"The Nightlife Series is violent, sexy, and occasionally violently sexy.
Her mother named her Esperanza Salvación – 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.
˃˃˃ “Fast paced, no holds-barred, gripping, gut-wrenching, soul-ripping and most definitely tear-inducing. Perfection!”
˃˃˃ “Travis Luedke writes amazing characters and amazing stories and unbelievable passion flawlessly. After reading this book I was left in shock.”
˃˃˃ “You know when you see a violent or bloody scene in a movie and you cover your eyes for a couple of seconds until it has past? I caught myself doing that with this book, then I realized that the lines were not going to go away until I read them.”
Find out what happens to Hope as a BLOOD SLAVE...bite into your copy today!
Blood Slave (The Nightlife Series) - My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Hope, a telepath, is a Colombian escort, living in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem. She just finished having sex with her client, an Asian woman named Lia.
I pulled my hand out with a wet “plop” sound and a grunt from Lia. She had wet my whole forearm. She’s one of those women who squirt, like the ones in porn films. The smell of our sex permeated the room. As I walked to the bathroom to wash up, I passed by the mirror and stopped in shock. A thin line of blood ran down my neck.
“You bit me! Look at that!” I pointed at myself in the mirror. “That is so gross!”
I freaked and ran to the bathroom. I could feel the warm blood running down my shoulder onto my breast. “Shit!” I rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the hydrogen peroxide.
I found it and the triple antibiotic with shaking hands. Who knows where her mouth had been today, she was eating me out a few minutes ago.
Before I could begin to wipe up the blood she was on me. “Wait. Let me take care of it. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”
Then her slimy wet eel tongue snaked out and licked from my breast all the way up to my neck. The girl had skills with that tongue. She could take that tongue on the road and make some serious money in a carnival freak show.
Then it hit me and turned my stomach over in flip flops. She actually licked up my blood. And I read it there in her mind plain as can be. She loved it. I tasted like a syrup-covered ice cream cone to her. She’d happily lick me all night long if I let her, as long as I kept on bleeding.
“Eww! Gross! Oh god, that’s so nasty!”
I almost lost it right there. I actually gagged for a second, barely swallowed it down. I kinda have this obsessive-compulsive thing about cleanliness, and blood is definitely unclean in my book. Blood borne pathogens. Diseases of the blood. Hospitals treat it like a damn biohazard.
Lia snickered at my gross-out reaction, like it was all some joke. But she couldn’t hide the fact she wanted more. The freak actually thought she was a vampire.
Then she got really weird. She stared intensely without blinking. I sensed her trying to somehow take control of me with her creepy stare. The chick was odd, a little too much for my tastes. The sex was fabulous, but I couldn’t deal with the blood thing. Just straight up sick. I may be an escort from a third world country, but I do have standards.
She kept staring at me, had been staring at me for some time. Then she spoke in a commanding monotone, “Tell me your name.”
The sad truth is I didn’t really want her to be a stranger. As odd as it sounds, I wanted her to come back, and not for the generous tip. I wanted more of those screaming orgasms. I’m not normally a screamer, but she had a way of bringing it out of me.
So, against my better judgment, ignoring the creepy aspects of everything that had gone down so far, I gave her what she wanted. “My name is Hope.”
I have never told anyone in America my real name. Esperanza Salvación just sounds so south-of-the-border. ‘Hope’ has a nice ring to it, one syllable. I delude myself into believing that if I can drop my Colombian accent, employ flawless English and use the name Hope, I can somehow rise above my humble beginnings.
Lia started in on me with that eerie command voice. “Hope, you will not remember our meeting or this conversation. You’re feeling tired. You feel like sleeping. You need to rest.”
This shit was getting old fast. “I get it. You don’t need to repeat yourself. I’m not stupid. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know the score. I’ll never tell anyone you were here. We’ve never met before, yada, yada, yada. I know the routine.”
Lia didn’t care for my attitude. She came at me again with that same monotone crap. “You will not remember our meeting. We have never met before. You will not remember that I bit you and tasted your blood.”
“Whatever. It was gross. But don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna say anything to anybody. It didn’t happen. This is our little secret. I respect your privacy. Actually … I was hoping you might want to see me again …”
I’d given this speech to dozens of cops, business men, politicians, even a priest. Everyone who’s someone of importance out in the community needs reassurance their freaky romp with an escort will remain confidential. I’m not into blackmail or extortion or anything stupid like that. It’s nasty business that never ends well. I have seen it done by the cartel to others less fortunate. Plus, being illegal, it wouldn’t be hard to get me deported.
She did not look pleased. I tried to put her at ease. “You already gave me a two hundred dollar tip, so I’m cool. And I really would like to see you again …”
She started looking at me funny, her head turned sideways, like I was the freak. I dug into her mind to see what the hell. She’d become extremely irritated over something.
“You’re a special kind of girl, aren’t you?”
She was trying to defocus her vision to see something else, off to the side of my head. Some kind of hazy color spectrum.
“Yes you are …” Her voice trailed off. She flipped like that into a raging-bull hatred. She pegged me with this totally wicked I-want-to-kill-you-and-dance-on-your-corpse look. “You Bitch! You’re digging around in my head, you bitch!”
I caught it a split second before she hit me, and I reacted. I flinched away, stepped back out of her reach, except she hadn’t moved.
“Gotcha, didn’t I? I knew it.” Her lip curled into a snarl.
“What? What’s your problem?”
Then I finally understood. She had been trying to hypnotize me into ignorance. When she realized it wasn’t working, she began to suspect I had some kind of psychic sensitivity, a telepath, or clairvoyant. I had just proven her right by reacting to her thoughts rather than her actions.
Staring at me with her head cocked sideways, she recognized something about this weird color she thought she could see, something yellow-gold in my aura. That decided it for her.
“You already know way too much about me don’t you.” She had this half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I think it’s time you should go.”
I presented a dilemma. If I couldn’t be hypnotized into forgetting, and I had read her mind, what to do with me? The thought came to her instantly. A toothy grin slid across her face. She would probably have to kill me to contain the situation.
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As the author of the Nightlife Series novels, Travis lives very vicariously through his writings. He invites you to enjoy his macabre flights of fancy, but be warned: The Nightlife Series is violent, sexy, and occasionally violently sexy.
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