The Princeton Allegiant Series, Book One
*CLICK BOOK COVER AND GO RIGHT TO KINDLE PREVIEW*
Never force a vampire to mate…
Award Winning Author Deborah Garland presents a new paranormal series starting with Drawing Bloodlines about a vampire who takes a chance on love after a lonely century, only to be forcibly mated with a ruthless vamp from his dark past.
The TBR Pile said, it’s “sure to heat your blood,” and The Romance Reviews was “drawn into this new paranormal vampire world.”
This means war…
Dr. Alexander Manning’s vampire allegiant demands loyalty and secrecy. Keeping their existence hidden from humans is the Prime Directive. So when he accidentally reveals himself to a woman, a beautiful woman he can’t resist, he’s forced to make a choice: report her to his commander or ‘deal’ with her himself.
Both Alex’s loyalty and secrecy are tested.
Elizabeth should be afraid of tall, handsome, god-like Alexander, who she’s figured out is a vampire. Knowing he’ll come for her, she prepares for the worst and even considers sending her daughter away to live with her ex.
Alexander shows up, not to harm her though. To seduce her. Nights of unending pleasure, however, take a very serious turn, neither was expecting.
Until Alex’s past catches up to him and threatens to destroy his precious secretive world with Elizabeth and loyalty to her and her adorable seven-year-old daughter.
Will Alex obey his allegiant commander and submit to a woman he hates, or fight?
The Princeton Allegiant Series features a recurring cast of hot and sexy vampires, but each book can be read as a stand-alone. No cheating. No cliffhanger.
Guarding Bloodlines, Book 2~ We do not destroy what is ours. ~October 2019
Matching Bloodlines, Book 3 ~ Vampires don’t date. They possess. ~ December 2019
Here’s a little bite of Drawing Bloodlines:
@2019 Deborah Garland
Chapter One~ Drawing Bloodlines 4.2.19
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.”
“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.” 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.