WARNING: This post and the links from it contain adult content. If you are under 18 years of age or if such content offends you, please EXIT now.
Welcome to the last day of the book tour! The Nightlife Series by Travis Luedke includes three books with more to come! Don't forget to scroll all the way down for the giveaway!
The Nightlife: New York by Travis Luedke
Book #1
Paranormal Romance (M/F)
Vampires, strippers, escorts, night clubs, gangs, pimps and corrupt cops, the Nightlife of New York is never boring.
Is
she a beautiful blond guardian angel as he imagined, or something else
entirely? When Michelle saves Aaron's life she shares the benefits of
her blood (after getting him shot accidentally). He awakes a changed
man, living in a purgatory of eternal night, never to see the sunrise
again.
Michelle drags Aaron through a hardcore learning curve of
vampiric slavery. Forced to adapt to servitude, Aaron is subject to her
authority of compulsion. She orders him around like a puppet on a
string, a dog on a very short leash. First things first, he must learn
to feed properly without creating bloodslaves (humans addicted to the
powerful drug-like effect of their venomous bite).
And then she
puts him to work-a male escort in the sex trade-same as Michelle. Aaron
walks a tightrope of strictly controlled feeding regiments and intensely
erotic sexual adventures while catering to the neurotic control-freak
tendencies of his new master. It's do or die, Michelle vows to eliminate
him if he proves too difficult to control. The real kicker-amidst all
these shocking and degrading adjustments, Aaron finds he's falling in
love.
Can he maintain and keep a sliver of his humanity intact?
Innocence is a luxury few can afford in the decadent nightlife of New
York. In a world where sex, blood, and power over women is so readily
accessible, Aaron struggles against the predatory instincts deeply
rooted in his new psyche. He must find his way quickly, practicing rigid
self-control, or risk the consequences of Michelle's wrath.
Excerpt
Aaron burned, outraged
at the audacity of the grotesque, fat, ugly bulldog of a man assaulting the
blond goddess. An involuntary cry tore
from his throat, “Hey! Leave her alone! Get your hands off her!” He couldn't believe either of these crude
creatures would dare lay hands on the beautiful blond vision of perfection who
spoke in an intoxicating stream of French obscenities.
“T'as une tête à faire soutier les plaques
d'égouts!” She blasted the
bulldog. Aaron recalled just enough
French to know she’d told him his face could blow off manhole covers. She continued with, “Voulez-vous cesser de
me cracher dessus pendant que vous par lez”, further expressing her disgust by
telling him to stop spitting on her while he spoke.
Never ceasing her
tirade of lovely French filth, the blond struck at the bulldog in a blur. In one swift move, she broke his hold on her
wrist and clawed his face, leaving a trail of bloody slash marks across his
left cheek. Without pause she instantly
pivoted and punched Barney Fife in the nose with a gratifying crunch sound, and
a backward head snap. A splat of blood
flew through the air. She pivoted a
split-second later to face the bulldog with a Taser in hand, magically snatched
from Barney Fife after breaking his nose.
The combat unfolded before Aaron's eyes like a scene from a martial arts
film. The heroine had the appearance of
moving with super human velocity. By
comparison to her whip-like actions, the detectives seemed to be in slow
motion.
Aaron's jaw
dropped. He stood in complete awe of the
scene taking place before him. He had
difficulty accepting these bizarre events for reality. As the shimmery cocktail dressed wonder woman
fired her stolen Taser, Aaron recognized the bulldog was not truly as slow as
he had seemed. He had a pistol drawn and
moving upward in a sweeping arc.
Aaron's dream state
shattered along with his heretofore unremarkable and short life when the Taser
struck the bulldog at precisely the point when his gun sights aligned with
Aaron. The electric shock of the Taser
began a domino effect. All muscles and
tendons in the bulldog’s body clenched, including his trigger finger. The sharp crack of the gun resulted in a slug
passing through Aaron's chest and out his back, knocking him to the ground with
the impact.
