power of the Moon ~ Power of the Moon Series

Haunted by visions of death, and a past that holds her prisoner, Mia Starr never imagined her life could become even more complex. Untapped psychic powers spark to life, and her chosen solitary existence fills with creatures that shatter her safe reality. Now the very thing she fears the most is the one thing that will complete her in every way possible.

Detective Cole Barnett has mastered the vampire within. It has earned him respect and a position with Sector 13, the hardest job a vampire can hold. When a beautiful mortal is thrown into his investigation, with powers able to subjugate vampires, she tests his restraint.

Cole and Mia’s passion ignites, but Mia’s fear holds her back and she struggles to forget his touch and possessive kiss. What she doesn’t realize is the more she runs from him, the more excited he becomes, and the hunt is something he cannot resist.




Title: Power of the Moon
Author: Tina Carreiro
Series: Power of the Moon #1
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Romance
Length: 430 pages
ePub ISBN: 978-0-9856576-1-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-9856576-0-4
Release Date: October 2012

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© 2012 Tina Carreiro

“Detective, won’t you please come in and interrogate me? I mean…” Redness tinged her cheeks and she pulled her gaze away from his. He laughed deep and loud.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Say that out loud? And yes, I would love to.” He stepped inside, pausing to survey the apartment. His eyes came to rest on the table in the kitchen. “I’ve interrupted your meal. Should I come back?”
“No, that’s okay. Besides, you look so excited that I invited you in, I wouldn’t have the heart to send you packing.” She put the milk on the table. “Would you like something?”
“Yes, I would. Could you please go put some clothes on?” He boldly looked her over.
Mia looked down at her loosened robe, giving him a peek at her panties and bare belly. She pulled it together with a panicked expression. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I just don’t think I can get any work done if you’re dressed like that.”
“Excuse me.” She quickly walked over to the bathroom area.
“That’s a beautiful shade of red on your cheeks.” He watched her silhouette as she dropped her robe.
“Glad you like it,” she muttered, “It’s probably going to stay that way, especially since the only thing separating you from my naked body is a thin six-by-twelve wooden room divider.”
If she only knew he could hear her. Smell her. And there was that pull again. He felt connected, in tune with her. Cole didn’t have to turn around to know she was watching him as he stood by her bed. He felt her. He imagined laying her on the bed, gliding his fingers down her stomach and sliding them into the panties she had innocently displayed for him. He spoke with his back to her. “Is this your mother in the picture?”
“Yes, it is.
“You look like her.”
“Can I ask you to do something for me now?”
“What can I do for you, Mia?” He arched a brow.
“Move away from my bed, please.”
He slowly walked toward her. “Does that bother you—me being so close to your bed?” He inched closer to her.
“Just as much as my clothing bothered you, Detective.”


Capter One


Knowing when someone was going to die was something Mia had grown accustomed to, and she had just spotted another dead man walking.

Shit…not Art. She focused on him as he rambled through the gas station parking lot, hoping he’d come inside as he usually did. Now that she knew his fate, it weighed heavily on her heart and she had an unusual urge to dig deeper.
Uncrossing her legs, she hopped off the counter, tearing her eyes from Art to the approaching customer.
“Hello…MEE-ah.” He drew out her name in a taunting gesture. Just what she needed—Russell.
It was times like these that she hated working at the gas station. “You know it’s pronounced MY-ah, jerk.”
She snatched the bag of chips and scanned the barcode.
“Hey! Watch it. You almost touched me, freak. Keep your hands off,” Russell said, as he shoved his thick tongue under his upper lip and sucked.

Mia ignored him. After all, she wasa freak. Russell had been driving it into her head since elementary school. And at twenty-seven, it didn’t really bother her anymore.

Mia giggled as a tiny surge of energy washed over her.Standing next to Russell was the apparition of an old woman with white hair. The ghost was flicking at his ear with her finger, tormenting him to no satisfaction. Mia knew he couldn’t feel a thing.

Russell looked around the empty store, then followed Mia’s gaze to the vacant spot next to him. “You truly are fucked up, aren’t you, freak?”
Mia looked at the old woman, then back to Russell. “Oh, piss off, Russ. Your grandma’s just a littledisappointed in you, that’s all.”
“Shut up! My grandma’s dead. Give me my stuff…freak.” Grabbing the bag, he hurried out the door.

Whether she liked it or not, Mia’s mind picked up everything, especially the dead. She was like a walking cable box rigged with steal-a-vision; every channel coming in, even if she didn’t pay for it, or want to watch the show.
Disgusted by Russell’s teasing, Mia tugged off her nametag, and threw the cheap piece of plastic in the cash drawer. She hated it when people said her name.

Working the graveyard shift had its perks—people ignored her most of the time and she preferred it that way. The actions of others had caused her to wrap herself in protective layers, blocking emotion, love, and trust. With two jobs, Mia didn’t have time to notice her lack of friends or social life.

