Sunday, February 9, 2014

Heavenly Rogues is Finished!

Hi Guys,

Guess what? Heavenly Rogues is finished. I'll have to let you know when it's available for download from the online bookstores. It's in the process of publication now!
Here is a sample of the first chapter of Heavenly Rogues (Roseville Vampires, #3). Let me know how you like it. Thanks so much for your readership. You are the best!


Copyright © 2014 by Brighton Hill

Heavenly Rogues
Roseville Vampires #3

Brighton Hill

~Dreamspot Publishing, Inc~

Chapter One

Darkness filled the cell, cold and uninviting. Soon the sun would rise over Roseville Mountains, rendering its soft pink glow, but for now the obscurity of night was ever present. A bat flitted past the upper window away and up into the tall oaks beside the woods that lined the castle property. All that could be heard from the dungeon was the stirring of trees outside and a drip from the ceiling; occasionally there were distant moans and faint voices coming from other rooms.

Suddenly, Radley Aston awoke. He found himself chained to a grey brick wall in Lord Dyson’s dungeon. It was cold like bitter ice against his pale skin. As his heart hammered against his chest, his emerald eyes widened with horror. Strands of his black disheveled hair fell over his dark brows giving him a sinister look while his battered and beaten body slumped over.

Lord Dyson had cut Radley’s t-shirt and motorcycle jacket off to torture him with more precision. He wanted to get to the skin and veins where it really hurt. And that it did. Now Radley was only in ripped, faded jeans and barefoot. His chiseled, bare chest oozed blood in a thin line down to his navel.

As a low moan rose up out of his throat, his mind began to gain clarity. A doe-eyed, innocent young woman floated into his thoughts like an apparition. Silky black locks cascaded over her naked shoulders hiding her breasts coyly as she called out from the meadow of roses. So beautiful.
His eyelids shot open. Violet!

Oh, hell. He threw his head to the side. A tear slid down from his eye over his hard cheekbone. Was she okay? Did Lord Dyson hurt her? She is too trusting and inexperienced to be out in the world alone. Struggling to free himself, he wanted to kill the head vampire—Dyson, the bastard. He better not touch her. But Radley’s body was confined and still so very weak to do a damn thing to help his pure, sweet girlfriend who he so longed to touch.

No. His memory came back to him. Lord Dyson only took him away. Not her. His precious Violet was left behind suspended in the tree in the nightclub parking lot.

If only he could get one of his gang members, the Night Ryders, or even someone from his sister gang, the Crimson Devils, to check on her. She needs protection. Damn, she needs it now. He slammed the back of his cuffed hand against the wall. His knuckles broke open and blood slid down over his hand and wrist. He hissed through clenched teeth.

Anxiety over Violet’s safety pierced through his heart. Did his coven even know he was locked away in the dungeon below the castle? Sweat dripped off his face as he considered the circumstances. They couldn’t have known.

If Nathan was aware of Radley’s imprisonment, he would be down in the lower chambers of the castle in a hot second. Radley and Nathan were like brothers. Nathan was loyal. He would risk his life for him and Radley felt the same about Nathan.

Most jerks didn’t know Nathan like he did. They thought he was bad with his reckless black eyes and black hair. Nathan came across as dark and brooding and he had a wicked temper. Violet’s sister, Ariel, who was one of the Crimson Devils now, referred to Nathan as a rogue, but she was all twisted up over him, so she must have seen the good in him like Radley did.

But Radley wasn’t just tight with Nathan. All the Night Ryders: Shark, Lewis, and Henry would try to save him if they knew Dyson had Radley locked away down there. Ariel would help Radley for sure just because she loved her sister Violet so much and she knew Violet would want Radley safe.
He wasn’t so sure if Drew would come for him though. Lord Dyson had messed her up bad a while ago because she converted Violet into a vampire behind Lord Dyson’s back. Last he saw of Drew she was docile and jittery. Lord Dyson had chained her up for a short while in one of his dungeons. Even though it wasn’t for long, she hadn’t been the same since.

