Amanda is today's featured author with post #2 in our Finale, and she's taking an upclose and personal look at an archvillain from Diaries of An Urban Panther.
Last month, I mentioned there were two sorts of villains in The Diaries of an Urban Panther, Haverty Senior -- a mustache twisting devil with nothing but power on his mind -- and Spencer Haverty, his son. Spencer's villainy was twice as hard for Violet to defeat because similarities tied them closer together. As the one who infected Violet with the shifter magic, he constantly pulled their connection as her maker, invading her life and later her dreams.
In the excerpt below we can see how he slithered into her life under the guise of a lie and what happened the moment Violet saw through his slick facade.
Spencer Haverty in Diaries of An Urban Panther
by Amanda Arista (The Urban Panther Series #1)
Deep golden irises reflected the sporadic flash of the disco lights.
I gulped and suddenly felt him surround me, enveloping me within his borders.
He was panther. He smelled like stormy night air and a sharp plant scent so
exotic I couldn’t name it. Bile rose in my throat when I realized where I knew
that smell from: my bedroom.
“Spencer,” I whispered and my fight was renewed, the adrenaline
adding to my strength as I pushed and kicked for freedom.
He held me, both arms around my waist. I couldn’t get out of it,
could barely breathe. Couldn’t kick, could only wriggle.
“Let me go,” I cried out. Desperate, I looked around at the
computer engineers and investors who all kept dancing to the “Shout” throwing
their hands up madly in the air.
“But I want you.” Sincerity sounded sinful in his smooth voice.
“I’ve wanted you since you threw that hussy across the bar.”
“It was you!” I gasped. “You and your mutts have been stalking
me.”
He smiled and, for the briefest moment, I glimpsed the malevolence
behind the perfectly crafted façade.
Spencer lunged forward and pressed his mouth hard against mine.
The kiss was more bruising than breath-taking and more possessive than
passionate. The panther stirred in my chest as he grabbed the back of my head
and forced his tongue past my lips. He tasted like the Scotch he had been
nursing at the table, and something else. Something dark and heady.
For all that I wanted to fight back, the part of me that was pure
animal didn’t. His power felt natural against mine, one in the same. My panther
arched into his energy as though it was a welcome caress. A deep purr rumbled
in my ears. It made me feel sick when I realized it had come from me.
Desperate for air, I bit down his lower lip; the metallic taste of
blood was instantaneous. A small part of me was satisfied at having drawn his
blood for a change of pace.
He jerked back, dropping his hand from my head. Blood pooled at
the corner of his mouth, which curled up into a smile, but he didn’t release
his hold on me. He leaned in again to repeat his sin, his arms tightening
around me, but I arched away from him. To everyone else on the dance floor, it
probably looked like a dip to the Latin rhythms now mashed together over the
loud speakers.
He jerked me back to our previous position, and our eyes locked.
“We should be together.”
My mouth felt bruised from the trauma, and I desperately wanted to
wipe the taste of him from them. “No.”
“I need you, Violet. With you, God, the two of us could destroy my
father and revel in the chaos.” He ducked his head beside mine and nuzzled his
nose behind my ear, taking in a lungful. My entire body tensed up and then a
wave of cool goose bumps ran down my skin. “The two of us together. You can
feel it too, can’t you?”
“No,” I growled the lie. I could feel it, how easily it would be
to open up to him and run his panther past mine. But this was the bastard who
attacked me in a back alley. This was the bastard who had trashed my lair. This
was the bastard who used my best friend to get to me.
He ran his hand down the side of my face, then grabbed my chin,
fingers digging into the bone. “You look just like your mother,” he smiled. A
flash of white pressed down on his bloody lip. “I could have never imagined that
Saturday night leftovers could be such a blessing.”
“Flatter all you want, I’ll never be yours.”
His jaw clenched and the feel, the smell of him, grew so intense
it permeated the air around us. Surely the people around us had to feel it? But
they danced on not seeing anything abnormal here. Many other couples had paired
up to salsa to Suavamente.
Arm still around my waist, he hit me with a wall of energy. Thick
as cement, it crept over my skin, the cool gritty feeling touching my skin
through my clothes. Then it drove into me, like a spear through my midsection.
He blasted through the paper-thin protection I held around me like a cannon
ball through dry wall.
My cat screamed out at the sudden attack as his power rammed
through me. I’d felt this a week ago at the barn. Like he was trying to rip out
the cat within me. I felt nails digging into flesh. I didn’t know if it was my
cat digging in her claws to stay where she was or if it was my own claws
piercing his perfect pectorals.
“I made you, Violet Jordan. You’re mine. Willingly or not,” he
growled and his eyes blinked back to normal.