She focused on Art as he made his way to the door, his aura becoming more defined as he approached. The halo of color reflecting life’s energy was something most people couldn’t see. Mia could. To her, people were like walking mood rings, and the ones that came in late at night mostly had lustful auras. Not that she knew a lot about lust. She made the mistake of trusting a couple of men in the past—boys really. It wasn’t that she didn’t want someone. It was just difficult. As if the images she picked up from her so-called boyfriends weren’t enough, she was also a conductor of negative ones, and those played repeatedly in her mind like a movie preview, making intimacy a nightmare.
When she dreamed, vivid images of death haunted her, and as much as she tried to block them, they still managed to work their way through. This made spooning impossible. Her solution: no touching, especially men. For five years now, these rules worked well. Highly emotional situations were something she stayed away from, and she was skilled at avoiding them mostof the time.

“How’re you doing tonight, Art?” Mia asked, grabbing a pack of Marlboro Reds from the cigarette rack, never taking her eyes off him as he approached.
“Oh, fair to middlin’,” he slurred. Art’s tanned skin made his empty blue eyes shine like sapphires. Gray streaked the brown hair framing his face in a messy just-out-of-bed look. A long, brown belt fastened into its last hole kept his baggy pants from falling off his skinny frame. Deep wrinkles and dark, rough patches on his face were evidence of lots of sun, and alcohol.

Mia took a deep breath and slid the pack toward Art. She had to break her rules if she wanted to find out why death had marked him. Her fingers brushed over his knuckles, and a small current of electricity rolled over her skin as familiar images flooded her mind—the same images she had witnessed before during accidental touches and the same images consuming Art, making him the man he was.

The argument he’d had with his wife replayed in her mind. That fatal night unfolded as Art drove away in anger, ruffled by news of an unexpected baby. He wanted more for their child, a better life than he had growing up. He wasn’t prepared. When Art realized he was wrong, he rushed back to his wife with a tiny shirt that read I Love Mommy. On his way back, a teenage driver ran a red light, T-boning another car and ejecting the driver. The teenager’s car spun and came straight toward Art’s, smashing into his front bumper. Art got out of his vehicle. He wasn’t concerned with the teenager, but for the other person hit. Art recognized everything about the crumpled shape lying in the middle of the intersection.

His wife.

He knelt, and held his wife’s limp body. As she took her last breath, Art’s life ended with hers. He’d never forget the note they found at his house that night. She was coming to find him, to make everything right. He blamed himself for her death and he’d never recovered from the pain of losing his wife and child.
Mia yanked her hand away, fighting the tears and avoiding his eyes. She scanned his light blue aura, fading into a whitish silver color. Shit.She wanted to find out what was wrong with him. If she could just get past the death of his wife, maybe she could help.

With a touch of irritation, she looked at the computer as it beeped and noted the gas pump number in use. It severed her concentration on Art. She looked up just as the chime on the door went off.
Wanting to keep him close, she nodded toward the refreshment counter. “Art, go get some coffee and a snack. It’s on me.”
“Thank you, darlin’.”

While Art was getting his snack, a man ripped straight out of GQ magazine entered the store. He moved so smoothly, Mia swore he was gliding. He wore his light brown hair close on the sides and flattened on top, except for the front, which spiked up and curled back in a loop. Muscles rippled beneath his tight, black shirt, and his legs were as firm as tree trunks.

He walked straight to Art, and the old man’s frail frame cowered from the man. Mia felt negative energy fill the room. She focused on GQ’s lips, picking up the conversation from their motion.
I don’t think so, she thought, shooting daggers at the threatening man. Her protective nature surfaced. She hit the panic button behind the counter and grabbed the Louisville Slugger her boss kept hidden. Seconds later, she stood in front of the two men with the bat in hand.

“Art, are you okay?” she asked, raking her eyes over his trembling body.
“Mind your business, girl.” GQ’s menacing voice rolled through the air, jump-starting her pulse. Her nerves crept into her throat and formed a lump. She tried to swallow, not wanting to show fear. Never let ‘em see ya sweat. The words of her grandmother echoed in her head. If you think they can beat you, they will. The advice of dead loved ones always came at the strangest times.
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Mia tightened her fingers around the bat, raising it, and narrowed her eyes.
“Am Iyour size?”

The deep, chilling voice filled the air behind her, and she turned. The doorway framed the man, his bulk taking up the entire entrance. With his mullet style sandy blond hair and muscles stretching the fabric of his clothes, he looked like he was late for a wrestling match. The hem of his black, leather duster hung just below his knees, and dark sunglasses wrapped his face. When he removed them, his eyes seemed to glow from within.
Must be a night out for the freaks, Mia thought, but those were cool contacts.

“Woman, move aside.” His voice sent a powerful burst of energy toward her, and though Mia’s heart skipped a beat, she stood her ground.
Move aside? Her inner rebel stood up, and she shouted, “No!”

As she stared at him, his aura materialized. Mia had seen many auras in her life, but never one like his. Metallic silver embedded into the blackness of his aura, and a bright white formed the outer crest. It was beautiful, but she had no idea what it meant. Black wasn’t good, she knew that, but the metallic shimmer throughout was a mystery. She made a mental note to Google it later.

