Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Daughter of the Blood (Silhouette Bombshell #117)
  • Alternative view 1 of Daughter of the Blood (Silhouette Bombshell #117)
  • Alternative view 2 of Daughter of the Blood (Silhouette Bombshell #117)

Daughter of the Blood (Silhouette Bombshell #117)

3.5 4
by Nancy Holder

See All Formats & Editions

In her old life, Isabella DeMarco lived in New York with her father and had just started to fall for a handsome police lieutenant. Then she learned the truth--she is Gifted, a powerful magic user.

In her new world, Jean-Marc des Ombres is the one person Izzy can trust as she claims her birthright--keeping New Orleans and the House of the Flames safe from


In her old life, Isabella DeMarco lived in New York with her father and had just started to fall for a handsome police lieutenant. Then she learned the truth--she is Gifted, a powerful magic user.

In her new world, Jean-Marc des Ombres is the one person Izzy can trust as she claims her birthright--keeping New Orleans and the House of the Flames safe from supernatural enemies. But those enemies will do anything to destroy her. When Jean-Marc is injured, Izzy is caught between fighting off a powerful vampire and opening her House to a potentially treacherous ally. And now the lives of the people she cares about most may be sacrificed for her own...

Product Details

Publication date:
Nancy Holder
Product dimensions:
4.20(w) x 6.60(h) x 0.80(d)

Read an Excerpt

New York

The moon was a flickering, low-watt streetlamp threatening to go out any second. Sirens roared in the New York City jungle of burned-out tenements and rusted cars. Bottom-dwelling predators--dealers, pimps, "kickers and gangbangers glided through the misery and poverty of the urban landscape surrounded by snowdrifts, garbage and needles.

It was the last hour of third watch, the end of Izzy DeMarco's very first shift as an NYPD rookie. She and her field training officer, Patrolman Juan Torres, were escorting Sauvage, a young goth from Brooklyn, to her boyfriend's place. The building was not very nice, but at least the graffiti on the bricks was random and crude, lacking the trademark tags claiming the building for some gang. Gang territory was worse news than basic low-rent squalor.

Sauvage had promised to stay here until the department located Izzy's former coworker, Julius Esposito, and took him into custody. Sauvage had witnessed Esposito, who had worked with Izzy in the property room, shaking down a corner boy--a street dealer--for money and contraband. She hadn't seen him commit murder, but Esposito was also wanted in connection with the possible homicide of Detective First Grade Jason Attebury, also of the Two-Seven.

Detective Pat Kittrell--what should Izzy call him, her lover? her boyfriend?--had argued that Izzy needed protective custody of her own. Although he had no concrete evidence to back up his case, Pat was sure Esposito was the shooter who had taken aim at Izzy's father in a burning tenement fire--and missed. If he wanted one DeMarco dead, he might want two. Pat was furious when Izzy was assigned to escort Sauvage to aso-called safehouse, and he had half a mind to go to Captain Clancy and tell her so.

Torn between feeling flattered and patronized, Izzy had demanded that Pat stand down and back way off. The last thing she needed was a gold shield lecturing her boss about how to use a new hire.

I'm a cop. Finally. And I sure as hell knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

Besides, Sauvage had declared that Izzy was the only person in New York whom she trusted. With white makeup, black eyes and scarlet lips, costumed in her evil Tinkerbell finery--black-and-red bustier, lacy skirt and leggings topped by a pea coat, with combat boots sticking out underneath-- Sauvage cut an exotic figure beside Izzy, who had on her brand-new NYPD blues. Izzy wore no makeup, and her riot of black corkscrew curls were knotted regulation-style, poking out from the back of her hat. Dark brows, flashing chestnut eyes, and unconcealed freckles danced across her small nose--Izzy had never aspired to fashion-model looks, but some men--okay, Pat--said she was a natural beauty. She didn't know about that. But she did look exactly as she had imagined she would look in her uniform, and she was very proud.

"Okay, so where is your boyfriend?" Torres thundered at Sauvage as the three stamped their chilly feet on the stoop of the building. Izzy blew on her hands. She had forgotten her gloves. Torres had not. He was bundled up against the night air, and he had a few extra pounds of his own to keep himself warm. And onion breath. Their vehicle reeked of it.

