Running in the Dark
In the Dark #1
By- Inger Iversen
Known as Trace to his enemies and friends, this lethal Dhampir leaves no trace of his victims behind.The life of deadly Russian slayer, Trace, has always revolved around death and preventing humankind from learning about the legendary creatures of the night. But now his position as a Watcher has become a prison, and dealing death for the Nation isn’t as prestigious as he once believed it to be.College dropout Bessina Darrow has witnessed things she isn’t permitted to see, a simple case of wrong place at the wrong time puts her life in danger. When Bessina becomes his new mark, Trace is prepared to eliminate her—until he discovers a way out for them both.Protecting Bessina means defying the leaders of the Nation, an act that has them both running for their lives. The more Trace fights to disappear from danger, the more he unravels the secrets surrounding his world of lore—secrets he must unveil to finally save a life, instead of destroy it.
Steeling himself to her pretty gaze, the fact of the matter was, she’d be leaving with him, whether she wanted to or not. Although, his usual methods of pain and torture made him sick to his stomach. “Ready?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.
She held her shirt close to her chest and shook her head. “Look . . .”
Ah yes, there it was. A slight quaver in her voice. It irked him he was the reason it was there. Placing her hand to her temple, she sighed. Trace watched as she tried to loosen the effects of the pain medicine.
She held her hand up, using it as a barrier between them. “I am not going anywhere with you, and as soon as Officer Flores comes back, I am going to explain to her that you are some loon from the streets who’s trying to get me to join some Kool-Aid drinking cult.” She pointed her finger at him and opened her mouth to speak again.
Before she could, Trace used a speed he was sure to shock her. He had every intention of taking the girl and doing the job he’d been trained to do, but as soon as he looked into her cinnamon gaze, he closed the space between them and pulled her tightly into his arms. Her small, warm frame trembled and she struggled as best as she could.
The need to soothe her overwhelmed him; before he knew it, he’d leaned in, placing his lips to her ear. Warm skin and her sweet scent bombarded his senses, begging his fangs to descend. Though he felt tempted to taste her, he resisted his needs and murmured, “I will not hurt you.” He’d never spoken those words before, but with her, they felt right.
He hoped to explain it off as a tactic, to lull her into a false sense of security, until his head was back in the job. However, the glaring truth was in the tenderness of his touch, the sincere timber of his voice, and not to mention the fact he’d rather rip his hands off than use them to hurt her.
Inger Iversen lives in Virginia Beach with her overweight lap cat, Max and her tree boyfriend, Joshua. She spends 90 percent of her time in Barnes and Noble and the other ten pretending not to want to be in Barnes and Noble.