By Adrian Phoenix
HIS identify IS DANTE.
darkish. proficient. appealing. celebrity of the rock band Inferno. Rumored proprietor of the new New Orleans nightspot membership Hell. Born of the Blood, then damaged by way of an evil past mind's eye.
HIS prior IS A MYSTERY.
F.B.I. specified Agent Heather Wallace has been monitoring a sadistic serial assassin referred to as the pass nation Killer, and the path has led her to New Orleans, membership Hell, and Dante. however the dangerously beautiful musician not just resists her research, he claims to be "nightkind": in different phrases, a vampire. Digging into his prior for solutions finds little. A juvenile list a mile lengthy. No social defense quantity. No identified start date. out and in of foster houses for many of his existence ahead of being taken in by means of a guy named Lucien DeNoir, who seems to protect mysteries of his personal.
HIS destiny IS CHAOS.
What Heather does learn about Dante is that something hyperlinks him to the killer -- and she's lovely certain that hyperlink makes him the CCK's subsequent objective. Heather needs to resolve the reality approximately this sensual, advanced, susceptible younger guy -- who, she starts to think, may perhaps certainly be a vampire -- with a view to eventually carry a killer to justice. yet Dante's earlier holds a surprising, risky mystery, and as soon as it's published now not even Heather may be capable of defend him from his destiny....
Read or Download A Rush of Wings: Book One of The Maker's Song PDF
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Extra info for A Rush of Wings: Book One of The Maker's Song
Ronin asked, eyebrow arched, voice hard. Dante laughed. “Fuck, no! Go where you want. You can even go to Hell. ” Ronin took several long-legged strides after him, then stopped. ” he called. ” Dante turned completely and walked up the sidewalk. He didn’t answer. When he reached the corner, he stopped, then about-faced. ” “Freelance. ” Dante laughed again, then rounded the corner. Ronin waited for a few moments, listening to the city’s pulse, the traffic noise, the streetcar clacking along the rails, chattering tourists — all bound to an earth-deep rhythm that lured musicians from around the world.
Another place. He shuddered. Pain unfurled. His vision blurred. “Hey,” Wallace said. “Breathe. Just breathe. C’mon, in. Out. ” Listening to the smooth, calming tone of Wallace’s lowered voice, Dante reached for Lucien, and touched his waiting mind through their link.
Heather stiffened as she realized someone stood behind her. Worse, she had a feeling he’d been standing there for a while. Turning, she put her back to the wall and glanced to the right. The nomad bouncer stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed in faded jeans and a button-down black shirt, his deep brown hair brushing his shoulders. His green eyes, no longer hidden behind shades, seemed to look beyond Heather. He stroked the sides of his mustache thoughtfully. “Nah,” he said finally. “Not Étienne’s style.