Page 5 of A Velvet Kiss After Dark

His brother's breaths grow lighter, weaker. "Good. Then go. Now. I don't want you to watch me die."

"No, not that! Konner, please don't do this!" He'd rather die than leave his brother out here alone.

Konner grins, white teeth painted red. Still trying to being jovial. "Go on," he says. "I don't have long. Don't remember me like this. It's not what I would want."

It feels like an hour before Kánnérd makes his legs stand, but he knows it's only minutes. He takes one step away, then another. His head whips back toward the path from whence they came, longing for vengeance like a pounding heartbeat in his head, urging him to go back to his tormentors and end them all one by one.

He gazes at his brother one last time. Familiar brown eyes meet his own with love.

It is so unfair.

"Love you, bratku," he whispers.

Kánnérd makes a fist and presses it to his heart. Konner clamps his fist over his own, but the attempt is frail. And then Kánnérd shifts once more into his Beast and lopes through the woods, but it isn't to freedom he goes. If his brother knew, he'd shout at him to come back. But Kánnérd's mind is made up the moment he saw the death wounds on his brother's body.

He races through the night and heads back to the castle that imprisoned him for so many years. There was nothing left to lose, no risk involved. He'd make every single vampire burn this and paint the walls of Castle Elustrian red.

And he did.

Over and over again.

PART ONE

1

St. Louis, Missouri

Present Day

“In Damascus, you say? Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Okay, got it. Thanks!”

Tabitha Burke, reporter extraordinaire for the best-selling supernatural magazine in the world, VNN, opened up a new document on her computer and began typing away on her newest story revolving around the infamous Blackmoore family.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

She froze, her blood running cold.

Leaping up, Tabitha stared at her front door as horrifying images rushed to mind. This situation had far too much familiarity to her. Not so long ago, three Weres had attacked her in her own home, cutting her and threatening her, all because they thought she was Kane Gunner’s girlfriend.

Reaching inside her desk, she pulled out the pistol she’d bought after the attack. Classes from an expert marksman had taught her how to hold a gun, how to load it, how to keep it safe and clean it, and especially, how to hit a target. She kept the safety on and the weapon pointed at the floor, but its powerful presence eased her fears.

“Who’s there?” she called out.

Another thump, as if someone had dragged their fist down the door. Her thumb hovered over the safety, ready to remove it.

“Dammit, Tabitha, open the door ‘fore I break it down.” The rough male voice was both distinctive and surprising. And entirely too familiar. What on earth was Kane Gunner doing at her apartment?

Putting the gun back down, she threw open the front door and gasped.

“What happened?”

She stared at the body of a bloodied, beaten-up Kane Gunner. He leaned heavily against her doorjamb for support. Panting, he held his side where a wound bled profusely. He hobbled past her and she closed the door.

“Not on the couch!” she cried when he moved to collapse on it.

Turning his head to glare at her, he collapsed, one knee at a time, onto her hardwood floors.

“Good, bleed there. It’ll be easier to clean up.”

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