The pain came seconds
later, delayed. When it hit it was
all-consuming, overpowering. Nothing
existed beyond the horrible agony of his body torn to shreds by the wicked
projectile. He wasn't brave or manly or
noble like all these scenes of bullet wounds from Hollywood films. He screamed and howled like a baby, and
promptly blacked out from the overwhelming agony.
* * * *
SMACK, SMACK,
SMACK. Aaron felt someone smack him
three times. He beheld an angel with a
halo of light around her tousled blond curls like the corona encircling the
sun. She had the most succulent puffy
lips and a benevolent shine of concern and compassion.
“Are you an
angel?” His beautiful seraph began
swearing in a stream of melodic French.
“Le réalité' et toi vous ne vous entendez pas,
n'est-ce pas?” She remarked on his disconnect with
reality. He didn’t know what to
say. How do you greet the angel of
death?
She resumed her obscenities, “C'est vraiment des conneries!” The words seeped in slowly, sparking a memory from
French class––this was bullshit. Are
angels supposed to curse?
He was so tired, cold,
numb. Is this what it feels like to die?
He drifted back into unconsciousness content in the belief that heavenly
hosts carried him off to a better place.
The Nightlife: Las Vegas by Travis Luedke
Book #2
Paranormal Romance Erotica Thriller
(M/F, F/F, F/M/F, M/F/M)
Vampires, Aaron Pilan
and his master Michelle, live by one rule — no bloodslaves. EVER. Aaron
breaks that rule when he meets Anastasia. All Anastasia wants is to be
loved and cherished, but the predatory men she’s attracted to bring her
only pain and abuse. Escaping one train-wreck relationship for another,
she finds happiness with Aaron and Michelle as a bloodslave, a 'pet'.
When Aaron uses his telepathy to win thousands at the gambling tables,
he attracts the deadly attention of the Colombian Cartel and Aaron and
Michelle are 'disappeared'. Addicted to the bite of her vampire lovers,
Ana is desperate to find them. But, Las Vegas isn't ready for vampires
mixing heroin, sex and vengeance. Ana is trapped in the spiraling chaos.
Find out what happens in the second novel of the Nightlife Series.
Goodreads * Amazon US * Amazon UK
Excerpt
They say what happens
in Vegas stays in Vegas, but what the hell do they know? Twenty-two year
old Aaron Pilan could testify from experience that significant gambling
losses––or winnings––definitely follow you home.
After three weeks of
hitting the gaming tables, he was practiced at the fine art of gambling. He knew the truth behind the veil of
glamour. As P.T. Barnum said, “There's a
fool born every minute.” Many a fool
arrived in Vegas with a wad of hard earned cash fantasizing about winning big
and coming home to boast of the thousands they reeled in during their brief
stint as a high roller.
He joined the foolish
masses in their desire to hit it big. He
fully intended to beat the odds and walk away from the gaming tables, winnings
intact. It looked damn good for him at
the moment. Of course, being an
exceptionally gifted telepath afforded him a decidedly unfair advantage ––
definitely contributed to his good luck.
Another caveat to the Vegas rule would be murder. An untimely death by strangulation definitely
puts a kink in the high roller status. Aaron read his opponent Alexander Demarco’s
mind as the man contemplated this very thing.
Poor Demarco had been suffering the systematic and thorough fleecing of
his poker chips. He was a very unhappy
man.
* * * *
Demarco envisioned a
number of ways to kill Aaron Pilan, starting with the quick and dirty
double-tap bullet to the back of the head.
Upon further consideration, that seemed almost too merciful, too quick
and easy. He graduated to fantasies of
Aaron begging and pleading for his life out in the Vegas desert. He imagined Aaron hog-tied at the bottom of a
six-foot pit as the dirt hit his face while being buried alive. Demarco had personal experience with both
methods of murder.
He finally settled on
a slightly more violent alternative. Strangulation would be the most satisfying
method of killing the punk. He
imagined the strength of his own hands wrapped solidly around Aaron’s throat, squeezing
out his life as he flailed about feebly.
