Skip to product information
1 of 3

BURN: a vampire versus shifter romance audiobook

BURN: a vampire versus shifter romance audiobook

Regular price $14.99 USD
Regular price $19.95 USD Sale price $14.99 USD
Sale Sold out
Shipping calculated at checkout.
  • Purchase the E-Book Instantly
  • Receive Download Link via Email
  • Send to Preferred E-Reader and Enjoy!

A vampire on the run.

A shapeshifting bounty hunter hired to capture her.

Who will outsmart whom?

The hunt is on. But, who will be predator, and who will be prey?

"This is a MUST read for anyone who likes shifters, vampires, and forbidden romance." ~ Nerd Girl Official

Main Tropes

  • Vampire
  • Shifter
  • 80s rock
  • Pursuit
  • Close proximity
  • Forbidden attraction


A vampire on the run.

A shapeshifting bounty hunter hired to capture her.

Who will outsmart whom?

"This is a MUST read for anyone who likes shifters, vampires, and forbidden romance." ~ Nerd Girl Official

Layla Black flees London, on the run from a master vampire. She reinvents herself as Angelica, the singer of an 80s metal cover band in Boston, but her past soon catches up to her.

Devon St. Clair, bounty hunter extraordinaire, is in hot pursuit of a thieving vampire. Vampires, he hated them. Capturing Layla should be a satisfying gig that nets a nice profit.

But Devon wasn’t counting on spitfire Layla being his target, distracting him from his mission. Besides, shapeshifters and vampires didn’t mix. And more bloodsuckers are on their tail.

The hunt is on. But who will be predator, and who will be prey?

Ignite is a standalone romance in the Underground Encounters paranormal romance series. Step into a hidden world of shifters, vampires, witches, and gargoyles. Who will you take home tonight?

"When you sit down to read about Devon and Layla, clear your schedule because you are going to want to read this one from start to finish." ~ a TOP PICK from The Romance Reviews!

If you like paranormal romance and 80s rock, don’t miss BURN!

Chapter One


When I got the call from a vampire named Stefano, I considered hanging up. Vampires. I hated them. Cold, dead creatures stalking the Earth and sucking sustenance out of others.


Other acquisitions were just a job. Vampires were a vendetta.

Shapeshifters and vampires didn’t mix—unless they had to. I loathed dealing with those blood-lusting, walking corpses. This one was willing to pay twice my fee on hearing of my reputation as a bounty hunter. I swallowed my revulsion and took the job.

All I had to do was hunt down a female vampire who stole from him. An easy gig.

On the flight from London, I studied a roadmap to drive from Boston up to the nightclub where I was heading. It was hidden in the warehouse district in Caterina’s Cove, a little coastal village north of Boston. A brochure advertising condos described it as a quiet seaside setting, the perfect place to have access to the ocean without the typical tourist crowd that attacked most of the other beaches on the North Shore.

The brochure conveniently left out how Cat’s Cove, as it was called, was also home to an underground Goth club that attracted “freaks and weirdoes” as one regular had described it online. In my research, I discovered it also attracted a small but growing crowd of supernatural beings. Rumor spread that a vampire once owned it, but that might have been provoked by the name of the club—Vamps. After a fire, the club was bought and rebuilt by the current owner. Many described him as tall, brooding, and mysterious; some speculated whether he was a vampire as well.

After we landed in the US and waited at the long lines at Customs, I found the car rentals. Earlier I had requested a black car with tinted windows and plenty of space in the backseat and trunk, either of which might serve as a temporary abode for Miss Costa. I’d told the rental agent I had a lot of luggage. I smirked at the visual of having that bloody vampire bound in the car. Then I drove north to Cat’s Cove.

Stefano knew better than to hire a human to find Layla. They relied on paper trails and online transactions, both which vampires kept to a minimum, especially considering their extended life periods. He needed someone like me, with abilities beyond a typical human. With those and what I’d learned in the British military, I had established a lucrative career as a bounty hunter. And I was one of the best.

Most of my targets were scumbags. They deserved to be caught and brought to justice. Not all, though. Occasionally, I suspected the acquisition might be innocent. But I had to stay objective. It wasn’t my job to judge a person’s guilt or innocence. I was hired to track them down.

