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Sleepless Beauties

Copyright 2021 A.K. Koonce

All Rights Reserved

Editing by Red Line Editing

Cover design by Dark Imaginarium Art & Design

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Created with Vellum

For anyone who’s ever accidentally found love.

And rejected that shit immediately.


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21


Also by A.K. Koonce



The man across the street drags his chair closer to his date as they eat their brunch like they invented love and lust and…

Well, cheating.

“Oh Robert, Robert, Robert...” I whisper as I snap another quick picture from behind the lamppost I’m leaning into.

His hand drags up her thigh, shoving at the yellow sun dress she wore for him. My phone rings and I nearly drop the thing in a rush to get my picture before...

Noooo! Gah just let it fall next time, Kira!


Right now? We’re doing this right now?

“Yeah? Hey! Hi, Mom,” I say into the phone while I try to get a shot of the woman fondling Robert’s dick from over his gray slacks. “No, now’s not a bad time. It’s fine.” I snap another ten or so of a far too up-close picture of the elderly man’s cock.

My gag reflex sounds just as my mom asks if I’m still dating Chad.

“Oh, stop. He’s a nice young man, Kira. Your sister would have loved him.”

This time my grimace has nothing to do with life alert hand jobs and everything to do with the current conversation.

“Kyra would have agreed,” I whisper quietly.

“Come home for Thanksgiving?” she asks in that way that only mothers do. It’s that I’m asking, but there’s really no question mark tagged at the end of that demand.

“Of course, Mom.” I glance at the time and if I don’t ditch Robert’s daylight dick play and my mother’s phone call right now, I’m going to be late. “I got to go, Mom.”

A pause drifts across us like it always does.

“Love you,” I add, and I know she’ll say it back. And I’ll hang up first. And she’ll call again. Same time, same day next week.

The call ends, and I swipe quickly though my phone to email over all the pictures to Robert’s sweet darling wife who will use them to get all the alimony he can afford.

With that job done, I’m officially off work for the weekend.

But I have one more thing to do before I go home. I jog across town. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss her. Again.

And then I won’t be able to see her for another month.

The cold fall air bites at my cheeks as I turn the corner and stop dead on the crimson line painted into the old sidewalk. One side is newly paved. Long and unending, leading through a neighborhood my kind hasn’t ventured into in over nine decades. It’ll be an even ten at the end of this year.

As for the other side—my side—the pavement is cracked and worn. And that’s because my side is hicago tax dollar kept instead of Crimson City kept. It’s just one more thing that shows how supernaturals care more about perfect appearances than humans do.

It’s not something the average human thinks about.

What I wouldn’t give to be average. Unknowing. Naïve.

Instead, I’m very well educated.


Because we’re not alone on this earth. There truly are things that go bump in the night.

And one of those things is walking toward me right now.

“Hey, Pretty Human,” the charming but arrogant vampire bows to me.

My lips curl at the way he always over familiarizes his nickname for me. He does it on purpose. He knows how much it makes my illogical heart stutter, and he rejoices every time.

That’s why humans will always be weaker than vampires. It isn’t their supernatural speed or their immortality. It’s just humanity’s foolish nature to think that just because something is pretty it should be valued. The man’s flawless white smile and shimmering eyes are a case in point.

“Prey.” His bizarre name is spoken flatly against my tongue. Carelessly. I want him to know that although he might make a shiver of uneasiness race across my body, he himself is nothing to me.

His tight fitted tee-shirt goes unnoticed, let me assure you. As does the way it rides up at the bottom, exposing lickable veering lines and just enough hair leading down the center of his hard stomach to make me choke on my own saliva like an old cat.

Completely. Un. Noticed.

Unkempt hair as dark as the night sky flits over his ice-cold eyes. A venomous sneer lingers in his gaze. The unnoticed shirt that hugs his lean frame is the same inky color of his locks, as are his jeans. And his boots, and probably even the arrogant underwear hugging his arrogant ass.

He’s my sister’s assistant… boyfriend? I don’t actually know.

But every month, when I come here to the Crimson City line to see my sister, this asshole has always accompanied her.

Except for today.

Because this time he’s alone.

“Where’s Kyra? It’s the sixth. Today’s our day.” The speculation in my tone can’t be helped. It’s something that has been ingrained into my very being. Doubt everything and everyone.

It comes from being paid to find out secrets. And everybody has at least one or two hidden away.

Mothers lie. Ministers cheat. And the boyfriend? He’s always guilty. If you were to call me and the word boyfriend comes up, we both already know what I’m going to find.

Vampires, they can’t be trusted at all. Not even a little bit.

This one’s no

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