SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (38 page)

“I still need to decide where Grandma Beck would want to be,” Gracie said. “It’s just too painful to think about, yet, but she deserves to be somewhere peaceful, at rest.”

Reilly pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t think she’d mind if you wait a bit to make that decision. You’ll figure it out. I think the ghosts have finally moved on from Diablo Springs.”

“What about Matt?” she asked softly.

“I can only hope my brother moved on with them and has found peace at last,” Reilly murmured.

“He has,” Chloe said with a knowing smile.

“So is there a lot of money out there waiting to be found?” Brendan asked.

“Not enough to die for,” Reilly answered. “You need to stick around. You’re going to have your hands full.”

* * *

The next morning the roads had cleared, the tow truck pulled Gracie’s car out of the ditch, and Chloe left as abruptly as she appeared, stopping only long enough to collect Bill on the way. Gracie felt strangely sad to see her go. Saying good-bye to the woman who’d been haunted for so many years made Gracie think about her own life and where she would go now.

Would Reilly be a part of it? Did he want to be? Life with her wouldn’t be a picnic. Aside from her own issues and quirks, there was Analise and yet another baby coming into the world. She wouldn’t have wished it for her daughter, any more than it had been wished for herself, but Analise was a blessing that she wouldn’t have missed for anything. Perhaps the same would be true for this baby. And Brendan had proved to have more grit than she’d given him credit for. Maybe they would be happy together. Maybe not. But that’s what life was, wasn’t it? Taking chances and celebrating when they paid off, changing course when they didn’t.

As if reading her mind, Reilly moved closer and took Gracie in his arms, holding her like he’d never let her go. He looked deeply into her eyes and asked, “What about us, Gracie?”

In that question, she sensed so many others, questions neither of them could answer. But Gracie knew one thing for certain.

She smiled at him. “I think you and I have enough history between us,” she said softly. “I’m ready to start living for today if you are.”

His smile started a fire deep within her.

“I like the sound of that. And if I’m lucky, maybe you’ll want to think about tomorrow, too.”

Gracie wrapped her arms around him and whispered. “I have a feeling you’re about to get very lucky, Reilly Alexander. Very,
very
lucky.”

Reilly’s grin made her fall in love just a little more. She caught her breath as he bent his head and whispered against her lips.

“I’m already the luckiest man alive.”

Then, he kissed her, which was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

THE END

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading DIABLO SPRINGS. I hope you enjoyed this journey into my imagination. For the history buffs, Diablo Springs is loosely based on Agua Caliente, a real life ghost town which became popular around the turn of the century. Socialites flocked there for the healing waters… until an enterprising engineer in the late 1890s decided to make them bigger and better, resulting in the springs draining into underground caverns and disappearing altogether. The writer in me thought,
what better place for a ghost story than a town where even the water is a ghost…
. All other similarities between Diablo Springs and Agua Caliente ended there, but it was the seed I needed to sprout my story.

If you have a minute, please consider leaving a short review for Diablo Springs and the other great reads in this set. Authors and readers alike love reviews!

To receive an email when my next book comes out, please enter my monthly
contest
. I’m always giving something away. My newsletter only goes to those who sign up and is never sent unsolicited. Expect to receive it no more than a few times a year. (I will never spam you with constant updates—life’s too short *smile*).

If you like time travel, please check out my award winning
Mists of Ireland
series which Diana Gabaldon calls “complex, mysterious and very satisfying.” If a fast-paced, dark paranormal is more to your taste, try my award winning
Beyond
series which was a RT Book Reviews Top Pick, “Fascinating... powerful... beautifully wrought”

As always, thank you for reading my books!

Erin Quinn

www.ErinQuinnBooks.com

About the Author

Erin Quinn

New York Times bestselling author Erin Quinn writes dark paranormal romance for the thinking reader. Her books have been called “riveting,” “brilliantly plotted” and “beautifully written” and have won, placed or showed in numerous awards. Go to
www.erinquinnbooks.com
for more information or follow Erin on
Facebook
or
Twitter
@ErinQuinnAuthor. Look for the second book in the Beyond Series, The Three Fates of Ryan Love in January 2015. Book One, The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love is available now.

Additional Books by
Erin Quinn

THE FIVE DEATHS OF ROXANNE LOVE

THE THREE FATES OF RYAN LOVE

HAUNTING BEAUTY

The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love
– Preview Chapter

Book One in the Beyond series, available now from Pocket Books

Chapter One

The reaper entered the room as Santo Castillo spun the cylinder of the revolver, took a deep swallow of Wild Turkey, then put the muzzle in his mouth. He pulled the trigger without hesitation. The hollow click that followed seemed to mock the shadowed silence.

Santo choked back a sob, dropped the gun on the low coffee table in front of him, and reached for his glass again. For a long moment he just sat there, shoulders hunched, silent, dry sobs wracking his body. A tall man, with broad shoulders and a heavy, muscular frame, he looked odd crying his dry tears. The reaper moved closer, perplexed by the duplicity of human emotion. The man wanted to die. He begged for death, yearned for it. And yet he fought it even now, when it was too late.

The reaper paused just behind him and blew a soft breath in his ear. Santo stiffened, lifted his head, and looked around uneasily.

