Appetite for Blood, Prequel to The Blood Series: Amber Anthony's Blood Series, #1

Praise for The Blood Trilogy

Blood Rising

"Sexy hot vamps, a dark secret and a fatal attraction.

What more can you want? Well written and a captivating story, leaves you wanting more."

– J.K.R., Amazon, UK

Blood Emerald

"What a divine adventure awaits the reader inside

the five-hundred-year-old realm of the Hiatt empire.

Looking forward to reading the sequel, Blood Dragon!"

-  A.M.D., Goodreads, USA

Blood Dragon

A Shifter romance to curl up with and enjoy, five stars!

-  M.S., Goodreads, USA

"They shouldn’t be together for so many reasons,

But, man, do they belong together!"

-  H.M., Amazon, USA

I will definitely be reading this series again and again.

-  K.T., Amazon, USA

Praise for Becoming Gabriel

Gabriel is the perfect combination of masculinity, hero, and gentle angel. The story was beautifully orchestrated from start to finish. Oh, and did I mention the love scenes...yes please! This is such a unique tale. I could go on endlessly praising Amber Anthony's latest release. Oh, and by the way, Becoming Gabriel would make a fabulous movie. This five-star read has me waiting for their future works with bated breath!

-A.M.D., USA

This book is great departure from Amber’s paranormal romances. Gabe is Baltimore bred and could end up Baltimore dead if he doesn’t fly right. Do his good looks get in the way of living right?... I was swept away within their drama. A love story for the city.

-L.R., USA

Gabriel and Grace are a swoon-worthy romantic couple. Wow! I fell in love with him right along with Grace! When hard knocks hit, I agonized! I couldn't put this book down! What a riveting and well-written story! I will search for more work by Amber Anthony. I haven't enjoyed a read this much in months!

-J.P., USA

A five-star Great romantic suspense!

-A.C., USA

Personal Credits

To Tim Bader, Rusty’s husband, who supports us with lots of good humor and loving patience.

To Dorothy Fontana, who taught us to focus on the story, to put our characters up a tree and throw rocks at them.

To Dennis Hays, the verbal blacksmith, for guiding us in refining and clarifying prose.

To Kelly A. Martin, for translating our characters into evocative images.

To Jan Janssen, for her encouragement.

To Jan S. Big thanks.

With their help, we step bravely into independent publishing. Thank you from both halves of Amber Anthony.

Dedication to our Readers

This origins novella is dedicated to the saving power of friendship. To readers and friends who wondered how Matthew Brenner, Richard Hiatt, and Adam Lachlan came together.

It started this way...

Prologue

Los Angeles in the 1920s was a spectacular metropolis. The name Hollywood became synonymous with the United States film industry. The nation developed an appetite for moving pictures entertainment.

The aftermath of World War I brought damaged souls, too beautiful to work a trade, into the City of Angels to seek their fortune in ‘movies’. Speakeasies flourished. Los Angelinos had an appetite for excitement.

Hollywood Boulevard was the main thoroughfare of the Hollywood district of Los Angeles. Sunset Boulevard added to the glamorous age of Hollywood from the 1920s through today. City residents gained an appetite for brushes with fame.

The area’s growing undead population discretely culled the underbelly of the city to survive. But a new age was dawning. One enterprising vampire saw opportunity using innocuous means to satisfy their undead hunger. But, their sole appetite? The appetite for blood.

Chapter 1

D ateline, August 1 , 1922. Listen to this! Matt Brenner, perennially twenty-eight years old, startlingly handsome and a fledgling vampire, snapped open the Los Angeles Times newspaper. They hid the report in the back of the A section. It’s not even with the crime beat.

Rick Hiatt, astute businessman, philanthropist, and vampire of four hundred years, glanced up briefly from his Wall Street Journal. What is it, dear boy? You still looking for your death notice?

You slay me. Matt lowered the paper to glower, but Rick was back into the stock listings. So, listen, they found another dead body within a mile or so of Veronique Moreau’s joint.

Why do you suspect vamps from her joint are to blame?

Coroner has ruled it suicide.

Rick raised an eyebrow and lowered the paper. And?

"And... ‘The corpse was found drained of blood. The Los Angeles Homicide Squad postulated the victim, Sue Ellen Graves from Dubuque, Iowa, committed suicide by severing a large vein in her neck. There was no blood found near the body, Detective Ballard states, she was probably found and dumped by an acquaintance. Miss Graves came to Los Angeles after winning a screen test competition for Monarch Productions’."

Ah, yes, Monarch Productions, owned by Francois Moreau, Veronique’s infamous Papa.

I’ll bet the shields in homicide have a baker’s dozen of unsolved murders in that area. Matt flicked the newspaper with his fingers. I’d have been one of them if you hadn’t been there.

Matt, as satisfying as it would be to call the coppers about the Moreaus, you have to remember, you’d be sending mortals up against vampires. This is not their business.

Whose business is it? Do responsible vampires tag-team rescuing people like me?

You were fortunate I happened by. Most vamps would never interfere with the Moreaus.

So, they run amok, killing innocents?

Rick shrugged an elegant shoulder. They kill to feed.

