Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal Romance)
Date Published: March 8, 2016
Publisher: Self
This will be the summer of love . . . and death.
When seventeen-year-old Rosalynn Young pictured her summer vacation, she didn't think she would be spending it working as a maid at the Millennium Hotel. She imagined painting and gardening. But soon, in spite of her disappointment, she meets Victor Gregoire. Wayward and enigmatic, he sends a chill up her spine. Everything about him feels foreign--unearthly.
Dangerously drawn to Victor, Rosalynn willfully ignores his volatile mood swings. When she impulsively enters Victor's room, she finds a journal dating back to the 19th Century and a photograph of him from August 14, 1874.
He's hiding something sinister and she's desperate to find out what, even if it means risking everything. But Rosalynn fails to realize that her attraction to Victor comes at a price and she soon learns some secrets are better kept hidden.
She's in for the summer job of a lifetime.
ONLY HUMAN
“You look like you could use a drink,” said a voice.
I looked to my side and saw the same boy with a high forehead and clear brown eyes from earlier.
“I don’t drink,” I said.
“How about a bottle of water or soda instead?”
I sized up the boy briefly and decided he was harmless. “Coke would be nice.”
“Be right back.”
After a few minutes, I spotted the boy making his way back with the drink. He was holding a can of Coke in his right hand and a red plastic cup in the other. As he neared closer, he held out the bottle, but when someone bumped him from behind, his cup tipped forward, spilling his drink on me.
“Oh, man,” he said. He placed the bottle down on one of the speakers playing music and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a black bandana. “I knew this would come in handy one day.” He began to blot my shirt with the rag across my breasts.
It happened very fast and in a speedy instant, Victor was right next to me. “Keep your hands off of her!” he snarled, grabbing the boy’s arm.
“Hands off me—I’m trying to help.” The boy jerked his arm free and continued to blot my shirt.
Staring at Victor’s eyes, I expected the dark veins to appear, but nothing changed . . . then I saw it. His eyes were like two dark sapphire stones. There was an angry gleam in his eyes—the eyes of a provoked wolf.
With a quick, sudden motion, Victor took the boy by the throat and hurled him against the wall. He tightened his grip and the boy jerked furiously, trying to break free, but Victor’s grip was rigid as stone.
Whispers echoed throughout the room and I was suddenly aware the music had stopped playing. The scuffle drew an audience and a wide circle was beginning to form around the scene. Everyone was watching, fear in their eyes.
“Victor, stop. You’re suffocating him,” I whispered under my breath, but I was certain he could hear me. “He’s only human.”
I swallowed hard, afraid that the old Victor took full possession, but I must have gotten through to him because after several long seconds, he released his grip from around the boy’s throat.
Victor turned to look at me with apologetic eyes, his regret plain. “I’m sorry. This is the one thing I didn’t want to happen—seeing me this way. I’m leaving now.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, stay here with your friends. You’ll be safe here away from me.” He turned abruptly, walking toward the front door.
Derick rushed over to me, pushing through the crowd. “Rosalynn!” he grabbed my arm, stopping me. “I can’t let you leave with him.”
“That’s not your call to make, it’s mine.” I jerked my arm free.
I rushed out the door. A gust of cool wind blew into my face, sending my hair in every direction as I searched for Victor’s convertible.
He was gone.
“You look like you could use a drink,” said a voice.
I looked to my side and saw the same boy with a high forehead and clear brown eyes from earlier.
“I don’t drink,” I said.
“How about a bottle of water or soda instead?”
I sized up the boy briefly and decided he was harmless. “Coke would be nice.”
“Be right back.”
After a few minutes, I spotted the boy making his way back with the drink. He was holding a can of Coke in his right hand and a red plastic cup in the other. As he neared closer, he held out the bottle, but when someone bumped him from behind, his cup tipped forward, spilling his drink on me.
“Oh, man,” he said. He placed the bottle down on one of the speakers playing music and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a black bandana. “I knew this would come in handy one day.” He began to blot my shirt with the rag across my breasts.
It happened very fast and in a speedy instant, Victor was right next to me. “Keep your hands off of her!” he snarled, grabbing the boy’s arm.
“Hands off me—I’m trying to help.” The boy jerked his arm free and continued to blot my shirt.
Staring at Victor’s eyes, I expected the dark veins to appear, but nothing changed . . . then I saw it. His eyes were like two dark sapphire stones. There was an angry gleam in his eyes—the eyes of a provoked wolf.
With a quick, sudden motion, Victor took the boy by the throat and hurled him against the wall. He tightened his grip and the boy jerked furiously, trying to break free, but Victor’s grip was rigid as stone.
Whispers echoed throughout the room and I was suddenly aware the music had stopped playing. The scuffle drew an audience and a wide circle was beginning to form around the scene. Everyone was watching, fear in their eyes.
“Victor, stop. You’re suffocating him,” I whispered under my breath, but I was certain he could hear me. “He’s only human.”
I swallowed hard, afraid that the old Victor took full possession, but I must have gotten through to him because after several long seconds, he released his grip from around the boy’s throat.
Victor turned to look at me with apologetic eyes, his regret plain. “I’m sorry. This is the one thing I didn’t want to happen—seeing me this way. I’m leaving now.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, stay here with your friends. You’ll be safe here away from me.” He turned abruptly, walking toward the front door.
Derick rushed over to me, pushing through the crowd. “Rosalynn!” he grabbed my arm, stopping me. “I can’t let you leave with him.”
“That’s not your call to make, it’s mine.” I jerked my arm free.
I rushed out the door. A gust of cool wind blew into my face, sending my hair in every direction as I searched for Victor’s convertible.
He was gone.
To learn more about Dayana Morency and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads.
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