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From Romance Reviews Today: “A wickedly funny and passionate series, fans of paranormal erotic romance will enjoy RELENTLESS tremendously. Ms Devlin has done it again!”
5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies: “Her realistic writing of well-packaged vampires and werewolves leaves the reader thirsting for the forbidden and a driving need to be possessed within her erotically charged worlds.”
To supercop Max Weir, the only good vampire is a dead one. Since his special police unit integrated with vampires, he’s had to suppress his natural hatred to work side-by-side with the undead to hunt down and terminate the deadliest killers. Now the unit is hot on the trail of a new menace in town, a pack of werewolves prowling for vampires, who don’t care whether humans get in their way.
When a stakeout goes awry, Max enters a bar looking for a fight or a woman to help him blow off a little steam. What he finds is a winsome siren who has sexual appetites to match his own.
Vampire Pia D’Amato is on a secret mission to take out Max — either by seduction or by turning him. He’s become a liability to the Masters’ Council setting up jurisdiction in southern Florida, and she isn’t leaving until she’s done the job. But Max is more man than she bargained for and has a deadly secret of his own.
Max pushed through the door of the bar determined that tonight he’d either get shit-faced or fucked. Which, didn’t matter. So long as he could blow off the steam that had been gathering a head since the botched mission hours before. The bar was a regular haunt—only a block from his house. If need be, he could crawl home. The smoky air, the loud grinding music, and the smell of stale beer appealed when he had an axe to grind.
The SU had swept the area for signs of the wolves that killed the vampires before turning on the humans in a mutilating frenzy. Their bloody paw prints led beyond the house to a gravel road where they’d disappeared. The pack had made their getaway in cars. This hadn’t been a roaming band’s target of opportunity, but a takedown.
The grim faces of the vampires telegraphed their worry. He hoped they were shaking in their boots. Not that the thought of a rogue wolf pack wasn’t just as unsettling to Max.
But seeing the cocksure Quentin lose his perpetual smirk was gratifying. Dylan had been grim-faced and pale. Perhaps the bastard saw his own fate in the house.
However, Joe’s silence had been the most telling. He hadn’t looked the least bit surprised.
Max made his way through the tables ringing a small dance floor. The place was nearly empty, save for the men hovering near the bar for the night’s last drinks. The tension in his shoulders knotted tighter. All it would take would be one smart-ass comment. He hungered for an excuse to drive his fist through something.
The crowd parted, and a flash of a slim white ankle snagged his attention. Every trace of anger, bitter regret, and frustration coalesced into a single, burning need.
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