SEVEN DAYS LATER

The Sunset Grande’s art deco elegance usually came alive at twilight. Not tonight. The animated din of flappers fueled by bathtub gin was silent. The building now only resonated the shuffling sound of moving men. Crews bumped into the trompe l’oeil walls as they carted newsprint wrapped antiques down five flights of wide marble stairs. All the vamps who called the multi-story apartment building home wisely and discretely sought safer ground far from the magnifying glass of the authorities.

Rick, hands deep in his pleated trouser pockets, strolled around the fashionable setting with a calculating gaze. If Matt, his most recent rescue, and reluctant fledgling, was earnest in his desire to sell the place, Rick was determined he make the best profit possible off his unsought windfall.

The white linen of Rick’s double-breasted business suit was impeccable. He pulled at the knot in his blue and lavender tie and cast an assessing look at Matt, who seemed even grimmer than usual if that was possible.

If Rick was the poster-boy bon-vivant, Matt was the moody adolescent by contrast. Both impossibly handsome in their own ways, light versus dark, snarky versus moody, all female fantasies were met between the two of them.

Mr. Brenner, this property appraised for one and a quarter times your asking price. With a little patience, you could realize a greater profit.

I don’t care. Matt fisted his hands at his side, looking to Rick the perfect picture of contrary vampire immaturity.

The realtor aimed an imploring gaze at Rick, who shrugged. It’s Mr. Brenner’s property.

Very well, if you’ll excuse me for a moment... The man stepped into the double doorway and turned his back on Rick and Matt, to consult his notes.

Rick eyed his ward with irritation. If you’re determined to give away your money, why not make it a home for unwed mothers? I’ll wager they don’t live in this much marble and mahogany.

I’m not giving it away. It’s more money than I’ve ever made in my life. I have no desire to hold out for more. I want this finished.

It’s not like divesting yourself of this building will change your undead nature. Veronique turned you here. Yes, it was a rape turn, unwanted, unfair. You think you’re behind the eight ball. But sell this building for the appraised price and you’ll be in glad rags until the fifties. Matt gave him a scowl. Remember, the undead live for centuries. You have to play the long game, now.

Matt turned to assess the ballroom, still heady with the scents of blood and sex. The stale air hung heavy, stagnant from the night, two weeks ago, when he was turned. Within ten days the Vampire Court pushed through a seal on Veronique’s ‘play house’. Influential vampires within the banking system froze her accounts and presented an impressive balance sheet to her victim, Matt.

The vampire crime princess borrowed enough money and influence from her family to escape within hours of her sentencing, but her family syndicate suffered significant losses. The apartment building housed one of Los Angeles’ most fruitful speakeasies serving mortals and vamps alike. Public women with the goods to sell plied their trade in elegant studios. The exchange of bodily fluids went far beyond sex. And the sex itself surpassed any images from a bawdy stereoscope.

MATT GLANCED DISDAINFULLY across the opulent ballroom floor with its fanned mosaic marble pattern.

Is that dried blood in the crevices?

Every item in the room moaned debauchery. With a supernatural rush, he was in the realtor’s face. Taken aback, the squat man gulped and nervously pushed his spectacles back up his nose.

Sell it. Sell it for appraised value and don’t bother me until you have a check.

Yes, Mr. Brenner, as you... The middle-aged man broke off in astonishment when two more gentlemen appeared beside him as if by magic.

I may have an offer you’ll wish to expedite. The taller and older of the two café-au-lait men began. His Haitian patois hinted at his close relationship to Veronique Moreau.

After an assessing beat, Matt’s brows knitted. You are...

Rick was suddenly beside them, earning another gasp from the now totally confused realtor. I don’t believe you’ve met Jonas and Samuel Moreau, Veronique’s brothers. Gentlemen. Matt noticed Rick did not extend a hand in greeting. Meet your sister’s latest illicit addition to the family.

A low growl emitted from Matt’s throat and was answered by the two visitors, causing the agent to step back, turn and run, hat in hand.

Jonas, with a deep-tanned complexion and piercing blue-grey eyes, leveled a gaze at Matt as sharp as his cheekbones. He bowed stiffly, barely creasing his fine French tailored suit.

What do you want? Matt was in no mood for civility games.

Samuel, darker than his brother, with penetrating ebony eyes, was obviously in a similar mood. We’ve come to make a reputable offer in good faith. You don’t want this building, and we do.

Matt’s hands unclenched, and his arms folded over the broad lapels of his pinch-back suit. Yeah? What’s in it for you?

We have a certain clientele we wish to continue serving.

Really? I find your clientele bloodthirsty.

Jonas shrugged. How are you, when you’re hungry?

Matt locked his jaw. Not like them, and I’ll burn this hellhole to the ground before I let you have it back.

Samuel waved a hand at Jonas. This is pointless. He turned to Matt. When you look back on the consequences, know we were prepared to make you a generous offer. What happens now is on your head.

Rick stepped between Matt and the interlopers. You come into my city and spout off? No figures, just threats?

Jonas tsked and chuckled. Sell to us or your city burns.

"It may work that way in Haiti, gents, but this is sunny L.A. We have