I thought I was prepared for it. After all, I’d had work published in magazines before. I’d had months to get familiar with my Harlequin book cover. Goodness, it’s been more than a year since I finished the story and sent it in. I’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the idea that I’m going to be a real author (whatever that is) with books for sale wherever books are sold.

But when I walked up to my front porch this afternoon and saw my box of author copies, the clouds parted, rainbows appeared, birds sang, and unicorns pranced through my front yard. I would have let out an undignified squeal, but my neighbor and his adorable sons were standing right there, so I had to try to play it cool. That lasted about thirty seconds before I found myself foisting a copy upon him. I doubt he reads romance, but I couldn’t help myself!

Then, I went inside, took some time to compose myself, and curled up on the couch with a book. My book. Yet, I was looking at it with new eyes. I nervously turned it over and read the back cover copy–which I had never seen before.

From the heights of Mount Olympus to the depths of the underworld, new author Stephanie Draven spins a story of fate and seduction…

Not a bad start, I thought. I would read this book.

I carefully open the cover and peek at the first page. A hot and steamy excerpt. Eek, did I write that? Oh, and look at all those superfluous conjunctions I hadn’t noticed before. I flip to the Dear Reader letter, in which I discover a missing comma in the first sentence. Okay, there are going to be errors. I tell myself to stop looking for them.

Somehow, I’m still grinning like an idiot. This might be because my name is at the top of every other page. Or it might be because these are my words, my story, my sweat, and a few of my tears. It’s not the first book I’ve written, but it’s the first time I’ll ever see a novel of mine in print, so I savor it.

I love e-books, but the sensation of actually holding the book in my hands is different than seeing my stories on my e-reader. I hold the book close and fan through the pages, delighting in the feathery texture against my thumb. I hold it close and sniff it. Paper and glue and ink. But it’s more than that. I am acutely aware that I’m holding in my hands the culmination of years of hard work. I’m also holding in my hands all the sacrifices my family has made to get here.

I’m holding countless queries and stamps and envelopes. I’m holding all the rejection letters and all my late night fears that I just wasn’t good enough. I’m holding the critiques and workshops and the kind comments of those who told me not to give up and the not so kind comments of those who told me I was wasting my time.

That’s a lot of emotional weight for one little book to carry. Somehow, it manages. I used to tell myself a story that one day I’d be published. I had to keep telling that story to myself until I believed it. Now I do.

I notice the little tagline under my series decal and laugh.

Mythica: Myths that come to life and love…

That’s about right.

Join the Celebration from August 22 – October 1st

To celebrate the release of Poisoned Kisses, my first full-length installment of Harlequin Nocturne’s Mythica series, I’ve arranged for a number of prizes and activities. I hope you’ll take part, spread the word, do good deeds, and have lots of fun in the process.

The Free Goodies

Charms: Peridot is known as the evening emerald, because its a yellow-green gemstone that glows like a firefly on a hot, lazy night. My heroine in Poisoned Kisses is a dark nymph of the underworld, a magical torch bearer who can see into the souls of all mankind. I was particularly delighted to see that her peridot choker made it onto the front cover of the book! To honor Kyra’s spirit, while supplies last, all members of my very infrequent newsletter will be sent a free peridot green charm upon request. (Request form will be included in the September Newsletter, so join now!)

Bookmarks: While supplies last, my newsletter subscribers will also be sent free bookmarks upon request.

The Free Books

In addition to two autographed copies of Poisoned Kisses, I’ll also be giving away a signed copy of Jeannie Lin’s much anticipated Butterfly Swords and Sabrina Darby’s well-received On These Silken Sheets. The drawing for these will be held on October 1st. You’ll get one entry in the drawing for every link to a blog or social networking site on which you’ve promoted this book launch! Go ahead and post your links below and if you’re using twitter, use the hashtag #poisonedkisses so that I can smile every time I click on it.

