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MACK
King Trilogy #4 (Based on King Trilogy)
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Releasing Feb 15th, 2016
From New
York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, Comes the New Standalone Story of
Mack, a Continuation of the King Trilogy
“THEY THINK KING IS EVIL, BUT HE’S
GOT NOTHING ON ME.” - Mack
MY NAME IS
MACK. And if I play my cards right, I will soon be dead. Permanently. Not even
my powerful twin brother will be able to resurrect me. A good thing. Because a
man like me has no business living. Not when I have killed. Not when I have
betrayed everyone I have ever cared for. Not when I know I’m destined to do it
again.
This is why
I have come looking for her—the only one capable of ending me once and for all.
But will she think I’m just another insane patient? Or will she believe the
truth? I am thousands of years old, my heart too dark to be salvaged.
~~~~~
MY NAME IS
TEDDI, short for Theodora. My entire life has been a canvas of grays, whites,
and black. I can’t feel, I can’t understand joy, I’ve never truly lived. Until
now. His name is Mack, and though he believes he’s cursed, my degree in
psychology tells me otherwise. Besides, someone who’s capable of bringing so
much light into my life can’t be anything but good.
But I can
save him. If he’ll let me.
(STANDALONE
STORY – BASED ON THE USA TODAY
BESTSELLING KING TRILOGY)
Darkness was the one thing in this world I didn’t care for—probably because I felt most comfortable with facts. Seeing objects equated seeing facts. There is the floor. There is the couch. Facts.
Guessing where things were—I think the leg of this table is around here somewhere—ouch!—was inefficient, useless. It was why nightlights were invented.
So when I entered John Doe’s dark room, the first thing I wanted was to bring in some light.
“Mr. Doe?” I said to the dark figure seated in the corner of the small room, staring at me like an eerie scarecrow waiting to frighten the shit out of anything that crossed its path. “My name is Dr. Valentine. I’m the new director. May I turn on the lights so we can discuss the reason you are here?”
“I asked not to be disturbed.” The man’s deep, masculine voice felt like a cold, chilling slap. Yet strangely, it was also…Well, I didn’t know really. Hypnotic, perhaps.
I squinted, my eyes straining to see his face but only able to make out his silhouette—broad shoulders, short hair, and fit-looking arms from the shadows of biceps I was able to spot.
“That’s exactly why we need to talk,” I said. “It’s come to my attention that you are not here to seek therapy—”
“Leave.”
My mouth flapped for a moment. “I’m sorry, but did you—”
“I said leave,” he growled.
Sadly for him, intimidation didn’t work on me. Not that I was stupid and wouldn’t get out of harm’s way. The question was, did he intend to harm me?
“And if I don’t?” I asked, testing the waters. His response would tell me everything I needed to know. Reading people’s internal emotional state was another gift of mine.
I waited for a reply.
And then I waited some more.
He’s not going to answer me. Fine. This was silly and a completely unproductive use of my time. I would just have to see him with my own two eyes. My gift would do the rest.
“Okay. These lights are going—” I flipped the switch, and the moment my eyes met his, I was hit by a hard wave of…
“Holy fuck,” I gasped.
I flipped off the lights, turned, and left the room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was that?
Guessing where things were—I think the leg of this table is around here somewhere—ouch!—was inefficient, useless. It was why nightlights were invented.
So when I entered John Doe’s dark room, the first thing I wanted was to bring in some light.
“Mr. Doe?” I said to the dark figure seated in the corner of the small room, staring at me like an eerie scarecrow waiting to frighten the shit out of anything that crossed its path. “My name is Dr. Valentine. I’m the new director. May I turn on the lights so we can discuss the reason you are here?”
“I asked not to be disturbed.” The man’s deep, masculine voice felt like a cold, chilling slap. Yet strangely, it was also…Well, I didn’t know really. Hypnotic, perhaps.
I squinted, my eyes straining to see his face but only able to make out his silhouette—broad shoulders, short hair, and fit-looking arms from the shadows of biceps I was able to spot.
“That’s exactly why we need to talk,” I said. “It’s come to my attention that you are not here to seek therapy—”
“Leave.”
My mouth flapped for a moment. “I’m sorry, but did you—”
“I said leave,” he growled.
Sadly for him, intimidation didn’t work on me. Not that I was stupid and wouldn’t get out of harm’s way. The question was, did he intend to harm me?
“And if I don’t?” I asked, testing the waters. His response would tell me everything I needed to know. Reading people’s internal emotional state was another gift of mine.
I waited for a reply.
And then I waited some more.
He’s not going to answer me. Fine. This was silly and a completely unproductive use of my time. I would just have to see him with my own two eyes. My gift would do the rest.
“Okay. These lights are going—” I flipped the switch, and the moment my eyes met his, I was hit by a hard wave of…
“Holy fuck,” I gasped.
I flipped off the lights, turned, and left the room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was that?
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Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling
Romance author, and host of the radio talk show, Man Candy, on Radioslot.com.
When San Francisco native Mimi Jean went on an adventure as an
exchange student to Mexico City, she never imagined the journey would lead to
writing Romance. But one MBA, one sexy husband, and two rowdy kids later, Mimi
would trade in corporate life for vampires, deities, and snarky humor.
She continues to hope that her books will inspire a leather pants
comeback (for men) and that she might make you laugh when you need it most.
She also enjoys interacting with her fans (especially if they're
batshit crazy). You can always find her chatting away on Facebook, Twitter, or
saying many naughty words on her show MAN CANDY on Radioslot.com !
Find out more about Mimi and upcoming books at www.mimijean.net
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