Huffing, Sauvage jabbed the buzzer repeatedly with her blood-red fingernail.About ten minutes ago, back in the squad car, Sauvage had let her boyfriend, Ruthven, know they were on their way, and he'd assured her that he was in the apartment cooking her a big bowl of brown rice and veggies--with a supply of her favorite clove cigarettes at the ready.

"I don't know why he's not answering," Sauvage muttered.

"He is so dead."

Let's hope not, Izzy thought, a chill clenching her gut, but she remained silent.

From his jacket pocket, Torres handed Sauvage his cell phone and said, "Call him and tell him to get this door open ASAP."

Sauvage obeyed, punching in numbers. She waited a moment, then looked up from the cell phone and said, "It's not making any noise."

Izzy's anxiety level increased. She turned her head, surveying the street, tilting back her head as she scanned the grimy windows. A few of them had been boarded over. "Try mine," Izzy offered, pulling her Nokia out of her dark-blue coat and handing it to Sauvage. Meanwhile, Torres was depressing buttons on his cell phone as he exhaled his stinky onion breath, which curled like smoke around his face.

Sauvage took Izzy's phone, punched in the number and murmured, "C'mon, c'mon" under her breath. She closed her kohl-rimmed eyes and pursed her blood-red lips as if she were trying to send her boyfriend a message via ESP.

"Nope," she announced, shaking her head and holding the phone out to Izzy. "It doesn't work, either."

Izzy listened to the dead air and frowned.

Torres said, "I just called in. I'm not getting anything. Let's go to pagers."

They whipped them out. Nothing.

Torres announced, "I'm going to the car." He jogged about ten feet down the block to their squad car. After about half a minute, he was out of the car and looking in the trunk.

He came back with their twelve-gauge shotgun. "Hijo de puta," he groused. "Computer's out. Radio phone's not working, either."

"How can that be?" Sauvage asked, sounding frightened.

"You guys are the police. Your stuff is always supposed to work."

A frisson shot up Izzy's spine. This all seemed familiar in a way she could not define. The cold, the phones not working...

"I think we should get out of here," she said. "Let's take Sauvage to the precinct."

"No, we can't go," Sauvage fretted, hunching her shoulders. She tapped the column of nameplates and jabbed the same button. "He's here. We can buzz someone else who lives here and get them to let us in." She ran her finger up and down the list. "Here's a cool one--Linda Wilcox."

"No," Torres said. "It's his place or we're not going in." Izzy thought about arguing. Maybe something had happened to Ruthven. Something bad. Maybe it was happening right now. Ten--make that fifteen--minutes ago, he had been cooking something for his girlfriend to eat. Izzy sincerely doubted he'd left to go buy some more zucchini.

"I'm going across the street to call for backup," Torres said. There was a little mom-and-pop convenience store across the street, signs in the window for Colt 45, cigarettes and lotto tickets.

"Let's go together," Izzy suggested. "Something is seriously wrong."

He said, "I'm only going across the street. You two should keep trying the buzzer."

Then he split, taking full advantage of the lull in the oncoming traffic to jaywalk between parked cars.

Uneasy and cold, Izzy checked her watch again. Forty-eight minutes to go. She knew that Big Vince, her father, was counting each minute, too, waiting for her call to assure him that she had come through her first tour safe and sound. A veteran patrol officer, Big Vince hated that she had become a cop, which was exactly what she had predicted. He wanted his little girl safe and protected from the cold, harsh world, not out in it protecting others.

As soon as this detail was over, she'd phone Big Vince and assure him that he could go back to bed. Then she'd meet up with Pat, debrief, celebrate. Pat Kittrell, a detective second grade in the NYPD, was the man who had helped her fulfill her dream of becoming a cop. Encouraged her, supported her, even helped her overcome her phobia of guns.

He had bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate. They'd go to his place, pop the cork, toast...and then they would make love.As on edge as she was, her body became energized with the thought of his hands on her body, of how it felt when they started the dance. She could smell his musky scent, feel the smoothness of his lips, hear his voice whispering her name in her ear just before he slid into her warm and willing body.

"What is taking him, like, forever?" Sauvage asked Izzy, jolting her out of her reverie. Sauvage tap-danced against the pavement in her combat boots. "I don't like this."

Izzy didn't either like it, either. "Let's check the store," she said to Sauvage. "Be careful of the ice," Sauvage cautioned her, as she herself slipped and slid, grabbing Izzy's hand.

When they reached the crosswalk, Izzy reached out to depress the pedestrian signal. As soon as she touched it, the streetlight above them flickered a few times and went out, casting them in relative darkness.