The Good Deeds

The hero of Poisoned Kisses is a soldier who served on a peace keeping mission in Africa. In researching his story, I learned a great deal about the various conflicts in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The ongoing violence is heartbreaking, but romance is all about hope. To that end, for each of the first one-hundred new subscribers to my newsletter until the release of my book, I’ll be donating $1 to Doctors without Borders for their humanitarian efforts. So do your good deed of the day and spread the word!

The Fun Stuff

Have you ever wanted to have a character named after you in a romance novel? During September and October, I’ll be on a virtual book tour in which I’ll talk about Love, Monsters & Mythology as envisioned by the Mythica series. On the last day of the tour, I’ll go back and see who commented at the most stops along my tour, and will name a character after that person in my next Nocturne Bite! (If there’s a tie, I’ll flip a coin.)

I want to thank everybody in advance for their support and enthusiasm! And if you’re an author friend, please don’t hesitate to enter the drawings. Authors are readers too!

I met Gail while standing in line for a banquet at the Romance Writers of America Convention in Orlando, FL. Now I’m excited to introduce her to all of you in this latest installment of my long-running series on military spouses and their true life love stories.

Q: How did you meet your husband?

I was a single mom working two jobs – daytime as a travel agent and at night as a cocktail waitress. He started coming in with his buddies and would always be in my section. He used to tell me he loved me when I handed him his rum & coke – little did I know he was serious.

Q: How did you know he was the one?

I was previously married and was in no way looking for a permanent relationship, especially someone in the military (previous husband was also navy). We had been friendly for several months – would talk a lot when he’d come in, would dance with him when it was slow (boss encouraged us to get the customers dancing). I didn’t even realize I kept asking him to dance. One night he walked in and I realized “Oh Jim’s back, wow, I’ve missed him” and then my heart stopped beating because it scared the crap out of me. Not only was he military he was from NY and planned to get out soon and move back to the Bronx. Something I really didn’t want for me and my daughter who was 4 at the time.

Q: Did you know he was in the military when you decided to marry?

Yes, I did know he was active duty. When we were on our honeymoon we talked about his career and if he should stay in until 20 years which at that time he could retire and find a civilian job. As a former navy wife I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but supported his choice to stay in. The steady pay, the health insurance all were factors especially with a small child and the hope that at least one more would be on the way some day.

Q: What challenges have military life posed for your romantic life?

He spent the first 12 years of our 14 years in duty stationed where he would either deploy for months at a time or travel frequently. This required us for quite a while to have to “relearn” each other when he’d come home. Which is nice… In a lot of ways it was like getting to have that first date again and again… all the giddiness, the butterflies in the stomach and some really passionate moments. Its been hard not to have him around to celebrate holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. We learned to celebrate before or after and it was always just a special. Valentines day without the overcrowded restaurants and grumpy staff is even better and more romantic. As far as I know neither of us have ever been tempted to cheat. For me he’s it, truly my best friend and soul mate.

Q: Many romances have dark and brooding alpha male heroes. Do you live with one in real life?

LOL, he can be brooding (I blame it on his Gemini personality), but he’s not dark. He’s more of the non-traditional alpha males – sensitive and intelligent. He was raised from the time he was 10 by a single mom (his dad died) and his older sister who is 21 yrs his senior. Most of the time he’s very take charge and decisive, but if I say something should be otherwise he will listen to me and in about 99% of the time is wise enough to know to listen to me. He’s very calm in a crisis and logical. So, if we were on a sinking ship I’d follow him without a second thought!

Q: My forthcoming novel, POISONED KISSES, is about a former soldier who was so traumatized by what he saw that he’s turned into a one man mission to arm the people he believes to be in the right. Does your husband have that kind of do-gooder complex? How has what he’s seen impacted his relationship with you?

