Authors: Jaz Primo
Sunrise at Sunset
| Sunrise at Sunset |
| Sunset Vampire [1] |
| Jaz Primo |
| Rutherford Literary Group (2010) |
When is a bloodthirsty predator the best protection against a psychotic killer? When the predator is both a vampire...and the woman you love.
We vampires are focused and tend to shape our own realities. My name is Katrina Rawlings, and I am a vampire. I declare that with neither pride nor ego. I am simply nature's most dangerous predator. On occasion, it's a very valuable quality. It helped me protect Caleb Taylor one day when he was very young. But that single, traumatic day is behind him now; wiped from his memory, or so I hope. Caleb has finally matured into a rather striking young man, and believe me, I like what I see. I'll readily admit that there are issues for us to confront and overcome, though a sense of mutual commitment isn't one of them. I'm feeling hopeful for our future together, in fact. But an adversary from my past has returned to haunt me, and she's trying to get back at me through Caleb. That was her first...and last...mistake. I'll protect my Caleb at all costs, and I'll make her regret the day she was born. So, I suppose that I'm not just a vampire. I'm about to become someone's worst nightmare!
[Excerpt cited from Jaz Primo interview on Bookmark Your Thoughts blog on April 14, 2011]
First, and perhaps most importantly, my novel is somewhat (pleasantly) unconventional. Don't expect to read the traditional, mainstream paranormal romance novel format that has become the gold standard for vampire romance today where the helpless, awkward female protagonist has to be saved/courted by the heroic ultra-alpha male vampire lead. Sunrise at Sunset breaks a number of boundaries in the genre, including a rejection of stereotypical gender roles. Believe it or not, I've actually offended a few readers because of that, and they've left somewhat scathing reviews in their wake. However, I've learned to wear that as a sort of badge of honor because I've made somebody think and confront something that's outside the stereotypical norms of our time. Readers should expect heartfelt romance and chemistry between sincere characters who transcend formulaic standards. For example, my editor, Julia, said that the main human character, Caleb, was refreshing and unlike any male lead in modern literature. Each of my main characters starts in their own imperfect and slightly vulnerable emotional place when you meet them, and they're each on individual journeys of self-discovery and healing, though in remarkably unique ways. While different, I think of it as somewhat hopeful and beautiful. As the series progresses, they grow and develop, just like each of us do as we experience real life. Expect to find romance and intrigue that ultimately bursts forth to form an adventure.
Jaz Primo is an author, history aficionado, pun-master, and all-around fan of things vampire and urban fantasy. Fueled by an active imagination, cold Coca-Cola, and chocolate, Jaz brings a new voice with a fresh approach to today's array of paranormal and urban fantasy literature via the compelling Sunset Vampire Series. Jaz lives in central Oklahoma with his wife and a talkative, long-lived cat. Visit his website at jazprimo (dot) com.
Books by Jaz Primo
The Sunset Series
SUNRISE AT SUNSET
A BLOODY LONDON SUNSET (* forthcoming)
Published by Rutherford Literary Group LLC
You can find Jaz Primo online on Facebook
and at the following locations:
Website:
http://www.jazprimo.com
Blog:
http://primovampires.blogspot.com
Published by:
RUTHERFORD LITERARY GROUP L.L.C.
1205 S. Air Depot, PMB #135
Midwest City, Oklahoma 73110-4807
http://www.rutherfordliterary.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This is an original publication of Rutherford Literary Group.
Copyright © 2010 by John Primo.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9828613-1-8 (eBook)
1. FICTION_FANTASY_PARANORMAL
2. FICTION_FANTASY_URBAN LIFE
3. FICTION_OCCULT & SUPERNATURAL
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010911428
First Printing: September 2010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Set in Century Schoolbook.
Cover art by Albert Slark.
Excerpts from “Temptation Waits” by Garbage reprinted by permission from Hal Leonard Corporation.
Temptation Waits
Words and Music by Duke Erickson, Shirley Ann Manson, Steve Marker and Bryan Vig
Copyrightt © 1998 IRVING MUSIC, INC., VIBCRUSHER MUSIC, ALMO MUSIC CORP. and DEADARM MUSIC
All Rights for VIBCRUSHER MUSIC Controlled and Administered by IRVING MUSIC, INC.
