Praise for the novels of MAGGIE SHAYNE
âMaggie Shayne demonstrates an absolutely superb
touch, blending fantasy and romance into an outstanding reading experience.â âRT Book Reviews on Embrace the Twilight
âMaggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She
satisfies every wicked craving.â âNew York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster.
âMaggie Shayne delivers sheer delight, and fans new
and old of her vampire series can rejoice.â âRT Book Reviews on Twilight Hunger
âMaggie Shayne delivers romance with sweeping
intensity and bewitching passion.â âNew York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz
âShayneâs gift has made her one of the pre-eminent
voices in paranormal romance today!â âRT Book Reviews
âPrince of Twilight is guaranteed to delight fans of the long-running Wings in the Night series ⦠Shayne keeps things moving quickly, yet always allows the reader to savor her love scenes.â âRT Book Reviews on Prince of Twilight
Multiple New York Times bestseller MAGGIE SHAYNE is one of the hottest authors currently writing paranormal romance.
Her works are fresh and sexy, carrying the reader into a darkly compelling and fully realized world where vampires are creatures of the heart, not just the night.
Also available from Maggie Shayne
ANGELâS PAIN
LOVERâS BITE DEMONâS KISS
NIGHTâS EDGE
(with Charlaine Harris and Barbara Hambly)
TWILIGHT HUNGER
This one is for you, though Iâve never known your name,
You, gentle-voiced spirits who whisper to me, Who speak louder in case I didnât hear, Who shout if I remain unmoved, Who kick my shins until I either bleed, Or take heed.
This one is for you. You, eternal muses
Who shake me from the depths of sleep with an idea, A scene, A story that must be told, You who drag my mind away from conversation, And put that blank stare in my eyes, and silence my lips, So that friends and family think me rude and inattentive, Because suddenly, I can hear only you!
This one is for you,
Goddess of the Storytellers of old, You who make me run stop signs, And leap up from a public meal, My exclamation nonsensical to any who might hear As I race off to find a computer, A pad and pen, An eyeliner and napkin, Anything! Anything to capture your whisper, your breath, My inspiration.
This one is for you.
Hell, they all are.
Summer, 1959
âThe guy actually pissed himself, I scared him so badly,â Bridget said, laughing as they cut through the alley, jumped up onto the skeletal remains of a fire escape and swung inward through the broken window to land on the floor far below. The abandoned warehouseâs floorboards were cracked from these oft repeated impacts. But it was home to the Gang of Five.
Edge loved the kid. But he wasnât happy with her right now. He tousled her Orphan Annie curls, knocked the matching barrettes askew. Twelve years old when she was made over; twelve she would remain, even though sheâd been undead for more than a decade now. Heâd found her on the street, wandering, alone. Orphaned by her maker, just as heâd been. Just as they all had been.
âSo who the hell was he?â he asked.
Shrugging, Bridget climbed a ladder to the loft-like second floor, where they always met after a day of scavenging to divvy up the take. Edge didnât climb, he jumped. When he landed, a little cloud of dust rose up.
âNice entrance,â Ginger said without getting up from where she sat on the floor, her voice dripping sarcasm. She dressed all in black, kept her short hair and dagger-sharp nails that color, too, as if trying to live the cliché. She brushed the dust from her black jeans as if heâd put it there deliberately.
âQuit your bitching, Ginger,â Bridget snapped.
âWatch your mouth, pipsqueak.â
Bridget spun on her, and Ginger leaped to her feet.
âHey, hey, knock it off!â Baby-faced Scott got to his feet, as well, putting himself between them. âCome on, whatâs your problem, anyway?â He was skinny but strong. As strong as any of them were, at least, which was damn strong in comparison to humans. As vampires, they were kittens. âFledglingsâ was the term Edge had heard older ones use. Both Ginger and Scottie had been undead for less than five years. Sheâd been eighteen, and heâd been a year younger, when the change occurred. Babies. But that was why they needed each other. And why they needed him.
Ginger and Bridget didnât show any signs of backing off. Scottieâs blond, blue-eyed head and rail-thin build were hardly any more intimidating than his butter-soft voice.
âSettle down,â Edge said. He said it sternly. âNow.â
Blinking guiltily, the females parted. They always followed his orders. Edge hadnât applied for the job of leader of this little gang, it had just fallen to him naturally. He was the oldest. Heâd been twenty-three when he was made over, which was older than any of them had been. And heâd been a vampire longer than any of them. Twelve years now. The hideout was his own. Theyâd just sort of ⦠followed him home, one by one, until he had this gang of homeless vamps. A natural progression, he figured. Heâd been part of a street gang in Ireland, the year heâd been transformed. Though that gang had been different. Homeless toughs, each trying to out-tough the others. This little group ⦠damned if they hadnât become almost likeâa family.