Wow, that’s a hard one. For the most part he’s been on submarines and has been lucky enough to stay out of the ugly part although not the dangerous part of the action. He was part of the clean-up/response fleet for the Indonesian tsunami a couple of years ago. A few nightmares but otherwise he was okay. He has traveled extensively with the navy and seen a great deal of the world. I’d say what he’s seen makes him glad that he’s an American and we live in such a wonderful country, very patriotic. He is also active now with the Masons and is constantly volunteering to help out with them, especially if it means helping children. At work he’s always trying to help the junior sailors with their careers and even home life. So, yes, I’d say he has a bit of “do-gooder” complex.

How has his career impacted is relationship with me? I had to say it has made him very aware that our relationship is the most important thing. He knows that I’ll be here for him through all the good and the bad. He knows that even when work is going to hell and he’s ready to just quite, when he comes home I’ll listen and understand and then make it all go away for a least a couple of hours. He’s very supportive of me and my dreams. He never fails to tell me “I love you” or to show it. He’s a wonderful father who likes spending time with the kids. He cherishes those times because he knows that it could all change at a moments notice and he could be deployed again. And when he does, I know that he will be thinking of me and our kids every single day he is away.

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site or click on the banner above.

Chapter One

Kyra was dressed to kill. Literally.

Just beneath her short red skirt and only inches above her high-heeled boots, a small but deadly hunting knife was strapped to her thigh. A gun might have been more useful, but Kyra preferred the weapons of an older, less complicated time.

A knock came at the nightclub’s bathroom door—probably another gaggle of drunken Italian socialites—but Kyra wouldn’t be rushed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror to steel her courage. She might not be able to do much to thwart Daddy and his bloodthirsty minions, but she could do this one heroic thing for humanity. This was her destiny. She’d been born for this.

But the mirror reflected a distorted image. It was cracked, as if the thumping club music burst through the wall from the other side. Still, she could see that her plunging pearlescent halter top complemented neither her black tresses nor her ghostly pallor. No matter. Kyra never let mortals see her true form, anyway. Tonight, her prey would see her as she wished him to see her: with blue eyes and cropped platinum hair; after all, she’d studied Marco Kaisaris long enough to know his type. And she was ready. Hydras like Marco were dangerous, but surely not to someone like her. She just had to kill him. Like Theseus and Perseus of old, she had a monster to slay.

With that thought, Kyra gave the bathroom door a shove and it swung open like a gate to the underworld. She stepped into the nightclub’s press of bodies and people made way for her, as if they sensed her power. As the dance beat drummed at her pulse points, she brushed against the crowd, and it excited her because she had a nymph’s nature; she found the vitality of humans to be infectious and distracting. This was, of course, one of the many dangers of getting too close to mortals…

The club was dark but for the strobe lights that shined spots on the walls, purple as evening shade, purple as wine. The grape kaleidoscope illuminated the writhing bodies on the dance floor, flashes alternating with pitch-black. But the darkness posed no obstacle for Kyra. Like all nymphs of the underworld, she carried an internal torch. Her eyes could penetrate the darkness. She could see through a crowd, through clothes, through flesh. Her eyes could even breach the barriers around men’s souls.

And from the bar, her quarry’s soul lit up like a flare.

She knew Marco Kaisaris even though the face he wore was not his own. He was dark, brooding and slightly unkempt. He wore an expensive dress shirt open at the collar, the glimmer of a gold chain at his throat. He didn’t look like an arms dealer, but then he was almost as good at disguises as she was. He wasn’t just a mortal man, after all. He was also a hydra.

Kyra slipped into the standing-room-only space next to him at the bar, pretending to dig for money in her purse. She felt his eyes on her—an intense, wary stare. Fortuitously, a group of revelers pushed her a little closer to him. She pretended it was his fault.

“Do you mind?” she asked in Italian, grateful that the club was quieter here.

Marco shrugged, taking a swallow from his glass, which was filled with amber liquid and ice. “I was just sitting here.”