At the time, Radley wanted to rescue Drew, but they all decided that it was safer for her to take her punishment because it was expected to be short. If they had broken her out of one of the cells down there, the risks far outweighed the benefits. But Radley knew that wasn’t the case with him. Surely, Dyson was planning to kill him.

Only a relatively short time must have passed since that unbelievable hot sex he had had with Violet. No girl compared to her. Her long, sexy legs in that lingerie, her undone hair, and her breasts were the perfect, voluptuous handfuls. It was hard to believe that she was a virgin. But she was so tight and wet when he entered her. The perfect fit. And there was the blood on the sheets when he popped her cherry. Damn, she was sweet. The pit of his stomach clenched as a sort of emptiness hollowed through his bones.

Even though it was dark in the dungeon, he could see pretty clearly—the benefits of being a vampire. His wrists ached from the metal cuffs that clasped his hands over his head, causing a disturbing numbness in his fingers. His raw ankles were spread apart and chained to the wall. Lord Dyson must have taken his t-shirt and leather jacket just to make his suffering more intense. The chill was biting. And oh, how his body ached.

He careened his neck up to see a window so very high above his head. If he could break loose, could he climb out? It didn’t seem possible. There wasn’t anything to help him scale the wall. His wings couldn’t get enough momentum in such a small space. He needed more room to get a running start. If he tried to climb up, surely, he would just slide back down. He looked around the damp, moldy cell. Grey bricks covered on all four sides. What a nightmare. His shoulders slouched forward as he tried to support his weight against the coldness.

Why wasn’t he dead? He would have expected Lord Dyson to kill him for his betrayal. Maybe the prick had another plan. What would be the worst thing he could do? Radley contemplated the idea.
After a moment, his face paled a lighter shade in the darkness. He could hurt Violet! Possibly he would torture her in front of him or maybe he would molest her like he was known to do to his young virgins that he kidnapped. His gut wrenched. Would he do that? That would provoke war with Lord Viparado, the head vampire of Violet’s coven, the Fatals, and the brother coven, the Dirts.

Oh, how his head ached. He had to get out of this cell, so that he could protect the one he loved. As he yanked at the thick heavy chains, blood oozed from his wrists and ankles. He was a mess. His body still felt weak from having sex. Enough time had not passed to rejuvenate. His eyelids grew heavy and his head fell forward.
After a while, dosing uncomfortably in the dark, Radley heard a noise coming from outside of his cell. His scalp prickled with anticipation of the worst. It sounded like a key in the lock to the main entrance of the dungeon turning. Who was there? His shackled fists opened. His fingers spread against the cold wall behind him. Maybe it was Lord Dyson. Radley’s pulse raced in anticipation.

He heard footsteps trudging through water. Groundwater must have leaked into the hall leading to the cells. Now the keys dangled against each other before the door of his cell. Damn. Whoever was there put one of the keys in the lock, turned it, and then opened the door. Radley sucked in a sharp breath as he looked over.

It wasn’t Lord Dyson. Holy shit! An ogre tramped into the dark cell. His overweight body was enormous like a giant with a huge belly and oversized head. Shaggy gold hair draped around his heated, wrinkly face. His strawberry blond beard was short and burly framing his big, dribbling mouth. In his massive hands he held a platter decorated with radicchio and endive lettuces.

Radley gasped when he saw what was on top of the accoutrements. A human toddler lay upon the lettuce. Shit. Radley’s head fell forward as he shook it back and forth below his shoulders and chained arms. “You can’t be fucking serious,” he scoffed with his head still down. Dyson must be trying to mess with his mind.

 “Recognize her?” The ogre asked in a low, deep, gravelly voice.

Radley just kept his head down still shaking it. His throat contracted and he spit on the stone floor.

“Isabelle—your foster sister,” the ogre growled. “Remember the tyke? She missed you, son, after you ran away from your foster parents. You should have called, Radford.” He tilted his fat head to the side of his gigantic shoulder and stared at Radley before belching very loudly. “Hurry up, son. Drink the blood. I just made the kill minutes ago. She sure was a cry baby.”

