What kind of job do
you have?
Locals believe I’m a private investigator. In reality I’m a
vampire who hunts and destroys malevolent demons, those who crawl from the
bowels of hell and attempt to feed on humans. They have a strong craving for
vamp females so, hopefully, I nail them before they impregnate our women. If
I’m too late, I’m bound to keeping their progeny, demi-vamps, from showing
their asses off. God, I hate them and their squirrely red, satanic eyes. Unlike
vampires who smell devine, they stink of death.
Describe yourself in
three words.
Dead. Cold. Killer. My woman, Armada, thinks of me
differently—Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Yeah, those three words work too. She’s a
brown-skinned beauty whose mother, a demi-vamp, fancied herself a Haitian
voodoo priestess. Makes Armada’s blood mixed, but she’s…she’s different.
Do you like using sex
toys?
Damn straight. Especially those that bring pain. I like
tying women up, particularly, Armada. She was eager for pain and I enjoyed
being the first to explore those desires. She calls me Barr and every time she
cries my name when we… Well, that’s not a story to tell here.
How did you and Armada
meet?
Split Kryder, a very old and strong vampire who I guess you
could say is my best friend, saw to her protection and sought help in keeping
the council at bay. Vampires mating with demi-vamps is forbidden and our elders
wanted to know who, with such ancient blood, fathered Armada. Since mixed
breeds captured by the council were never seen again, Split needed me to help
keep her out of their clutches. I wonder why he’s so concerned with her safety?
Do you have any
tattoos?
Nipple rings and, damn, Armada loves playing with them. The
pain they bring me when she tugs them delights her. I like having others
observe me and you know if you keep asking these kinds of questions, you’re not
going to like how nasty we can be if I summon her. Want to watch us together?
Would you share the
blurb from your story?
Sure, it’s best we change the subject.
Barringer Ganteau has hunted enough demon-mixed
vampires to last a million lifetimes. His wish is to see all demi-vamps maimed,
preferably dead. Single-handedly, he attempts to vanquish the scourge of mixed
breeds from the face of the earth. Then Ringer meets Armada, a demi-vamp with
the power to deliver the kind of pain he desires and melt his frozen heart.
Armada comes from Haiti, carrying the exotic heat of
the islands and her kind with her. When she faces a cold-hearted vampire, a
being superior to her mixed heritage, she vows to hate him as much as he hates
her. Armada hadn’t reckoned with the vamp’s ability to use pain to bring out a
side of her she had not known existed.
How about an excerpt?
“Something to drink?”
“I’m not drinking your blood.” Armada strained to keep him
from seeing her innermost thoughts. Other things he didn’t need to know were
locked deep in her mind. So damn deep not even Armada could reach them. Yet she
felt them there.
“I’m not offering my blood. I meant a glass of wine.” He
leaned over her in the chair and sniffed. “Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not.” The sound of his laughter grated on her nerves,
enticing her to strike at him again.
“Do it. Give me a reason to restrain your sweet ass.”
“I dare you. I’ll…”
It seemed as if his violet eyes could see straight through
to her soul. “Shit, honey, you smell like sex happened already; don’t push it
or I’ll take you.” He stood, turned from her, and walked out of the room. She
listened as his steps retreated toward the back of the house.
He’d do it too, and it was irrational as hell, but the idea
of him restraining her, touching her in any way, made her wet. Didn’t help any
that the jackass was drop-dead gorgeous. Those vampire violet eyes and the long
black hair set her heart stirring. His shoulders were broad enough to take
Atlas’s place holding up the world. Armada had a thing for narrow hips, long
legs and muscular thighs. Barringer was probably six feet four and he sure had
the other parts. She’d eyed his crotch more times than she wanted to count
considering she’d known him only a few hours.
And he hated demi-vamps.
Damn. Please don’t let her be attracted to the bastard
who killed her kind without a second thought. Armada became so pissed she
could spit nails. Why in the hell had Split done this? She didn’t need or want
a keeper. Her turning malevolent was as likely as a toad becoming a prince. Her
heritage interested the council, and she knew that from Split, but why? They’d
get very little from her.
Armada didn’t know her father.
Shaking her head, she remembered her mother believed herself
to be some kind of voodoo priestess, and before dying from an unknown disease,
she uttered one word repeatedly.
Sophie.
The day after she died, the house burned to the ground.
There was a bank account, and money continued appearing
every month, providing Armada the means to build a small cabin on her own. No
one visited or cared about the voodoo trash living in the woods. She had spent
the next three years living alone and afraid of what was happening to her.
Until Split Kryder showed up to drag her to the high desert of California,
Armada lived a scared, lonely existence. That was forty-two years ago -- Armada
had been twenty.