Oh. His voice. It was baritone and beguiling, with a hint of a New World accent. American or Canadian—she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was the kind of voice that’d make a normal woman swoon and it weakened even Kyra’s immortal knees. Gods above and below, Kyra thought. What justice was there in the world that such a voice could belong to a monster?

Recovering herself, she brushed his leg, but his expression betrayed nothing. Everything about his posture was guarded. Sexy, but guarded. That’s when Kyra noticed he held a picture of an older man and was tracing the edge of it with his thumb. Naples was known for its criminal element, so the photo was probably of some contact Marco was meeting tonight. A supplier of munitions or a thug looking to buy an arsenal. Someone in Marco’s violent business. “Friend of yours?” she asked in English, motioning with her chin toward the picture.

“My father.” A look of melancholy passed over his face as he slipped the photo into his shirt pocket, but that’s all he said. He didn’t want to talk. And that was a problem because she’d planned to lure him somewhere private with the promise of a steamy encounter; she couldn’t kill him in the middle of the club with everyone watching. To make matters worse, her cell phone was vibrating. It was probably her father calling to rage at her for destroying his arsenal. Daddy thought it was Kyra’s destiny to join him, but she had no intention of being a part of her family’s legacy of war. If anything, she wanted to make up for it.

Renewing her resolve, Kyra turned the phone off and flashed Marco Kaisaris her most charming smile. “Mind if I sit here?”

Marco motioned toward the distinct lack of empty bar stools. “Sit where?”

Okay, she’d have to be a little more aggressive. “How about if I sit right here?” Before he could do a thing to stop it, Kyra slid into his lap. It was a crucial moment. There was a good chance he’d thrust her away, alarmed at her forwardness. But as the backs of her bare thighs pressed against the weave of his linen slacks, his breath caught, and it wasn’t just with surprise. He liked it.

This shouldn’t be too difficult, she thought. Her nymph’s charm made it easy to seduce mortals—even special ones like him—and she felt him respond, his breath warming her neck. Encouraged, she shifted wantonly with her hips, precisely timed with the music, careful not to let him feel the sheathed knife on her leg. He liked that, too.

She could tell because he wrapped one arm around her waist and inhaled the cheap perfume she wore. It smelled like overripe passion fruit and candy and he reacted as if she were just a confection—one little taste wouldn’t hurt. His teeth grazed her neck beneath her choker where a glowing peridot stone hung like a tiny lantern in the dead of night. She tilted her head for him and felt him go hot all over “You’re shameless,” he finally whispered, the scent of expensive alcohol on his breath.

But I’m not shameless, she thought. There were so many shameful things in this modern world and her sexuality wasn’t one of them. How was it her fault that men were so easy to arouse? “I’m shameless? What about you? You look guilty of something.”

He let the cool glass in his hand slide wetly over her shoulder. “And what do you think I’m guilty of, Angel? Give it a shot.”

Angel? Oh, she was going to enjoy killing him. “Are you telling me to guess?”

“No,” he said, his mouth finding the soft spot behind her ear. Then his voice lowered. “Unless you want me to tell you what to do.”

Her stomach fell away with arousal. Yes. Absurdly, she did want that. Just for a few minutes.  It wasn’t sex with mortals that was dangerous for nymphs, after all. Just all the emotions that came afterwards. Still, best not to let him get the upper hand. “If you tried to tell me what to do, we’d only end up engaged in a fierce battle of wills.”

She felt him smirk against her neck. “Mine is hard as iron.”

His will. He meant his will was hard as iron. Trying to steady herself, Kyra fanned her fingers over the bar. They came to rest on an unopened pack of cigarettes. Marlboro Reds. Old school. “Yours?” she asked, and when he nodded, her lips curled in mock disapproval. “Bad addiction to have.”

“I’m not addicted,” he countered, one hand stroking her arm. She loved the callused feel of his fingertips on her smooth skin. “I only smoke when I’m trying to come to terms with something. Kyra almost asked him what he was struggling with. But she didn’t dare. She shouldn’t care. Couldn’t care. It’d only make it harder for her to kill him. . “I can quit anytime,” he said.