All Rights for DEADARM MUSIC Controlled and Administered by ALMO MUSIC CORP.
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Printed in the United States of America.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel is dedicated to my grandfather, Henry, who taught me that all things are possible with determination, hard work, and perseverance.
Heartfelt thanks to Lori for all the love, support, patience, and encouragement that a human being could possibly offer. Without her, this accomplishment would not be possible. She is truly my sunrise at sunset…
My sincere thanks and appreciation to Al Slark for amazing work using his mastery of the graphic arts, his confident professionalism and patience, and for accepting a challenge to do something fresh and unique in his realm of artistry. Special thanks to Brandon for all his mad technical web skills, artistic eye, and keen creative sense for all things “fonty”.
Many thanks to Jimmy, Jessica, Shannon, and Derek whose invaluable friendship, support, advice, and proofreading helped this novel to come to fruition. Countless thanks to my friends Jessica, Teresa, Crystal, Lisa, Nancy, Amie, David, and others for their beta reading, feedback, encouragement, and kindness. Thanks to my editor, Julia, for positive, essential feedback, and for passing along valuable insight that helped me to further hone and improve my writing skills. Thanks to Selina for your impromptu feedback, and being the sounding board that only you can be. Thanks to all those mentioned and unmentioned for their words of encouragement to persevere against insurmountable odds in the conquest of a singular goal: climbing the writer’s Mount Everest, known best as the nefarious world of publishing.
Prologue
A Reason to Live
T
he beginning of an end is sometimes just the start of something new. And once in a while, it’s the genesis of something wonderful.
The clear skies of predawn held the promise of another sunny day for the small community outside of Columbus, Ohio. A beautiful, fair-skinned woman appearing to be in her late twenties stood among the tall grasses of an empty field. Amber Simmons smiled as her green eyes looked with anticipation beyond the line of trees towards the approaching sunrise. It would be her first sunrise in many human lifetimes, and she stood statue-still, gazing hopefully at the sky.
She absently ran her fingertips through her short brown hair while contemplating the simplicity of the moment. With her keen hearing, she heard the birds chirping around her and a rooster crowing in the distance. As someone who typically planned things out with meticulous precision, Amber was momentarily amused that she’d merely pulled her car to the side of the road and randomly walked through the woods until arriving there.
This will do nicely
, she affirmed.
In silent homage to her lifelong commitment to structure and order, she recounted what had brought her to that moment. She was a strong-willed person and not prone to depression or morose fixations, but she was at what could be described as a vampire’s mid-life crisis. Having led a rich life, she’d enjoyed wealth, means, and free reign of the globe for the most part, as long as one excluded daytime. Daytime reigned as the most lethal environment for her kind, to be avoided at all cost.
However, Amber had grown dissatisfied in recent years. It wasn’t so much the series of failed relationships. Granted, those typically ended viciously...for them. It wasn’t that she was necessarily tired of living; she simply no longer saw the point in it. She’d been shocked by the realization that she was ready to see her last sunrise. The epiphany came upon her rather suddenly, without brooding or melancholy.
Amber confided in a few close vampire relations. However, most of them also struggled with their own need for diversions and were merely helpful in sympathizing with her situation. There were two vampires in particular who sought to intercede directly on her behalf before she watched that final sunrise, but both were half the world away, and time wasn’t on their side.
As she patiently waited, her only regret was the inability to appreciate the sun for very long before meeting her end. She missed the sunshine, really. As a human she had loved the mornings and the hopeful sense of optimism that morning brought to each day. For hundreds of years, she’d only caught fleeting glimpses of the burgeoning dawn before being forced into darker surroundings to await the reappearance of evening. Even at such a maudlin moment, she felt strangely at peace for what would be her last day.
As the sun began to rise, Amber marveled at the beautiful, yellow-orange glow forming above the tree line. It was terrifying in its majesty, and the innate urge to avoid it began to grow despite her resolve to meet her end.
Reflex only
, she mused reassuringly.
