A Taste of Twilight

  A Taste of Twilight

  Aubrey Ross

  Crimson Carousel, Book One

  When a string of apparent suicides leads Jessie Curtis to a famous rock band, she’s convinced nothing can shock her anymore. Then she comes face-to-face with Rafe Steele, the enigmatic lead singer and centuries-old vampire. He’s darkly charismatic and sensually compelling in a way almost impossible to resist.

  Rafe is infuriated when an old enemy’s barbaric actions lead a nosy investigator to his door. Jessie is persistent and shrewd, and he wants her with obsessive intensity. She already knows too much. He can’t let her walk away. He must seduce her, control her, claim her as they unravel the mystery.

  Publisher’s Note: This book was previously published under the same title, however, has been modified and edited for Ellora’s Cave.

  Reader Advisory: In order to stop the killers, the incredibly decadent Faelon from Aubrey’s upcoming Crimson books provides the needed third when Jessie and Rafe create a powerful blood bond through a sexual ménage.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  A Taste of Twilight

  ISBN 9781419924620

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  A Taste of Twilight Copyright © 2009 Aubrey Ross

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book publication Decmeber 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  A Taste of Twilight

  Aubrey Ross

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

  Caramelo: Cadbury UK, LTD

  Don’t Fear the Reaper: Roeser, Donald and Sandra

  Tylenol: McNeil Laboratories

  Prologue

  Baltimore, Maryland

  “Well, hello, little lady. It’s nice to have you back.”

  Jessie Curtis laughed. “Coming from a crotchety M.E., I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  Hank McElroy stepped away from the autopsy table and pulled off his plastic gloves. “What’s up?”

  “She needs a closer look at my Jane Doe,” Dalton Auster replied.

  Lumbering across the morgue, Hank grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and winked at Jessie. “I thought they ruled Jane a suicide.” He pulled on the gloves with a distinct snap, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Why do you insist on spitting into the wind? Don’t you have enough to do without manufacturing work?”

  “You don’t believe it any more than I do, so why are you busting my balls?”

  Jessie returned Hank’s wink as they approached the body lockers. Provoking her ex-partner was a long-standing pastime for her and Hank. This easy camaraderie was one of the few things she missed about her job since leaving the police force two years before. Dalton jerked open one of the silver doors and pulled out the sliding tray. The insubstantial shape beneath the sheet made Jessie’s mouth go dry.

  “Cause of death was loss of blood from wrist lacerations.” Hank lifted the sheet and exposed Jane’s right arm. Carefully rotating the slender limb, he displayed one of the wounds. “Each end of the laceration is curiously rounded as if two puncture wounds have been joined. Someone was playing connect the dots and I don’t think it was Jane.”

  “What caused the puncture wounds?” Jessie asked. “The curve is much too pronounced for a needle.”

  “More like a nail,” Dalton agreed.

  “I don’t know, and no one is curious enough to let me find out. She’s a nameless suicide, case closed.”

  Jessie stepped closer to the extended table and lowered the sheet covering the victim’s face. Her breath hitched and her stomach knotted. Two years in the ‘burbs has made you soft. Jane’s smooth skin stretched over delicate features, beautiful even in death. Mid-teens if she was lucky, her life snuffed out before it fully formed.

  “She didn’t look like this when they brought her in,” Hank said.

  “She was all gothed out. Black lipstick, heavy eyeliner, makeup so pale it was almost gray.”

  Jessie grinned at Dalton. “When did you become an expert on fashion trends?”

  He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hank brings out the smart-ass in you.”

  “One of my finer qualities.” Hank chuckled and headed back to the autopsy table.

  “Give me a few minutes with Jane and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  Dalton shoved his hands into his pockets and averted his gaze. At six foot four, it was hard for Dalton to look boyish, but this expression rolled thirty years off his street-roughed exterior.

  Jessie easily guessed the cause of his discomfort. “No one knows I’m here.”

  His bright blue gaze shot back to hers. “This case is closed. I’ve been ordered to move on. It’s best if no one but Hank knows you’re back in town.”

  “No problem.” Dalton was the self-appointed champion of lost causes. She’d always loved that about him. “I’ll take a cab to your apartment and start digging through the file.”

  “You’re the best.” He glanced at the body, his brow furrowed, lips tight. “I’ve worked homicide for eight years. Why won’t this one leave me alone?”

  “They’re taking the easy way out and that pisses you off. Now get back to work.”

  He nodded and left her alone with Jane.

  Clairvoyance, intuition, ESP, there were many labels for Jessie’s ability and she wasn’t comfortable with any of them. She didn’t consider herself psychic. She didn’t talk to the dead. Years of mental discipline and arduous physical conditioning had made her more sensitive to certain things than other people. It was nothing more metaphysical than that.

