Dark of the Moon (Super Nocturne) [Paperback]

Susan Krinard (Author)

Book Description

Publication Date: December 4, 2009 | Series: Super Nocturne

They called him the Enforcer His iron fist once kept the warring vampire clans of decadent 1920s New York from one another’s throats. But now, outcast from his own kind Dorian Black haunts the back alleys of Manhattan alone… Until the night he meets reporter Gwen Murphy and feels something stir within him for the first time in centuries. Gwen is determined to uncover the truth about a mysterious gang of blood-drinkers despite the danger, but she never expected to give over her heart to tall, dark Dorian. And now, in order protect Gwen, he may be forced to do the unthinkable…

--This text refers to the Kindle Edition edition.

Editorial Reviews

From Publishers Weekly

In Roaring '20s New York, Dorian Black is a vampire enforcer who kills his master and leaves his two primary lieutenants to form their own factions, soon battling to win supremacy in the city. When Dorian saves human reporter Gwen Murphy from drowning and finds himself inexplicably drawn to her, she is busy investigating the mysterious deaths of mobsters, all drained of blood. When she discovers the intricate web of urban vampires, they're soon on to her, and she's at risk. Dorian himself gets involved with a vampire organization called Pax, dedicated to peace between vampires, but perhaps not all that it seems. Krinard's New York and vampire factors could use more color, but Gwen is the classic intrepid girl reporter, the plot intrigues are well drawn, and the commentary on religious fanaticism is engaging. (Mar.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

October 1926, New York City

The black sucking water closed over her head. She flailed blindly, her arms and legs as heavy and inert as logs. Red light flashed violently behind her eyes; she couldn't think, couldn't do anything but cling to the instinct that kept her from opening her mouth and swallowing the vile brew that swirled around her.

Is this what it's like to die?

The thought came and went in a moment of lucidity that vanished before she could grasp it. She sank, her muscles no longer obeying the weak commands of her brain. A fish, goggle-eyed, paused to examine her in astonishment and then disappeared into the sable depths. Her lungs began to burn.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe…

A stream of bubbles spilled from her lips. All at once she remembered. She looked up at the distant, pale blur of reflected moonlight shining on the river's surface. It was a million miles away.

Swim. Swim, damn you.

But the air was gone, salvation beyond her reach. She stretched her arms, clutching at a substance that literally slipped through her fingers. An inky curtain fell over her eyes. She made one great effort, propelling her aching body a few feet closer to heaven.

Something gripped her hand, seizing her like the jaws of a killer shark. Her cry emptied her lungs. The last thing she saw was a face…a face that might have belonged to an angel or the most enchanting devil hell ever imagined.

"BREATHE!"

The voice was both harsh and beautiful, like music from another world. It came from very far away, a place out of space and time, and yet it pulled her from the seductive darkness with all the tenderness of a mob enforcer working over some poor schmuck in an alley.

Rough hands turned her over and pummeled her back. A rush of liquid surged into her throat and pushed out of her mouth. She coughed violently, jagged sparks zigzagging through her brain.

"Breathe!"

She gasped. Blessed air flooded her chest. The hands that had shaken and bullied her softened on her arms and lifted her against a warm, firm surface. She heard a heartbeat, slow and steady, felt ridges of muscle under a once-fine broadcloth shirt, smelled a slightly pungent but not unpleasant scent, as if the one who held her had been living in the same clothes for a week.

Still dazed, shivering from a chill dawn wind against her wet skin, she let herself be held. It was absurd to feel so safe in the arms of a total stranger, even one who had saved her life. Crazy to feel as if she could stay there forever.

She pushed at her rescuer, muscles still not entirely under her control. He released her and steadied her as she struggled into a sitting position on the weathered wood of the pier.

For the first time she got a good look at his face. It was the devil-angel she'd seen in the river, distorted then by brackish water and her own clouded vision. Now that she could see him more clearly, she still couldn't decide if he belonged in Heaven or that other place.

His features were those of a young man in his prime, handsome in the truest sense of the word. Bright moonlight picked out planes and angles joined in perfect symmetry. His skin was smooth, free of stubble, though everything else about his appearance suggested that he hadn't seen a razor in several days. His cheekbones were high, his chin firm and a little square, his hair dark and badly in need of a good cut, his brows straight above deeply shadowed eyes.

It was the eyes that captured her attention. Gwen couldn't make out their color, but that hardly mattered. They simply didn't belong in the face of a good Samaritan who had probably risked his life to save a stranger, a man in his midtwenties with at least forty good years ahead of him. They were as dangerous as a storm about to break, as grim as the bloodstained steel of a Thompson's machine gun. If they'd ever seen a smile, it was in some distant past she could scarcely imagine.

