A Dark Thrillogy: The Complete Series

Book summary

Experience the gripping suspense of 'A Dark Thrillogy' by Isobel Blackthorn, now available as a complete collection. In "The Legacy Of Old Gran Parks," a town becomes a breeding ground for mysterious happenings as four troubled women cross paths with a restless spirit. In "Twerk," a night in a Las Vegas strip club takes a sinister turn when a local oddball dies, plunging Amber into a nightmarish ordeal. Lastly, in "The Cabin Sessions," musician Adam Banks finds himself drawn into a chilling web of secrets and haunting memories during a fateful performance on Christmas Eve. Prepare for twists and turns as these suspenseful tales unfold.

Excerpt from A Dark Thrillogy

There’s about thirty yards between me and my hot paramedic, a distance that lessens with every footstep as he walks down the center of the service lane. He has a curious way of walking – part swagger, his shoulders leaning into his stride, arms held out from his muscular torso to make way for his holster. He’s a cowboy who has just slid down from his horse, and I should be in a voluminous dress like some old Western movie star, not in a hospital gown over black lingerie.

I wait until he’s right up against me, matching my stripper-heeled height and then some.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“Sh.” He presses a finger to my lips.

On impulse, I slide forward my tongue. I can taste his salt.

Holding my gaze, he takes his hand away, lets it fall to mine. He takes hold of my fingers, stroking the tips, gently squeezing the knuckles, working his way up towards my wrist, making soft circles on my palm with his thumb.

I inhale, spellbound.

A smile appears, subtle, at the corners of his lips.

“Here?” I say, taking a step back, suddenly aware once more of the less that salubrious surroundings.

“Here.”

“Someone might come.”

“I’m planning on it.” He emits a soft laugh.

“I’m not real comfortable, buddy,” I say. “Can’t we go someplace else?”

“I thought you wanted some fun, baby.”

He plants his mouth on mine and pushes me against the wall. His tongue is gentle, slow. I sink into myself, motionless, my breathing light, and as he pulls away, my gaze locks with his.

Those eyes. Those smoldering, lustful eyes.

What sort of lover will he be?

As though answering my question, his fingers coil and tighten around my wrist, and I feel the pressure of his grip, his urgent intent. An intoxicating pulse – electric – radiates from my core.

As he moves his face closer to mine, teasing my lips with soft brushes of his, I breathe in his hot animal breath. I feel his grip tighten, and he forces my arm up behind my back, holding it there, straining against my resistance. I gasp.

He presses himself against me, and his mouth seals itself onto mine, his tongue probing, coiling around mine like a snake.

I respond. I’m hungry for him. I answer his kiss with that hunger, sinking into the sweet burn of his animal heat. I kiss him harder, our tongues entwining, our juices combining as I slide my tongue over his, in and out of his mouth so slowly that I can feel the sensual sensations of the glide.

He releases my arm and pulls back. We lock gazes again, lascivious thoughts running rampant through my mind.

Come, come, lure me away, whoever you are. I’ll go with you, please, please me, carry me away, let me carry you away, let’s dance and play, I’ll hide and you can find me. Feel my passion, feel what I feel, soft gentle stirrings, the ebb and the flow, a vast ocean current stirring tiny life deep beneath the surface, tiny life in the dark depths, life that shines its strange alien light. Feel the current rise, see flickers of light burst, kaleidoscopic, dancing in motion, divine, a potion to drown in. Seize the gift, see here, the box and the key, take it, take it all, take all of me, and I’ll absorb you, like the ocean, swim in me, dance with me, play with me, touch me, touch me more and more and more, I’m drowning.

He has both hands on me now, searching beneath my hospital gown, tugging it free. He strokes my neck, my shoulders, working his way eagerly towards his next goal. His hands reach like chalices for my flesh. His touch is measured, restrained, purposeful. His instincts blend with mine. His is the kind of passion that knows where to go, how to get there, and for how long to linger.

To maximize.

As he grips me, I lose all sense of where I am.

It’s just me, him, us, on the pulse.

And as I soar, he does too.

And I explode in a shower of sparkling light, sweating, panting, holding him tight.

I am sold. He is it, the one I’ve been looking for. The adept.

Before we separate, I whisper in his ear, “I don’t know your name.”

He draws back and holds my gaze.

“Dwight.”

“Dwight?”

“Yes ma’am. Dwight Creen.”

He sounds proud of that name.

It’s pretty awful as names go, but I’m not going to hold that against him.