Dear Readers,

I hope you’re all having a wonderful weekend. I have a deleted scene for you! It covers all of Chapter Four of Blood Surge, but is told from Daniel’s point of view rather than Sophia’s. I decided to rewrite this scene from Sophia’s POV as it seemed a bit too early in the book for us to be in Daniel’s thoughts just yet — he was better off remaining a mystery for a little longer, and as readers, we really needed to stay with Sophia’s unreliable narration and memories as things begin to unfold.

Scroll further down to read the scene, but first I’m going to let you all know about the paperback release of Blood Surge, as well as a hardback I’ll be trialling, exclusive to select Amazon stores.

Paperbacks

As you can see above, the paperback looks awesome! And it’s the longest novel I’ve written so far at 492 pages (about 514 in eBook format). You can currently pre-order it at Waterstones, Blackwell’s, Foyles, Amazon UK, Books Please, and SciFier. It releases on 30th October and, fingers crossed, it will then be available across all Amazon stores, in Barnes & Noble, and in Walmart, too.

Before I move onto the hardback, I also want to let everyone know that The Witching Pen series paperbacks are now trickling into most stores, with Amazon UK, Walmart, and Barnes & Noble leading the way — yep, they are finally here! Sorry for the delay with these. They should appear in other Amazon stores and eBook platforms within the next two weeks.

Hardbacks

I have not, to date, created any hardbacks yet, but I’m trialling Amazon’s jacket-free hardback option for Blood Surge, and for future new publications should it work. This will only be available at select Amazon stores which include Amazon UK, Amazon US, and a few EU stores (not Canada or Australia, I’m afraid). This will be released on 6th November, 2025, and there is no pre-order option. The book is 6 x 9”, with slightly larger reading font than the paperback, and will retail at £18.95, $24.95, and €21.95, respectively.

And now for the deleted scene — it’s 3700 words long, so go make yourself a drink before you start! Points to note: I wrote this very early on before Daniel’s character became more established in my mind, so if he doesn’t quite gel, in this scene, with the man you know in the final version, that is why. Also, when I rewrote the chapter that’s now in the book, I added a tiny bit more dialogue (so it doesn’t quite synch exactly). This is a spoiler-free excerpt. This chapter begins at the point Chapter Three ends.

Deleted Chapter: Chapter Four: Blood SurgeText copyright © 2025, Dianna Hardy. All rights reserved.

He fell back against the bedroom door as soon as he’d shut it – almost hit it with his fist before he caught himself. Further acts of violence was really not what the woman in his living room needed to hear or see. The human woman.

“Shit,” he muttered. He’d known she was human because he’d heard her heartbeat loud and clear in that thicket, but he hadn’t realised she was human human. She’d thrown a vampire off her. She’d looked like she’d known what she was doing – with the god damned holy water as well.

Sophia.

“Fuck.”

He focused on her name as he stripped off his towel. Sophia. It stopped him from dwelling on how he’d massively messed up tonight in more ways than one. How had he even ended up at the bridleway? He’d felt a tug and followed his instincts. That had pretty much been it. The rest he had not been expecting.

She didn’t have a clue what attacked her, how she’d been rescued, or what he was, and now he was going to pay the price for his carelessness. He was rarely careless. It was beyond him how he’d completely missed her naivety, but there was no way he could now let her roam free knowing she had not the slightest idea what she was up against or how to protect herself.

Why was she carrying holy water with her if she didn’t know?

Maybe she’s lying.

He stilled at that thought, his underwear half way up his legs, and then he remembered her sobbing over the sink. Because you were an arsehole. Too weak to stop yourself getting all riled up at her blood and her nearness. And her beauty. He couldn’t deny he found her stunning from those dark hazel eyes to her sensuous lips which had parted in clear desire the moment she’d unintentionally body-slammed into him. It was not difficult for a vampire to know when an arduous gaze homed in on them.

Still, humans never got under his skin like this one had. But they did sob like she had.

He sighed with regret. No. She wasn’t lying. She’d been completely vulnerable in that moment, he was sure.

With a wince, he looked down wondering what in god’s name was wrong with his pants, then exhaled sharply when he spied his half-erection. Great​. Carefully, he pulled the waistband up over it. That was a complication he just didn’t need. Humans were for eating, not mating – not even attractive ones. That had even been partly why he’d thought she wasn’t a normal human – she’d smelled divine from a distance, looked amazing up close, and yes, he’d found himself attracted to her. So … she was maybe a half-breed. Maybe a vamp hunter. A werewolf? (Although he never usually took to werewolves himself – they were too uncouth for him with no bloody self-control, rutting everything in sight. And they smelled doggy – there was no getting around that, although some vamps dug it.)

