By Adrian Phoenix
HIS identify IS DANTE.Dark. gifted. attractive. big name of the rock band Inferno. Rumored proprietor of the recent New Orleans nightspot membership Hell. Born of the Blood, then damaged through an evil past imagination.HIS earlier IS A MYSTERY.F.B.I. detailed Agent Heather Wallace has been monitoring a sadistic serial assassin referred to as the pass state Killer, and the path has led her to New Orleans, membership Hell, and Dante. however the dangerously beautiful musician not just resists her research, he claims to be "nightkind": in different phrases, a vampire. Digging into his prior for solutions finds little. A juvenile list a mile lengthy. No social protection quantity. No recognized start date. out and in of foster houses for many of his lifestyles earlier than being taken in through a guy named Lucien DeNoir, who appears to be like to protect mysteries of his own.HIS destiny IS CHAOS.What Heather does learn about Dante is that whatever hyperlinks him to the killer -- and she's beautiful convinced that hyperlink makes him the CCK's subsequent objective. Heather needs to resolve the reality approximately this sensual, advanced, susceptible younger guy -- who, she starts to think, might certainly be a vampire -- with the intention to ultimately convey a killer to justice. yet Dante's previous holds a surprising, harmful mystery, and as soon as it's published now not even Heather might be in a position to guard him from his destiny....
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Extra resources for A Rush of Wings (Maker's Song, book 1)
It rolled across the polished hardwood floor and thunked into the wall. He paced from the rain-misted window to the door and back again. Think! Wallace would never buy it if he just called her in. She’d want to go to Pensacola, check the evidence for herself. Moore probably expected that. Let Wallace know that the case was officially closed. The CCK was dead. End of story. Bracing his hands on either side of the window, Stearns stared out into the black night. His stomach churned. Neon flashed on the streets below; car headlights streaked along the wet pavement.
Carved into each milky-white inner thigh was the anarchy symbol. Blood dripped onto the carpet. Heather’s gaze followed the blood up to the soaked sheets, then up bloodstreaked forearms to the vertically slit wrists. Her vision narrowed down to the falling drops of blood. Just died. Minutes? A half hour — tops? On the wall behind the bed, a message had been scrawled in blood, the uneven, slanting letters smeared across most of the wall. Wake Up S “Gina,” Dante whispered. Heather looked at him sharply.
A thick, coppery smell filled Heather’s nostrils, a smell she knew all too well. Her gut knotted. The steady plop-plop of dripping became more distinct as she drew nearer. She stepped beside Dante, gun still held in both hands, and looked into the room. It was worse than she could’ve imagined. Much worse. 6 Magic and Mystery JOHANNA MOORE STOOD AT her office window, watching the snow fall. Snow always made her think of Christmas and of her youth; she remembered the magic and mystery of the tiny glittered windows of the Advent calendar and the surprises they revealed when opened.