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Autumn Rising: Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter, #1
Autumn Rising: Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter, #1
Autumn Rising: Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter, #1
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Autumn Rising: Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter, #1

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She trained to fight terrorists who turned out to be vampires.

 

Vampires?

Ex-cop Autumn Lane's husband disappeared and is presumed dead under mysterious circumstances. Autumn's search for his killers leads her to a world of paranormal creatures, supernatural terrors, and incredible powers, all working against her. Will she overcome the challenges she faces as the newest Vampire Hunter on the Thornvines, or will her quest to solve the mystery end in failure– and death?

Autumn Rising is the first installment of the Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter series, a pulse-pounding urban fantasy adventure for lovers of action, sharp wit, and even sharper stakes. Dive in today!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherCarey Claire
Release dateJul 1, 2023
ISBN9781954949041
Autumn Rising: Autumn Lane, Vampire Hunter, #1

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    Book preview

    Autumn Rising - Carey Claire

    CHAPTER ONE

    Welcome to your final qualification. Try not to get killed. Colin's gentle southern drawl was dry, yet soothing.

    Autumn Lane was still groggy from her zero-four-hundred wakeup call and lacked the heart to respond with more than a weak grunt. Hot coffee splashed her chest as the rickety work van lurched from a bump in the road. She embarked on a frantic search for a paper napkin on the floor of the vehicle but came up empty. Her only option was to pat down the front of her hoodie and hope no one noticed the stain.

    She rode shotgun with Colin Makepeace, her instructor and the driver of the van. Pre-dawn traffic thickened; she recognized their approach to the southern German city of Stuttgart. The locale blended classic 18th-century architecture with modern glass buildings, confused about its place in time.

    She mused that the streets were unusually wide. Wide enough to drive several tanks through, side by side. Or maybe even fly an aircraft. Her instructor's voice snapped her attention from the darkness beyond the window.

    Let's run through it again, Colin said. Who's your target?

    "Johan Schmidt, a courier for the Schulejungen, a southern German separatist group. They wear track suits, gold chains, yadda-yadda."

    Colin sighed. How about your mission?

    Track him and tag him before he reaches his destination and without his knowledge. Rally at Krugerplatz Station. Then we'll go remote and suss out the location of their Stuttgart safehouse.

    Good. Don't forget.

    Copy that, sir.

    Colin sighed while turning the van around a corner at low speed. The air was sober. Silent. Autumn hated silence.

    She was dressed for undercover work in jeans and hoodie, the uniform of local foot-messengers in the business district. Her hand drifted to her front pocket, fondling the small-caliber revolver. In the other pocket was an adhesive strip embedded with a GPS chip. The tag appeared similar to retail anti-theft labels, but was detectable at far greater range.

    Colin said, This might be your final qual, but in the scope of the 'War on Terror,' it's vital. Took us months to pin down membership of the Stuttgart cell, and after this op we'll have a location.

    Autumn cleared her throat to speak unencumbered by morning coffee. Can you tell me something?

    A smirk crept onto Colin's face. Still anxious for info on your husband's killers?

    It's the whole reason I joined your team, sir.

    Yeah, I know. Let's just say that this op is related— asymmetrically.

    Autumn cocked an eyebrow. The hell?

    Shit's weak, but that's all I can tell you. Colin pushed a finger against his earpiece. Copy that. He was speaking to someone at a remote position.

    What is it, sir?

    We have eyes on Schmidt, a block from here. It's showtime. The van slowed and finally stopped alongside a curb near a darkened alley. Overhead, a streetlamp fought a losing battle for life, each flicker a little dimmer and a little shorter than the last.

    What do you mean, 'we?' I haven't seen anyone but you since I joined your program. If I wasn't spending the money that turned up in my direct deposit every two weeks, I'd think you were scamming me.

    Good point, but the life we lead is a lonely one. Rest assured, on every training mission, the team has had your back this whole time. You were never alone.

    His words sent goosebumps over Autumn's arms. She felt welcomed by the team and hadn't even met them yet.

    Speaking of never alone, we have a surveillance drone watching your back right now. Take this. He handed her a cell-phone-sized two-way radio with an earbud mic. Welcome to the big leagues, darlin'.

    She walked alone, eyes peeled for Johan Schmidt. The faint buzz of the drone nagged her, like a fly that she knew was there but couldn't see. After two blocks of walking, she entered a business plaza where several large corporate office buildings converged near the edge of the city. With no sign of Schmidt yet, she plopped onto a bench in a small corner park to wait him out.