God I wish I could do it right now. He had always preferred the ‘hands on’
approach.
I know that son-of-a-bitch is cheating somehow. His gut instincts were rarely wrong in these
matters. The punk always knows exactly when to fold and when to call, he’s
impossible to bluff. He could smell
a con from the end of the room. No way
could Aaron clean him out so consistently by pure chance.
His intuition was
sharply honed from the years he spent hustling on the streets of west Humble
Park Chicago, between Grand and Arlington, smack dab in the center of Latin
Kings territory. He bore his gangland
battlefield scars proudly, a soldier displaying badges of merit. The dog-eat-dog survival-of-the-fittest
lifestyle was second nature. He couldn’t
enter a building without staring down every person in sight and watching all
the exits.
This punk can’t weigh more than a hundred sixty
pounds. I could take him any day of the week. He sized up Aaron, measuring him against his
own two hundred ten pounds of lean muscle and six foot frame of a professional
athlete. Why am I lettin this white devil bitch run the show? I wonder if he’s a Fed? Maybe this is a setup. He had an overwhelming feeling he was
being taken for a ride. He much
preferred being the one doing the taking.
By sheer luck and
opportunity he’d been one of the select few who escaped the Federal
Racketeering indictment leveled against the Chicago Latin Kings when he moved
to Vegas in 2004, a year before the indictment was issued. Everything changed when he setup operations
in Vegas. He graduated from small time
movements of heroin and cocaine by the gram to major deliveries measured in
kilos. His buddies back in Chicago
became the end consumer. Long gone were
the days of pushing dime baggies out on the street. Now he sold wholesale, fat transactions with
sweet profit margins and far less risk of being snitched out by a punk ass
junky popped off for banging a gram in a public bathroom.
And here he was a high roller, a shot caller, a badass,
punked-out for thousands of dollars by a pinche gringo white devil with a smug
smile. He scowled at the pair of fives
in his hand and continued fantasizing about murdering Aaron.
* * * *
Aaron was well aware
of Demarco's malicious intents. He read
all the sordid details in his mind as he raised the pot, smiling at Demarco all
the while. He knew his pair of kings
would win the hand unless the last card pulled a surprise. Not having learned his lesson yet, Demarco
foolishly called his bet and slid another stack of chips forward on the table.
When the dealer laid
out a queen, Demarco's losses tallied up to $26,000. More than enough to justify murder. Demarco had once beaten a man to death over a
thousand dollars' worth of cocaine on the streets of Chicago. He now had twenty-six reasons to kill Aaron.
When his hand won
again, Aaron knew it was time to leave the table. He bid everyone a good night, collected his
winnings, and winked at Demarco. It was
the wink that finally did it. Demarco
literally saw red. The color of
everything around him turned a violent shade of pinkish red as his blood
pressure skyrocketed, hitting his temples in a pounding throb. The white devil had given him a
migraine. He folded his hand and sat
there fuming.
Aaron walked away tens
of thousands richer. Worse, a drop dead
gorgeous blond wrapped herself around the white devil as if she would bang him
right there.
“You left them with
their pants?”
“Yes love. Shirts.
The phrase is ‘lose your shirt’.
I feel merciful tonight. They’re
still fully dressed.” Aaron caressed
Michelle’s face as she cuddled with him, aligning her curves to all his sharp
angles.
Demarco’s mind
broadcast clearly as he watched Michelle holding Aaron intimately. Demarco seethed with a rare combination of
envy and hatred. In his opinion, a woman
like that deserved a real man, not some arrogant young prick. Back in the ghettos of Chicago, Aaron was
what they called soft.
He glanced over his
shoulder at Demarco with a look. It was
not a soft look. In this one instance Demarco's instincts were
dead wrong. He was young, but not soft.
Not by anyone’s definition of the word.
He scanned Demarco's
mind one last time before walking away.
