The vampire Alexei kills an associate of mob boss Enzo Salerno, sparking a war on the streets of Philadelphia between Alexei's brood, the mafia and the FBI.
Alexei chose the wrong neighborhood to claim his latest victim. Now Philadelphia mob boss Enzo Salerno is determined to hunt down the man who killed his associate in such gruesome fashion in his South Philly row home.
Perplexed by this unnatural murder, Salerno uncovers clues that lead him to believe that this was not a mob hit, and that a vampire was responsible for this death. Magnus, the leader of Alexei’s brood, must now use all of his resources to save them from both the mafia and the FBI.
Excerpt
Scrambling to his feet as he held the pistol, he backed out of the room as fast as he could. As he passed the door, he turned to shut it. An icy hand gripped his neck and choked him. The hand clutching him was like steel. Whoever this was attacking him was impossibly strong.
He took a good look at his attacker. His skin was pale, his face ghostly. He had long strawberry blond hair and cold blue eyes. He had no facial hair and wore a sly smile, like he didn’t even care that The Goat held a gun.
Blood rushed to his face. Consciousness started to ebb. His mind got hazy. This was it. He was going to die. There was so much he had to do in life, and this inhuman bastard was going to end it all.
Before panic set in, he raised his gun to abdominal level, since that was all he had the strength for. His mind wavered, and he pleaded with his brain to keep it together. With his remaining strength, The Goat pulled the trigger. A shot tore through the man’s waist, sending him flying back as he released his death grip.
The Goat crumpled to the floor and sucked in air, near asphyxiation. He looked up. To his horror, the man he just shot was back on his feet as if the bullet was a mere inconvenience. He tried to catch his breath. “What the… who the fuck are you?”
The blond smiled. He wasn’t bleeding, and the bullet wound had already closed. “I am your bringer of death.”
“Bullshit.” He shot the lunatic again.
The blond staggered back and hit the floor, but got right back up with no visible wound.
“No. Can’t be, asshole.” He fired three more shots, missing one. Damn, this guy really was a bringer of death. This was how it would end. Not in some gangland shooting or a mob hit, but by the undead. “Sweet mother of mercy.”
The man got to his feet and smiled, revealing a set of sharp fangs. The Goat did not want to say it, for to acknowledge such a thing would drive him crazy, but he knew what this thing was.
The attacker stalked The Goat, his cold blue eyes boring into him. He wondered if his demise would be as bad as Johnny’s.
The attacker stopped at the sound of a siren. The sirens got louder, and he hesitated. The Goat met his stare, filled with newfound courage. His Sicilian heritage took over and wouldn’t allow this thing to win a battle of wills. If he had to die, then so be it, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that The Goat was terrified of this monster.
The man smiled. “You shall live for now, but I’ll come back for you.”
The Goat gritted his teeth. “Not if I kill you first, motherfucker.”
A strong swoosh passed through the air, and he disappeared.
The Goat couldn’t believe his eyes. The police would be here any second, and there were two dead bodies. He had to get the hell out of here.
Grab those side-irons, saddle up and join former Civil War sharpshooter Luther Henry for a ride into pure terror, western-style…think ‘Wild Wild West’ meets ‘The X-Files’.
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
