Kiss Me Dead
By- Dale Ibitz
Genre- New Adult Urban Fantasy/Romantic Suspense
One curse . . .
Christian, a nineteen-year-old reaper-human hybrid enslaved to the Other World to harvest souls, earns his freedom by making a bargain with the Goddess of Death. As part of the bargain, he’s been cursed with the kiss of death.
One kiss . . .
The only way Christian can break his curse is for an angel to kiss him. Willingly. He finds Brooke, a nineteen-year-old descendant of a Naphil whose destiny is to hunt rogue reapers, suffocating in a semi-agoraphobic cocoon since witnessing a reaper steal her brother’s soul.
Two destinies . . .
Christian has found the angel who can break his curse, and the seduction begins. To break her phobia’s hold, Brooke embraces her angelic role and makes it her mission to kill rogue reapers to avenge her brother’s murder. Christian can break his curse by kissing Brooke dead . . . but will she figure out his game and kill him first?
Brooke whirled from the counter, bumping into someone behind her. Her cup smashed into a firm chest before tumbling out of her hand and landing at the toe of a scuffed, black boot.
Bending to pick it up, she froze when her hand met with another, an electric jolt zipping through her as they touched the cup at the same time. His hand was solid looking with long, scarred fingers. Her gaze crawled up a black-leathered arm to a boyish face with a round, purple scar marring one cheek and another slashing through an eyebrow. Other small scars were scattered across his skin like thin, pale freckles. They made him look sexily dangerous.
He had longish black hair tousled in a just-got-out-of-bed kind of way. Slowly, they both stood. Rock-star thin, he towered over her. Glints of gray stabbed his blue eyes like steel shards, and the gaze he narrowed at Brooke was arctic.
She veered away from his intimidating eyes, and her gaze wandered over his leather jacket with silver-studded cuffs. Heat swirled in the pit of her stomach. She whiffed a faint grape smell, and her almost-reaper radar gave a weak buzz then died, as though it too was mesmerized by him. He held out the cup.
“Would you like this back?” His voice was like a magnet, drawing her attention back to his face.
She blinked. It was time to get level. “No.”
Despite her slight—albeit misguided—attraction to him, she didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to feel that reaper chill, didn’t want to feel the warm glow spreading through her.
He stared at her, still and silent, as though he stood in Hell and it had just frozen over. “Someone has some issues.”
She shifted from one foot to another as she tilted her head back to look at him. Her toes itched to run, but her promise to Abby held her there, because he was most definitely the random guy she’d promised to ask for a name. Which was a big-time suck.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Brooke murmured. “But that cup’s dirty now.”
"Why, because I touched it?" His voice was like an ice cube sliding down her back.
"No, because it hit the floor." She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.
“You’re all twitchy.”
“I’m not.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She snorted.
“Do you see ghosts?”
She narrowed her eyes, tension writhing between her shoulders. Refusing to play this game with an almost-reaper, she turned to leave, but her feet defied her. Her mouth opened with the ready-fire message to piss off, but instead she shot blanks.
The question built in her chest, growing like a hot-air balloon. She ran her tongue over her teeth, poked her tongue in her cheek, and then bit her tongue, trying to stop the words from exploding through her lips.
“What’s your name?” she snapped.
Defeated, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Maybe her pissy attitude would get him to leave without answering her question.
He raised his eyebrows, but said, “Christian.”
She couldn’t stop the snort. A demon named Christian, as though he was religious? Get level. “Seriously? Is that some kind of joke?”
His lips tightened. She couldn’t help sliding her gaze down his body and then back up. This couldn’t possibly be the almost-reaper William had warned her about. He didn’t look deadly. He was so thin she thought she could knock him off his feet by poking his chest with a Q-tip.
Yet who else could he be?
She said, “Yeah, um, I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“No?”
“No.”
One side of his mouth lifted mockingly. “And do you always do what you’re told? Are you a good girl?”
“It depends on how you define good.”
He chuckled, a low sound that thrilled her ears. Alarmed at her body's reaction to him, she blurted, “Do you always do what you’re told?”
“Depends on who’s doing the telling.”
“What if I told you to leave and never come back?”
He stepped closer, forcing her back as he leaned toward her.
His gaze grazed her throat before moving to her face. “Now that I can’t do.”
About the Author-
Dale Ibitz was born in Connecticut, grew up in the state of Washington, and then re-located back to Connecticut as an adult, where she studied English at Central Connecticut State University. Always a lover of books, she spent much of her childhood reading, visiting the library (her best friend’s mother was a librarian), and writing. In sixth grade, she placed 3rd in a writing contest, and she’s never stopped.
Dale’s a fan of hiking and the outdoors, seriously good writing, and she never, ever starts the day without chocolate and coffee (preferably together). Music inspires her, and she likes to listen to alternative metal.
If you were to visit Dale’s house, you'd meet her husband, 2 kids, their dog Lea (most people simply refer to her as The Beast...and for good reason), their cat Luna (affectionately known as Loony Luna), and a couple of loud-beaked parakeets.
Links-
Website: http://daleibitz.wix.com/daleibitz
Twitter: daleibitz
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DaleIbitzAuthor
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard
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