The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(48)
sor?. Sister.
so?ie. Wife.
surioar?. Little sister.
tat?. Papa or father.
tat? mare. Grandfather.
Te iubesc. I love you.
Te iubesc, mereu. I love you, always.
?uic?. Plum brandy.
The Families
Underline = Whereabouts unknown Strikethrough = Dead Asterisks = No longer human
The Asenov Family Mihai m. Kizzy *Shandor*
Simionce The Bálan Family Nic m. Jaelle Indiana Becki Michaela The ?onka Family Djordji m. Madeleana Nico Nicu The Deleanu Family Drina (never married) & Daniel Whitehawk Xan
The Hjems?ter Family Cai m. Sanna *Gerik*
The Horváth Family Gunari Sr. m. Mirela Gunari Jr.
Gunnar Triplets: Fifi (Fi), Tsuritsa (Ritsa), and Magdolna (Mags) The Jankovic Family Lajos Marcell The Moldoveanu Family Punka m. Lala Pitti Pesha Twins: Pali & Mala The Petros Family Angelos m. Chloris Teodora
Angelos m. Shannon *Trinity*
*Tahyra*
The Popa Family Jericho m. Maisera Florica Tobar Nadya Michaela The Sava Family Stefan Sr. m. Aishe Stefan Jr. (Hockey) Stevo Simza The Siwak Family Harman m. Lyuba Loiza Marko Adriana The V?dura Family Benyamin Sr. m. Alana Adi Daniella Benyamin Jr.
The V?duva Family Merikano m. Christine Onyx
Sneak Peek: Dark Light
(Book One of the Dark Light Series)
by S.L. Jennings
Copyright ? 2013
Prologue
March 23rd
Oh, what a difference a year makes.
A year ago, I was the embodiment of a reckless nineteen year old girl, hell-bent on drinking my way through community college until I couldn’t function and not giving a damn how it made me look. A year ago, I was madly in love with my best friend, Jared, but couldn’t find the courage to tell him. A year ago, the only family I knew of was Chris and Donna, my adopted parents since the day I was born. A year ago, I was content with mediocrity and my love life was non-existent–exactly what I thought it should be.
A year ago, I was human. At least I thought I was.
It’s easy to take something as conventional as your humanity for granted when it isn’t threatened. And being that I had no idea what life would be like without mine, I lived it up like there was no tomorrow. Now I have an eternity of tomorrows, and the last twenty years seem more like a fairy tale than my less than remarkable adolescent life. Because my life–the life that was predetermined for me, the life that so many have died for–is anything but ordinary.
The upside to my newly evolved existence?
Dorian.
Normally, hauntingly gorgeous and intimidating strangers would have me running for the hills. But there is something so inexplicably magnetic and all-around erotic about Dorian that I can’t stay away. I want him; I crave him. And as hard as I try to fight it, I need him. But the million dollar question is Why? Why would any somewhat sane, shrewd young woman deem it necessary to completely throw herself at a man she’s only known for a week? And why would she show up to his freakin’ hotel room at damn near 1 in the morning, unannounced and tipsy, just to see if he is alone and not banging the hot raven-haired beauty that followed him around tonight like a lost puppy?
Even as I step off the elevator and make my way down the hall to his suite, my stomach snarled with apprehension, the questions go unanswered, yet I don’t turn away. I have to know.
What he is . . . enthralls me. Captivates me. Utterly disarms and beguiles me. And if I hadn’t felt his soft, warm lips on mine, had never tasted the delectable sweetness of his tongue or his tingling, moan-inducing caress, I probably wouldn’t be here, ready to strip away my clothes and inhibitions. I would have wised up and gone back home with Morgan. I probably would have even drunk dialed Jared and professed my undying love for him.
But it’s too late; I have felt all those things. I know what it feels like to be under Dorian’s spell. Because that is exactly what I am. And right now, I am about 2 seconds from learning the truth about him, eagerly hoping to unveil the mystery behind the man.
One
March 15th
Twenty is purgatory.
Not quite old enough to legally drink but too old to get away with being young and stupid without serious repercussions. I’ve never been the birthday celebrating type, usually opting to commemorate the day with Se?or Tequila and a few of his heady friends. But this particular birthday, marking my 20 inconsequential years on this earth, in short, blows. Just another reminder of how I have no clue what I want to do when I grow up and will probably waste away as an overqualified, bitchy sales clerk at the mall. Which isn’t a far stretch from what I am now.
Twenty years old. Twenty—freakin’-years old. Time to get my shit together.
“Here we go,” I mutter as I pull myself out of bed and trudge into the bathroom to shower. I really, really would rather stay in bed and sleep through this day. There’s nothing to celebrate. Pity party for one, please!
The only thing I have to look forward to is a night out with my best friend, Morgan, which never fails to disappoint. Morgan is my polar opposite in every way–tall, thin, and desirable to every member of the male species, straight and gay alike. She used to be a dancer and has the body and poise to prove it. With her baby smooth mocha skin, exotic Haitian features, and designer clothes, Morgan is the epitome of an ‘It Girl.’ Style is her religion; she lives and breathes all things fierce and fabulous.