What's not to love about vampires and rock stars? #Paranormal #Romance

Blood And Guitars
by Heather Jensen


I gazed back at him, his blue eyes blazing, and I had to resist the intense urge not to look away for the ridiculous fear that he’d see right through me. See the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Then his lips were on mine and I lost myself, overwhelmed by the surge of Trey’s emotions as they flooded through me. I kissed him back wanting to forget my fear of being discovered, of putting him in danger, and focus only on how good it felt being in his arms. After all, relinquishing some control was a sacrifice worth making if it meant I could continue to live in this fantasy with Trey. But the dreaded tingling in my teeth started up again and I reluctantly pulled away. Trey closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, resting his forehead against mine. It was obvious he was trying to be patient with me.
“Trey, I…” I wanted to apologize but what could I say? I’m sorry but I’m afraid my fangs might freak you out. Oh, and by the way, my eyes sort of glow in the dark when I get excited. I hope you’re cool with that?
“It’s okay,” he breathed, resting his hand on mine over his heart. I wondered how long he would put up with me pulling away like this. It was selfish of me and dangerous for us both, but I wasn’t willing to give him up. I didn’t want to lose him, or the effect he had on my spirit. It was time to accept the truth. I was falling in love with Trey.

From "Blue Bells of Scotland" by Laura Vosika

Where could they all be? The MacDougalls couldn't have returned so quickly for vengeance. They couldn't have emptied everyone out so swiftly and silently that he slept through it.

Niall stooped to slide the dirk from his boot. Its smooth metal blade ran cold up his leg. A bead of sweat inched down his jaw. He scanned the desolate castle, right and left, and straightened, pushing the long, dark hair from his forehead. The walls: they were like his castle walls, but—he studied them—not quite.

A wave of dizziness crashed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, braced his hands on his knees for a moment, and pushed himself back up, staring at the ruins where the stables, blacksmith, and armory should have been. The close was no longer beaten earth, grazed by sheep, but soft with dewy grass, like an English garden.

He touched his temple, under his hair. The lacerations were still rough, tender to the touch. The wound ached as if it were only days old. Had it caused him to sleep long enough for people and sheep to disappear, for grass to grow?

...and walls to crumble?