The Vampire Haven
Newsletter Exclusives!
Welcome, my beloved newsletter subscribers! Please enjoy these previews and bonus content only for you.
Past Exclusives From Book 1:
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Read all about the Vampire Haven series here
September 2025: Get to know Finn!
Finn is from Book 1: A gorgeous, charming vampire looking for his happily-eternally-after falls ridiculously hard for a shy, nerdy human who’s never had a date in his life.
Finn Sullivan is among the most eligible bachelors in Chicago, with movie-star good looks and a reputation as a talented gentle dom. Secretly, he’s also a vampire looking for the love of his life in the shape of a human who wants a very long-term relationship. Finn realizes almost immediately upon meeting introverted, inexperienced August Amesbury that August could be The One. But Finn’s been disappointed in love before—will sweet, shy August only break his heart once more?
August Amesbury can get his head around the idea of actual vampires congregating in a diner to have lots of sex. And while he has no idea what these (very) friendly strangers mean when they say August is a sub in need of a gentle dom, he’s down for figuring that out. What August can’t believe is that Finn Sullivan, the most beautiful person in the world, could actually be interested in awkward, geeky August. But that could be a problem, because August is pretty sure he’s already falling in love.
Plus! A plot! What will August’s awful cousin Logan do when he finds out August has snagged the trophy lover Logan’s been chasing?
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Excerpt from Chapter 4
Finn was thinking about August again, and that was a problem.
There was a party going on all around Finn, at a house belonging to some famous drummer. There was music, and good food—Finn could smell the food, anyway, he knew better than to get near the tables lest someone knock a bowl of fruit salad onto the floor and he’d have to spend his evening counting grapes. There was laughter, champagne, lovely people, and Finn just kept thinking about August.
About that cry of ecstasy when Finn had made him come, but beyond that, all the little noises leading up to it, the sighs against Finn’s mouth, the adorable tiny gasps of surprise. Finn’s favorite of August’s noises were the desperate half-pleading sounds—not August pleading for Finn’s touch, but August to himself, trying not to tip over into orgasm just because Finn licked the roof of his mouth.
Finn prided himself on being a good lover, but so much of what was happening with August was just August. Finn had never before met a man whose shyness concealed such passion, and to feel that in his arms—to have August’s cries and moans come from Finn’s hands, meant for Finn’s ears—it was breathtaking.
And god, the taste of him. Finn could still feel the warm smoothness of August on his tongue. August Amesbury’s blood was clear and sharp as cut glass, like the sugar-shock of cold lemonade on a hot day. It was the kind of taste a person would mourn if they ever lost it.
Finn enjoyed parties, and he was enjoying this one, but he enjoyed August far more, and that was an immense problem, because Finn had been here before. A beautiful human, shy but eager, who looked up at Finn with pleasure-dark eyes and made him think Maybe this time.
They never meant to break Finn’s heart. And the fact that August seemed more perfect than any of them only made it worse.
It was also more difficult at the moment, because Finn could smell the scent of sex wafting through the air. Couples and larger parties were heading upstairs hungry and coming back happy. Finn could head up if he wanted to. Normally, he would on a night like this, he’d find a friend or stranger who’d go upstairs with him, drop their clothes on the floor of an unoccupied bedroom, and let Finn put one of those satisfied smiles on their faces.
But tonight, the only person Finn wanted stretched out on a bed beneath him was a pretty little human with disorderly curls and the softest, sweetest mouth Finn had kissed in a very long time. Maybe ever. God, August was going to be an absolute dream to fuck, and Finn had enough plans for him to last a weekend, starting with getting his mouth on—
“Finn! There you are.”
Finn realized he’d been staring at the wall, and the party came back to him: fairy lights reflected in a black baby grand piano, the flowing-jerky movement of people dancing, chilled night air from a door propped open, and the scent of blood—B-positive now.
Not quite like August, though. No one else had such ambrosia flowing through their veins.
Oddly enough, this man did look somewhat like August—the same black curls, but not as beautifully wild.
“Logan,” Finn said. “How nice to see you again.”
Logan was handsome, tall with broad shoulders and dark eyes, a bass player for several local bands. He held up a cd. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I saw this and thought of you, our beloved piano player. Ahmad Jamal live at the Jazz Showcase, 1992.” Logan stepped close to press the album against Finn’s chest, and said in a lower voice, “Perhaps we could get together and listen.”
Finn had met Logan at a place like this a year ago, an after party for some concert. For whatever reason, this particular social circle of humans had been especially quick to bestow the label most eligible bachelor on Finn, which was disappointing, because with that ridiculous title came men like Logan.
“That sounds like a wonderful album,” Finn said, leaving unmentioned the fact that he’d actually attended that show, in the Blackstone Hotel, before Logan was born. “I’m sure everyone here would like to hear it. You could go ask the host to put it on.” He did not take the cd.
