Love Sucks

Temptation Invitation - Prologue

Death is the one predator we can't escape. But vampires have found the loophole that so many of us crave. I think that's the allure of vampirism.

Sherrilyn Kenyon

***

With the windows cranked down, the evening wind slipped inside the cabin of the truck and stirred its passengers. Abigail's hair whipped around her face, her cheeks warm from the sun pressing against the thick windshield and the golden rays tinting everything in a shaft of carroty light.

To her left and right, the city of Los Angeles passed them by in a blur. From the back seat of the Chevy truck, Abbi could get lost in her disarrayed thoughts-if only it wasn't for her mother's distinct laugh.

"You can't possibly know that!" The dark-headed woman claimed in a jovial tone.

In the driver's seat, her dad shook his head; his eyes alight with humor but his face serene. "Please, darling-my knowledge is infinite."

Marcee laughed again, throwing her head back to knock against the seat. As Abbi watched, her mom turned her face to the window, her laughter dying away as they slowed down and merged into a quieter road.

Taking a deep breath, Abbi's gaze flitted toward her dad. His hands twisted the steering wheel, smoothly maneuvering the truck into an apartment complex; their apartment complex.

"Abbi, would you mind getting the mail?" Her mom asked; voice much softer than her laugh.

She lifted her head, still stuck firmly in her distracted thoughts; the expression of Marcee's voice was distant and trivial to her.

"What?" Abbi asked, nonplussed.

"The mail," her mom repeated, glancing at Abigail in a most frustrated way. When Todd gave the woman a chiding glare, she sighed and turned completely around in her seat to meet Abbi's gaze. "Get the mail, please."

Abigail nodded, still looking dazed, as she climbed into the roomy front seats and clambered out the truck from over he mom's lap. The moment she shut the door behind her, the vehicle rumbled once and hauled away on dazed tires, leaving her to stand there, watching balefully after it.

They didn't have to strand her in front of their dirty old complex.

Abbi muttered a few choice words underneath her breath and glanced at the old buildings. Made of rotting blue wood and flimsy shingles, the place definitely wasn't a castle, but it did have its charm. That is, if you considered charm to be the smell of stale Chinese food and bumper oil.

"Mm," She frowned at the thought, starting toward the small rectangular shelves of postal boxes. Sneakers scuffing on the pavement beneath her feet, Abbi approached the cases, pulled open the Worthington labeled box (yes, the complex was so idiotically run-down they didn't even provide keys), and found a mound of wonderfully unhealthy mail.

Probably bills, Abigail assumed, pulling the papers out and discerning-rather dejectedly-all the other ways she could be spending her time right about now.

Then, shutting the box with unneeded force, Abbi turned away and started her dismal walk back toward her apartment building, which was just so pleasantly located at the opposite end of where she was.

Squinting down at the letters gripped in her fingers, Abigail regarded the first one with disinterest. Bill, she huffed, flipping it to the bottom of the stack, Bill, Abbi did the same for the next.

The next parchment, however, was thicker and appeared more delicate and white and ... just so happened to be addressed to her.

Abigail lifted her eyebrows, regarding the letter with renewed interest. To be honest, getting mail designed specifically for her was uncommon. Most people she still talked to conversed through email, and even then, their chats were brief and uninteresting.