“How about now?”

He paused, then crushed the whole pack in his fist, tossing it behind the bar like so much trash. He looked smug at her openmouthed stare of astonishment. “Like I said. Iron will.”

He might think so, but he couldn’t resist her. She was sure of it.

“A drink for the lady,” Marco said to the bartender.

“And what if I’m not a lady?” Kyra asked, with a provocative smile.

“That’s okay,” Marco murmured, his hand grasping the nape of her neck. “I don’t plan to be a gentleman tonight.”

She let him bring her back to his penthouse; even from the marbled foyer she glimpsed just how well the monster was living off his ill-gotten fortune. If he’d chosen any of the artwork here, he had exquisite taste. But this probably wasn’t his penthouse, just as the face he wore wasn’t his own. He was a hydra of a thousand faces—an impostor—which made it all the more remarkable that he didn’t seem suspicious of her; he apparently brought women home with him all the time.

No, Kyra thought. Killing him wasn’t going to be difficult at all.

The only problem was that he was an astonishingly good kisser. His mouth was on hers, dizzyingly warm. It surprised her how much she actually liked the way his stubble scratched her cheeks and the animal way he bit her lower lip every time she pulled away for breath. He wasn’t shy about touching her, and he wasn’t taking his time.

He pushed her back against the door, a rapid strike, all strength and speed. Caged in by his strong arms, she saw that his eyes were stormy with challenge. She felt her insides quicken in response. Oh, he so didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Kyra gripped a thick handful of his dark hair and when his hands snaked up under her top, thumbs brushing over her nipples, she thought he was rather daring for a creature that could be killed; he’d been wary in the bar, but now that he’d committed himself to having her, there was no hesitation in him at all.

The heat of him delighted her. The roughness of his touch. The bestial sounds he made, as if he meant to devour her. Kyra’s heartbeat crashed in her ears, as if the thumping roar of the club music had followed them here. She told herself it was just the allure of his mortal energy, the dangerous deception of a man’s desire. But had it felt this good the last time she’d taken a mortal lover?

Maybe Marco was different. The clues in the file she’d stolen led her to believe that in addition to being an arms trafficker, Marco Kaisaris was a war-forged hydra, a mortal man, a monster that could be killed. Now she wondered if he was actually some shape-shifting trickster god, which would excuse her attraction to him and relieve her of guilt for what she was about to do. Stabbing an immortal, after all, wouldn’t cause any lasting harm.

His scent—somewhere between man and musk—drove her crazy. Meanwhile, his kisses had become frenzied as if pleasure was such a fleeting thing in his world he had to consume it before anyone took it away from him. As Marco nipped at her neck, his mouth moving over the luminous gemstone she wore, her own gasps cut through the stillness of the penthouse apartment. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he was rocking her world.

But Kyra prided herself on not being one of those silly nymphs who dallied with mortal men and fell helplessly under their spell. She’d taken plenty of lovers and cast them aside when she was done. After all, she was built for carnal passions, for stolen pleasures in the dark. So, it wasn’t Marco’s all-consuming sexual prowess that was giving her second thoughts about killing him. It was what she saw inside him, beyond the surface. A looming shape of almost unfathomable grief. Beyond the veils of darkness in which he wrapped himself, she glimpsed a forlorn desperation to know and be known, to understand and be understood.

This, she hadn’t expected. Sincerity, pain, need. His vulnerability was subtle but potent sex magic. It made her curious about him; there was a longing in her to let her eyes open wide and illuminate everything inside him she could see. Unfortunately, that would drive him mad, and that was one thing Kyra would never do to a mortal again. Besides, there’d been a reason she’d tracked him down for months, a reason she’d slipped into his lap tonight, and it wasn’t to satisfy her curiosity or to enjoy herself with a sexy stranger.

