Her escape became the fight of her life.
When Nicole Giordano’s dream Guardian materializes on the night of her 17th birthday, everything changes. Her life morphs into a roller coaster ride of dive bars, false names, and seedy motels in strange towns with otherworldly encounters.
Her one constant—Logan. He maps her course, provides her identities, and protects her from unseen enemies. Over time, Nicole’s fledgling desires escalate, and their fantasy time transforms into an erotic dance she can’t live without.
Ride along with Nicole as she fights for her life on the run in the FREE prequel to the Storm series!
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Readers demanded more of Nicole and Logan's story. This novella is the prequel to the Storm series and gives a more in-depth look into their beginning. It showcases Logan's utter commitment and devotion to Nicole and the lengths he will go to keep her safe.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
This is where Nicole and Logan from Forgotten Storm (Storm Series Book 1) met. How the vampire warrior battled enemies to keep her safe and hidden. How Nicole fought and scraped to endure her life on the run in preparation for her epic journey throughout the Storm series.
Book Sample
Chapter 1
2009
A raging thunderstorm shook the heavens outside my childhood home in the suburbs of Kentucky as I stood in the shadows and contemplated murdering my step-father.
It was a long-overdue present to myself. One I’d plotted for over four years. On my seventeenth birthday, my despair and pain overrode my relentless fear. I was ready to either end him or myself.
Until my dream guardian discovered me huddled behind my bedroom door, a butcher knife clutched in my trembling hands. Somehow, he talked me out of lying-in wait so I could plunge the knife into Dimitri’s cold, black heart.
His massive arms engulfed me, and white-hot fire lanced through my body. Every pain sensor screamed my life was ending.
“Open your eyes, baby,” the deep voice whispers.
“Am I dead?” I ask in a hushed murmur, afraid to lift my lids and observe for myself.
It’s not unbearably hot, so we didn’t plunge into the fiery abyss. I would’ve bet my pilfered pocket knife the Devil owned my soul. Ya know, since the man from my dreams, who is now holding me—another level of crazy—found me contemplating murder and all.
“No. You are safe, Nicole.”
Why do I love the sound of his voice so much? The rich, even pitch causes butterflies to dance in my stomach. I lift my regard to him, afraid to glance around.
Green fire watches me intently. Everything about Logan is exotic, dark, rugged, and deadly. Even the scar slashing through his left eyebrow, or the intricate tat over his right pec, massive shoulder, and down his bicep, adds to his appeal.
“But how did we get here, Logan? And where is here?”
“The how does not matter,” he says, as he clasps my hand and starts strolling up the drive of an old Victorian home. “We are in Virginia.”
How the hell did we go from Kentucky to Virginia in the blink of an eye? I must be dreaming. It’s the only explanation.
I brave my uncertainty and peer at my surroundings. Moonlight bathes the manicured lawn in a brilliant warm glow. It mirrors the one in my heart at the penetrating warmth of this mysterious man’s hand clasped in mine. The imposing three-story structure is a complicated, asymmetrical design of towers and dormers, with an expansive wrap-around porch. Old wooden rockers I expect to rock on their own any second complete the creepy look.
The house gives me the chills, reminding me of every horror movie I snuck into at the movie theater. I hope to God we are visiting, and this isn’t his home. I’d hate to hurt his feelings by telling him there’s no way in hell I’m staying in Amityville’s house.
As we traverse the drive, I allow my scrutiny to wander over my walking dream man. The girls in my high school would say he’s “fucking hot.” The dark, wavy hair is longer than I’m used to seeing on guys my age, with the ends falling past his broad shoulders. His goatee gives off a bad boy vibe, drawing me in like lightning to a storm. And the strange leather outfit showcases his towering, muscular build to perfection. But it’s the penetrating, iridescent sparkle in the emerald depths bringing back every fantasy I’ve enjoyed of him.
Logan Moretti has visited my dreams for four years, taking me on virtual trips around the world while I slept. He showed me what being loved, cherished, and protected means, and became my mental escape from the monster I call step-father.
My mother ignored my screams for help. Refusing to even acknowledge what the prick was doing to me or taking off the minute he came home. Logan eased my mind, kept me sane, and gave me a reason to live.
I have no clue how old he is. I’ve never had the cojones to ask during our dream time. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say late twenties, early thirties. Like most teenagers with a crush on an older man, I’ve fantasized about Logan asking me to marry him. We’d destroy Dimitri for all the fucked-up shit he inflicted on me, have a dog, and live happily ever after.
It must be why he showed up tonight. God finally heard my prayers and sent the one being He knew I would trust without question.
My guardian angel.