Green-eyed jealousy consumed his every thought. They
always want what they can’t have. Aaron had become accustomed to this
reaction. He and Michelle were a
strikingly attractive pair. He knew
onlookers considered his dark haired, dark eyed, five foot eleven frame of
model caliber, but Michelle was a whole different level of attractive. If not for her petite five-foot two, she
could have been a world famous runway model.
Her lazy golden curls framed flawless pale skin and vibrant green
eyes. Her shapely hourglass curves could
win international beauty and swimsuit contests.
All who crossed paths
with the couple felt the effect of the magnetic attraction they exuded. They had a phenomenal stage presence drawing
the eye of any observer. As several sets
of eyes tracked the couple, Aaron remembered his first night spent with
Michelle. Just five weeks ago, he awoke
to her angelic face and adorably incomprehensible French accent explaining,
"This is the magnétisme animal
of the vampires."
_____
Blood Slave by Travis Luedke
Book #3 (stand-alone)
Paranormal Erotic Romance
(M/F, F/F, F/M/F)
Her mother named her
Esperanza de Salvador - Hope for Salvation. But when a girl works as an
escort for Colombian cartel in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem, there
wasn’t much hope, or salvation.
Hope’s telepathic ability keeps
her a step ahead of ruin, but her unusual gift attracts the attention of
a psychotic vampire bitch. Trapped in a Manhattan penthouse with the
psycho, she thought she was dead meat.
Her survival lies in the
hands of Vampire Master Enrique. He seems to respect her, perhaps even
care. As a measure of protection, he makes her his personal Bloodslave.
Helplessly addicted to his bite, Enrique rules her every moment. As
always, Hope must adapt to survive.
Swept into the decadent
nightlife of Manhattan's elite, she falls in love with Enrique and prays
someday he may grow to love her, too. But is it simply a relationship
of convenience? Is she nothing more than a concubine desperate to
satisfy his nightly demands for blood and sex?
And forever in the background is the fear that one day the cartel boss she abandoned will hunt her down to collect on old debts.
Excerpt
I awoke in the
afternoon alone in bed. I could still
smell him on the sheets. Like the fool I
am, I thought he’d be there. Wake up sex
can be awesome, but I rarely if ever have someone there when I wake up. And it usually isn’t someone I really want
there.
A dining cart awaited
me with pizza, bottled water, a couple cans of Ensure protein shakes, and a
note. The pungent aroma of the chicken
pesto pizza had me ravenous. I inhaled two
pieces as I read Enrique’s little love note:
Dear Hope:
Please eat and drink as much as you can. You will be anemic constantly. You must take very good care of your
health. The Ensure supplement will help. There will be plasma and blood transfusions
available soon, you will probably need them.
Take the sublingual strip Suboxone to hold off withdrawals until we meet
again after sunset around 7:15 p.m. The
Suboxone goes under your tongue.
I apologize for your situation. I hope we can find a way to work through this
and become friends.
Love
Enrique
Okay … Suboxone. Some of the guys at the Towers mentioned it
once. It helps fight off heroin
withdrawals. One guy said it gave a
slight buzz, but nothing like heroin. I
have never and will never try heroin.
I’ve seen what addicts look like, it’s really fucked up.
So why would he give
me Suboxone?
And why wait till
seven? Three hours from now. I didn’t want to wait for him. I wanted him here now. Right now!
I wanted him to bite me again right now!
“Son of a bitch! He got me with that fucking bite. That’s what he’s been talking about. He’s got me hyped on his bite! Fucking vampires!”
I had a craving, a
need, an unscratchable itch for Enrique.
Three more hours to go.
* * * *
I was bouncing off the
walls by 5:30 p.m.. The Suboxone helped
get rid of my headache, and I had a decent buzz going. None of that solved the craving I had for
Enrique, or more specifically his bite.
A warm bath didn’t help, the three cans of Ensure didn’t help, nor did
the half bottle of chardonnay, although it kicked up my buzz nicely.
