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Title: The Darkest Frost, Vol 1 of a 2-part serial (TDF, #1)
Author: Tanya Holmes
Genre: A Gothic paranormal romance with a twist.
Release Date: June 22, 2015
Synopsis
Dubbed "Dr. Death" by the press, the notorious hematologist is linked to nineteen other suspicious fatalities—all are former patients. The brooding recluse is a man of many secrets, the darkest of which may be lurking beneath the leather gloves he never removes.
Excerpt
THE DARKEST FROST
Volume 1 of a 2-part serial © Tanya Holmes
* * * * *
Fear all but crippled me as I listened to the wind beating the treetops.
Listened to the creaks and groans of the house. Took some effort, but I got up and
inched my way to the door with legs as steady as rubber bands. I yanked it open
only to find the hallway empty except for a fiery trail of footprints.
Strangely, the carpet didn’t burn.
Were I not buck naked, I would’ve followed right then. Instead, I backed
into my room, fully intending to throw something on. But twin headlights
skipped along the wall through a crack in the drapes. I shut the door and edged
over to the window to brush the heavy curtains back. High beams sliced into the
darkness as a vehicle cruised up the hill, breaking free of the wispy fog.
A gunmetal-gray Jaguar taxied into the courtyard and pulled in beside my
late-model Chevy. My adrenaline spiked as soon as the headlights doused.
Moments later, Dr. Braeden Frost climbed from the car and slung a gray satchel
over his shoulder. It appeared to be a medical bag. He was dressed in dark
clothes—leather coat, pants, boots, and gloves. Even his silky hair was black.
He would’ve melted into the night if not for the security lights flooding the
grounds and the white aura framing his body.
I’d witnessed a similar illumination on others in his profession.
Doctors. Nurses. Orderlies. Most everyone in health care. I’d seen the glow on
cops and morticians too. In fact, all who came in direct contact with the dead
and dying had it. Still, on Frost the neon radiance was chilling.
The wind rushed past him, sending the tail of his trench coat dancing on
a breeze. Then as if he sensed my presence, his gaze shot to my window. Our
eyes locked. His narrowed and I froze. Unable to move, unable to breathe, I
stood rooted in place like a petrified tree. The man gave the word “presence”
new meaning. He had a stillness about him, an eerie calm that chilled my blood.
I was surprised yet intrigued. Intimidated yet inexplicably drawn to him.
An eternity passed before I found the will to duck away. I plastered my
back against the wall, my gaze doing a mad search around the ruined room for something
to put on. A light breeze hissed outside, but still I didn’t hear him move.
Finally, a trunk opened and slammed shut. Next came the slow but steady sound
of footsteps crunching gravel as he trudged around the left side of the house.
Downstairs a door wailed open. Floorboards creaked, then a stair,
followed by another. I dashed around like a headless chicken, tearing through
my clothes, desperate to find something—anything—to throw on. But then
the footsteps stopped just outside my bedroom and a menacing shadow crept
beneath the door.
The lock. I’d forgotten to click it.
I stood motionless in the center of the room, my gaze latched on the
knob, my blood pulsing in a crazy rhythm. I was still frazzled from Caryn’s
appearance, and all I kept thinking was, please, please, please don’t
let him come in here with me naked as the day I was born, and the room a
complete mess.
Seconds passed, and still the shadow remained. Lurking, looming, waiting.
Normally, I had to be in the same room with people to read their
emotions, but only five feet separated us, and a strong odor of
sulfur—anger—wafted in from the hallway. No mistaking the owner. The essence
belonged to him. The smell ebbed, replaced by a hint of saltwater and allspice.
The former scent was fear, the latter smacked of uncertainty. So Frost was
angry, afraid, and confused by my presence. The realization made my heart go
from thumping to pounding.
Seemed like hours before his shadow finally retreated. The creaking
staircase should have calmed me, but I was still unnerved. I slammed my lids shut
and listened to his footsteps and the jingle of keys, followed by a door
groaning open. When it shut soundly moments later, I collapsed on the bed,
landing in a wet heap.
What the heck had I gotten myself into?
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