Logan raps on the front door, and I jerk from my musings to grip his hand tighter. Okay. Thank God this isn’t his house. “What are we doing here? Whose home is this?” I question softly.
He pins me with those bright green orbs, and my stomach flops. “Do you trust me, Nicole?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. I’m rewarded with his sexy, make my tummy flutter grin. Wow. I don’t remember him being this vibrant, exhilarating, or intimidating in my dreams.
“Your old life is over. The next few years will be a challenge. I will ask you to do things that may seem strange or scary, but I need you to follow my commands without question. Can you do that, baby?”
Before I can answer, the door swings open. A middle-aged woman with short gray hair cut in a severe bob glares at us. She’s dressed in a blue nightgown and robe matching the wary light in her eyes.
“What is the meaning of this? Who are you?” she demands in a crisp, authoritative voice, and I instinctively shrink back. If it weren’t for Logan’s grip on my hand, I’d have taken off at a dead run. This woman is freaking scary.
“You recognize us and wish to invite us inside.”
At the change in Logan’s tone, I glance at him with a raised eyebrow. It’s the same odd, hypnotizing inflection he used to lure me away from my aim tonight. Do his irises seem brighter? No. It must be the moonlight hitting them just right.
“Yes, of course. Please come in,” the woman says, and I swing my widened gaze at her. She’s allowing us entry? Pretty damn confident she was about to call the police and have my ass hauled back to Dimitri. All expression vanished from the withered face as she steps back, waving us inside.
What the ever-livin’ crap is going on here? I must be dreaming. This gets weirder and weirder by the second. Why would this woman do an about face and invite two strangers into her home in the middle of the night?
When I refuse to budge off the porch, my leather-clad walking dream tugs on my arm. With my steps heavy, I follow Logan into the gloomy home. I gape at him as he informs the old bitty—a headmistress at some Ivy League girl’s school in Virginia—I transferred over my junior year with a scholarship to Yale.
I snort. Yale. Yeah, and I lived a happy fairy tale life where both my parents loved me unconditionally.
Logan’s hypnotic voice insists the school accommodate my every need, demanding the woman take me under her wing. He hands her several rolls of cash from his jacket pocket. Wide-eyed, I listen in disbelief as he instructs the dazed old lady to purchase a new wardrobe and anything else I desired.
A hysterical laugh hovers on the tip of my tongue. Based on the shivering and lethargy sweeping over me, I’m pretty sure I’ve dropped into the abyss of shock.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Logan studies me with a worried frown and barks at the woman to fetch me a hot cup of tea with a bit of whiskey.
Whiskey? Gross. A good-looking jock at school snuck a bottle on a field trip we took once to the Kentucky Derby and insisted I try it. When the fire burned all the way down my gullet, I swear I coughed up a lung.
The idiot then groped me, thinking one sip of the fiery liquid would mellow me enough he could cop a feel. Our brief time together ended with me suspended for three days after I punched the star quarterback in the nose and broke it. For a week, I huddled in my room, terrified Dimitri would find out what I’d done. Strangely enough, Mom never told him.
It wouldn’t have mattered. With or without the suspension, Dimitri took care of his little “pet” every time he came home from his long business trips.
“Do not pass out, Nicole,” Logan orders, kneeling in front of me, concern lining his forehead. When did he lower me into a kitchen chair?
“Logan, why… Why are we here? No, wait. My first question. Am I dreaming?”
“No.”
“How are you here? I’ve dreamed of you for years.”
“I know.” His lips lifting warms me more than alcohol ever could.
His knuckles caress my cheek, and my lids lower at the simple touch. I’ve fantasized about this guy being tangible for like ever, and here he is, touching me. His scent overwhelms my already overstimulated senses.
“Fate connected our destinies in a way I cannot explain right now. One day you will belong to me. Mind. Body. Soul.”
Oh, God. Part of my brain thinks I should object to the whole owning thing, but the more significant part… likes it. What do my dark thoughts say about me?
The gray-haired woman arrives with a steaming cup and hands it to Logan, her withered face devoid of expression. I shove aside the bizarre layer of shadows within myself and refocus on my fantasy.
“Drink this,” he insists, placing the rim of the delicate teacup to my lips.
I crinkle my nose but do as ordered. This man saved me from my step-father and not merely tonight. Every time I tumbled into a deep sleep, the god-like Adonis was there, making me smile or laugh. He helped me forget my fucked up, tragic life. The least I can do is drink the spiked tea.
Mmm. I hardly taste the liquor mixed with the steaming herbal flavor, and relish several more sips. The trembling in my limbs slackens.
“Good girl.” The deep purr boils my insides, and my lids lift to stare into the beautiful bright green depths.
