Joleene Naylor is the author of the glitter-less Amaranthine vampire universe, a world where vampires aren't for children. Comprised of a main series, a standalone prequel, and several short story collections, she has plans to continue expanding with a trilogy and standalone novels. 
In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs, full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. In what little time is left, she watches anime, plays PokemonGo, and works on her crooked Victorian house in Villisca, Iowa. Between her husband, family, and pets, she is never lonely, in fact, quite the opposite. Should she disappear, one might look for her on a beach in Tahiti, sipping a tropical drink and wearing a disguise. 

Pulled into a world of darkness, Katelina's fate becomes intertwined with that of Jorick, a dark, enigmatic vampire. To stay by his side, she must navigate intrigue, terror and bloodshed as they are drawn from one battle to another. Dreams of peace seem elusive, and are complicated by mysterious vampires, old relics, and an ancient master. Join Katelina and Jorick in a world where vampires don't sparkle and night is eternal.

Amaranthine

Despite Verchiel's instructions, Katelina shrieked as they leapt out the window and repeated their arrival procedure in reverse. She kept her eyes closed as he nimbly hopped from rooftop to rooftop, laughing delightedly at her misery. The cold air stung her bare hands as she hung on for her life, begging God not to let her die.


They dropped to the ground a block from the police station and Verchiel carefully peeled her loose like a pair of too tight leather pants. "You did better this time," he said as she dropped dizzily to the sidewalk. "You still need to work on it though."


"No thanks." She fought her heaving stomach. "That's worse than a roller coaster."


He got her to her feet and they walked to the brightly lit station. By the time they reached the parking lot, she'd quit staggering like a drunk. They wove between the vehicles and walked to the front door. A type-written sign proclaimed that after hours visitors needed to use the intercom to be admitted.


Chapter 142