By Adrian Phoenix
HIS identify IS DANTE.
darkish. proficient. appealing. famous person of the rock band Inferno. Rumored proprietor of the new New Orleans nightspot membership Hell. Born of the Blood, then damaged by means of an evil past mind's eye.
HIS previous IS A MYSTERY.
F.B.I. targeted Agent Heather Wallace has been monitoring a sadistic serial assassin often called the pass nation Killer, and the path has led her to New Orleans, membership Hell, and Dante. however the dangerously beautiful musician not just resists her research, he claims to be "nightkind": in different phrases, a vampire. Digging into his earlier for solutions unearths little. A juvenile list a mile lengthy. No social safeguard quantity. No identified start date. out and in of foster houses for many of his lifestyles sooner than being taken in by way of a guy named Lucien DeNoir, who looks to protect mysteries of his personal.
HIS destiny IS CHAOS.
What Heather does learn about Dante is that something hyperlinks him to the killer -- and she's lovely convinced that hyperlink makes him the CCK's subsequent goal. Heather needs to resolve the reality approximately this sensual, advanced, susceptible younger guy -- who, she starts off to think, may possibly certainly be a vampire -- that allows you to ultimately carry a killer to justice. yet Dante's previous holds a surprising, risky mystery, and as soon as it's published now not even Heather should be capable of guard him from his destiny....
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Additional resources for A Rush of Wings: Book One of The Maker's Song
He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging tight like he could make himself smaller; a little garden gnome perched on a steel bench. “The reshaper is here. ” Dante halted, his gaze locking on Wilson. ” The cell door slid open with a loud clang. Wilson peered at Dante from between his arm and his knees. ” “Looks like you got a fan there, rock boy,” the cop said with a malicious grin. “Unmaker,” Wilson repeated. Shaking his head, Dante stepped out of the cell. The door clanged shut. He followed the cop down the hall, Wilson’s words chilling his blood.
E and Dante were the only two still roaming free. Ronin looked up and over the heads of some of the people encircling him. He saw Dante a block ahead of him, stopped in front of the light-filled and glittering Harrah’s, next to the black iron fence near the entrance. Muscles tightening in anticipation, Ronin slowed his pace, allowing his camouflage group to trundle across the street without him. A vendor sat on a metal folding chair next to a street-light, his wares — colorful MARDI GRAS! T-shirts, plastic beads, and other bits of cheap jewelry — displayed on a sheet spread out on the sidewalk.
His heart raced a little, excited. He loved night-crawling. He paused beside a twisted old oak, sliding his hand along the rough bark. Ronin had explained to him just how special he truly was — something E had known all along, that he had a special purpose; he hadn’t been born just to mill among the sheep. He’d been born to cull them. Hunching, E scurried across the untended yard to the nearest light-filled window, then squatted alongside it. Tommy-boy had also told him that he’d been programmed; programmed, charted, graphed, and predicted, then turned loose.