Moments later, the repercussion of the sun’s ultraviolet radiation began to take effect on her skin. At first it was merely an itching, but quickly it became painful. Her exposed skin blistered, and seconds later the core of her body erupted with fire. Amber tightly shut her eyes against the sun’s rays as they crept to the top of the trees and immediately heard a sizzling sound, quickly realizing it was coming from her own body.
With the sunlight nearly full upon her, a peculiar thing happened to the resolute Amber Simmons: she changed her mind.
Harnessing speed that humans couldn’t readily comprehend, she propelled her body westward into the tree line, holding the pain inside so she wouldn’t scream. Although her lungs were burning with agony, she yearned to release anguished, primal feelings to the world. Instead, she ran while containing the painful wail building within her.
Amber’s only hope was to seek refuge from the blazing sunlight using the nearest opportunity for shelter. In a matter of seconds, she raced towards a small, wood-framed garage that quickly appeared before her. The old garage stood alone, some thirty feet to the side of a paint-peeled house located on the small acreage across which she was running. She barely registered the side doorway before she was speeding through it in a blur of movement. Amber slammed the door shut behind her, seeking refuge beneath a tarp-draped and partially refurbished Chevrolet Camaro.
Within seconds, she lay on her back appreciating the cool, though grimy concrete floor. Her skin still sizzled as the burns covering her body felt catastrophic. Pain coursed through her system, and she breathed air in short, gasping breaths.
Grea
t, she thought,
now what?
Amber needed fresh blood for her body to begin the healing process properly. But she had deliberately fasted for many days in hopes of accelerating the process of death by morning sunshine. After facing her imminent demise firsthand, she considered it had been a really stupid notion.
Naturally, I left my blood supply at home
, she thought. Sighing with exasperation, she immediately felt her body racked with intense pain for her indulgence and drew air into her lungs through clenched teeth.
She heard the small, creaky door to the garage open and promptly smelled a human. By the sounds of the small, awkward footsteps, it was a small human, likely a child. Her presumption was confirmed in the simple word the visitor uttered next.
“Hello?” inquired a short, sandy-haired young boy. As he bent down to tie his shoe, Amber noted his faded blue jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with cartoon characters from Walt Disney’s The Lion King.
Amber held her breath so there was as much silence as possible. One glance to his left, and the child could probably see her. She needed blood badly, but one of the few resolutions she had made since becoming a vampire was not to hurt children. She hoped that the boy would lose interest and quickly leave.
“I heard the door slam,” he said. “Where are you?”
Amber clenched her jaw tightly and snapped her burnt eyelids shut while striving to keep the burning pain coursing through her body in check.
Great, a kid saw me
, she thought wildly. Then she heard the edge of the tarp lift near her and the little boy’s gasp.
“Gross! What happened?” the child demanded. “Are you hurt?”
She barely opened one of her eyes to gaze back at him. She must have looked, and smelled, like a burned corpse at that moment. “You need to leave, little boy,” she urged as clearly as possible through the pain. “It’s not safe for you here.”
“I can help, really,” the boy persisted.
Help?
Amber’s mind raced for a solution of some kind, but the only thing that occurred to her had little hope for success. For years, she had been a good customer of the blood bank set up by a very old vampire some years ago that catered to a unique clientele. The idea was that a domestic supply of blood might improve the chances of vampires seeking to blend into society without having to hunt humans. The corporate venture capitalized on local blood banks to broker blood supplies to its customers. And best of all, they ensured prompt delivery in most major cities around the world.
“What’s your name, little boy?” Amber asked as levelly as possible.
“Caleb,” he stammered excitedly. “Caleb Taylor.”
“Hello, Caleb,” she said while trying to control the tremors of pain in her voice.
“Hi,” he replied in a friendly tone that only an innocent child could evoke successfully.
Well, at least he’s polite
, she thought. In fact, he seemed like a child with a pleasant, gentle disposition. Amber tried to clear her mind of her agony and asked, “Okay, Caleb. How old are you?”
“I’m eight,” he proudly replied.
Her mind raced as she gauged the aptitude of the average eight-year-old. “Caleb, I’m an angel, and I need for you to call heaven for me,” she explained. “Can you do that?”
Caleb frowned. “Call heaven?”
