To my friends Nadia, Rohit, Amanda and the city of Detroit. This story’s for you.
This story would not have been possible if I hadn’t started attended weekly Sunday coffee shop meetings in Detroit with my friends. Thank you so much for guidance and support in those early years when I was just learning how to write romance. I want to extend a special thanks to my critique groups and friends who’ve supported me. Lastly, and importantly, I want to thank my amazing agent Pam from Foreword Literary and her assistant Laura. Laura, you did a wonderful job on making this story come alive and creating the vision with me! And Pam, you know you’re awesome, but I still want to tell you every day! Thanks for being a dream maker with me. It means more than you possibly know.
Her prey was so close...
A small crystal was tied to a leather band around Tamara Gilbert’s wrist. It hummed in a soft vibration against her skin as a warning of approaching danger. The magic trapped in the gemstone burned, getting her attention. Her breath quickened. Soon she’d be hunting. Her heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline shot through her system. The effect was drugging; the heightened sensations, the heady sense of power, the knowledge that she had the advantage. A smile teased her lips, and she bit them to hide the anticipation.
The bar’s door opened, and a swath of pale moonlight cut through the orange tinted lights filling the entrance. A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette formed out of the tendrils of smoke, like a sinister dream.
Half an hour earlier, she’d slipped down an alley off Jefferson Avenue and entered the infamous Walker Bar to wait for the very man who’d appeared in the doorway. She’d known he’d come this way, just like she always knew where supernatural creatures would show up. Half instinct, half tracking, it was all part of the job. Walker Bar was an easy guess. At the moment, she sensed the majority of the people around her weren’t fully human. The air inside the downtown Detroit bar was hazy with smoke and pungent with cheap beer and even cheaper perfume. Black speakers hung from wood beams in the corners of the room, emitting the strangled strains of hip hop with pounding rhythmic thuds against Tamara’s chest.