"What the--?" Sauvage muttered, gazing upward.

In the same instant, a black panel truck roared around the corner on the same side of the street as the convenience store and squealed up to the curb. Izzy yanked Sauvage back, hard. The front bumper missed Sauvage's left knee by inches.

Izzy aimed her weapon as the passenger door burst open and a dark silhouette leaped out. She recognized the pomaded hair--Julius Esposito--just as he lunged at her and slammed something against her arm. There was a sharp, painful jolt.


Her vision fragmented into gray, shiny dots and there was a scream out in the world or maybe that was the nerves in her ears going haywire. She began to convulse, and she hit the icy sidewalk hard, her arms and legs twitching. For a few forevers, everything shorted out. Then as she swam back, her head began to throb.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought.

It took her a while to wrap her right hand around the grip of her revolver and get to her feet. Her left ankle hurt worse than her head. Bad sprain.

The car was long gone, but Esposito was two blocks ahead of her, dragging Sauvage on foot down the street. She was shrieking and batting at him. Esposito didn't pay her the slightest attention. Neither did the solitary man staggering drunkenly past them in a pair of earmuffs over a do-rag and a black Mets jacket.

Izzy shouted, "Stop! Police! Torres! Torres, get out here!" Esposito was hustling out of her kill zone--too far away to shoot. And she might hit Sauvage or Mets.

She was surprised that Esposito had taken Sauvage. Why didn't he drag her into the truck and tell his wheelman to take off? Obviously, he wants me to follow him.


Her best bet was to sic her uninjured partner on him. The mom-and-pop loomed across the street like a journey of a thousand miles. It took her a supreme effort to walk, but she put her pain on hold as she started across the street. She was still holding her gun, but she let her arm drop to her side, concealing it from view.

A bell on the front door of the shop tinkled as she rushed inside. The store smelled of tobacco and floor cleaner, and the clerk, a short Asian man, leaned over the counter at the front and pointed toward the opposite end of the store.

He said, "He go into the alley."

"Did he use your phone?" she asked, as she made her way down an aisle of canned lychee nuts and Japanese rice crackers. She spread her thumb and forefinger and held them against the side of her face like a phone. "Did he call the police?"

"No call," the man informed her, shaking his head. "No working." He held up his white portable unit as if to corroborate his testimony, and shrugged apologetically.

Why aren't the phones working? What is going on? "Try again. Call 911! Tell them officers are in pursuit, on foot. Perp armed and dangerous. And tell 'em all the radios are jammed up down here."

"It no working," the man insisted.

"Keep trying!" she bellowed.

She burst through the back door into the alley. There were Dumpsters and trash cans, but no Torres.

She whirled in a circle, shouting, "Torres! Damn it! Where are you?"

There was no answer.

Figuring he'd circled back around, she flew back through the store and burst outside again.

No Torres there, either.

Damn it, she thought.

Esposito had put a lot of distance between himself and her. Alone, without backup, she hobbled through East Harlem, one of the more impoverished neighborhoods in all of New York City. Fifth Avenue to the East River, Ninety-Sixth to One Hundred and Fifteenth Street. Night was a heavy lead weight slung across her shoulders, a sudden dumping of snow flurries slowing her pace as surely as the pain freezing up her ankle.

Esposito maintained at least a fifty-yard lead, despite the fact that he was dragging Sauvage and she was fighting him every step. The young goth's black combat boots kept scooting out from underneath her on the icy sidewalk; now he was screaming at her over his shoulder and brandishing his gun. Izzy wondered how long Sauvage would be able to struggle. Beneath her pea coat, her black-and-red bustier must be constricting her breathing, and her skirts were wrapped around her legs like a shroud.

Meet the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Holder is thrilled to be back at Harlequin/Silhouette where she sold her first two novels many years ago (for a young-adult line that no longer exists.) In answer to recent queries, yes, she is "that" Nancy Holder, who wrote for Bantam Loveswept, and also Laurel Chandler. She wrote thirteen category and women's fiction single titles before writing two erotic horror novels with her coauthor, Melanie Tem, and a solo horror novel titled Dead in the Water, which received a Bram Stoker Award from the Horror Writers Association.

Soon after that, Nancy was asked to write an original novel based on the TV show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and working with other writers and solo, she has wound up writing more Buffy and Angel material (including show guides) than any other writer. She has written for Buffy since the show went on the air, and her latest Buffy effort is on the stands now. She has also written tie-in books for Smallville, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Highlander and other "universes."