Nope – she was none of those. Turned out she was fully Homo sapien and completely unaware of the monsters she’d met tonight, not that the more basic part of his anatomy seemed to care about her human status. His mind took him back to the feel of her over the kitchen sink; the scent of her when his cheek had been against hers; the beat of the pulse in her neck; all his sensuality heightened by her whimpers and sobs because he was a creature of hell and deranged like that.

Buttoning up his shirt, he frowned at his … yeah, his erection was even bigger at his recalling of her. “Sorry, my friend – not happening in a million years. Humans are out of bounds.” But there was the more pressing issue of what on earth he did with her next. If he’d known she was fully human, he’d have left her on that bridle path to become fodder. People were attacked all the time – what was one more victim? No one believed in his kind, so they were never looked for or caught. Vampires only put themselves in danger when exposing themselves to the human world and then leaving said human alive, which is why they never did. Which is why he never had until tonight.

Bravo, genius.

You could just kill her, came the darker part of his inner-voice.

That wasn’t happening either. He’d laid that lovely character trait to rest a long time ago which is why he kept far away from humans unless he was one hundred percent certain he could control their senses – make them forget through their need. Forget that he’d fed on their blood. He’d become a master at it, although in recent years he’d stuck to stealing from blood banks like a vagabond vamp because his damn conscience kept growing on him. Still … nothing beat a live feed. And he never took too much. They lost themselves in the lust of it and always woke up none the wiser.

He never exposed himself to humans for any other reason. Tonight, he’d failed. She’d caught him off-guard smelling otherworldly and handling herself as such. He’d wanted to help potential kin in danger – she’d looked like she knew the score. But he’d completely misread the situation.

Time to stop procrastinating. Running the towel through his hair a last time, he threw it into the adjoining bathroom and faced the closed bedroom door only half wanting to face what was beyond. He knew she was still on the sofa – he’d have heard her leave – and he didn’t exactly know what he was going to say to her or how he was going to resolve the little hunter-prey problem she’d created for herself. Could he do it without outing himself? Without putting her in further danger? Humans never faired too well once they knew vampires (and many other nightmarish things) existed in their world.

Here goes nothing.

Her breathing was even and slow; her eyes closed as she slouched against the arm of the sofa. Daniel frowned. How long had he been in the bedroom exactly? A glance at the kitchen clock told him no more than five minutes.

She must be exhausted.

And if he remembered correctly, she’d had alcohol on her breath earlier. He barely remembered what it was like to be under its influence – it had been so long since he’d been affected by alcohol – but he vaguely recalled it could make one incredibly tired and dull all their senses.

She fought off a vampire while she was drunk. He shook his head, bewildered. Any other person would be dead. It was hardly a surprise he’d mistaken her for a supernatural – for an Other.

Once more, the steady rhythm of her heart reaffirmed she was, indeed, human. And truly asleep. Not quite in the deepest cycle, but deep enough. She’d taken off her jacket and placed it next to her. The blanket he’d leant her lay loosely across the tops of her arms, the right side of her neck, stretched and fully exposed; her left cheek resting on the leather of the couch. He zeroed in, instinctively, on the carotid pulse that rippled her skin with its beat, then forced himself to look away, gritting his teeth. If he was going to hang around her in any capacity, he was going to have to do something about that neck of hers – buy her a damn scarf or something.

You should wake her.

But he couldn’t bring himself to just yet, her hypnotic heartbeat soothing to his senses. And the peace was nice. Not being questioned – not feeling responsible for her life in this brief moment – was nice.

He made his way to the kitchen instead and put the kettle on, glancing at her briefly to see if the noise would wake her. It didn’t. He’d promised her a hot drink, but he owned almost nothing in the way of food or beverage. Rummaging through a cupboard, he found an old coffee bag. He couldn’t even remember where it had come from, but it smelled fine – not off or mouldy, anyway – so he dropped it in an empty mug assuming it would steep in water like a teabag. He hadn’t made a cup of anything for … too long to count. He hoped she’d like it black because he sure as hell had no milk.

The kettle switched off and he poured the boiled water straight in, then stilled as he focused his hearing on the swift change to her heartbeat.

It skipped, and then sped up.

Leaving the coffee to brew, he made his way back to her.

Her eyes twitched under her lids and her lips parted as a whimper escaped them. She was dreaming. Unsure of what to do, he found himself studying her instead. Her hair – in what was now a very disarrayed ponytail – was thick and a rich brown, not too dissimilar in colour to his own. Hers contained strands of a natural, deep red, though. Her lashes were just as dark and full, and he was damn certain they could frame the most seductive of looks should she suddenly choose to make a play for him.

He sighed. He was going to have to keep his distance from her while he kept her safe. She was far too irresistible. She’d make heartless giants weak, this one.

Her next sound was more of a moan – one of distress – and she shuddered under her blanket which fell further from her arms. Her skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat as if she were burning up. Her face crumpled and she made a half-sobbing noise, clearly wanting to get away from whatever haunted her in the recesses of her mind.