By 7:16 p.m., I was
ready to strip the floral print wallpaper off with my nails. Every part of my body ached for Enrique. I don’t mean pain, I mean need, desire,
angst. By 7:17 p.m. I kicked at the
locked door, front kicks and sidekicks.
I took a few steps back to do a jumping side kick when he opened the
door with the most infuriatingly calm comment on his lips.
“Did you miss me?”
I screamed and
launched forward. “You son of a bitch!”
He caught me right out
of the air in a graceful embrace, absorbing all my impact in his iron hard
arms. Before I could react, he bit me
fast and hard, right in the neck, robbing me of all sense and reason. Anger, hatred, need, frustration, all
obliterated in the blast of sweet, sweet euphoria so intense it brought tears
to my eyes. He carried me to the bed as
I convulsed with orgasms, still held in the leech’s embrace as if he cared for
me. It’s a good thing I didn’t have any
underwear on beneath my bathrobe, I would’ve had to change them. My inner thighs were soaked by the time he
let up.
I hated and loved
him. I wanted to kill him, fuck him, and
kiss him, all at the same time. What a
mess. Hate won the toss up as the strongest
sentiment of the moment.
“I hate you.” I spoke
in a quiver, breathless from his bite.
“I expected as
much. It’s regrettable, but under the
circumstances you left me no choice.” He
sighed.
“That’s all you have
to say? What did you do to me?”
“I know this seems
bad. I understand you’re upset, and
rightfully so. I apologize, but it was
necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had to assure your
loyalty. I had to bind you to me. There was no other way.”
“What do you mean
bind? How am I bound? I can’t read your mind! You have to tell me what you’ve done to me. Why do I want to be with you all the
time? Why do I need you to bite me?”
“I understand. It must be upsetting you can’t get in
here.” He tapped his finger on his
skull. “The only name for your condition
I have ever known is an archaic terminology I learned from my master over a
century ago. He called them
‘Bloodslaves’. I think it’s an
inappropriate title. I have no intention
of making you a slave.”
“If I’m not a slave
then why don’t you let me go home?” I
whined.
“Querida, you know too
much. It was bad enough you knew of our
existence. Then Lia brought you
here. She is a constant strain on my
patience. If she had let you be, the
situation would’ve diffused itself. I
imagine you considered her an eccentric.
As it stands now, I can’t let you go.
To be truthful, your particular talents are intriguing. I’m beginning to like the idea of having you
around.”
He had me crying by
then. I couldn’t go home, ever. He’d never let me go. Hating him for my captivity, I still felt
this inexplicable desire to touch him, coerce him into biting me again. The bastard had me hooked like a damn heroin
junky! As I stood there with tears
streaming down my face, the son of a bitch hugged me.
It didn’t seem
real. Like a bad dream I couldn’t wake
up from. He had to let me go home.
“What if I promised I
would never say a word to anyone? Who
would believe me? This is all so
crazy! I can’t hurt you or expose you in
any way! I’m an illegal immigrant! I can’t call the police or any other
government agency! Your secret’s safe
with me! I don’t care who or what you
are, or where you live. I just want to
go home!” I begged him shamelessly. “I don’t want to be a bloodslave! And I can’t stand it here. Your mind is locked up solid. You could be lying to me! I don’t know anything about you!”
“Shush, Shush, Shush.
It does no good to lament. What’s done
is done. Querida ... you are bound to
me. The bond cannot be broken. Surely you’ve noticed the connection between
us, the way you need me?”
“OH MY GOD! You did this to me on purpose!”
“Though I’m not proud
of it, I’ll not lie. Yes ... I did
this.”
“Oh God, I’m a slave!”
“That’s not really
correct. I’ve no need to stoop to such
degradation. I respect you. Enough drama – let’s look at some of the
positives here.”
“What’s positive?”
“I know this seems
bad, and it is, but there are some benefits to this life. Come with me.”
I followed him
reluctantly into the luxurious bathroom attached to my bedroom prison
cell. The nicest bed/bath combo I’d ever
stayed in. If I could come and go at
will it would be perfect.
