The first book in my new vampire series Forged Bloodlines is available through Amazon.com in print! To celebrate, here is another little excerpt that takes place after Bishop has brought Anja back to his place to decide what to do with her.

“You live here?” I asked in surprise, stepping deeper into the room, my eyes lighting on the grand piano tucked incongruously into the corner. Bishop seemed content to leave me to explore on my own, heading straight for the kitchen counter, which was littered with tactical gear and electronic gadgets I didn’t recognize.

“Yes.”

“Huh, I would have thought you’d have a place underground, not on the top floor.” I went to the window and looked down to the quiet street below. There were also a bakery and a book store in the same building and a bank across the street.

“There isn’t a basement in the building, and it would have attracted too much attention at the time I bought the place to have one excavated,” he replied, pulling off his jacket and tossing it at a coat hook mounted to the wall. With the jacket off, I could see he had several weapons strapped to his body, and with as close as I’d been to him, I wondered why I hadn’t noticed at the time. While I watched, he unstrapped them all, laying the holsters neatly along the breakfast bar.

“You own the whole building?” For some reason that struck me as odd, vampires owning property, but it made sense. Better to be your own landlord than risk someone snooping through your private affairs.

“I do, as well as the one across the street. And no, I wouldn’t rather sleep in the vault. This place suits me just fine.”

“What about the sun? Isn’t that a problem?”

Bishop picked up a small electronic device. “Not for the prepared. I have automatic shutters at every window, they block out the light. Come here for a minute, I want to check something.”

I obeyed him without question, curious to see what he had in his hands. “What is that thing?”

“I want to test your blood.” He held his hand out for mine, sticking my finger into a little lead attached to the box. It reminded me a little of the thing they use to check the oxygen in your blood at the doctor’s office.

“Will it hurt? Ow!” I scowled at the prick of the needle; the machine at the doctor’s never did that.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” he chuckled, releasing my hand. I snatched it back to inspect the damage, but my body had already healed the pinprick.

“What are you testing for?” I leaned closer to study the readout, but it was all Greek to me. “Bishop?” I prompted when he didn’t reply.

“That can’t be right. Give me your other hand.”

“I’m pretty sure the same blood is running through that hand as this one,” I frowned, handing over the other one, bracing myself for the sting. Once again, there wasn’t a trace of the wound as soon as I pulled my hand free. “What does it say?” I asked, when he frowned over the display.