“Nicole.” The emeralds pulse with a fascinating light. “You will remember nothing of this night. Not how we got here or this conversation. I am merely your dream guardian. Nothing more.”
What the heck is he talking about. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy has a few screws loose. Does he believe by saying it out loud, it will make it true? It’s okay. He’s still pretty to look at, and as long as he stays with me, all will be fine.
“Forget about your mother, Bridget. You only have a vague memory of your life before today. Do you understand?”
Nope. But if it makes him happy, play along, Nicole. “Yes.”
“Good. Make new friends here, work and study hard and become anything you wish, but…” giant warm palms frame my face. The beautiful irises glow brighter. A sharp pain burst across my forehead, like Logan’s will is attempting to penetrate my brain. How odd. “Your name is no longer Nicole Giordano.” Wait. What? “It is Suzanne Smith.”
I frown. What the hell is going on here? Is he changing my name to keep me hidden from Dimitri? Okay, maybe a good idea, at least until I’m better prepared to rid the world of the vile bastard.
Logan takes the rattling teacup from my death grip and shoves it at the woman staring blankly at us. “As often as I can, I will visit your dreams until your… until the appropriate time.”
Hold on. He’s leaving me here? Alarm bells barrage my mind. Please don’t leave me, Logan! I shout internally over the constant clanging.
In total freak-out mode, my throat seizes up, and I lose the ability to shape together a coherent sentence. Pain lances through my chest, crushing my ribcage as the beginnings of a full-on panic attack seize hold.
Over the years, I’ve learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut to prevent further pain, but my mind screams—I won’t survive without him.
“Hush, little one,” he murmurs, before capturing me in his arms. Either he senses my inner turmoil, as I can his, or I haven’t perfected my passive face. “I will always be with you.” He leans back and lays his big, warm palm on the center of my chest. “Here,” he raises it to brush his fingers over my temple, “and here. I would burn the world down to protect you.”
I don’t want his protection. I want him. Need him. Underneath my bravado, lives a scared teenager, brutally slapped in the face by a ruthless universe. A fledgling woman who fears she can’t stand on her own without his guidance.
“One day, when it is safe, I will come for you and make you mine.” Warmth fills my chest at his words, even if I don’t understand what they mean. “In the meantime, enjoy all this world offers—delight in being a teenager. Soak up everything you can learn. But always heed my warnings in your dreams. Be prepared to run the second I command it.”
Run? Run from what? He shoves a large roll of cash, what looks like a driver’s license, and a social security card into my trembling hand. My new identity, apparently. I gape at the objects. My picture stares up at me, but the name next to it, sure as shit, isn’t mine. How long has this mysterious man been planning my escape? And who is he that he can provide such things?
“Use these until I tell you otherwise.” He taps the driver’s license, claiming I’m Suzanne Smith. He then places a finger under my chin, forcing me to gaze into his bright regard. “Spend the money however you deem necessary. Do you understand?” he asks.
Hell no, I don’t understand. But I can no longer put together a rational thought under the weight of my shattering heart. Logan is leaving me. He rescued me from death, at the hands of either Dimitri or myself. Now he’s abandoning me in some weird place with Cinderella’s evil stepmother. She looks like she breaks yardsticks over kid’s butts for the hell of it. How can he expect me to grin and nod like a good little girl?
I want to rail and scream at him not to dump me here with Cruella, but a sudden notion pierces through the wall of panic. Somehow, I sense this mysterious man’s inner unrest. It wounds him to abandon me. Logan desires to take me with him, to protect and cherish me. But an inherent belief that this is the only way to keep me safe holds him back.
How the hell I comprehend his emotions is an absolute, mind exploding mystery. One I will contemplate later. For now, I’ll suck it up and make him proud. When Logan comes back, and he will come back, I’ll make damn sure he’s impressed by how much I’ve learned, achieved, and grown. I make an internal promise to myself, to become a woman he’s honored to have next to him.
So, I do what will produce the sexy lopsided grin I anticipate every time I slip into dreamland. “Yes, Logan. I understand.” The lush lips curve upward, and my heart knows I’ve made the right choice.
“Until we meet again, baby,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead before turning and striding out the open doorway into the moonlit night beyond.
Inside, panic grows with each step he takes away from me. Fingers of fire spread under my ribs to engulf my heart. How will I survive without my Logan?
Calm down, dumbass, I scold. My guardian said he would come back and still visit me in my sleep. How the hell this man can manipulate my dreams is beyond my comprehension, but I must hold on to his promise. If I imagine for one second Logan is never coming back—I’ll freaking lose my mind.
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