Page 1 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

Passion erupts in this masterfully dark, enemies-to-lovers, thriller from bestselling and award-winning author—Lydia Michaels.

There is nothing more sacred than the immortal vow of bonded mates, but when Delilah Starling is transitioned against her will and taken captive by a savagely beautiful immortal, she pledges to fight his dominant rule to her last breath.

Christian Schrock, an elder of The Order, hunted and possessively claimed his mortal mate as was his right. His irrevocable actions, however, sparked challenges he never anticipated.

Subjected to live under the patriarchal reign of an ancient society, Delilah battles the oppressive traditions forcing her to submit to a life she did not choose, and a man she does not love. Christian must convince her that she belongs to him, but the unruly female refuses to see past the brutal betrayal that founded their relationship.

Lust and tension dominate this dark world of paranormal suspense in an explosive continuation of the unmatched and fiercely unique series, The Order of Vampires!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Delilah’s pulse pumped with the beat of the bass as she entered the downtown club, Tribeca. Wired from a long day at the studio, she needed to let go and release some steam. It had been a trying fucking week.

Her skin itched from her new ink. This one was simple. A red thread tied around her wrist like a reminder of something she’d already forgotten. The ink was so thin and delicate, the skin had already started to heal.

She wasn’t sure what the tattoo symbolized or what compelled her to permanently mark her skin with such a whimsical thing. She only knew that she woke up three weeks ago with the impression that she was forgetting something important—something that hinted at impending doom, or endless possibility—she wasn’t really sure because, ironically, she couldn’t remember what it was she’d been trying not to forget.

She got to work, tattooing her wrist that morning. Three weeks later and she couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu that followed every time she glanced at it.

Maybe it was a lost dream or something silly that gave her such an implacable yet familiar feeling. It didn’t matter. Half of her tattoos had no meaning anyway. But this one… It itched more than usual, like it was purposely refusing to be forgotten.

Pain exploded in her foot and she nearly swallowed her tongue. “Do you mind?” she barked as a three-hundred-pound rhino stepped on the toe of her Mary Jane.

“Sorry.” The drunk asshole stumbled into the wall.

This place was going to shit. It used to have an air of exclusivity. Now, anyone could get in.

Her luck had been the shitty precedent of her shittier fucking mood. It hadn’t sunk in yet that her bad fortune had turned around and she was no longer in danger of being evicted. But, man, it had come close.

A lesser woman might have resorted to selling blowjobs in order to make ends meet. Rock bottom was a few floors above the bedrock where her finances had plummeted this month. Thankfully, a new client showed up just in the nick of time and saved her ass from one of two things—eviction or working out her rent under her fat, heaving prick of a landlord.

Delilah shivered, perishing the thought. She’d never resort to selling her body to make ends meet, but she loved her shop and the thought had crossed her mind in a dark moment of desperation. The tattoo parlor was her baby. Yes, sometimes babies grow up to become failures that suck the ever-living life out of a person, but she wasn’t ready to quit on her baby just yet. Skin Deep still had a few good months left.

Sooner or later, she’d have to make a move. She needed a career change. Or a miracle. People just weren’t spending money on tattoos like they used to now that the economy was in the shitter. Chances were, she’d be back in this destitute situation again next month when she needed to scrounge up rent money and pay her bills.

The crowd blocking the bar bottlenecked toward the bathrooms and the rancid scent of beer and piss had her crinkling her nose. She seriously needed to find a better hangout. Pushing her way through a group of towering men, she squeezed her way closer to the bar.

“Where’d you come from, cutie?” a guy asked, helping himself to her personal space.

“Touch me and you lose a hand.”

He held up his palms in surrender and laughed, like she was rude for not welcoming a stranger’s grubby paws on her. If only men knew what it was like to live in a world where predators assumed an open invitation to grope them at will. She edged up another two steps, escaping the odor of sweat and cheap drugstore cologne.

She could easily let one of the surrounding men buy her a drink, but tonight was on her dollar. She fucking earned it and didn’t feel like dealing with anyone’s bullshit.

It wasn’t just her shop that suffered. Everyone felt the pinch as prices skyrocketed, and customer service became a thing of the past. Groceries alone could break a person, so she understood why her shop had grown so quiet.

People didn’t blow money on body art unless they had substantial money to waste. And her shop, unfortunately, wasn’t located in a wealthy part of town—unless one considered dilapidated bowling alleys and foreclosed, vacant storefronts posh.

Her guardian angel, a shitty fucking angel at best, must have pulled some last-second strings when those college sorority sisters stumbled in last night. Nothing like tipsy customers with purses full of Daddy’s money and a hankering for some regrettable work. Three fucking tramp stamps later and Delilah would live to fight another day.

Still nowhere close to making rent this morning, she’d been sure Skin Deep’s doors would close for good. Then another dope showed up requesting a declaration of love inked permanently into his arm. It was the curse of any relationship, but Delilah didn’t tell him that. She happily tattooed the name Debbie into his bicep and took the money for the job.