Love Bite

By Celia Kyle

Zoe got fired, bounced a check, came up short on rent, and sold her blood. All in one week. How'd she sell her blood? It sure as heck wasn't a plasma center. Nope, she went all out and headed to the vampire club, Claret, to get her fang on. She hadn't counted on the vamp to be over six feet of Viking god and sexiness. Arik can put his fangs anywhere as far as she's concerned.

 

Only drawback? One of the vamps Arik sired is pissy and wants to play with Zoe.  Until she's dead.  Can Arik find her before his bloodchild decides he's done playing with his food and is ready to take a hunk out of her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215325834

Celia Kyle

Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes paranormal romances for readers who: 1) Like super hunky heroes (they generally get furry) 2) Dig beautiful women (who have a few more curves than the average lady) 3) Love laughing in (and out of) bed. It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way. Today she lives in central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Zoe’s salvation didn’t come from the lottery. Or a handful of balloons with a big check because she won a sweepstakes. Or even a gameshow host telling her to come on down.

Nope, her rescue was lime green. Or yellow. A lime yellow-green? Whatever color it happened to be, she was more concerned with the bold, black type and cute cartoons that encouraged her to donate plasma.

For money.

Mooon-eeeey.

Was she really considering selling her plasma?

Zoe stared at the sheet of paper, one of those weird flyers that randomly ended up under car windshields. Usually they were ads for nightclubs, gyms, or car repair shops. Today? The local donation center was peddling themselves.

She nibbled her lower lip, staring at the page and considered her options. Like, the fact she had zero. In one hand, she held the flyer, in the other, she clutched her last paycheck from her job. Last because… she wouldn’t sleep with her boss. Cliché? Yes. Still her reality? Yes.

Her attention then shifted to another envelope on the kitchen counter—a statement with a great big insufficient funds stamped in not-so-pretty red letters.

This wasn’t her. Like, seriously. She’d gone to school, dammit. She had a degree… that she was still paying for. But it was a degree!

Zoe groaned and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the cool, granite kitchen bar. She closed her eyes, hiding from the three pieces of paper that consumed her thoughts. Fired. Overdrawn. Sell blood.

Oh, add need to pay rent to that list. Sure, rent wasn’t all that much since she shared a loft apartment with three other gals, but Zoe couldn’t expect her friends to carry her financially. She’d gotten into this stupid, idiotic mess. She’d get herself out of it. Her immediate issues were covering the overdraft in her account and paying rent. She could finagle a few bucks out of her brother and… She rolled her head to the side, temple now on the hard stone, and spied the yellow-green, obnoxious flyer. And she could sell plasma. She had two weeks to raise the cash she needed. Four donations would net her a total of two hundred-fifty dollars between the regular pay and bonus the flyer promised. That’d cover a good hunk of rent, her tips from her waitressing job could pay for the rest and her brother would give her—

A hand appeared out of nowhere, snatching away her chosen method of deliverance from financial panic.

Whatcha got? Gwen held the sheet in front of her and Zoe winced. Gwen was sweet yet sarcastic, knew everything about everyone, wasn’t a slob, and had advice to spare. Zoe had a feeling she was about to get a dose of unwanted advice. But if it happened before the other two gals got home, she might only have to listen to the mess once.

That’d be nice. She really hated being the youngest chick in the loft. The other three always thought they knew better. Zoe wouldn’t admit that sometimes they were right.

Nothing. I reached for the page, anxious to grab it back, but Gwen danced out of reach.

Uh-huh. Gwen popped her gum and waved the flyer. This doesn’t look like nothing. Then she got back to reading before giving Zoe a confused frown. You want to—

Who wants to what? The loft door thumped shut and I groaned. Aubrey was home—hilarious drunk, rocked power suits like they were going out of style, and also thought she knew everything.

Zoe wants to donate plasma, Gwen called out, voice carrying through the cavernous open floorplan.

The thump and clunk of Aubrey’s shoes hitting the wood floor reached her and soon the soon-to-be lawyer—paralegal but whatever according to her—padded around the corner. She had her skirt hiked up, flashing panties and the top of her hose, and fought to push them down while she came nearer.

Because we suddenly have an urge to do the community a service?

Both women gave Zoe that whole single-eyebrow raised look.

Zoe hated the royal we Aubrey used when she was about to get know-it-all-y. She groaned and closed her eyes again, turning her face back toward the counter so she could hide. If Aubrey was home, that meant the fourth of their dynamic quad would be walking through the door in three… two…

Whaddup, my bitches? The slam of the door shook the front wall followed by the jangling thumps of Natalie dropping her crap. Nat was awesome. She had the patience of a saint and explained things so that the idiot parts of her tirades were implied. That’s what came from being a teacher, apparently. She could insult just about anyone and the person would never know it.

Zoe wanted to be her when she grew up. Though, many would say twenty-five was pretty grown up. Her roommates? Not so much. And Gwen was only a year older than her.

Zoe’s selling plasma. Gwen shouted and Zoe groaned again.

She’s a drug addict looking for cash to get her next score? Nat entered the kitchen, the three of them surrounding Zoe now.

Selling plasma is a perfectly respectable way to earn extra cash, she grumbled. Didn’t you guys read that article in the paper last Christmas? It was all about how to earn extra gift-giving money. And the donation centers are classy.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

Uh-huh. Nat rubbed Zoe’s back. We’ll help you kick the habit, hon.

All Zoe could do was groan apparently. I’m not on drugs. I’m not suddenly investing in my community—

Which is good since they’re paying you. Hard to invest when you’re taking money, not giving it. Gwen popped her gum and Zoe sneered. Not that Gwen could see because Zoe was still hiding. She even shook her head so some of her dark curls surrounded her in a cozy curtain of hair.

I hate you all. Not really, but it was nice to say when they aggravated her.

Nah, you love us. Which is why you’re going to tell us why you suddenly have the urge to earn cash by sticking needles in your body. Gwen acted all sweet, but Zoe heard the steel in her voice.

Screw it. It wasn’t like they kept many secrets. They’d roomed together for three years. They’d cried together after breakups, and high-fived when one of ‘em did the walk of shame after a hot night out.

She patted her hand around the counter-top, feeling for the check and notice from the bank, shoving them toward the three women. The rustle of paper came next, her roommates shuffling the pages around their small circle.

Hmm… Aubrey, considering and always slow to make judgement.

Huh. Gwen, fazed by nothing.

Motherfucker. Natalie, the woman most likely to go to bat for a friend with an actual bat. And she was the one teaching today’s youth not to run with scissors.

Because if a person carried scissors, they should use them on another with intent, not accidentally.

It’s fine, Zoe grumbled. I have a plan—

Selling plasma, Aubrey broke in, disapproval clear.

And getting a loan from my brother. You guys won’t have to cover me. I’m good. Mostly. –ish. She hoped.

"You realize