What does a frustrated Vampyre do when the woman he's chased for 200 years is still trying to get away? He plays dirty, that's what.
Welcome to my own personal hell.
Name: Heathcliff. Occupation: Vampyre Warrior - one of the deadliest in the world. I plan. I fight. I win. Always. However, it's never taken me this damned long to get what I want before.
Only I would be blessed with a Vampyre mate I'd have to chase for two centuries. The chemistry between us is steamy, and the sex is sizzling, but I want more - I want it all. Now, just as I'm finally wearing Raquel down, I find I have competition, not for my mate's hand but for her very existence.
Raquel may run and she may hide, but she is mine, and I will no longer take no for an answer. Whatever is in the way between us doesn't matter. We were made for each other. Nothing anyone can do will change that simple fact...except maybe the Trolls...or the Wraiths...or the reclusive, insane Vampyre sister of my King who wants to drink my mate dry for reasons no one will freakin' explain to me.
Damn it, I thought the chase was difficult...keeping Raquel alive might prove to be my undoing.
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