This time, my target was a vampire, Layla Costa. Tracking her down wasn’t that difficult, but it did take longer than I had expected. I caught her scent all over Stefano’s place. It was rather sweet, reminding me of herbs and flowers, and not the smell of the dead I’d associated with most vampires. This distinctive scent helped me track where she’d gone next.

With her photograph in hand and scent imprinted on my mind, I asked about her at each location. This required more social engineering than scent tracking, but between the two, one location led me to another. Eventually, I discovered that Layla Costa was now portraying herself as Angelica Blackwell, a singer for a heavy metal cover band called Bloodlust Diamond. She’d changed her appearance dramatically, but I could still discern the same features--large, almond-shaped eyes on a heart-shaped face. She was quite striking—both as the dark-haired vampire Layla Costa and the wild heavy metal singer with teased multicolored hair

I grunted. What did her looks matter? She was just another job. I would simply grab her, take her to Stefano, and collect my money.

The hunt had started, and I closed in on my prey.



An uneasy sensation made me turn from the mirror. I scanned my room for the source. On seeing nothing amiss, I glanced out my window. No dark shadows creeping about, slithering toward my door. The neighborhood was quiet, typical for this suburban area. Just a few cars drove by.

Will you relax? You’re an ocean away. He’s not going to come looking this far. I don’t think he’s ever left England. He’d hardly do so now for you.

True. After the unsettling feeling passed, I resumed getting ready for the show. I teased my variegated black-and-blonde hair to get into character for the show. After all these years as a brunette, it was strange seeing myself with blonde. The hair stylist I paid big money to “reinvent me” insisted this was the look to capture attention as the new singer of an Eighties hair band.

“Heavy metal,” I’d corrected.

He’d snickered. “Okay, princess.”

What did he know about music, anyway?

He’d bleached one side of my hair a platinum blonde and dyed the other side black. Then he added a few streaks of black amid the blond and white amid the black.

If I turned one way in the mirror, my reflection showed a raven-haired woman. When I turned the other way, my reflection showed the blonde. Amazing how the hair color made me look like two different people. Then I looked at my reflection dead on from the front. Whoever was looking at me would focus on my wild hair, which commanded attention, rather than my face. Money well spent. The better I disguised myself as Angelica, rock singer, the less I resembled Layla Costa—which would make it harder for Stefano to find me.

Even so, I used makeup to my advantage to mask me as a different woman. I accentuated my eyes with black eyeliner, extending them slightly beyond my lash line to give me a cat’s-eye style. Then I added two coats of black mascara. It was too easy for features to wash out under the stage lights. With some blush and a dark-maroon lipstick, I made sure it wouldn’t happen tonight.

I put on red stiletto boots over the tight black vinyl pants and readjusted my tank top in the full-length mirror. Then I took a nip of the blood from my flask, just a bit to take off the edge. A little sip was my ritual to fortify me for the energy I’d expend on stage.

“Here we go again,” I said to my reflection.

After I left my apartment, I drove to the rehearsal space to meet up with the rest of Bloodlust Diamond. I’d joined the band six weeks ago after their lead singer had quit to enter rehab. Since I needed to create yet another identity, what would be more fun than reinventing myself as a rock singer? It would be the last place Stefano would look for me. Before I’d been turned, I’d earned a degree in political science—not necessarily by choice. My parents had insisted on it, killing my aspirations to become an environmental scientist.

The band already had the equipment stashed in the back of the van, so we drove to Caterina’s Cove, a town I’d never heard of, north of Boston. A woman named Maya Winters had booked us.

“We’re having a theme week,” she’d explained. “Hair and Roses—the best and worst of the Eighties. We’d like to book you to play here a couple of nights.”

Since Bloodlust Diamond was usually out there soliciting gigs, we’d jumped on the opportunity.

“How did you hear about us?” our guitarist Joey Bangs asked.

“I’m always looking for new talent to book here,” Maya had said. “I asked our regulars if they knew any good bands who played Eighties covers and a few mentioned you. They’d seen you play around Boston. I checked out your website and liked what I saw.”

