Ardor. Pronounced "Ahr-der".
When looking for a title for this story, I came across a synonym for passion called 'ardor'. Logan Gilding is probably the most driven and sexiest male characters – and vampires – I have ever written. Ardor means "great warmth of feeling; fervor; passion", or "intense devotion, eagerness, or enthusiasm; zeal", but the best definition was the most simple: "burning heat".
Enjoy the prologue.

Chapter one should be up as soon as I finalize his character details a little more.


Prologue

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"You are not going to like this." Then why are you telling it to me?
"Your girlfriend was just found dead in a lake three-hundred miles away. And traces of your blood are all over her body." I think I can safely say that was the day my life ended.
Well, that, and the day I got a four by four straight through my head. It should have been the last anyone had ever seen of me. It almost was.

But I am far cry from someone who dies that easy.

--

"Minister Gilding, the rest of the federal world would appreciate it if you refrained from getting lost in your own mind of fantasy and instead turned your attention to the case in front of you, if you would be so kind." It was hardly a fantasy. A fantasy is not a place where everyone dies.

I blinked. "I am quite sure that the rest of the federal world would also appreciate it if someone here stopped being such a stuck up, controlling bitch." Sometimes, my words slip. Unfortunately, it usually only happens when I am at work. "Now, as I was saying, your previous comment about the death being a pure murder out of rage from the victim's father does not fit the picture." I tossed another folder onto the long table. Fifteen heads circled around me. Let me make it clear that I was the only person who worked in such a high class place that could offend someone and still attract all the attention I needed a mere second later. It comes with the supernatural name-tag. No one understands why, but they can not help but like me. No matter what I do. No matter what I truly am. "Because, as your previous detective work failed to process, the victim's father was not…"

"Why are you still here, Logan?" It was later in the day, after the meeting. I was in the lousy cafeteria, a half-drunken cup of cold black coffee in my right hand.

"You know you love me, Richards." His name was Greg. I didn't like him, but I hated him less than the other people I was working with.

"Yes, and apparently so does everyone else. How dare you fire off at Miss Gracey this morning like that – in the middle of an official meeting? Jesus Christ, Logan, you may as well have flipped the chief off! He was sitting right there!" I do hate how he always brings my attitude into things.

"Richards, it was your team who asked me to be a part of the case. Because your people could not figure it out. Because your people could not do their jobs, I had to come in and work with dickheads. You know I stopped doing this a long time ago." I sipped my coffee.

"Yes, however it does not give you the right-"

"It gives me every damn right I want. You know I work alone, and definitely not wearing a suit. God, I hate polyester." I scratched at the hair around my collar again.

"Yes, but the work you do also makes a nice, lengthy criminal record. A lot of people want you dead, Logan." Yeah. And a lot of vampires do too. "The Federal Bureaucracy of Investigate is over looking numerous demerits on your resume to let you come-"

"To let me come? That's a nice line, Richards-"

"By accessing your skills the agency is willing to destroy a few, most negative parts of your file. And, you are making a more than decent pay, am I correct?" Yes. But that does not mean that I am okay with it.

"Well, it looks like somebody has finally done their research." I stood. My metal chair screeched across the poorly tiled floor. "Let me know when the rest of your workers pull their hands out of their asses and onto their papers." I tossed the empty cup into the garbage can, and shoved my rough hands into my deep pockets. With any luck, home would be better than the office.

--

Moans of pleasure escaped the dry lips of a woman who I did not know. I pushed her harder up against the wall. She kissed my neck, borrowing her bright eyes were into my bare muscular chest where they could no longer see my sweating face. Taking the single opportunity naivety and sensual desire had given me my fangs came out, sinking deep within her flesh. She shivered up against me, going limp. My gray eyes bore out into the moonlit evening. Innocent blood poured into me. I groaned with pure ecstasy. I had waited so long this time…
Yes. Home was definitely better than the office.