Halfway to the Grave (Night Huntress #1) by Jeaniene Frost
Genre: Adult Fiction (Paranormal Romance)
Date Published: October 30, 2007
Publisher: Avon
To learn more about Jeaniene Frost and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, BookBub, YouTube, and Twitter.
Genre: Adult Fiction (Paranormal Romance)
Date Published: October 30, 2007
Publisher: Avon
Flirting With The Grave…
Half-vampire Catherine Crawfield is going after the undead with a vengeance, hoping that one of these deadbeats is her father – the one responsible for ruining her mother’s life. Then she’s captured by Bones, a vampire bounty hunter, and is forced into an unlikely partnership.
In exchange for help finding her father, Cat agrees to train with the sexy night stalker until her battle reflexes are as sharp as his fangs. She’s amazed she doesn’t end up as his dinner – are there actually good vampires? Pretty soon Bones will have her convinced that being half-dead doesn’t have to be all bad. But before she can enjoy her status as kick-ass demon hunter, Cat and Bones are pursued by a group of killers. Now Cat will have to choose a side … and Bones is turning out to be as tempting as any man with a heartbeat.
Halfway to the Grave is the first book in the Night Huntress series by Jeaniene Frost. I absolutely loved this one. I was in need of reading about some snarky paranormals with some steamy attractions.
Cat and Bones fit that bill and then some. I loved their instant chemistry. Even though she hated him, they had a common goal keeping them together. Through it all, you could feel the attraction brewing, and the way Bones would tease and antagonize her... It was great. This was an all around fun read for me. I can't believe I waited so long to get started on it.
I stiffened at the red and blue lights flashing behind me, because there was no way I could explain what was in the back of my truck. I pulled over, holding my breath as the sheriff came to my window.
“Hi. Something wrong?” My tone was all innocence while I prayed there was nothing unusual about my eyes. Control yourself. You know what happens when you get upset.
“Yeah, you’ve got a busted tail light. License and registration, please.”
Crap. That must have happened when I was loading up the truck bed. Speed had been of the essence then, not daintiness.
I handed him my real license, not the fake one. He shined his flashlight back and forth between the identification and my face.
“Catherine Crawfield. You’re Justina Crawfield’s girl, aren’t you? From the Crawfield Cherry Orchard?”
“Yes, sir.” Politely and blandly, as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Well, Catherine, it’s nearly four a.m. Why are you out this late?”
I could tell him the truth about my activities, except I didn’t want to sign on for hard time. Or an extended stay in a padded cell.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided I’d drive around.”
To my dismay, he ambled to the bed of the truck and shined his light in it.
“Whatcha got back there?”
Oh, nothing unusual. A dead body under some bags and an ax.
“Bags of cherries from my grandparent’s orchard.” If my heartbeat were any louder, it would deafen him.
“Really?” With his flashlight he poked at a plastic lump. “One of ‘em is leaking.”
“Don’t worry.” My voice was almost a squeak. “They always leak. That’s why I carry them in this old truck. They’ve stained the bottom of it red.”
Relief crashed through me when he ceased his explorations and returned to my window. “And you’re driving around this late because you couldn’t sleep?” There was a knowing curl to his mouth. His gaze took in my tight top and disheveled hair. “You think I’m going to believe that?”
The innuendo was blatant and I almost lost my cool. He thought I’d been out sleeping around. An unspoken accusation hung between us, over twenty-two years in the making. Just like your mother, aren’t you? It wasn’t easy being illegitimate in a town so small, people still held that against you. In today’s society, you wouldn’t think it mattered, but Licking Falls, Ohio had its own set of standards. They were archaic at best.
With great effort I restrained my anger. My humanity tended to shed like a disposable skin when I got angry.
“Could we just keep this between us, sheriff?” Back to the guileless blinking of my eyes. It had worked on the dead guy, anyways. “Promise I won’t do it again.”
He fingered his belt as he considered me. His large belly strained against the fabric of his shirt, but I refrained from comments about his girth or the fact that he smelled like beer. Finally he smiled, exposing a crooked front tooth.
“Go home, Catherine Crawfield, and get that tail light fixed.”“Yes, sir!” Giddy with my reprieve, I revved up the truck and drove off. That had been close. I’d have to be more careful next time.
“Hi. Something wrong?” My tone was all innocence while I prayed there was nothing unusual about my eyes. Control yourself. You know what happens when you get upset.
“Yeah, you’ve got a busted tail light. License and registration, please.”
Crap. That must have happened when I was loading up the truck bed. Speed had been of the essence then, not daintiness.
I handed him my real license, not the fake one. He shined his flashlight back and forth between the identification and my face.
“Catherine Crawfield. You’re Justina Crawfield’s girl, aren’t you? From the Crawfield Cherry Orchard?”
“Yes, sir.” Politely and blandly, as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Well, Catherine, it’s nearly four a.m. Why are you out this late?”
I could tell him the truth about my activities, except I didn’t want to sign on for hard time. Or an extended stay in a padded cell.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided I’d drive around.”
To my dismay, he ambled to the bed of the truck and shined his light in it.
“Whatcha got back there?”
Oh, nothing unusual. A dead body under some bags and an ax.
“Bags of cherries from my grandparent’s orchard.” If my heartbeat were any louder, it would deafen him.
“Really?” With his flashlight he poked at a plastic lump. “One of ‘em is leaking.”
“Don’t worry.” My voice was almost a squeak. “They always leak. That’s why I carry them in this old truck. They’ve stained the bottom of it red.”
Relief crashed through me when he ceased his explorations and returned to my window. “And you’re driving around this late because you couldn’t sleep?” There was a knowing curl to his mouth. His gaze took in my tight top and disheveled hair. “You think I’m going to believe that?”
The innuendo was blatant and I almost lost my cool. He thought I’d been out sleeping around. An unspoken accusation hung between us, over twenty-two years in the making. Just like your mother, aren’t you? It wasn’t easy being illegitimate in a town so small, people still held that against you. In today’s society, you wouldn’t think it mattered, but Licking Falls, Ohio had its own set of standards. They were archaic at best.
With great effort I restrained my anger. My humanity tended to shed like a disposable skin when I got angry.
“Could we just keep this between us, sheriff?” Back to the guileless blinking of my eyes. It had worked on the dead guy, anyways. “Promise I won’t do it again.”
He fingered his belt as he considered me. His large belly strained against the fabric of his shirt, but I refrained from comments about his girth or the fact that he smelled like beer. Finally he smiled, exposing a crooked front tooth.
“Go home, Catherine Crawfield, and get that tail light fixed.”“Yes, sir!” Giddy with my reprieve, I revved up the truck and drove off. That had been close. I’d have to be more careful next time.
Jeaniene Frost is the New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author of the Night Huntress series, the Night Prince series, the Broken Destiny series, and the new Night Rebel series. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to twenty different countries. Jeaniene lives in Florida with her husband Matthew, who long ago accepted that she rarely cooks and always sleeps in on the weekends. Aside from writing, Jeaniene enjoys reading, poetry, watching movies with her husband, exploring old cemeteries, spelunking and traveling – by car. Airplanes, children, and cook books frighten her.
To learn more about Jeaniene Frost and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, BookBub, YouTube, and Twitter.
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