Like her father, Marco Kaisaris made a profit selling weapons. He was a merchant of death. The underworld was filled with victims of the bullets Marco sold. No matter what her lust-soaked mind wanted to see inside him, he was an evil man and if she wanted to make up for all the pain and chaos her father had caused in the world, Kyra had no choice but to kill him.

The hydra had to be the reason Kyra still had her powers while so many of the old immortals had lost theirs. This was her destiny. Still, it was with true regret that she realized Marco’s groping fingers would soon discover her hidden knife. With a long-suffering sigh, Kyra stopped him. Marco pulled back, a slow and frustrated tilt to his lips. “Am I going too fast?”

Gods above and below, his voice just wrecked her. The heat of it seared a path from her belly down to the quivering place between her legs. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her. But when he tried to put his hand under her skirt again, she didn’t let him. “Wait. I’ve got something for you.”

She turned slightly and, with one hand, secretly unsheathed the knife beneath her skirt. The motion between her legs must have looked particularly obscene, because Marco’s eyes narrowed with desire. “Don’t be a tease, Angel.”

“Oh, I’m no angel and I never tease.” With that, Kyra thrust the sharpened blade at his chest, aiming directly for the heart. But something went horribly wrong. She’d prepared herself for the blood, the resistance of blade against bone and the death grimace. What she hadn’t counted on was Marco being nearly as fast as she was. Kyra knew that Marco had military training. Still, she could hardly believe how deftly he blocked the blow with his hand. The knife slashed open his palm from fingers to wrist and red blood sprayed the carpeted floor.

His expression twisted in surprise at her betrayal, and he used his uninjured hand to grab her wrist. He slammed it against the wall so hard she thought the bones in her hand might have shattered. “Drop the knife,” Marco growled, all sincerity and need now replaced with the hard features of a furious and injured man.

There was nothing for Kyra to do but struggle. He couldn’t kill her with that knife, but he could hurt her. Even for an immortal, pain was pain. Suffering was suffering. And Kyra was afraid of it even though she didn’t have to fear for her life. So she brought her knee up hard into his stomach.

He grunted with the impact, but didn’t let go of her wrist. Instead, he used his leverage to flip her to the ground. She thudded to the carpet, her body splaying awkwardly. And before she could scramble to her feet, he threw himself on her, forcing the air from her lungs. He had her wrist in his grasp, twisting it to the breaking point.

“Drop your weapon!” Marco shouted like the soldier he’d once been. But Kyra bucked under him, clenching her free hand into a fist and punching him in the jaw.

Marco rocked back from the blow. “Bitch!”

Then he backhanded her in retaliation. Kyra tasted blood in her mouth—her own, she hoped. The sting of his slap had made the entire right side of her cheek red-hot. In thousands of years, few mortals had ever dared to strike her, and those who had tried paid for it with their lives. All the forces of the underworld bubbled up inside her. She was the daughter of Ares and rage was overtaking her, boiling out of control. She remembered the armory she’d blown up, where her father’s guard had confused her with a human and tried to rape her; she’d shown him with fatal accuracy how mistaken he was. Now she’d show Marco Kaisaris!

As she pulled herself up like a specter from a grave, Marco recoiled. “What—what the hell are you?” he stammered, staring, his tone more loathing than fear. In their struggle, she’d become so enraged that she’d stopped projecting the shape she wanted him to see. He saw her real face now, the depthless blackness of her nymph’s eyes, and he seemed as horrified as if he’d glimpsed three-headed Cerberus.

Taking advantage of his surprise, Kyra rolled to her feet with the grace of a cat and crouched on tiptoe behind a desk for cover, realizing that her high-heeled boots may not have been the ideal choice for an assassination. “The real question, Marco Kaisaris, is, what are you?”