Most women—yes, even most men—would have cringed from that remorseless gaze. Not Gwen Murphy. She continued her scrutiny, taking in the frayed cuffs of his shirt, the jacket that had seen better days, the patched trousers and scuffed shoes. This was a fellow down on his luck; there were still people like him in New York, though business was booming and almost everyone seemed to be sharing in the general prosperity.

Everyone except the unlucky few: men crippled in the Great War, widows struggling to raise fatherless children, immigrants who hadn't yet found their way in a strange country, drunks who couldn't keep money in their pockets.

Her savior looked perfectly healthy and whole. He didn't appear to be drunk. He could be a foreigner who didn't speak enough English to find a decent job.

There was only one way to find out.

"You saved my life," she said, her voice emerging as a croak. "Thanks."

The man cocked his head, his gaze still locked on hers.

She cleared her throat and tugged her drenched glove from her shaking right hand. "I'm Gwen Murphy," she said, offering the hand.

He glanced down, studying her trembling fingers as if he suspected she had some nasty and highly contagious disease. She was about to withdraw her hand when he seized it in the same bulldog grip that had snatched her from a watery grave.

"Dorian," he said, filling the air with that strange music.

"Dorian Black."

Gwen almost laughed. She recognized the edge of hysteria that lurked beneath her enforced calm and swallowed the laughter. Once she started, she might have a hard time stopping. And Mr. Black didn't look as though he would appreciate the reaction.

"Mr. Black," she said, returning his grip as firmly as she could. "I don't know how you happened to show up right when I needed you, but I'm grateful."

He dropped her hand and curled his fingers against his thigh. "It was no trouble," he said, each word clearly enunciated, as if English were a second language painstakingly acquired. "Do you require a doctor?"

She suppressed a shiver. "I'm all right. Just a little cold. And waterlogged."

Still no smile cracked his sculpted face, but his brows drew down in an expression that might have been concern. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The coat wasn't entirely clean, but Gwen was grateful for both the warmth and the gesture.

"Thanks," she said.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug that betrayed a whole world of discomfort. "How did it happen?" he asked.

The question took Gwen a little by surprise. Black was so taciturn that prying an interview out of him would be worse than pulling teeth. Maybe he wasn't really interested, but she had to give him points for trying.

"I'm a reporter for the Sentinel," she said. "I was on the docks investigating a lead when I was jumped by some hooligans who thought I'd be an easy mark." She suffered an annoying surge of embarrassment and probed at the growing bump on the back of her head. "I wasn't that easy. When I fought back, one of them hit me over the head and dumped me in the river."

Black's eyes narrowed. He looked up the pier to the board-walk, as if he might still find the young men who'd done the deed. Even if they'd hung around to make sure their victim had well and truly drowned, they would be lost to sight; the nearest street lamp was a hundred yards away, and there were plenty of places to hide. It was close enough to dawn that longshoremen and sailors on leave were starting to turn up at the docks. If it weren't for the relative isolation of this particular pier, the roughnecks never could have gotten away with their attack in the first place.

"Do you usually come to Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night?" Black asked, turning back to her with subtle menace.

Gwen sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders beneath the oversized jacket. "Certain activities are less conspicuous in the dark," she said. "I didn't want to be seen."

"Someone saw you."

"But not one of the someones I was trying to avoid."

"And who would they be, Miss Murphy?"

Sudden nausea gripped Gwen's stomach. "That's confidential," she said. Her ankles wobbled as she struggled to stand. "I think I'd…better call a taxi."

Black jumped to his feet with an athlete's grace and caught her arm as she tottered and nearly fell. "You're in no condition to walk alone, Miss Murphy. I will escort you to the nearest telephone."

"Really, I'll be fine."

Without answering, he pulled her closer to the dry heat of his body and led her a few halting steps. The nausea increased, creeping up into her throat. It had to be a combination of things: the filthy water she'd ingested, the head injury, the shock of nearly dying. She should be able to overcome it. She was Eamon Murphy's daughter, for God's sake….

Black stopped. "You won't make it," he said bluntly.

"Yes, I will. I just need a little more time."

Her savior looked pointedly toward the east, where the sun was rising over Queens. "No time," he muttered, and then raised his voice. "You will come with me."

Gwen passed her hand over her face, fighting a nasty headache. "Come with you where?"

"To a place where you can rest."

