Drawing Bloodlines

The Princeton Allegiant Series,  Book One

4.3.19!

Drawing Bloodlines, a Sexy Paranormal Romance, published by  Soul Mate Publishing is available for PRE-ORDER!

Never force a vampire to mate…

Things are about to heat up in a sleepy university town when a single mother falls in love with a vampire…only he’s being forced to mate with a ruthless vamp who kept him as a sex slave one hundred years ago.

 

 

HE WON’T

Dr. Alexander Manning has drawn too much blood from his beautiful patient. Overwhelmed with thirst for her, he drinks it immediately. But when she catches him and passes out, he must report what happened to his allegiant’s Commander. Or…he can deal with her himself. When he breaks into her house and enters her bedroom to wipe the incident from her mind, he reads her thoughts first. She wants him as much as he wants her.

BE DRAWN IN

Elizabeth Lockspier discovers the man she’s so drawn to is a vampire and fears for her safety and the well-being of her daughter. When Alexander tracks her down and assures her she’s in no danger and then kisses her, making her feel like the world has slid off its axis, she has to make a choice. Turn him away. Play it safe. Deny how she feels. Or…take a risk where the reward is night after night of blinding ecstasy. 

WITHOUT A FIGHT

But Alex’s past catches up to him when the new Philadelphia Commander chooses Alex to be her mate. He must decide…go obediently into the arms of the woman who blackmailed him into years of sex. Or…fight back. With some magical powers he’s been keeping a secret or with a little science experiment a colleague is cooking up in a private research facility. 

Book 2- Guarding Bloodlines will be released 10.2.19

Book 3- Matching Bloodlines is a WIP

 

Here’s a little bite of Drawing Bloodlines:

@2019 Deborah Garland 

Chapter One~ Drawing Bloodlines 4.2.19

October

Princeton, New Jersey

I lay on my back with my legs spread and cold steel slides into me.

If this were any other Friday, the weekend would be off to a fantastic start. Except, I’m at the OBGYN, and it’s the only thing to slide into my lonely vi-jay-jay since the last appointment. This is just . . . sad.

“How are your classes this year, Elizabeth?” Sarah, the nurse practitioner, asks me.

I don’t plan to have children again any time soon so there’s no need to waste one of the obstetricians’ time.

“Great. They finally gave me AP classes.” After years of teaching ninth grade math, and losing my mind trying to calm down poorly prepared teenagers with raging hormones, the head of my department moved me to the advanced placement roster. Plus, the previous teacher got knocked up with her fifth kid and called it quits.

I would stay there forever except I’ve slowly gathered master’s credits to get into the Ph.D. program at Princeton University so I can teach college one day.

“And how is Annie doing?” Sarah likes to make small talk while her head is between my legs.

“She’s great.” My seven-year-old daughter and I moved to Princeton after my Marine husband divorced me and forced me to move off the military base.

During our marriage, we moved around so much, the only place I ever considered home was Princeton.

I grew up in the sleepy university town and since my father still lives here, it made sense to come home. He’s a math teacher as well. While he wasn’t much of a father while I grew up, he’s been a wonderful grandfather. My mom, who died from skin cancer complications while I was in college, couldn’t have any more children after I was born.

Sarah snaps off her gloves and rolls her way to a pink laminate desk that juts out from the wall. She taps into the computer keyboard and fingers through my chart. “We haven’t done a blood panel on you in a few years.” Her eyebrows rise and cause wrinkled pleats of skin to form on her forehead.

“Oh.” Swinging my legs across the exam table, I ask, “Is there anything you’re specifically worried about?”

“It’s good to see where your FSH levels are periodically.”

“FSH?”

“Follicle Stimulating Hormones,” she answers as if that clues me in. When I don’t say anything, she adds, “The number tells us if you’re getting close to menopause.”

Menopause! I hoped since I’m not even forty, the dreaded M-word wouldn’t come up. It makes my single status all the more tragic. “Okay.”

“Great. Get dressed. I’ll send someone in to draw blood.” She tosses me a sneaky smile. “Our usual girl is out sick today, but I don’t think you’ll mind the replacement the hospital sent us.”

Mind about what? Slipping off the gown sends a chill through me. My body covered in gooseflesh demands more of my attention as I quickly get dressed. My skirt is on and my blouse partially buttoned when a knock sounds at the door. “Yeah.”

The shadow of a person on the other side of the privacy curtain plunges my changing corner into darkness.

“Hello?” Men’s dress shoes tap the floor patiently.

“I’ll be right there.” My fingers curl around the edge of the curtain to get a peek.

My eyes lock on a tall man with broad shoulders. Golden blond hair sweeps up and off his forehead. His high cheekbones and perfect square jaw put him in the movie-star handsome category. Yu-um. The white lab coat, however, means he probably has the wrong room. I assumed Sarah prepared me for a cute male nurse. This man is a doctor.

The most goddamn gorgeous doctor I ever laid eyes on.

“Take your time.” His voice is deep and his lips so full, my tongue instinctively slips out to lick my own—to which an eyebrow raises at me.

“I’m waiting for a nurse,” I say. “You must have the wrong room.”

Holding my chart he says, “Elizabeth Lock—”

“Lockspier.”

“Lockspier.” He repeats my last name and raises intensely focused black eyes back up to meet mine. “I’m here to draw your blood.”

“Really? Okay.” I lower my head in disbelief.

Shoving my foot into a shoe, I hop out from behind the curtain.

“Have a seat.” He points to the waiting chair. “I’m Dr. Manning, by the way.”

My attention reverts to his elegant hands with long sleek fingers as he gathers medical supplies. He takes out four empty vials from a drawer in a set of cabinets, a lengthy tube with a thin needle on the end and a rubber tie to wrap around my elbow so my veins pop out. The shiny gold nameplate on the pocket of his white lab coat glitters in the overhead halogen lights. Dr. Alexander Manning. Alexander.

Instead of holding out his hand for me to shake, he gives me a slow and thorough once-over. The blatant exploration brings my skirt and hair fussing to a halt. Most men today sneak those glimpses at a woman. Not this guy.