At hearing his real name, Marco’s expression turned murderous. Later, she’d have to admit that he frightened her. He was stronger and faster than she’d anticipated and now this entire mission had gone awry. She could try to fade—try to disappear before his very eyes—but her concentration was broken. Perhaps she ought to escape and try again another day. As these thoughts raced through Kyra’s mind, Marco rushed toward her. She lifted the knife—this time in self-defense—and he flipped the elegant desk behind which she’d sought refuge as easily as if it were dollhouse furniture. Papers and knickknacks exploded through the air and the desktop slammed her, knocking her back where she smashed her head on the wall and slumped to the floor.

Kyra lay there for a moment, stunned. Had she blacked out? Scrambling out of the wreckage of the desk, she realized that the penthouse was quiet.

Damn it to Hades! The door was open and Marco Kaisaris was gone.

She wondered why he hadn’t tried to kill her when he’d had the chance, but then she felt the sickening burn. She was smeared with Marco’s blood and it stung like fire. Every moment was ever-deepening agony. Rushing to the bathroom, she hurriedly scrubbed her arms clean. Too little, too late. The hydra’s blood wasn’t just burning her, it was also seeping into her skin and making her sick. Waves of nausea flowed over her; she sank to her knees and tried not to retch.

If she’d been a mortal, the poison of is blood might have been enough to kill her. As it was, the world started to spin before her eyes. So, she hadn’t been wrong about him, then. Marco Kaisaris was no trickster god. His blood wasn’t divine ichor. His wounds hadn’t closed up on their own. And even from the bathroom she could see that where his blood had pooled on the penthouse floor was now a sizzling mess, as if someone had poured acid on the carpet. His blood was poison. Deadly poison. There could be no doubt now that he was a hydra and needed to be stopped.

If only she could get up from the floor.

She’d cut him deep. Crouched in an alleyway, Marco tore his shirt off and wrapped it around the wound like a makeshift bandage.With his uninjured hand, he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone to call an ambulance. The woman in his penthouse would need one. Yeah, she’d tried to kill him, but she had no idea who she was dealing with. By now, his blood would be soaking into her skin and eating her alive. He wasn’t sure what the hospital could do for her, but he wasn’t eager for another dead body on his conscience.

“Si prega di identificare se stessi,” the dispatcher squawked into the phone.

Identify himself? Under other circumstances, the question might have made Marco laugh. Who exactly was he? He wasn’t the guy who rented the penthouse. He wasn’t the guy he looked like now. He wasn’t a soldier anymore and he wasn’t even the do-gooder son of a Greek immigrant—not according to his father or his sister. “I’m nobody,” Marco said, then hung up.

The blood coursing from the cut on his hand had soaked through his wrapped shirt and dripped down his battle-hardened stomach in a deadly scarlet rivulet. Every time a drop of it spattered on the ground, it hissed and sizzled where it fell. Marco hated to leave his blood anywhere, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. His breathing was still erratic—partly from the pain of his wound and partly from the shock of what he’d just seen. What the hell had he just seen? An angel, a demon or some creature with powers like his own?

One thing was clear: his enemies had obviously tracked him here and sent the woman to assassinate him. This identity—this borrowed face he wore—was thoroughly compromised now. He’d have to change his appearance and there was no time to wait for a more private moment. Pulling himself deeper into the shadows, Marco braced against the brick wall and steeled himself for the transformation.

He closed his eyes and remembered the face a blond-haired, blue-eyed Russian smuggler who’d once tried to steal a shipment of shoulder-mounted rockets from him. Marco had long since dispatched the Russian to hell, but he’d wounded Marco in the struggle—which meant that now Marco had a useful but grisly souvenir; he could assume the face and identity of his old enemy. It was his curse; he could take on the form of anyone who wounded him. A power he could neither explain nor fully comprehend. Perhaps it was a madness—inherited from his mother. Whatever it was, he couldn’t stop himself from quivering with disgust at the slow creep of flesh as his face began to transform. Marco didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that his eyes were now blue, and his hair like yellow straw. Except for the wound on his hand, his enemies wouldn’t know him.

No one would.

POISONED KISSES is available for pre-order.

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