GRAVE ATTRACTION by Lori Sjoberg
He’s a reaper who works by the book. But
a sexy shifter will have him changing the course of fate just to be with her—if
a killer doesn’t get to her first…
After four years as a reaper, helping
souls cross into the afterlife is a job Adam Javorski has finally gotten used
to. But when he arrives at the site of a serial killer’s latest victim, finding
a living—not to mention gorgeous—hostage is the last thing he expects. The
young woman captivates him in a way no one ever has—so much so, he breaks rule
number one by helping her escape…
Marlena Walther doesn’t remember the man
who rescued her. But when she sees Adam again, she recognizes him instantly as
her soul mate. While the two work together to track down a killer determined to
finish what he started, their undeniable attraction draws them even closer. Now
Adam is the only one who can protect Marlena from a vengeful murderer—if he’s
willing to sacrifice everything for her.
It was a wonder none of
the neighbors had noticed that something wasn’t right with the house. Storm
shutters covered every single window, with locks keeping them bolted in place.
It might be considered normal during hurricane season, but year-round?
Definitely weird. The pulse of pending mortality emanated from the building,
weak but growing stronger by the minute. Soon, death would claim another
victim, leaving Adam to clean up the mess.
As a reaper, that was
his calling. Day in and day out, he claimed the souls of the recently departed
and guided them to the next stage in their journey. Often, that meant a better
place. Other times … not so much.
He’d been on the job for
almost four years, after losing his own humanity in the south side of Chicago
on a warm October night. Back then he’d been a cop, and a damn good one. But
that hadn’t stopped him from royally fucking up and damning his soul in the
process.
Shaking his head, he
forced the painful memories from his thoughts and focused on the house across
the street. Inside, the call of death intensified, gathering steam until it
buzzed through his blood like a chain saw. He gritted his teeth when it reached
a crescendo, his hands clenched against the steering wheel. He hated this
part—not doing anything when you knew someone was about to die. It went against
all of his instincts. But Fate had strict rules concerning interference, and he
knew better than to challenge her authority.
Less than five minutes
later the garage door opened and a silver four-door sedan backed down the
driveway. Seven little stick figure decals were lined up on the back window,
and Adam couldn’t help but wonder if they signified actual family members or
the number of people he’d murdered. As for the killer himself, he seemed
deceptively average: white male, average height, average build, with short
graying hair and brown eyes. No visible scars, tattoos, piercings, or other
distinguishing features. His mediocrity served as camouflage to conceal a
predator lurking in plain sight.
As soon as the car drove
out of the subdivision, Adam popped the lock to his door. “Call me if he comes
back early,” he told Martin as he stepped out of the truck. From past
experience and Dmitri’s notes, he knew the guy would only be gone for about ten
minutes. Just long enough for the sick fuck to buy a half gallon of ice cream
from the nearby grocery store.
Under cover of darkness,
Adam crossed the street and approached the wood-frame house. He ignored the
sign that warned of an alarm, since it merely served as a deterrent. No serial
killer worth his salt would run the risk of the alarm sounding off and
triggering a visit by local law enforcement. Retrieving the set of picks from
his back pocket, he worked on the locks on the front door. The bottom one
opened with little effort, but the dead bolt gave him a minute of trouble
before the tumblers clicked into place. He took a deep breath, mentally bracing
himself for the horrors that waited inside. The stench of fresh death and
lingering decay assaulted his nostrils the instant he crept into the foyer. As
a cop, he’d never gotten used to the smell, and he doubted he ever would as a
reaper. With the lights out, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he waited to
flip the switch until after the door clicked shut.
The small foyer led into
a large living room with a brick fireplace. There wasn’t a single piece of
furniture in sight, and the vaulted ceilings and shuttered windows gave the
place a cavernous feel. Blue plastic tarps covered the hardwood floor, probably
to protect it from stains. Or perhaps they were there to make it easier for the
killer to remove the body.
The victim was a male
this time, barely out of his teens. The poor kid had been chained by his wrists
to the wall a few feet away from the fireplace. He was clad in only a pair of
ratty black jeans, with a silver collar fastened around his neck. The blade of
a dagger was buried in a chest so mutilated it was almost unrecognizable. His
pale green eyes stared into oblivion, his mouth opened in a silent scream. The
soul had already broken free from the corpse, hovering close but not quite
touching. Confused and despondent, he retained his human form, unaware that he
no longer needed to conform to his prior physical constraints.
Pushing back against a
rush of anger, Adam stepped closer to the body. The cop in him demanded
immediate justice, but that was no longer part of his job description. He
narrowed his focus, reaching out with his mind until he locked onto the kid’s
essence. He sensed no taint of evil on the soul as he slowly drew it toward
him. To calm the spirit he sent out wordless reassurances, promising safety,
closure, and the end to physical pain.
Pacified, the soul
offered no resistance, merging with Adam’s body in a wash of benevolent warmth.
The kid’s essence carried a unique quality that Adam couldn’t quite define.
Demon, mage? Honestly, he couldn’t say for sure. His experience with non-humans
was limited. As the kid’s spirit distilled to its purest form, it became aware
of the death of its body, and confusion gave way to panic.
“You’ve got to get out of here before he gets back! Please!
Go, and warn the others. If he finds them, he’ll kill them all—oh wait! You
need to free the girl first. She doesn’t deserve what he plans to do to her.
Please say yes, I’ll do anything you want, please, please, please …”
Adam squeezed his eyes
shut while he contained the soul, blocking out the unwanted flood of emotions
for the sake of his own sanity. During his time on the force, he’d grown
desensitized to crime scenes, but all that training flew right out the window
when the dead insisted on talking. For him, it was one of the toughest parts
about being a reaper, so much that it came close to breaking him during his
first year on the job.