  Yeah right. You picked this up at the police academy. Admit it, Jessie, you’re a freak. A smile curved her lips. Dalton was right, Hank brought out the smart-ass in her.

  She focused on Jane and a shiver raced down Jessie’s spine. Could she really put herself through this again? She’d chalked up her first few impressions to instinct and experience, but the images became too predominant to explain away. So, she’d accepted her gift. And her fiancé bled to death in her arms. Two days later her brother died from injuries sustained in the same shootout. Jessie tendered her resignation. No cop could be effective if they continually doubted themselves, and Jessie had lost faith in her abilities.

  Pushing back the past, she placed one hand on Jane’s forehead and the other hovered over the wound on Jane’s wrist. Jessie closed her
eyes. Darkness enveloped her. This utter nothingness had become familiar. Often the vacuous space was all she’d sense when she touched a victim, but sometimes there was more.

  Who were you? Who did this to you?

  Stubbornness drove Jessie deeper. She searched for echoes, fragments of the life now absent from this empty shell. A pinpoint of light appeared in the darkness and with it the faintest tingle of awareness. She heard shallow, panting breaths as a vanquished soul surrendered.

  The breathing grew stronger, deeper. The struggle intensified.

  Sensation vacillated from pain to pleasure then back to pain, a sustained burning agony that dragged a groan from Jessie’s throat. Her nipples tightened and her core clenched, empty and aching. Jessie shuddered violently. Primal sexual hunger pounded through her veins.

  Frenzy. Lust. Overwhelming and ravenous.

  Woven through the demanding emotions was a delicate thread of despair. Images swirled and tumbled, remaining muddled and unfocused. Naked and trembling, Jane wrestled in a tangle of bodies and grappling limbs. Terror gripped her, yet she was undeniably aroused. Hands, fingers and mouths skimmed her flesh and incited her desire.

  Golden haze burned through the darkness, enveloping Jane’s body in a sparkling cloud. Suspended within the glistening fog, Jane writhed and arched. Agony or ecstasy, Jessie couldn’t tell. The mist divided, swirling around Jane’s arms, encircling her wrists. Faster and faster the vapor spun as Jane’s screams echoed through Jessie’s mind.

  Pounding.

  Music distorted within her mind; a rumble more vibration than sound. A velvety voice caressed her. She focused on the elusive, familiar timbre, the seductive rasp. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

  Laughter and the roar of a crowd. Not a crowd, an audience…

  Jessie gasped and stumbled back, pressing her hand to her throat. Her pulse thumped against her fingertips, echoing the tempo of the song. The sound receded before she could identify the artist, but the exercise hadn’t been in vain.

  She opened her eyes and whispered, “Bellita.” Jane Doe’s real name was Bellita Viejo.

  * * * * *

  “Her mother didn’t report her missing, said she runs off all the time,” Dalton muttered as he stormed into his apartment later that evening.

  “Then I was right about her name?” Jessie looked up from the file spread across the kitchen table. The compact arrangement of Dalton’s apartment allowed her to see the front door from the eating area where she sat.

  “As always.” He tossed his suit jacket over the back of a chair and removed his shoulder holster before joining her in the kitchen.

  “Why are you still scowling?”

  “The new information only reinforces their suicide theory. According to Ms. Viejo, Bellita threatened to slit her wrists every time they had an argument. Ms. Viejo said Bellita probably expected to be found and miscalculated the stunt. Her word, not mine.”

  “When was the last time Ms. Viejo saw her daughter?”

  “Friday night.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Apparently Bellita won tickets to a Pyrite concert and—”

  “Pyrite! Of course, Hide and Seek. I’m not losing my mind.”

  Dalton shook his head and smiled. “You’ll never convince anyone with outbursts like that.”

  “I could hear this song resonating through the…” She tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed. Dalton had no problem with her ability, so why did she still stumble over the concept? He’d encouraged her to push herself and trust the images long before she was ready to accept them herself.

  “Vision.” His brows raised a bit as he persisted. “Come on, you can say it. You have visions.”

  “Impressions.” Jessie shot him a rebellious look. “The song was Hide and Seek.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “That’s why she was all gothed out. The perp must have picked her up at the Pyrite concert.”

  “I was curious, so I ran a search for suicides with any similarities to our Jane—err, Bellita. I found four.” He paused as she absorbed the implication. “A young woman has taken her own life by slitting both wrists after each of the last five Pyrite concerts.”

  “And no one spotted the pattern before now?”

  “You have to be looking for a pattern to find one.” He shook his head with obvious disgust. “We’ve got a serial killer stalking Pyrite fans.”

  “Or a member of Pyrite with a taste for murder.”