We stood before the
mirror. “Do you notice anything different about yourself?”
I looked in my
eyes. I had a post orgasm flush, anger
and frustration evident on my face. My
eyes were wet from crying. Nothing
seemed different from the person in the mirror an hour ago when I’d taken a
bath.
“What’s supposed to be
different?”
I took him seriously,
a new sense of fear bloomed in my gut.
What had he done to me? Was I
changed? Was I like him now? I opened my mouth to inspect my teeth,
looking for the tell-tale fangs.
Nada. Nothing changed that I
could see.
Enrique snorted
laughter. I elbowed him in the
ribs. My temper flared up. This was my life he laughed at! The asshole felt so damn solid, like hitting
a piece of wood.
He had a twinkle in
his eye. “Look at your face. Do you see any bruises or black eyes?”
The bastard hadn’t
even flinched when I hit him, he was impervious. He stared at me expectantly with a faintly
amused expression. I looked in the
mirror again. I scowled, not a very
attractive look for me overall. No
bruises, no black eyes, not a mark on me from yesterday’s scuffle. My elbows didn’t have any raw spots from when
I’d hit the floor. The bite marks that
should have been on my neck were nowhere to be found.
I again asked the
question, “What did you do to me?” My
voice filled with fear and awe.
“There are some
pleasant advantages of repeated exposure to our bite. With each bite a small amount of venom is
released into your system. This causes
the euphoria. Our venom is quite
beneficial over time. You’ll heal much
more quickly. Your immune system will
improve, a higher resistance to communicable diseases. And you’ll age more slowly than the average
person. You could live to be well over a
hundred. How old are you? Twenty-four?
Twenty-five?”
In shock from his
words, it took me a few seconds to answer.
“Twenty-two”
“Oh ... well you
seemed a bit older. So very young to
have lived through so much. It’s to your
advantage. You’ll look as you do for
many years to come. A good situation for
someone so young, to enjoy youth for a few extra years.
“How old are you?”
“Very old.”
“You don’t look a day
over thirty five.”
“Why thank you.”
The bastard had calmed
me down. I chatted with him like old friends.
He was so damn easy to talk to.
Attractive, intelligent, kind, beautiful hazel eyes staring at me
without blinking. Damn. I was falling under his spell. And why tell me all this? The more he revealed the more dangerous I
became to him. He’d never let me go now,
I knew too much. Stupid! Stupid!
Stupid! And still he stared at me
with those beautiful unblinking eyes.
“I thought vampires
were immortal, what’s all this hundred years shit? I could live that long just by being
careful.”
“We live very long
lives indeed, several hundred years or more.
But you’re not a vampire.”
“Oh I get it. I’m just here for you to bite and fuck. I’m just food – a bloodslave.”
“Calmate querida. Vulgarity is so unattractive coming from such
a beautiful woman. Listen to me
carefully. You are not a slave. You’re my guest, permanently. That’s how you’ll be treated, that’s how it
is.”
“A guest who can never
leave the bedroom. That’s the same thing
as a slave.”
“No more strife. Let’s get you some clothing, a few
amenities. Lia has provided clothes
temporarily. Get ready and I’ll return
for you shortly.”
“We’re leaving? I actually get to leave the bedroom? Where are we going?”
“Yes, with me of
course. I’m not letting you out of my
sight. I’m taking you shopping as a
gesture of goodwill. Isn’t that what all
women want to do in Manhattan?”
About the Author
Travis Luedke is a husband,
father, and author of Urban Fantasy thriller, Paranormal Romance,
Contemporary Fantasy, Young Adult Fiction, and Sci-fi. He is currently
catching a 3rd degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, and loving every
minute of it. His recent works include "The Nightlife New York", "The
Nightlife Las Vegas" and "BLOOD SLAVE" the first novels in the Nightlife
Series.
Enter To Win
Follow the blog:
Yours,
Labels: adult, book tours, fantasy, fiction, giveaway, promotion