After we reached our destination, the unsettling vibe I’d had earlier returned when we walked down an alley to reach the club, Vamps. I thought we’d made a mistake and were lost as the area was full of dark warehouses. When we reached a building with gargoyles perched on each side of the front door, Joey opened the door.

A bouncer named Byron called some staff to help us unload and set up our instruments, which was cool since we weren’t big enough to hire roadies. I opened a door with a sign reading “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.” When I entered the main area of the club, my initial impressions changed. Judging by the wall-to-wall people, this place was not unknown.

The dance floor was packed with people jumping or dancing wildly to Ozzy Osborne’s Crazy Train. Although many people got into the spirit when they came to our shows, almost everyone here had dressed for the Eighties theme tonight. Most of the women had teased their hair to make it bigger and harder than nature intended. Some guys had long hair, but I couldn’t tell if it was natural or wigs. I should go out there and give some a little tug.

Many of them wore torn jeans with band shirts, such as Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Testament, Iron Maiden, and the Misfits. Some women opted to vamp out in tight black spandex pants or animal print. Several had a Gothic look. Black clothing, pale faces, and eyes painted dark and smoky.

Despite the variety of couture, one accessory was a given—black boots everywhere.

The sounds of Crazy Train faded out. The DJ would play before and after we had our set. The crowd slowed down as the music dimmed. The DJ blended the final notes into Nine Inch Nails’ Head Like a Hole, and the crowd’s energy rose again.

While the guys from the club helped us set up our equipment onstage, I walked up to test the mic and adjust it to my height. Whoever played here last had to be extremely tall as I moved it all the way down to reach my much smaller stature of 5’ 2”. I could inch up to 5’ 5” or 5’ 6” in the stilettos.

I met up with the guys backstage, and we went over the set list. Joey smiled as a tall, striking woman strode toward us.

“Hi, Maya,” he said in the tone he reserved for women he found attractive. “This is Mark, Rocco, and Angelica.”

After we exchanged greetings, Maya ran over the last-minute details about our set.

An hour later, Maya walked out onstage as the DJ faded out the end of the song.

“Good evening, everyone,” she said. “I’d like to welcome you to a special event at Vamps tonight. As you know we’re having Eighties week here, Hair and Roses, bringing all of you back to the best—and the worst—of the Eighties.”

Several in the crowd hooted and hollered.

“Judging by the outfits here tonight, I’m glad you’ve all gone for the best,” she added. “We’re also going with the best by bringing you an awesome band recommended by some of you regulars out there. Thank you. You know who you are. Without further ado, get ready for some of the best of Eighties heavy metal. Let’s welcome Bloodlust Diamond!”

The crowd applauded.

“Ready?” Joey said.

“Ready,” Mark Dudley, who we called Studley, said.

“Let’s go.”

More cheering as the guys walked on the stage, raising their hands in welcome as they took their positions at their instruments.

After ensuring nobody was looking my way, I sipped another nip of blood. In addition to the skittishness that had forced its way into my body since I’d gone on the run, I suffered a nasty bout of stage fright before going on stage. Once I started singing, I was fine. It was that quiet moment between walking out there seeing the crowd and beginning to sing that gave me an issue. My hands turned clammy, and I’d stutter if I didn’t find a way to calm the anxiety.

I checked my lips for any signs of blood that the dark lipstick wouldn’t camouflage. Then I strode out with false confidence to compensate for my nerves.

Maya touched my shoulder as she passed and said, “Break a leg.” I had to look up at her. Damn, she was tall. What I would do for long legs like that.

Enough of that for now. I’d already reinvented myself twice.

Hopefully, I wouldn’t need to do so again.



I ordered a beer at the bar from a sexy bartender and searched the club while I waited. Statues of gargoyles were perched both high and at floor level. I sensed they were more than gothic décor. If that was the case, they couldn’t see what I had in store for Layla. I’d have to lure her outside, away from watching eyes.

A tingle of anticipation rushed through me, no different from when I took the form of a predator and engaged in a hunt. The only difference was that I was in my human form and the prey tonight was a vampire.

“This is bullshit,” Some guy near me said.

“What is?” his friend asked.

“This whole fuckin’ night. I thought we were going to see Bloodlust Diamond play. Now they have some lame-ass chick singing. When did that happen?”