  “I’m not ruling anything out.”

  “Was the similarity enough to get the case reopened?”

  “What do you think?”

  Judging from his mood, they were on their own. “What do you intend to do?”

  He chuckled and held out a small packet. “I’m so glad you asked.”

  Chapter One

  Falls Church, Virginia

  Rafe Steele swayed to the sensual rhythm of Phillip Noir’s guitar. The Crimson Carousel was packed but the crowd stilled, their eyes gleaming with anticipation as they recognized the opening strains of Hide and Seek. The song had a hypnotic effect. Dark yet ethereal, the tune rolled, sweeping along everyone in its path. Rafe had never seen it fail. The last chord of Phillip’s intro echoed as Rafe began to sing.

  “In the darkness of the night, your resistance whets my appetite.” He caressed each word, infusing them with seduction. “You run a—way… You run—away.” Awareness jolted through him, simultaneous and opposite. Desire and loathing.

  They were here!

  Rafe glanced at Phillip. His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, but his gaze scanned the audience. He’d felt the stirring too.

  “As the blue sky turns to black, I find a way to get you back. I search for you… I search—for you.” The song flowed from Rafe as naturally as breathing, but his instincts refused to relax. “Hide and seek. Like a child, you’ve got me playing hide and seek. Hide and seek. We’re caught up in this game of—hide and seeek.”

  Phillip repeated the opening stanza, allowing Rafe to study the crowd. He scanned with his eyes and his mind. Etoro and Natalie might not be visible, but they were here. Damn it! How had they gotten past security?

  Phillip’s artistic flourish cued Rafe back in. “Now you tell me with your smile that though I’ve known you all the while, you won’t be tamed. You won’t—be tamed. I know you’re in it for the chase. By now we both enjoy the race. It’s all a game. It’s all—a game.” As Rafe repeated the chorus, another sensation penetrated the resentment seething within him. Anxiety, curiosity and fascination, they were not uncommon emotions. Rafe frequently felt them emanating from the audience, but a bittersweet complexity accompanied the sensation.

  Following the unique signal, Rafe located a woman to one side of the dance floor. Her back pressed against a support beam and her gaze swept the crowd with focused intensity. Tall and athletically built, her composed, commanding stance was faintly militant. Interesting.

  A tight, black leather skirt left her long, toned legs exposed from mid-thigh down. He caught teasing glimpses of those legs as the people around her shifted and swayed. Her hair was blonde, but the ever-changing lights made the exact shade impossible to determine. The thick, wavy mass had been swept away from her face and secured with some sort of clip. She was watching the crowd, searching for… He had no idea what she hoped to find.

  The rock star in Rafe rebelled. No one came to a Pyrite show to watch the crowd—except a reporter. Fuck!

  Forming a mild awareness compulsion, Rafe projected it toward the nosy blonde. Her head turned and her gaze locked with his. Her lush, red lips parted and she reached behind her, steadying herself against the beam.

  Desire curled through him with sensual heat. His pulse raced and tension gathered low in his belly. “Hide and seek. Like a child, you’ve got me playing hide and seek…” He sang for her, to her, stroking her body with his voice and his gaze. The rest of the room fell away and he stood directly in front of her
. “Hide and seek.” His lips brushed hers with each word then time resumed and he was back onstage. “We’re caught up in this game of— Hide and seeek, hide and seeek…hide and seek.”

  Jessie touched her lips, the clingy material of her top rasping against her erect nipples. What in God’s name had just happened? Her heart thundered in her chest and her thighs flexed restlessly. She ached, the tension in her core downright painful. She could still feel the teasing brush of his lips against hers.

  It was that stupid song. Every time she heard it, her mind replayed the tune for days. She’d been so captivated by its seductive sway that she’d imagined… It didn’t matter. She was here to find a killer, not turn groupie!

  Pushing away from the beam, she adjusted her stance in her ridiculous stiletto ankle boots and resumed her visual search. A sea of people crowded together on the dance floor. Rubbing and grinding, their movements were more a parody of sex than any pretence at dancing.

  “Anyone catch your eye?”

  Jessie gasped and slapped Dalton on the arm. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “I called your name twice,” he shouted over the music. “I’ll throw something at you next time.”

  “I told you this was a waste of time.”

  Cupping her elbow, Dalton guided her away from the dance floor. High-backed booths lined two walls in the adjacent room. Jessie skirted the pool tables and slipped into one of the booths. Dalton sat across from her, looking less like a cop than usual. Still, blue jeans and a black t-shirt didn’t change his sharp, ever-assessing stare.

  “Pyrite is selling out arenas all over the world. Why did they bother with this nightclub?”

  Dalton lifted his broad shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “You can ask them as soon as they finish this set.”