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    Gravedigger
    Gravedigger
    Gravedigger
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    Gravedigger

    By Aurelia Evans

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTotally Bound Publishing
    Release dateDec 13, 2013
    ISBN9781781848685
    Gravedigger

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      Book preview

      Gravedigger - Aurelia Evans

      Page

      A Totally Bound Publication

      Gravedigger

      ISBN # 978-1-78184-868-5

      ©Copyright Aurelia T. Evans 2013

      Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2013

      Edited by Sarah Smeaton

      Totally Bound Publishing

      This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

      Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

      The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

      Published in 2013 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

      Warning:

      This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 2.

      This story contains 56 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 11 pages.

      Frost Bite

      GRAVEDIGGER

      Aurelia T. Evans

      The vampire keeps trying to make a mate. The gravedigger keeps killing them before they rise. Ivory’s got a bone to pick with Fletch…and a proposition.

      Ivory, a Wild West whore of renown and an unrepentant vampire, has tried without success to create herself a mate. Obviously, something’s gone terribly wrong, and she suspects the interference of the pious gravedigger.

      Fletch Conroy has been trained all his life to fight the forces of darkness through ritual and consecration. But after a rash of mysterious slasher deaths, Fletch decides it’s time for him to start hunting for the vampire responsible.

      What he finds turns out to be more than he bargained for. And Ivory intends to take full advantage of that fact to show Fletch she’s not the monster he expects.

      Chapter One

      Ivory

      Franklin tickled the ivories of the piano. And near the piano, Ivory peered through the crowd to find someone worthy to tickle her.

      Lively music accompanied rich, boisterous laughter in the bright bordello. Shouts from testosterone-charged, rugged, rough and ready men drinking at the bar or clinking chips at the tables mingled with come-ons and purrs from the girls as their perfume of the night interwove with the sweat of the day.

      Men from around the whole county as well as those just traveling through all flocked to Ruby Rue’s every night. There was never a shortage of company. Ruby Rue—a ponderous woman who laughed with the men and could drink several of them under the table before offering them the services of her establishment—could afford to be particular with her girls. This was why the madam was known in all the territories of the Union and beyond for her discerning taste in a finer breed of whore. Reputation as much as happenstance brought curious men, young and old, through the swinging doors of Ruby Rue’s. No one left feeling short-changed, although they did leave with fewer coins or notes lining their pockets than when they entered—now tucked into corsets and garters and under pillows.

      Ivory had worked with Madam Rue for nine years, easily one of the odder additions to her eclectic collection of working women. Whereas most of the girls stuck together for safety and as a kind of patchwork family, Ivory kept to herself. She also rarely trolled the room for just any john that tripped into her bosom, instead preferring to stay in her corner by the piano. Franklin didn’t mind. Gave him something nice to look at while he had his back to the rest of the room.

      Ivory was very selective about the men she brought to her bed—it was considered a badge of honor as prestigious as a battle scar for Ivory to invite a man up. Some nights, she never moved from her chair. Many men swore she never even blinked, just sat still as a statue with her dark gaze considering the crowd, the skin she was named after scrubbed and matte pale, the generous dark curls of her hair pinned up and framing her face. Tonight, she had propped her boots up on an ottoman, the leather as black as her eyes—an impressive feat in a dusty town.

      Her gaze lit upon a dirty, scruffy newcomer striding through the doors. Just from the set of his hard, defined jaw and the scars and lines of his face, Ivory detected the kind of man that could nurse a grudge for decades, who would wait patiently for just the right moment to put a knife to the back or a bullet in the head. A gunslinger if she ever saw one, but not trouble of the bar-fight kind, which wasn’t the kind of brawny she was looking for.

      Determined, passionate, wicked, resourceful and unafraid of getting a little dirty. That was the kind of man she wanted in her bed tonight.

      Leave ’im cross-eyed and bow-legged, Ivory, Franklin called after her as she stood.

      May you be as fleet-fingered on other instruments, Frank, she replied, making him laugh. Ivory liked him. Most of the girls did. He enjoyed looking at them, but everyone knew he preferred saddle horns to stirrups. He was the only man allowed in Ruby Rue’s during the day because he had no use for women of the night.

      Ivory wound her way to the bar where her man swigged from a tumbler of whiskey, and came up behind him. As was her trademark with a client, she said nothing, merely slid her hand down over his arm to where he held the tumbler. When the man turned around to see who had interrupted his drink, she plucked the glass from his hand. He stopped mid-snarl as he took her in, his blue eyes darting over her, clearly unable to find somewhere to linger with such a sumptuous feast before him. From the way he had nursed his whiskey, company hadn’t been forefront in his mind after his journey, although Ivory was confident it would have become more important in the hours ahead after he’d imbibed sufficient alcohol.

      Ivory had better use for those hours.

      What’s your name, tall, strong and handsome? Ivory asked softly, the murmur of a city girl of a much higher station, her drawl less pronounced than her counterparts. It was one of her charms—cowboys stumbled from the whorehouse feeling like they bedded the finest lady, finer for her willingness to satisfy their quite ungentlemanly desires.

      Wynn Rhodes, ma’am, he replied, tipping his hat to her. Just passing through.

      Where to? Ivory asked.

      Wherever my horse carries me, Wynn said. I got half a mind to be a lawman, if a town’ll take me.

      Tell ’em Ivory took you first, she said, caressing his

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