Disappointment flashed across Logan’s face, and a hint of anger Flinn had glimpsed before, but Logan covered it with a smile. “Of course. Wonderful idea. Now you be good, and wait right here.” Logan even winked as he stepped away.
Finn intended to do no such thing. In fact, as far as he was concerned, the party had lost any luster it’d had. Finn was used to being pursued romantically, and he favored a soft, kind approach when turning people down. Most people understood him just fine. Finn was pretty sure Logan understood too. But Logan was relentless, and Finn didn’t like relentless, it reminded him too much of that dark street the night someone had—
Well. No sense in thinking about 200-year-old events when he could head home and fantasize about August instead.
Thus Finn was utterly surprised when five feet from the back door, he detected the scent of incomparably sweet B-positive, along with lively string music, with the occasional wrong note.
Finn poked his head into what looked like a storeroom, with metal shelves of tapes and cords everywhere. There was a small green couch that held an empty violin case, and in the center of the room, August, with his back to the door and his hands dancing across the strings of a violin. Well, a fiddle, the way he was playing.
Finn’s poor heart felt lighter than it had for days—at least, since the last time he’d been with this beautiful man.
The notes August played were clear as birdsong, the rhythm bright, an old Irish tune Finn had learned at his mother’s blond upright piano so long ago. He could still hear her voice in his memory counting the rhythm, STRAW-berry, STRAW-berry, as Finn played the clunky notes.
“Fucking B-part,” August complained, as he slowed down to start a new melody, and all Finn could think was what incredible music this man would make if given another hundred years to play.
The tune circled back around to the A-part, and ended with a beautiful run of double stops, two notes played at once.
Finn clapped.
August literally jumped and turned, putting the hand holding to bow to his heart like an old lady about to give a scolding. His curls bounced madly, and Finn was laughing, he couldn’t help it.
“Finn.” August’s dark eyes were wide, and Finn could see so much lovely blood rushing to flush his skin. “What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying your beautiful playing, my darling.”
August blinked, as if he was just remembering he was holding a violin. He put it down carefully on the couch. “It’s not mine, I just saw it and—um, it’s been a while since I played. Obviously.”
“Well, I very much enjoyed it. You have real talent.”
“Oh.” August didn’t seem to care about the compliments, his eyes busy traveling over Finn’s shoulders, his chest, lower.
Finn stepped closer, and August’s breathing picked up.
“I didn’t expect to see you at this party,” Finn said. “It’s a wonderful surprise.”
“Ah, well, my cousin invited me. I was really glad, actually, but then he kind of ditched me, so I wandered and I saw the fiddle—”
Finn dropped his voice low. “Mmm, and how well you’ve done, my dearest, finding a place for us to be alone.”
August gasped, a sound of overwhelming want, and Finn could not wait another second. He grasped August, pulled him close, and took that sweet mouth once more. It started soft, but grew, because August was learning, blossoming, really. His hands clutched Finn’s shirt, and then slid up to wind around Finn’s neck without being guided. He sank into Finn’s embrace, letting Finn lick into his mouth and tangle his fingers in August’s curls, kissing back with intense hunger.
Finn rewarded him—both of them—by sliding a thigh between August’s legs, giving him something to rut his hardening cock against.
August moaned loudly, and then pulled back suddenly, a hand over his mouth to cover a breathless laugh. “I forgot this wasn’t the Haven.”
Finn grinned at him. “Mmm, well, that’s because you haven’t been upstairs.” It was adorable that August looked scandalized.
Finn still had a hand on August’s arm, and he was about to pull him in for further, slightly quieter love-making, but Finn heard someone’s steps approaching. He let go of August, desperately wishing he’d taken this sweet little human with him and escaped before Logan found him again.
“There you—” Logan started, walking into the room, and then froze. “August. I—you—you’ve met Finn.”
All traces of the blush Finn had put on August’s cheeks were abruptly gone. He was as pale as his white shirt, staring at Finn. “Oh, god, you’re—fuck, of course you are, Logan’s always talking about you. I just—I didn’t remember the name—”
The clues clicked into place with sickening ease: the hair, the blood type, August’s presence at the party. “Your cousin is Logan,” Finn said slowly.
“Well, of course I’m always talking about him,” Logan cut in, flustered. “We’re close friends, aren’t we, Finn?”
August’s eyes widened, and he dropped Finn’s gaze.
“How did you two meet?” Logan asked, his voice sharp.
“Someone introduced us,” Finn said. Irritation and worry filled him, and god, he wanted to tell Logan everything: Your cousin is standing in a doorway to my heart that I didn’t mean to open, and by the way, he’s fucking beautiful when he comes.
Graphics made on Canva. City image is “Earth Hour Cityscape” by Sketchify, Canva free license.