She also writes a lot of young adult and children's fiction, sometimes under various "house" names. She loves retold fairy tales, and has worked on those as well.

Nancy has lived in San Diego for most of her adult life, and is a doting mother to her daughter. The Holder women recently sold their first collaborative effort, a short story about Lightning the mouse, to an anthology. Lightning is a brown mouse that belongs to her daughter. They also have two cats, Kittnen Snow and David.

Nancy is a Jazzercise devotee and also studies yoga. She dropped outofhigh school to become a ballet dancer in Germany, but a number of injuries sidelined her. She figure that's just as well — she's very happy with being a freelance writer.

Nancy is a charter member of both RWA and HWA (the Horror Writers Association). She also belongs to the IAMTW, the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers; and Persephone, which is an organization for women horror writers. She attends a lot of science fiction and fantasy cons. She learned about the Silhouette Bombshell line at a fantasy convention from a friend of hers who used to write scripts for Xena.

Nancy also teaches at the University of California San Diego through the Extension department, and has also taught at the Maui Writers Retreat and in other venues. She is delighted to report that several of her students have gone on to great publishing success, which is just as thrilling to her as selling something herself.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Daughter of the Blood (Silhouette Bombshell #117) 3.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
DAUGHTER OF THE BLOOD is the second book of a trilogy. It is probably best to read the first book (DAUGHTER OF THE FLAMES) in order to understand what is happening in the middle book. This is the problem with series books. It¿s difficult to jump into the middle of a series (even Sherrilyn Kenyon) and have an understanding of all that is happening. The first book set up the storyline. Izzy (Isabel) DeMarco finds out she¿s not just an ordinary person she¿s the heir to a supernatural kingdom. The second book is about her struggle to get and maintain power. Like the first book, it ends in a cliffhanger. Action is Ms. Holder¿s forte and there is plenty of it in this book. Another area where the author excels is the description of cops and ordinary life. Because this part of the story mainly takes place within the confines of the supernatural world, this is absent. Pat Kittrell, her human love interest and detective is present but only slightly. Her magical mentor and lover Jean-Marc is much more present. The struggle for power is interesting, but there are so many characters and the plotting is so dense, it gets confusing at times. I hope the third book will give me a satisfying conclusion to Izzy¿s story. In addition, I wish that Ms. Holder would try her hand in the mystery/detective genre, because I think she would do well in that area. -- L. Akers
Guest More than 1 year ago
I'm sorry, I read almost 100 pages of this book & found myself unable to care less about why the characters were doing what they were doing. I don't know why this book didn't connect with me. Although I don't normally read fantasy/paranormal type books, I have nothing against them and welcome them into my library from time to time. Maybe I should have tried the first book in the miniseries. I consider myself to be reasonably intelligent, but it was terribly hard for me to keep up with all the info thrown at me in the beginning, where the events of the previous book were explained. Maybe it's just me... but if you really want to read this, I would recommend buying it used or getting it from the library.
harstan More than 1 year ago
In New York, Isabella ¿Izzy¿ DeMarco lived with her father and worked in the evidence department of the police force. She liked her life and finds herself attracted to one of the officers on the force, Detective Pat Kittrell.------------------------ Doing escort duty, her world tilted with betrayal, ambush, and someone speaking French inside her head. She learns that she is now the guardian of the House of the Flames, a role she inherited from her mother. Izzy also finds out she is a powerful but untrained mage whose job as the Gifted is to keep some dangerous supernatural creatures like vampires out of New Orleans. She trusts no one except reluctantly Jean-Marc, who has guided her on her mission. However, with Jean-Marc incapacitated from a battle injury, Izzy is on her own fighting a powerful vampire while unaware that a betrayal from within leaves her even more vulnerable from lethal foes.---------------- DAUGHTER OF THE BLOOD is an action-packed paranormal romantic suspense thriller with the emphasis on the escapades. The story line is fast-paced and filled with twists including a terrific bombshell of an ending. However, what makes it more than just a brave ¿Jane Wayne¿ battling vampires and ilk is the heroine¿s struggles with her lack of skills while fighting adversaries who make the meanest streets of New York look like a nursery school. This is one adventure tale that holds readers¿ attention from start to finish.----------------- Harriet Klausner