She didn’t look a day older than she had on the fateful day
Split had saved her life.
Armada also didn’t know then what she was or why she craved
blood. She had hunted in the dark of night and lived on raw animal meat. Her
body became emaciated and she dwindled away to nothing. When Split found her,
she sat by a tree in the dark, unable to capture an animal and ease her hunger.
She would have died from lack of sustenance. Split fed her his blood, made her
healthy again, and taught her all she knew about how a vampire lived.
That was all she remembered. She didn’t remember a childhood,
she didn’t remember a man ever visiting, and she didn’t even know if she had a
last name.
She’d only learned about the demon blood a few months ago.
Hell, she didn’t want to sprout horns or grow a tail. She had witnessed
firsthand what a diseased demi-vamp looked like when she hunted with Split. The
ragged teeth and yellow skin made her sick.
“Guess I’m not the only one in the room who kills
demi-vamps.”
She spun to catch him watching her from the doorway. “Fuck
you.”
“Please.”
“Oooh! Go to hell.”
“A place more suitable to your kind.” Armada didn’t grasp
the meaning of his glare. Ringer’s voice grew softer. “Come eat, I cooked.”
“Why, when you could fabricate it?”
“Because I like to cook and fabricated doesn’t taste as
good.”
“Probably tastes like shit.”
Red circled his violet eyes. She understood that look,
having seen it often when Split became irritated. “You can let me know; I’ve
never tasted shit.”
She reached for a vase on the table and lifted it to hurl at
his head.
“Can you afford to replace that? I will take it out in
trade.”
“God, I hate you.”
“Living with me is easier once you understand my rules.”
“I’m not living with you.”
“Yeah, you are.” He strode to stand beside her seat. “One,
don’t throw my shit around; two, eat what I cook or fabricate your own shit.”
He wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger. “Three, when we fuck, we do it
my way or not at all.”
Standing, she walked past him and turned. “I like not at
all.”
“Honey, you’ll be in my bed by nightfall.”
“Doubtful.”
He walked to where she stood. “Linen closet is at the top of
the stairs. You’ll need bedclothes for the sofa.”
She glanced around the space for the first time. Expensive
antiques dotted shiny plank wood floors. The furniture was masculine and in a
mix of dark chocolate and red hues. Large windows remained bare of curtains. Probably
a voyeuristic jackass. The living room was large and bright. Good thing
there was no truth to the fact vampires could only move around at night.
Sunlight streamed in the window.
“Only one bedroom?” From the floor plan, she knew upstairs
held more than a single room, unless, of course, it was a damn large room.
He laughed and looked over his shoulder. “Only one you can
enter.”
“Bastard.”
“Hope you like baked chicken.” He grinned. “With lots of
garlic.”
“I’ll fix a salad.”
She reached the kitchen in time to see him fork a breast and
a thigh onto a plate. He followed the chicken with a large dollop of mashed
potatoes. “Do I look like a salad fixings kind of guy to you?”
“Jesus.” She yanked open the refrigerator door and peered
inside. Closing her eyes, she attempted to bring salad greens to Barringer’s
house. Nothing. She could transport, but that was with Split’s help, and right
now, he seemed absent from her head. One day she’d get the hang of vampire
tricks and be able to use them by herself. Spying an old, spotted apple, she
grabbed it. “This will do.”
“Whatever.” He bit into the meat and chewed for a minute.
That was followed by a big helping of potatoes. After he’d swallowed the food,
he took a sip of white wine. He gazed at her with his head tilted. “You’re
thick enough to miss one meal.”
The apple slammed dead in the center of his plate sending
the chicken flying into his lap and mashed potatoes covering the front of his
shirt.
Author Bio:
J. Hali Steele
wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just
plain bite the crap out of... Well, since she can't, she would much rather roam
where her fictional big cats live—in the high desert of California. She enjoys
spending time with her sisters and friends who willingly listen to her
ramblings about the paranormal world and anything else that goes bump in the
night. They're a captive audience, but she promises to untie them soon!
A multi-published
author, when J. Hali's not writing, she can be found snuggled in front of the
TV with a good book, a cat in her lap, and a cup of coffee.
Favorite saying: Growl and roar—it's
okay to let the beast out.
Author Links:
You can visit her
at www.jhalisteele.com; on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jhalisteele; or at Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/sovereignkind. She
tweets from www.twitter.com/JHaliSteele; and pins to http://www.pinterest.com/jhalisteele. She also blogs on the 5th of
every month at www.paranormalromantics.blogspot.com; she sometimes remembers her own blog at www.sovereignkind.blogspot.com, and she answers ALL emails at jhalisteele@yahoo.com.
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