Mia’s face relaxed. Her head tilted to the side as she gazed at his aura—it was mesmerizing.
“Woman!” His tone was firm, but his expression bewildered as she continued to stare at him. Lowering his head like a bull ready to charge, his stare intensified as if he were trying to speak to her with his mind. When he narrowed his eyes, the white glow increased, and a reddish tint took form.

A wave of dizziness instantly hit, and her stomach became queasy. She wanted to lie down. When her knee slightly buckled, she clenched her teeth, narrowed her eyes, and glared back at him. Her fatigue faded as she pulled on her inner strength, intensifying her gaze. Glowing Eyes’ aura twitched like an interrupted cable signal. What the…? With an intent stare and a raised brow, she smirked. “Are we going to do this all night?”

With wide-eyes, his head snapped up and his lips parted in shock as he looked past her to GQ.
Okay, I’m officially weirded out now. What in the hell just happened? Mia’s thoughts raced, trying to piece things together.

Glowing Eyes twitched his head at GQ, shifting his gaze back to Mia. GQ grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and dropping the bat to the floor.
A sharp sound followed by a hiss came from behind her, and it rolled inside her ears, bringing all the hairs on her skin to attention.

With his lips pulled into a tight line, Glowing Eyes glared at GQ, shook his head no, and focused on Art.
“Art, come,” he ordered.
Mia’s eyebrows drew together as Art went past her, his aura twitching and small spaces appearing throughout its crest. It became dimmer the closer he got to Glowing Eyes whose own aura grew brighter with every step Art took.
“Art, you disobeyed me. Now, you will be punished. Go to the car.”
Mia spoke before her brain could stop her. “Over my dead body. I’m not going to let you take a helpless man out of here.” The faint sound of sirens echoed in the distance as she struggled in GQ’s grip.
“Oh…please, Master. She would taste so sweet.” GQ’s voice sent shivers through her. She glanced up at the security mirror. His lips were pulled back, revealing two sharp, pointed teeth, and glazed eyes like a starving man being handed a steak. Fangs?

The sirens grew louder as they approached. GQ bent down, and raked his teeth across her neck, nicking her skin.
“No!” Glowing Eyes’ stern voice drew GQ from the love affair he was having with Mia’s neck. His movements froze, leaving his mouth still, but allowing his gaze to trail over to Glowing Eyes who shook his head. “Leave her. We must go. Now!”

Before letting her go, GQ flattened his tongue on her shoulder and slowly licked his way up to her ear. Mia felt sick. She swayed forward as he released her to make his exit. She knew for certain GQ wanted to kill her and eat her, but she wasn’t sure in which order.

Seconds later, an officer walked in with his gun drawn. Mia stood frozen as he walked toward her. “Ma’am, are you alone in here?” His voice sounded muffled in her mind.
“Yes,” Mia squeaked out.
“Ma’am! Are. You. All right?” The officer shouted, indicating this wasn’t the first time he asked the question.
“I’m sorry. Yeah…yes...I’m okay.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of what she’d just witnessed.
“Ma’am, were you robbed?” the officer asked, sliding his gun back into its holster.
“No, sir.” Suddenly, she snapped out of the daze and grabbed his arm. “Holy shit! A man…Art, was just taken against his will.”
“Was he physically taken?”
“Well, no, but…”
“So, he just walked out?”
“Uh… no, he was forced to walk out…”
She watched the officer’s face as he took down her statement, shaking his head. When she said the man had glowing eyes, his expression changed, and his pen came to a stop.
Great, he thinks I’m a whack job.
She continued until he held his hand up at the fang part.
“Ma’am, will you excuse me, please?” He walked over to his partner who had helped himself to a cup of coffee, and spoke in a low voice. When he rolled his eyes, Mia folded her arms across her chest.
Yep, they think I’m a whack job.
The officer taking her statement squeezed the radio mic on his shoulder. “Can you go to a clear channel?” he asked, walking further away.

Mia’s comfort level lessened drastically as bits of the conversation reached her.
“Yeah…glowing eyes and fangs, 10-4.” Releasing the mic, he walked back to her. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there isn’t much I can do about the guy you claim was taken from here. If he walked out of the building on his own, then he wasn’t forced. He left of his own free will. I can take a report on your assault. You said the man grabbed you from behind?” The officer tapped the back of his pen on the pad and waited for her response. She was just about to respond when his radio beeped with a long tone, followed by a strong voice calling out a code.
“Shit, it’s the sheriff.” The officer’s eyes widened and he grabbed his radio so fast, he fumbled to keep it in his grip. His partner snapped to attention and came to stand by him. “Yes, sir, I’m still 10-12 with the victim.” Mia listened as the sheriff informed him that someone would come out tomorrow evening to take her statement.
“Can’t they come out tonight? It’s almost five A.M., and I don’t want to relive this again tomorrow.”
“Ma’am, they’re sending someone from a special unit. That unit works the night shift which is ending soon. Sorry.”
“Fine.” Mia sighed.

As they left, the officer slid his notepad back into his pocket, looked over his shoulder and commented to his partner, “I love it when they call out a detective—no paperwork for us.”