Every muscle tensed up in Radley’s body as he jerked violently at the handcuffs and chains.

“Drink the blood.” He picked up the girl’s body and held it before Radley’s face.

Radley thrust his torso upwards in a rush and smacked the ogre hard with his head. The ogre stumbled backward and fell to the floor. Radley’s heart ached at the sight of the little girl. He used to read her story books back when he was living with his foster parents. He hated it at that house, but he cared about Isabelle. She was young, innocent, and so very sweet.

“Oh, you have made a big mistake,” the ogre grumbled as he picked Isabelle’s frame back up off the floor and set her on the tray. He wobbled a bit as he tried to make his way to his huge flat feet, but after some struggle he managed to retain an upright position.

The ogre trudged out of the cell without saying a word. His heavy step caused the ground and walls to shudder. Shortly thereafter, he reentered the dungeon room with a whip.

Radley tensed at the sight of the long black whip. Ogres were brutal man eating creatures and Radley could tell this ogre was no better than the rest. Like all ogres, he enjoyed watching others suffer.

Before he could think anything else, the ogre started whipping him across the shoulder and back as he hunched over, powerless to fight the beast off or to protect himself in any way. All he could do was accept the pain.

Oh, and how intense that pain was. The black leather broke through his skin and the ogre continued hitting him to no avail. At first the blood dripped from the raw membranes to the floor, but in no time it flowed. It felt like he was being ripped apart over and over again until the pain just stopped and he passed out.
Lord Dyson, dressed in a designer suit with his short dark hair tousled seductively like a model in GQ magazine, sat at a gold table in the center of his library. Books lined the walls on all four sides of the small room and reached all the way up to the edge of the vaulted ceilings. “Drew,” Lord Dyson said as one of the guards, a man with a shiny bald head and a waxed mustache, brought her into his archive. “I’m delighted you’ve come to join me.”

With her shoulders slouched, Drew’s eyes were cast down at the ground while the guard held her by the wrist. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, feeling her knees wobble slightly. “Your wish is my command.” Her throat ached at that admission, but she ignored the sensation.

“I like that,” he said with a wry smile on his fine featured face. He ran his fingers through his black hair and patted the seat beside him. Ooo-La-La she was one fine vixen with that blonde bedroom hair and those dreamy ocean blue eyes, he thought to himself. But the whore needs a little meat on her bones. She is looking gaunt, almost like a drug addict.

With a grunt, the guard released her, pushing her forward slightly. She walked over to the gold seat that was embroidered in old world crests with shiny purple thread and sat down without looking up. Her fingers fidgeted with the pearl buttons on her mauve silk dress. She hadn’t showered in a week and her blonde hair looked brassy and slightly greasy under the candle light twinkling down from the overhead chandelier.

Lord Dyson put his hand on the silk fabric covering Drew’s knee.

 Her stomach rolled, but she managed to remain perfectly still. It was a talent of the vampires to be able to hold positions without moving.

“I invited you here…” Lord Dyson whispered, “…because I have a favor to ask of you.”

 Her finger lifted to her lips absent mindedly. “Anything you like,” Drew said, unable to lift her eyes to meet his.

He held an impassive expression on his perfect, porcelain face. “I want you to arrange a meeting with Violet Paris tonight.”

Drew’s heart rate sped up. “I haven’t been in touch with her.” As she spoke, she felt like her throat was constricting. She had to swallow a couple of times before continuing. “But I can try. Anything to please you, sir.”

Lord Dyson’s hand slid under the edge of her dress and caressed her knee. “Lure Violet to the castle.”
Her body was so tense she hardly knew what to do. “How shall I accomplish that?” she asked, her eyes meeting his hesitantly.

“Now, Drew, dear, that is a stupid question.” The side of his lip quirked up into a half-grin.

She knew she didn’t have a choice. If she was to decline, he would send her back to the dungeon. Her short stay, locked within those cold grey walls, her arms suspended, and the terrible things done to her was too much to bear. Lord Dyson owned her and she knew it. But how could she betray her best friend. And what did he have planned for Violet? Whatever it was it couldn’t be good...