Amber stifled a moan as the burning began to subside only marginally. Her body must be trying to heal itself. But she needed fresh blood to do the job correctly.
“Can you use a telephone for me and not tell anybody?” she asked.
“Not even my mom?” he countered.
Amber considered the merits of a fleeting thought, but quickly discarded the idea of draining his mother dry.
Some angel I am
,
the
angel of death!
“No, Caleb, not even your mom,” she urged.
“Is it a secret?” he inquired.
“Yes, it’s a secret,” she answered with all the patience she could muster.
The boy was silent for a moment and replied doubtfully, “Well, okay.”
She nearly screamed as a wave of renewed pain shot through her body and bit her bottom lip so hard that she drew blood.
“Who should I call?” Caleb asked.
“Get a pencil and paper, Caleb,” she insisted.
“Okay,” he said before running out of the garage, slamming the side access door behind him.
Amber lay there wondering if she would ever see him again, or if the child’s mother or father would come through the door next. She passed the time frantically determining if the sunshine outside threatened the interior of the garage. There was a small pane glass window opposite from her on the side of the car where the boy had been, but the canvas tarp seemed to offer enough protection to keep the sun’s rays from reaching her.
After a time, she heard the door open and shut again, followed by the sound of little footsteps. Seconds later, the boy’s excited face reappeared beneath the tarp.
“I got a pencil and paper,” he said.
“Okay, Caleb. This is very important,” she began. “I’m going to give you a phone number to call, and then you just give the person that answers a long number and your address. Do you know your address, Caleb?”
The boy nodded and recited his address with a practiced tone.
S
mart kid
, Amber admired. She gave him a phone number and a special access code and told him to give the person his home address. Caleb repeated the information and promised to go make the call without telling his parents. All the while, it took all her willpower not to reach out and grab the child for the immediate source of the blood that she desperately needed. Instead, Amber waited as she heard his departing footsteps and the sound of the door closing.
Caleb returned some undetermined time later while Amber lay beneath the car gritting her teeth and enduring the searing pain that reignited through her body.
“I made the call to heaven,” Caleb said. “Angel Bruce said he’ll come soon.”
Unbelievable
, she thought. “Can you bring me the box when it arrives, Caleb?” she asked as gently as possible.
“Okay, but I have to eat breakfast first,” he said.
She panicked slightly. “Caleb, are your parents home now?”
“My mom is,” he said. “Should I get her?”
“No!” she urgently snapped. The boy jumped slightly.
“Sorry, Caleb. I’m hurt,” she earnestly explained. “I need you to get the box from the angel in the truck before your mom sees it. Your mommy may not want me to get the box, Caleb.”
The boy considered what she said and replied, “Okay.”
Then a woman’s voice called, “Caleb, breakfast!”
“Okay, Mom!” he yelled before getting up and running out of the garage.
“Please hurry, Angel Bruce,” Amber muttered through clenched teeth.
After what seemed like hours, Amber heard a truck pull onto the gravel shoulder of the street outside and stop. The engine idled, and she vaguely heard a man’s voice, followed by Caleb’s. Her hearing was normally many times better than a human’s, but at that moment the pain in her body blocked a great deal of her acuity and concentration.
A few minutes later, the boy entered the garage carrying a small plastic insulated cooler. He sat it down onto the floor next to the car with a heavy thump.
“The box is here,” Caleb said. His pale blue eyes came into view while he peeked beneath the tarp, adding excitedly, “The angel drove a truck!”
“You’re an angel now, Caleb,” she whispered.
“I am?” he asked with wide eyes.
“Yes, Caleb. You’re an angel from now on,” she promised as she began crawling towards the edge of the car. “But you need to go now. You can come back later, okay?”
“Okay,” he suspiciously replied before leaving the garage, shutting the small door behind him.
Despite the pain, Amber’s shaking hands managed to tip the cooler onto its side while avoiding the sunlight streaming in through the garage window. The container was filled with small plastic bags of human blood. She grabbed two, pulling them underneath the car. She snapped the cap off the first one and squeezed the cold blood into her mouth, drinking hungrily. Quickly draining them both, she reached out for more, repeating the process until the cooler was empty.