I took a sip of my beer, pretending not to listen to the conversation.

“Don’t be such a dick, man,” his friend said. “The other singer left. Went to rehab or something. Their new singer is a woman. So what?”

“She’s going to kill the band. Change their entire sound.”

“Relax, dude. Go hang out at the bar if you don’t want to listen.”

“Good idea. You know where to find me.” He walked away in a huff.

His friend noticed me and must have assumed I heard the whole conversation.

“I don’t know what crawled up his ass,” he said, then focused his attention on the stage as three guys and then a woman came out. “Who cares if she can sing or not? She’s smokin’ hot.”

I nodded. He was right. The photographs of her didn’t do her justice, and I had thought she was striking when I’d seen those. Now I was transfixed. Looking at the men staring at her with rapt expressions on their faces, I wasn’t the only one. She wore a heavy black trench coat that hid her body. Her large eyes sparkled and her cheeks looked so soft I wanted to touch them. Her lips with the perfect amount of plumpness, begging to be kissed.

Not only had her presence commanded the attention of every guy in the club, but most of the women as well. What they couldn’t perceive, but I could, was she wasn’t human; her skin was far paler and her eyes much brighter.

I examined the others in the band. Humans. Did they know their singer was a vampire?

Layla greeted the crowd. “We’re Bloodlust Diamond, and we’re here to have a wicked time tonight. Who’s with us?”

A bunch of people hooted and cheered.

“Good. I don’t want anyone creeping around in the back of the room. Get up close. I want to see you. I want to hear you!”

The crowd screamed again.

“We’re going to start with some old-school Metallica.” She turned to the band and said “One, two, one, two, three, four.”

The drummer launched a heavy beat, and the band joined in. Then Layla leaned close to the mic and sang the beginning lyrics to Am I Evil.

I moved closer to the stage. As she wailed the lyrics, she left no doubt that she could sing. How a tough-ass voice came out of a petite body like that was a mystery. Even in her red stiletto heels and teased-up hair, I gauged her to be 5’ 3” at the most. The illusion of the heels and hair made her appear bigger than she was.

For some reason, I pictured her freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel. No hair done up or makeup on, no heels. All natural. She was probably a wee thing. I’d pull her on top of my lap to hold. And touch…

Wait, why was I thinking stuff like this? I had a job to do—capture her. Not fantasize about her coming out of the shower.

I studied Layla as she played, watching how she moved. She was a vampire, so she’d be fast, her reflexes even faster than mine. She’d be strong, but that’s where I had the advantage. I had more strength than humans, and once I transformed, I had the strength of whatever animal I shifted into.

She would be tougher to capture than a human, but I loved challenges. Tracking humans was almost too easy. Throw a supernatural into the mix and that’s when the hunt turned exciting.

When the band finished the song, I went to the bar to order a beer.

The jerk was still complaining at the bar. “Oh great. A girl covering Whitesnake.”

I ignored him even though I agreed with him about covers. Most bands that played covers killed them. They either tried too hard to copy the original and failed or went the other way and tried so hard to make it their own they lost the essence of the song. That’s not to say some bands didn’t kill it in a good way. Every now and then a band would play a cover that blew the original away.

When I heard Layla wail out the first two lines of Still of the Night, I turned back toward the stage, compelled to see her again. Her voice stirred something inside me. She threw off her heavy black trench coat. When she leaned against the microphone stand in such an erotic stance, I tried to ignore my response. Her skintight black pants showed off finely toned legs, making me wonder what her ass looked like. Her black tank top was torn at the top, revealing some cleavage. Her pale arms showed definition as she clutched the microphone.

She belted out a rendition that captured all attention with her voice alternating between a purr and a seductive wail—enchanting, leaving me as spellbound as the rest of the crowd. This vixen on the stage compelled every guy in the bar to watch her, listen to her, and fantasize about so much more…

By the end of the song, I had forgotten that I had come to Boston for one specific purpose.

Focus, Devon. Snap out of it. You have a job to do. Don’t let your dick get in the way.

Right. I mentally slapped myself. Time to snap out of the spell and get in the game. Only one of us would be captured tonight—and it wouldn’t be me.

Want to find out what happens next? Start reading BURN today!

View full details