LITMIR.BIZ

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swept through him and his chest tightened. He jerked his reins and steered his horse east. He left his brothers behind and headed toward the Red Rooster, the one and only saloon in the territory.

      A brunette. That’s what he wanted first. Then a redhead. A blonde after that. Hell, maybe he’d splurge and go for all three at once. He had a lot of time to kill now that the Braddock Brothers were officially disbanded.

      He picked up his pace, desperate to burn off the sudden rush of anxiety and defeat that clung to him.

      He’d done his best, but it hadn’t been good enough. He hadn’t been good enough. Not during the war, and sure as hell not before.

       “You’re not a kid, Cody. Time to get the ants out of your britches and man up.”

      His oldest brother’s voice followed him, pushing him harder and faster. He was tired of thinking. About the war. About going home. About being at home.

      He’d never been good in any one spot for too long.

       Like father, like son.

      The notion drove him harder, faster, because as much as he’d promised his brothers he’d give ranching a nice, solid try again, the thought of being stuck in any one place made him feel like he was choking. He needed a few hours first. Time to burn up the energy bubbling inside him. The restlessness. Then he could do it.

      He would.

      He owed them. They’d saved his ass too many times to count over the past few years and so he intended to bury his damned wanderlust and pull his weight at the Circle B once and for all.

      His father might not have been able to do it, but Cody damn well could—

      His brain scrambled to a stop as his nostrils flared with the pungent scent of smoke. Whipping his head around, he spotted the black billows that rose in the far distance.

      What the…?

      A sense of foreboding slithered around his spine. Goosebumps chased up and down his arms and his gut hollowed out. He almost pitched backward as he hauled the horse around.

      Seconds later, he was riding hellbent for leather toward his family’s spread. Toward his mother. His sister-in-law. His nephew.

      They’d been the ones left at home when the brothers had ridden off four years ago. Just the three of them, a ranch foreman and a half dozen hands. Little match for an attack. Indian or otherwise.

      The smoke grew thicker, clawing at his nose and clogging up his lungs. He covered his mouth and pushed harder until he finally broke through the trees and found himself smack dab in the middle of hell.

      Flames licked at the main house where he’d grown up. Fire consumed the three surrounding barns. Frightened horses stomped around, dodging the smoke and the flames as they fought for a way out of the chaos. Shouts carried from the barn and fear spiraled through him. Cody jumped off his horse, determined to find his brothers and figure out what the hell was going on.

      Something bad.

      Something really bad.

      He started forward, but a faint whimper stalled him in his tracks.

      He whirled toward the house and blinked against the burning smoke and heat. Sparks flew and the right corner of the house caved in. He hauled his collar up and over his mouth and pushed through the fog. His eyes burned and watered as he drank in his surroundings. The sound slid into his ears again and drew him toward the left and the familiar pink dress visible just beneath the porch steps.

      He was on the woman in a heartbeat, pulling her away from the fast crumbling house.

      Sis Braddock’s eyes were closed, her face covered with soot. Blood pumped from the deep gash across the side of her neck and soaked her dress. So much blood.

      “Ma,” Cody breathed and the woman’s eyelids flickered open.

      “I—I tried to stop him,” she gurgled. Her fingers tightened on the iron brand clutched in her grip. Blood caked the familiar B and sucker-punched Cody right in his gut. “But…h-he started…fire.” A line of red spurted from the corner of her mouth and pain twisted her features. “I—I couldn’t…get to…them.”

      “Where’s Rose and Michael?”

      But he already knew. Deep in his gut, he knew even before she croaked out the one word.

      “Dead.” She shuddered. Her chest jerked as she tried to breathe. The blood gushed faster. “You came back,” she managed, the words soft and gurgled. “I knew you would. I knew…”

      Because she’d believed in him when no one else had. When he’d been five years old and old Mister Arnold had accused him of stealing a pig. When he’d been twelve and Pastor Willard had blamed him for the missing hymnals.

      She’d been wrong on both counts, just as she’d been wrong about his father. She’d always believed Lyle would change his mind and come back. That he would straighten up and come home.

      “My boy…” Her body shuddered. The brand slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground.

      “I’m here, Ma. I’m here.” He shook her, but it was too late. Her body was limp. Lifeless. “No!”

      Anger and denial whirled around Cody, twining around him and squeezing tight until he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed the brand and staggered to his feet.

       “I tried to stop him.”

      Her desperate words echoed in his head, driving him around, toward the barn and the chaos and him.

      It hadn’t been Indians. He would have heard the war cries and seen the evidence. This was different.

      Evil.

      Fire crackled. Wood crumbled. Sparks spewed. Cody didn’t care. He headed straight for hell, determined to take whoever was responsible with him.

      He made it three steps before the back of his skull exploded with pain and his knees buckled.

      He hit the dirt facedown, the brand clutched in his hand. A man’s voice slid into his ears.

      “You shouldn’t have come back. You don’t belong here anymore.”

      But he did.

      This was his home.

      His family.

       His.

      And he wasn’t letting go of it without a fight.

      He clutched the brand tighter and then everything went black.

      Chapter One

       Texas, Present Day

      HE HADN’T HAD SEX IN forty-eight hours.

      While two days of deprivation was nothing for most men, Cody Braddock wasn’t the average guy. He was a hell-raising, adrenaline-loving, nine-time Professional Bull Riders champion—known to the world as Cody “Balls to the Wall” Boyd—just weeks away from record-breaking buckle number ten.

      He was also a vampire who fed off of blood and sex.

      Cody was desperate for both as he walked into the crowded Sixth Street bar in the heart of Austin, Texas.

      A Nickelback song blasted from the loudspeakers and vibrated the walls. A splatter of colored lights bounced off the sea of writhing bodies that filled the small dance floor. The air reeked of beer and stale cigarette smoke.

      It was the kind of place people came to drown their troubles and forget. A bad day. A cheating spouse. An arrogant boss. A stack of unpaid bills.

      A little liquid courage, a lot of sex, and all would be right with the world. Or so they thought.

      He read that

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