Honeymoon From Hell Book #1, The Neck Romancer

Chapter 1: We need to talk

So, it’s been a while since I’ve treated the people who pay me.

Yes, almost the entire blog has been free so far, but those of you who pay me? You should get something for it.

And right now, I’m hoping you like my Love at First Bite series. Because if you don’t, you may not understand what’s happening.

I have a sequel series en route. Technically, it’s a continuation of the original, but that will be up to the publisher … especially now that I have a publisher for this series.

So, here… we… go.

Prologue: The Wedding

The bride wore white, the groom wore black, and for once, neither of them was covered in blood, which made for a nice change.

Prologue: The Wedding

The bride wore white, the groom wore black, and for once, neither of them was covered in blood, which made for a nice change.

When Jennifer Bosley learned that Marco Catalano and Amanda Colt were going to get married, she immediately took up the banner as the One Who Would Fix Everything. It was less retrieving a fallen banner and more of a “ripped out of their hands and ran with it.”

Marco had done the math with the hall in the Douglaston Immaculate Conception Center, and concluded they could have the wedding reception under five thousand dollars and a hundred guests. It would mostly be extended family, plus team leaders he had worked with since being dropped head-first into the world of vampires.

When Bosley got a hold of the reception, she didn’t quite say “Hold my beer,” but the list expanded from team leaders to entire units. This included members from each street gang he ran, Vatican ninjas and SpecOps hitters from the government.

This didn’t count the vampires, the mafia knee breakers, and a phalanx of police officers.

Marco hadn’t counted on the Police Commissioner becoming Bosley’s plus-one.

Despite all of that, everything was going perfectly.

Then the zombies broke in.

Chapter 1: We Need to Talk

Two years ago

Marco Catalano had been born with the gift of sarcasm and the sense that the world was mad—which was not a great comfort to his patients when he wielded the scalpel.

Fortunately, for his first month of clinical rotations, he didn’t have to work closely with patients while they were awake. As a surgical Physician Assistant, he had to interact with the patients and have a better bedside manner than a surgeon—which was such a low bar, it was buried six feet under.

Marco went over the chart, then the patient with a calm, clinical eye he had been born with. His dark blue gaze was so intense, he made a note that he should tone it down when he left the room. Especially if one of the patients woke up.

Then he caught a whiff of her.

His smile went from his fixed “amused and sardonic” to a broad grin. His icy gaze went from clinical to warm in a heartbeat.

“Hey, darling.”

Marco slipped a pen into the chart to mark where he was and turned.

Amanda Colt was perfect. This wasn’t because he was in love with her, but that helped. She had a mind that could keep up with him, a wit that could duel with him, and their views on humanity were … complementary.

This wasn’t even counting that she was drop dead gorgeous. Her skin was Russian pale; her hair was red-gold; eyes of Frangelico amber; and not even her heavy sweater and long skirt could hide her curves.

She had a magnetic allure that was hard to resist.

It had nothing to do with her being a vampire.

Marco took three steps towards her and stopped, restraining himself from doing anything R-rated in the hospital hallway. He reached forward for a formal handshake. Her brow furrowed cutely, confused. She took his hand. He pulled her into the room, out of the hallway, and into a fierce embrace. He kissed her cheek firmly.

“Good to see you,” he whispered.

Amanda hugged him back, amused. She whispered back with only a trace of Russian accent, “All I get is a hug?”

Marco kissed her cheek, leaving a trail that put his mouth next to her ear. “There are public displays of affection, and then there’s exhibitionism. Let’s not test our restraint in a patient’s room.”

Amanda laughed lightly. She disentangled herself from him and looked at the patient. “What’s going on here?”

“Patient bingo. I get a dozen cards, and I get to play them all at once.” He walked back in and picked up the chart, keeping one eye on the papers and one eye on his girlfriend. His face settled back into his nearly-permanent Scaramouche-like smile.

“So, what’s the occasion?” he asked her.

Amanda Colt smiled at him. Normally, the smile could even distract Marco from the task at hand, and his brain was on par with early-stage Quantum computers. “I need a reason?”

Marco glanced back at her and froze. His brain locked up a moment, and he became “tingly”—a sensation he had to stop himself from diagnosing as nerve damage.

He went back to the chart, speed-read through it, and nodded, flipping it closed.

Amanda blinked. “You didn’t rush because of me?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “After a fashion. It was my third read-through. I like to be thorough.” He reached into the pocket of his scrubs and showed her a tube of cream before he slipped it away. “Besides, I already applied the antibiotic for burns.”

Marco straightened and started walking over to his next patient. Clinical rotations for a PA student meant never having to stay in one place for very long. The schedule was so rigorous and so demanding, it required a whole half of his attention.

Amanda kept pace with him. She flowed down the hallway after him, her movements graceful and catlike.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked as he moved on to the next patient. This part of his surgery rotation was relatively boring, but they were required. Like all Physician Assistants, he was a generalist first, a specialist second. Thankfully, the patients weren’t going to talk back until the anesthesia wore off.

“I need one?” she playfully asked again.

Marco raised a brow. “Wasn’t tonight ‘girls’ night’ with the queen of the damned?”

Amanda rolled her eyes and smiled at his nickname for her friend Jennifer Bosley. “We had to cut the evening short.”

Marco spared her a glance and was torn. Her Russian accent had grown slightly thicker. It stoked his ardor for her and made him concerned. She was either tired or under stress. He immediately had to discount tired—it was only eight o’clock at night. On Amanda’s schedule, that meant that she had only been awake for a few hours.

Marco stopped short of the next patient’s room. He glanced around the hall to make sure all was clear, then leaned up against a wall, making certain he didn’t touch her. He had to focus on making certain that she was all right and touching her was too distracting for both of them.

He wasn’t going to pull teeth—especially hers. If she didn’t answer now, she would soon enough. The secret to their success was that any secret didn’t last long.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Amanda nervously ran her fingers through her hair. “We need to talk—”

Amanda stopped mid-sentence. She blinked, her eyes focusing off of him and into the room behind him. Marco took a breath to ask, and stopped as well. He caught the scent.

It was blood. Lots of blood.