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    Turned
    Turned
    Turned
    Ebook49 pages1 hour

    Turned

    By Michelle Fox

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    I'm determined to get revenge on the vampires who killed my father. Darkly handsome Malachi Jameson feels the same way, even though he's a vampire himself.

     

    The problem? His idea of revenge is quite different from mine. I'm more of a stake 'em through the heart Buffy style kind of gal, while Malachi's more about turning tables by bringing me over to the dark side.

     

    Revenge is a dish best served cold, but there's more than one way to make it. I just have to decide how far I'm willing to go.

     

    A short, steamy vampire romance with bite.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichelle Fox
    Release dateNov 10, 2014
    ISBN9781502269126
    Turned

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      Book preview

      Turned - Michelle Fox

      Blurb

      Dawn Russell is determined to get revenge on the vampires who killed her father. Darkly handsome Malachi Jameson feels the same way, even though he’s a vampire himself.

      The problem? His idea of revenge is quite different from Dawn’s. She’s thinking wooden stakes driven through hearts Rambo style, while Malachi’s more about turning tables by bringing Dawn over to the dark side.

      Revenge is a dish best served cold, but there’s more than one way to make it.

      A short vampire romance with a nice, steamy bite.

      Disclaimer

      This is a work of fiction intended for adults age 18 and over. Minors should stop here and close the book. All events depicted are fictional. All sex is between consenting adults. Any resemblance to places and persons, living or dead, is unintentional coincidence.

      Every effort has been made to provide a quality reading experience, but editors and technology are fallible. Please report typos or formatting issues to MichelleFoxwrites@gmail.com.

      Chapter One

      The vampires arrived at midnight and none of them signed the guest book. Fuckers. The funeral home had charged me fifty bucks for it, too.

      I stood in the back of the room where the memorial service would take place, watching and waiting, miserable and missing my dad, seething and simmering with the need to drive a stake into an unbeating heart. Sunglasses covered my eyes and a dozen wooden stakes hid inside my suit jacket, making the fabric heavy on my shoulders.

      The vampires all looked at me when they came in. Their heads turned, sharp and alert, as they homed in on my presence.

      They could probably hear my heartbeat from across the room. I suppressed a shiver and gestured toward the refreshments. I didn’t smile. I wasn’t their friend. Dad was dead because of them, and I was going to do my damnedest to make them pay for it.

      On a table wine glasses with thin, elegant stems glittered, but the donor blood inside cast a thick shadow. The glassware was a rental from the funeral home. They supplied the blood, too. I didn’t ask where they’d found it. The line between willing donor and unwilling victim was often blurry. Some blood dealers called it consent if people didn’t complain after they’d been held down and forcibly relieved of a pint.

      The last of them filed in, crowding around the table to pick up a glass of blood and murmuring to each other in hushed voices. There were more than I’d expected. At least twenty. The men wore dark suits and the women favored black sheath dresses with extra high heels. I stared at them, wondering which one had killed my father.

      The chaplain, a bald squat vampire the funeral home had hired for the service, waited until everyone had found a seat before clearing his throat. I’d been assured he would say all the right things...to the vampires.

      We are gathered together, brethren of the night, to honor the final death of Dale Simon Russell. He was immortal for but a short time, yet many of you came to know him and, he extended a hand toward where I remained standing in the back, his lovely daughter, Dawn.

      Did someone snicker? My fingers itched to grab one of the stakes in my jacket and pound it into the nearest vamp.

      So my name was Dawn. Yes, it was ironic. They’d been alive for how many centuries and hadn’t heard that one before? Behind my sunglasses, I rolled my eyes.

      The chaplain rushed to cover the awkward moment, quoting some meaningless scripture. Then a new disturbance at the entrance of

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