    The radio came to life in her ear. Tango-One, Mission-One, how copy, over?

    Autumn fumbled for the radio in her pocket.

    Colin sounded off again. It's voice activated, not press-to-talk. Could he see everything she was doing?

    She gave it a try. I read you Lima-Charlie, over. Colin gravitated toward military etiquette on the radio, so she called back to her Army training. She preferred to use police lingo, but she figured, When in Rome... Or Germany.

    Passersby cast curious glances in Autumn's direction as she checked in. She curled one leg over the other and turned her body away from them.

    Colin continued his radio checks. Francesca, how copy, over?

    A sultry, female voice replied with an Italian accent.

    Loud and clear. Sky-Spy is in the zone. Over. Autumn never thought those words sounded sexy, but they were when Francesca said them.

    Butterflies swirled in her stomach when she thought about her upcoming first meeting with her new teammates. Her mind raced with questions about them. What countries were they from? How long had they been part of the team? Would they all have neat code-names? Did they have cool hobbies?

    Movement from farther up the street caught her eye, and she perked up. Red tracksuit. Greasy, slicked back hair. Abundant jewelry. It had to be Schmidt.

    She whispered as she stood. I think I see him up the opposite street, moving west. Preparing to move, she clipped the small radio unit to her belt and tugged the hoodie over it.

    Tango-One, you are mission-go.

    Keeping her eyes on Schmidt, she stepped out. The sidewalks weren't crowded, but they were still busy with the occasional pedestrian moving along with purpose. No smiles came her way, not that Autumn expected any. It merely reinforced the idea in her mind that Stuttgart was a big city like any other.

    Schmidt moved fast. Autumn kept her distance but also kept pace, following him easily for two blocks. She forced her hands deeper into her pockets, one gripping her pistol and the other clenched around the GPS tag.

    He stopped at a street crossing, leaned on the traffic pole, and awaited the pedestrian signal light to change. She'd closed on him by a block when he began moving again. Anxious to get even closer, she widened and quickened her steps to just short of running. Schmidt didn't seem to notice.

    She'd closed the gap to about twenty-five yards when she wasn't sure she believed what she was seeing. With every step, puffs of thick fog gathered around Schmidt's feet, billowing out and up. The cloud filled the space around him, moving with him as he went.

    Mission-One, Tango-One. You're not going to believe it, but this guy's got a cloud forming around him. It's really thick. Does the drone have eyes on?

    Francesca said, I'm getting erratic telemetry from Sky-Spy, I'm pulling her out.

    Colin's voice was as even as ever. Stay with him, Tango-One. Just slap and dash, and make your way to the rally point.

    Roger. She quickened her pace headlong into the eerie mist that followed Schmidt.

    This is not normal, she thought. At least I won't lose his trail.

    The fog was head-high, and Autumn had difficulty keeping her eyes on target. Twice she banged against short, pole-mounted trash baskets. She'd be sure to have some nasty bruises.

    Autumn stepped to the side to escape the fog. Schmidt had led her to Das Marschallsgebeude, the global headquarters of Marschall Holdings. A tall, ultra-modern building with a wide concrete plaza in front, encircled by an access road for limousines and taxis to drop off passengers.

    Schmidt left the fog behind, moving like a man with a mission of his own. His arms were flexed close to his ribs and his body squared.

    Autumn said, The fog lifted and Schmidt's hauling ass. He's looking for a fight.

    Colin said, Roger, Tango-One. Frankie, get Sky-Spy back in there.

    Copy, on the way, wait, what—

    Static and squelch sounded for a split second, then the air went silent. The clatter of shattering plastic echoed from somewhere along the street behind Autumn. A chill gripped her spine, and she hesitated.

    Tango-One, stay on mission, I gotta check on Francesca.

    Roger. She pushed through the wave of uneasiness and carried on with her task.

    She flanked Schmidt, moving behind large planters placed to deter vehicles from crashing into the building's lobby. Schmidt still hadn't noticed her tailing him. She watched in puzzlement as Schmidt approached a passing businessman, looking him up and down. The businessman collapsed to the ground, as though a giant invisible hand crushed him from above.

    Mission-One, Tango-One. He just mean-mugged someone to the ground. Are you seeing this?

    Schmidt suddenly froze, then turned toward Autumn's direction. She panicked and whirled down to her knees behind the planter. She gasped as her radio bounced along the sidewalk. She retrieved the unit and clipped it back onto her belt, cringing at the faint rattle now within the unit.