Finished, he turned away
from the body, eager for a breath of fresh air. And a beer. He was halfway to
the front door when a female’s voice shouted out from the rear of the house.
Excerpt 2:
“Who the hell are you?”
Her husky voice sounded harder than iron, but her eyes were wide and
unblinking.
Adam didn’t answer. He
was too busy appraising the locks. With enough time and the proper equipment,
he could override the electronic keypad. Unfortunately, he lacked the luxury of
either. Besides, it wasn’t his business. As a reaper, his obligations lay with
the dead. He had no right to interfere with the living. Those lessons had been
drilled into his head countless times. Always collect your appointed souls. Do
not alert humans to our presence. Do not question Fate. And for the love of
God, do not alter destiny. His mentor’s words echoed in his ears, the only
thing keeping him from running to his truck for a hacksaw.
Frustrated, Adam balled
his hands into fists. If he had a lick of sense, he’d leave the house before he
did anything stupid. But something about the young woman called out to his
soul, tugging so fiercely he found it impossible to turn away. A deep sense of
connection flashed through his blood—swift, strong, and given the situation,
completely inappropriate. He’d never experienced anything like it, and it
knocked him completely off balance.
His phone vibrated in
his back pocket, jarring him from his thoughts.
“Get your ass out of
there,” Martin said when Adam answered the call. “Your boy’s on his way back to
the nest, and it looks like he brought company.”
Shit. According to his
notes, the killer worked alone. Since when had he recruited a partner? “All
right, I’ll be there in a minute.” Adrenaline surged through his veins as he
disconnected. There wasn’t enough time to break the blond free. But what kind
of man would he be if he left a defenseless woman in the hands of psychos? Fuck
destiny. The least he could do was give her a fighting chance at survival. To
the best of his knowledge, she wasn’t fated to expire any time soon, and in his
book that made her fair game.
“Hey!” the blond shouted
when he stormed out of the room, fear rising in her voice. “Come back! Let me
out of here!”
The sound of the garage
door opening shot Adam’s pulse into overdrive. With time running out, he rushed
to the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone from the charging station. He
dialed as he walked, and by the time he reached the back room, a 911 operator
had picked up the call.
“Please state the nature
of your emergency,” a woman said on the other end of the line.
Adam shoved the phone
through the narrow steel bars. His gaze locked with the woman’s long enough to
insert a mental suggestion.
You’re at 816 Heron Cove. I was never here.
She stared at him, a puzzled
expression on her face as he turned and raced for the exit. He heard her
speaking to the emergency operator, and relief flooded his heart. With luck,
the police would arrive within minutes and free the poor woman from captivity.
The sound of a car engine
shut off in the garage. Adam’s pulse pounded in his ears as he flicked off the
lights and yanked the front door open. As he stepped over the threshold, he
heard the creak of the door that connected the garage to the kitchen. Quietly,
carefully, he closed the front door, praying they wouldn’t notice the unlocked
dead bolt.
Not looking back, Adam
ran to the truck and slid behind the wheel.
“What took you so long?”
Martin’s nose crinkled. “Dude, you smell like roadkill.”
Adam shot him a
withering glare as he turned the key in the ignition. “What did you expect? It
doesn’t smell like fucking lilacs in there.” He twisted his neck and sniffed
the sleeve of his shirt. Yep, he reeked of death, which meant a shower and a
fresh change of clothes before heading out to the bar. After he clicked on his
seat belt, he reached over and switched on the police scanner.
Martin glanced down as
Adam adjusted the dial to pick up the right frequency. “What are you listening
for?”
“Nothing.” The code for
a drunk and disorderly came over the speaker, followed by an officer
acknowledging the call and stating that he was en route. What the hell? Where
was the dispatch to save the woman? Maybe they’d already made the call and he’d
missed it. He drummed his fingers against the gearshift, hesitant to leave the
scene until he knew an officer was on the way.
Martin’s thick eyebrows
furrowed. Even in the darkened space of the cab, it was obvious he wasn’t
buying Adam’s bullshit. “What did you do?”
Before Adam had the
chance to think up a lie, another call came over the scanner. Possible
kidnapping and murder, suspects armed and dangerous. Dispatch advised officers
to approach the scene with no lights and no sirens. Good. At least they were
taking the call seriously. From the sound of it, one of the units was close
enough to arrive in under a minute. Thank God. Adam slipped the truck into gear
and pulled away from the curb. The last thing he needed was to get dragged into
a multiple murder investigation.
Martin’s mouth dropped
open as they sped past the killer’s house. “You didn’t.”
“What was I supposed to
do?”
“Your job.” Martin let
out a grunt of disgust. “Fucking Boy Scout. You know better than that. Samuel’s
gonna tear you a new one.”
“Only if he finds out.”
The memory of what happened to his mentor sprang to mind and an icy ball of
dread settled in his stomach. Samuel always found out.
Lori Sjoberg is the award winning author
of the GRAVE SERIES. She lives in Florida with her husband and four-legged fur
baby.
Growing up the youngest of three girls,
Lori never had control of the remote. (Not that she's bitter about that.
Really. Okay, maybe a little, but it's not like she's scarred for life or
anything.) That meant a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy. Star Trek,
Star Wars, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits - you name it, she watched it. It fed
her imagination, and that came in handy when the hormones kicked in and she
needed a creative excuse for being out past curfew.
After completing her first novel, she
joined the Romance Writers of America and Central Florida Romance Writers. Now
she exercises the analytical half of her brain at her day job, and the creative
half writing sensual paranormal romance. Grim reapers are her specialty, but
she loves to write about all creatures of the night.
You can read more about Lori at http://lorisjoberg.com/
@Lori_Sjoberg
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