By Laurell K. Hamilton
Read or Download The Lunatic Café PDF
Best paranormal books
They would given him a bunch and brought away his identify. Taken his freedom, his domestic, his family members. every little thing that made lifestyles worthy lifing. yet they could not take his desire. .. and he or she got here to him having a look like an angel with hair the colour of silver moonlight and eyes the colour of a turbulent sea. She tenderly handled his wounds whereas he lay in darkness, giving him the need to move on.
Following great ladies Don’t Have Fangs, the second one in a hilarious, shrewdpermanent, horny romantic sequence approximately an out-of-work librarian who's became a vampire. together with her ally Zeb’s Titanic-themed marriage ceremony looming forward, new vampire Jane Jameson struggles to improve her budding dating together with her enigmatic sire, Gabriel.
- I'm the Vampire, That's Why
- Out of Body (Court of Angels, Book 1)
- I Thirst for You (Primes Series, Book 2)
- dark Swan
Extra info for The Lunatic Café
It was dark. " Craig glanced up from his computer keyboard. He has short, baby-fine brown hair. Round glasses to match a round face. He's slender and taller than I am, but then who isn't? He's in his twenties with a wife and two babies. "Mr. " "It figures," I said. " I shook my head. " "I don't know, Anita. " "Find some time, Craig. " "You're mad," he said. "You bet. Find the time. " "Anita," he said with a grin, as if I were teasing. I left him riffling through the appointment book trying to squeeze me somewhere.
It was getting embarrassing. " He didn't ask what took so long. Dolph isn't big on extraneous questions. He gave the directions again. I read them back to him to be sure I had them right. I did. " I'm usually the last expert to be called in. After the victim has been photographed, videotaped, poked, prodded, etc ... After I come, everyone gets to go home, or at least leave the murder scene. People were not going to like cooling their heels for two hours. "I called you as soon as I figured out nothing human did it.
My hands were shoved into the coat pockets, arms huddling the cloth around me. I didn't wear gloves. I've never been comfortable shooting with gloves on. The gun is a part of my hand. Cloth shouldn't interfere. I ran across the street in my high-heeled pumps, careful on the frosty pavement. The sidewalk was cracked, with huge sections broken out of it, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. The boarded-up buildings were as dilapidated as the sidewalk. I'd missed the crowd, being nearly late, so I had the shattered street to myself.