed off, strangely
reluctant to voice the rest aloud.
“Until when?” Her voice emerged in a frightened whimper.
Rafe closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out
slowly. Unexpected sorrow churned in his gut at the consequence this encounter
would bear.
“Until it is decided whether I kill you or Change you into a
vampire.”
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