Her skin prickled with warning. "I'm grateful. I really am, Mr. Black. I'd certainly—" Bile pushed into her throat. "I'd like to return the favor, but I have to get back. If you'll just…"

A flood of sickness overwhelmed her. She jerked away from Black, emptying her stomach. The humiliation was excruciating. She wasn't some damned cub reporter who couldn't deal with a little adversity.

A steadying hand touched her elbow. She pushed it away.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You're coming with me, Miss Murphy."

She shook her head, and suddenly she was seeing stars. Her lungs seemed filled with concrete. She couldn't catch her breath. It was the darkness all over again, dragging her down like the treacherous river currents.

The water closed over her head, and this time there was no reaching the surface.

VOICES WOKE HER. The first thing Gwen noticed was that she was lying on something reasonably soft. She listened for a moment before opening her eyes, recognizing the newly familiar intonation of the enigmatic strang... --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.

Product Details

• Paperback: 400 pages
• Publisher: Mills & Boon S/O (December 4, 2009)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0263876268
• ISBN-13: 978-0263876260
• Product Dimensions: 6.5 x 4.2 x 1 inches
• Shipping Weight: 7 ounces
• Average Customer Review: 2.6 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (8 customer reviews)

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Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful:

1.0 out of 5 stars Couldn't get past page 146, March 10, 2008

By 

RomanceAddict "Romance Reader" - See all my reviews

This review is from: Dark of the Moon (Mass Market Paperback)

This book was extremely difficult to follow. There were far to many players to really follow the story line. The heroine was decidedly stupid, I couldn't figure out why she did half the things she did and this was all in the beginning of the book. Clearly this book was missing something, in my opinion, to make it one of Krinard's great novels.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars Not much romance in this historical paranormal. Krinard's hero misses the mark., March 20, 2008

By 

melindeeloo (sb,ca) - See all my reviews
(TOP 500 REVIEWER)   

This review is from: Dark of the Moon (Mass Market Paperback)

I am not sure what Dark of the Moon wanted to be or who was supposed to be the intended audience. From Krinard's previous works and the prior book in the series I was expecting a 1920's historical paranormal romance and if you were expecting that too you'll be disappointed. Not much in the way of romance here, and unlike Chasing Midnight (The Roaring Twenties Supernaturals Series, Book 1), Dark of the Moon makes very little use of the historical setting.

Probably the biggest problem with the romantic aspect of the story is that the "hero" dark tormented and sanity challenged Dorian Black former Enforcer to one of the vampire mafia-like gangs in N.Y. city is extremely stilted and contained and Krinard doesn't use his 'damaged' psyche to cultivate any type of sympathy for him. Also since Dorian tries to keep Gwen at a distance in order to protect her from the violent madness of his monthly 'episodes' and doesn't express his feelings, we don't really have a very good idea of what Dorian actually does truly feel. It would have helped if we were privy to Dorian's anguish when he is behaving badly to accomplish a noble purpose. Gwen herself is fine as the reporter that is unexplicably drawn to the man who saved her life, other reviewers found her stupid, but I didn't really read her that way -- except in her choice of men-- mostly I thought that she pushed the edge of safety out her ambition to get the story that would vindicate her father, make her career and win respect for herself as the first woman reporter at the newspaper where she worked.

Again due to lack of insight into Dorian there is very little chemistry between the Gwen and Dorian and they don't consumate their relationship until the very end, but since there was no tension built between them I hardly cared at that point. In fact, I found it hard to understand how our "heroine" Gwen found Dorian worthy of loving. Whatever it was about Dorian that captured her heart had to be something that she imagined about him and I can only think that her motivation was some type of codependant thing or a product of the attractiveness vibes that vamps give off to make their dinner more ammeniable. The background plot of a fanatic vampire who preaches peace between vamps and humans while secretly planning Amaggedon for his entire species was interesting enough, but it was only background filler and didn't make up for the missing romance that should have been in the foreground.

So, I don't really know who I could recommend this book to, it is not a romance, not really that much of a historical, it isn't an urban fantasy, its got vampires, but is that enough? If you are curious and find this at a garage sale maybe, but I am guessing that you can easily skip this one and still read the next one in the series. Personally, I'll be checking out the other reviews before I read the next one, because the last few of Krinard's books, unlike her early werewolves, have been a mix of hit and miss in the romance department.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:

1.0 out of 5 stars BORING!!!!!!!!!!, March 16, 2008

By 

Sookie Stackhouse (Puerto Rico) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Dark of the Moon (Mass Market Paperback)

I had to struggle to finish this book. Too many bad guys (it's hard to keep up with all the names and motives); a suicidal hero (more than once); a stubborn heroine with a dead wish; and no romance at all. This was my 1st book of Susan K. and it'll be the last.