    That's not a good sound, she thought.

    Colin's once clear voice was laced with static. Francesca's good. Wait for your opening and tag him. This is your one shot.

    I'll have to get behind him.

    The sharp squeal of tires sounded from the other side of the planter, followed by several men, all shouting in German.

    Autumn emerged from behind the planter, taking a chance that Schmidt was distracted. He was, focused on the men emerging from a limo stopped directly in front of the building's lobby. Four black suits and one gray, all with dark glasses. The gray suit was clearly in charge.

    Schmidt forged ahead with single purpose, his eyes locked onto Mister Gray. His hand brandished a shiny, metallic object. A dagger.

    Mission One, he has a blade. I think he's going to take someone out.

    Static filled Colin's transmission. Abor— Rally point— You're not equip—

    Autumn wasn't about to let a murder go down on her watch. I'm moving in. Her ear filled with angry electric screeches. She tossed the earbud along with the tag and darted across the access road, revolver in hand.

    She focused on her target with such intensity that even the heavy pounding in her chest faded from her awareness. There was no sound. No light, no dark. Only Schmidt.

    Schmidt collided with the group of men and they grappled. Autumn raised the pistol as she ran. She buried the muzzle into his back, fired once, and careened across the hood of the limo. Before reaching the other side, strong hands gripped her ankles and pulled her back toward the fray.

    Schmidt tussled amid the gaggle of black suits. Overlapping shouts from angry Germans filled the air. He thrust the silver dagger toward Mister Gray.

    Someone held her shoulders, but her arms were still free. Time seemed to freeze as her hand gripped Schmidt's wrist. His confidence shifted to bewilderment.

    Autumn shoved the revolver into Schmidt's chest and emptied all of her remaining shots, so fast it felt like a single trigger pull. Her heart thumped so hard in her ears she couldn't hear the weapon's report.

    Schmidt fell backward as three of the black suits piled onto him.

    The fourth suit slammed her face against the limo's hood. His heavy hand held her head down.

    The black suits shouted and struggled with Schmidt, who was somehow not only alive, but full of fight. He laughed like a madman as the three suits overpowered him, shoving him into the back of the limo.

    Look for me in the woods, miss! Schmidt's psychotic cackling was muffled after the car door slammed shut.

    A German voice spoke in a commanding tone, and the fourth black suit released his hold on Autumn. She slumped to the ground next to the limo. Recovering her senses, something caught her eye.

    A delicate white flower rested on the curb. Her eyes locked onto it, her mind filled with images of that fateful night in Maryland. She shoved it into her pocket. She was suddenly self-conscious about being watched.

    Autumn turned, aching, to find Mister Gray's eyes focused on her as he spoke to his man. The final black suit entered the limo. Within seconds Schmidt and the black suits were gone. Autumn was alone with Mister Gray. A cool breeze blew a stray hair across her face. He offered her a hand, and she took it.

    Positive energy coursed through her arm and into her body. An energy she found comforting, thrilling, and addictive, all at once. She'd never experienced a jolt like that from the touch of another.

    She wanted to study his eyes, but dark glasses obscured what lay behind. Inevitably she zeroed in on his solid, well-formed jawline.

    He said something in German, but the only reply she could manage was an insecure stutter. Are you okay?

    He answered in English with a smooth voice that dripped honey. I should ask you, Miss...

    Her cheeks burned red hot. And her neck. And her hands. Autumn.

    Autumn, you have saved my life from that assassin, despite my men's best efforts to stop you. Thank you, and my apologies for your treatment.

    Police sirens faded in from the distance. She almost didn't hear them, focused only on the way her hand luxuriated in his.

    "A man of my status cannot be involved with Polezei, you understand. Given what you've just done, you shouldn't be here, either. Here is my card. Please call my assistant to set up a meeting. I would very much like to thank you properly."

    He turned toward the building and paused. I'm Logan. He continued into the building with brisk steps.

    She was suddenly very alone on the curb.

    Fiery sunlight pierced the horizon, channeled between buildings at the far end of the street. The intense glow birthed the flashing green lights of approaching police vehicles.

    The shrill, pulsing scream of sirens pulled Autumn's mind into the present. She retrieved her pistol from the sidewalk, pocketed the card, and ran to the rally point.

    CHAPTER TWO

    A raven-haired woman in her mid-fifties sprang to life on the screen. A white, Venetian carnival half-mask with sequins adorning

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