Yes. I’ve come for you.

A shudder went through the human and he took another hasty drink, wincing as the burn of the alcohol slid down his throat.

A light hung just above the couch and coffee table where Santo wallowed in his misery. The reaper gave it a gentle nudge, making it sway back and forth, producing cadaverous shadows that slithered across the walls. The chain squeaked ever so slightly in a macabre overture to what would come. Santo’s gaze darted warily around the room. His fear seasoned the air and the reaper breathed it in. Fear always honeyed the reaping.

He moved closer, trailing his fingers over Santo’s broad shoulders, admiring the hard strength of him. Yes, he would be perfect.

Perfect,
he whispered.

Santo jumped and spun in his seat, staring right through the reaper, seeing nothing but the queer boogeymen of his imagination. His anxious eyes grew hot with panic as he turned back around. The small hairs on his nape stood on end. Santo reached for his gun and fumbled, sending it in a tailspin across the table, knocking over a framed snapshot he’d propped in front of him—a silent witness to his madness. The gun skated off the smooth surface and hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

While Santo ducked down to retrieve it, the reaper righted the photo.

Visibly shaken, his pulse a staccato beat at his throat, Santo closed his eyes and rubbed the scruff of his beard. He mumbled something the reaper couldn’t hear, but then again, he didn’t need to hear it. They all prayed at this point.

After several deep breaths, Santo opened his eyes again and focused on the framed picture, once more positioned on the table. The image of a jubilant Santo with dark, sparkling eyes and a wide, dimpled smile looked back from the photograph. Wrapped around him from behind was a female with the same brown skin and velvety gaze. She laughed at the camera.

The reaper remembered her. He’d been the one to take her when her time had come. She and her baby had tasted of sweetness and light, and as he’d passed them through to their next destination, he’d been strangely moved by a sense of loss.

He frowned with distaste at the memory. He blamed another woman for the unwanted emotion. Roxanne Love. Before her, he’d never cared for the souls he’d reaped. Only that they’d abounded.

He watched Santo as the human scowled at the righted photograph. The reaper could see the memory of the last few moments replaying in Santo’s mind, in his expression. The spinning gun careening toward the snapshot, the frame teetering, toppling over with a flat, cracking sound that had left a splinter in the glass at the bottom right corner. Santo’s eyes shifted back and forth as he recounted each cause and effect in an attempt to rationalize how the frame could have come to be propped in front of him now, as if none of that had happened.

Santo shook his head in silent denial. Looking like the cop he’d been for the last twelve years, he narrowed his dark eyes and searched the room.

You know who I am. You invited me here.

The human’s fear simmered to an erotic terror. He gave the gun in his hand a desperate look, took another drink, and shoved the muzzle in his mouth. The cruel click of the pulled trigger taunted him, as impotent as the dry tears.

He savored Santo’s anguish. Few humans really desired death when they courted it in this manner. This one did, yet Santo felt he deserved the torture of the game he played. He owned half a dozen guns that would have done the job quicker, but he endured the punishment of each deadly click. The torment of forcing himself to do it again and again.

The reaper knew Santo would keep pulling that trigger, until the job was done. At 12:10 a.m., a clean shot would blow away the back of his skull and kill him instantly.

Or should.

For Santo Castillo, death would come, but not from a bullet. His beautiful face would remain intact, his gray matter safely stored in his cranium. The reaper had never taken a soul from a human that still lived, but he didn’t hesitate to do it now. He needed a body for a day, maybe less. Just long enough to find the woman who’d escaped him. The woman whose soul he’d touched, held, and lost. Just long enough to reap her and return to the Beyond.

In less than twenty-four hours Roxanne Love would die once again. Only this time he’d be there, in flesh and spirit, to make sure she
stayed
dead.

As Santo put the gun in his mouth once more, the reaper sat down on the table in front of him and let himself be
seen
. For a single, glorious moment, Santo’s terror swaddled them both, then the reaper took over and put an end to the human’s misery.

VAMPIRE REBORN

A novella from The Calling/RebornVampire Novel series

by Caridad Pineiro

Table of Contents for VAMPIRE REBORN

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Dear Reader

About the Author: Caridad Pineiro

Books by Caridad Pineiro

Sins of the Flesh – Preview Chapter

Vampire Reborn
: Chapter One

Ryder Latimer wiped the steam off the mirror and stared. For the first time in nearly two hundred years, his image stared back.

Granted it was barely there. Almost ghostly, but it was definitely his image. It was weird to see himself, to see how others might see him, after so long.

He gingerly rubbed his hand over his jaw and the beard there. Shifted his hand upward to drag his fingers through the longer strands of his hair.

It had been nearly a month since he’d had his ass kicked by Connall Burk, psycho vampire. Nearly a month since he’d almost died, but worse . . .

It had been nearly a month since he’d failed his family.

He had no intention of failing them again.

He pushed off the edge of the sink, wincing as his bones and muscles complained with the action. He had worked himself hard that afternoon, running through a series of martial arts drills in addition to an intense workout in the gym. Plus, he still hadn’t fully healed from that beating. It was part of the reason for the beard and the longer hair. The most basic grooming hurt much like the rest of his body still ached from the damage he’d sustained and the way he had been pushing himself.