“Sophia,” he called out, softly, making his way to her side. “Wake up.”

She jerked in her sleep, calling out nothing coherent, but clearly aggrieved.

“Sophia.” He knelt in front of her, pretty much exactly as he had done ten minutes ago, and gave her legs a shake to wake her. “Hey, it’s all right.”

She lunged at him, eyes snapping open in nothing short of terror. She was fast, but he’d already predicted it and was ready, all his weight centred across his middle as he pushed down on his knees for balance. He caught her as she attacked him in her half unconscious state.

Gasping for air, she blinked rapidly as she clutched his T-shirt, slowly coming back to herself; and then she grimaced and moaned as she cradled her right hand in its tea towel.

“All right, easy now.”

“Sorry. It was a nightmare.”

“I could tell.”

She stared at him, guarded, her slumber falling away rapidly, and then quickly pushed herself away from his chest and back onto the sofa, still hugging her injured hand. “I haven’t had it in a long time. I’m sorry I leapt at you; if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

Her stare suddenly turned accusatory. “Why were you gone so long?”

He raised an eyebrow. He was back to being the bad guy, then. Fine – if it made her feel more in control. “I wasn’t. I made you a coffee. It’s black though – no milk. Do you want it?”

She stared at him again as if he’d said something she couldn’t quite believe.

Christ, that mess of a ponytail was intensely adorable – like she’d just been thoroughly fucked in a pile of hay, or something.

“Er … I guess. Yes. Thanks.”

“Right.” But it was the dip of her neck that was causing him problems – serious problems after her closeness – still shiny with perspiration from her nightmare, her erratically pumping heart pumping her heightened aroma all over the damn place. It was also sweet music to his overly attuned ears. He swiftly stood to get the coffee. Probably too quickly because he saw her flinch.

When he returned with her mug, her countenance was much more stony, and she seemed more alert. He placed it on the table to the side of the sofa.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She cleared her throat. “My handbag’s gone. Everything was in it – my wallet, house keys… I need to go to the police as soon as I can.”

He bit back a sigh. Her ignorance is not her fault. “There are better ways to handle this than the police.”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth in clear annoyance. “How did I know you were going to say that.”

“It’s true. The woman who attacked you – she wasn’t homeless. She was … part of a gang.”

Her staring at him like he was the ignorant one was starting to grate on him. “A gang?”

He obviously hadn’t sounded convincing.

“A gang in the town of Emerson?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yes. That’s why I was there in the bridleway. I was tracking them – they’re new to this area and I don’t know what they want or why they’re here.” And that really wasn’t a lie because now he was going to do that.

There was that stare again. “And who are you? Are you part of a gang?”

“No.” Not anymore, anyway. “I work alone.”

“So … you’re a private investigator, or something?”

He paused. “Something like that. And believe me when I say the police don’t know how to handle these people. In fact, if this gang finds out you’ve alerted the police, they could retaliate.”

She breathed out, slowly, and turned to take a sip of her coffee, and hail Mary, all the muscles and tendons around her throat moved like a gliding snake as she swallowed. She turned back, looked up at him, and then fidgeted uncomfortably.

Because you’re staring at her like prey. He turned away and strode the length of the living room. It must have been nearly twelve hours since he’d eaten. “This gang moves at night – only at night. You’ll be safe as soon as the sun comes up but not before then – not if they have your address.”

“Oh, my god,” she paled.

“Only because they’ll know where you are, but they won’t break in, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry? How can you be so sure?”

“It’s not their style.”

“Criminals can’t change their style?”

“These guys won’t. Really, they won’t break in. I suppose they could burn your house down, but that’s highly unlikely because of the ruckus it would cause. Historically, that doesn’t work for them.”

There was that skip of her heart again, just like when she’d been dreaming. When he turned back to face her she looked … shit, she looked like she was having the nightmare all over again. What had he said? “I’m sorry, I was trying to be comforting.”

Her gaze hardened. “Comforting?”

He sighed. She was complicated, this one. He couldn’t quite get a handle on her thoughts or reactions. “Look – I get that there’s a lot you don’t know and that I’m not telling you. It’s not because I’m trying to trick you. It’s because the less you know the safer you’ll be. It’s like … it’s like a police investigation in some ways – they’ll never give you all the information for your own safety.”

A look of understanding flickered in her eyes. “Okay,” she nodded, slowly. “I can maybe deal with it from that angle. But what happens now?”

He stopped pacing and sat down on the other side of the sofa, angling himself so he was facing her. “Do you have a spare set of keys to your house? In case you get locked out?”

“Yes. Buried under the soil in the flowerpot by the door.”

“Good. It’s best for you to stay here tonight.” He didn’t tell her she’d need to stay here every night until the mess was sorted. Save that delightful news for later. “An hour after sunrise, at about quarter past six, there’ll be a car outside for you. The name of the driver is Les – he’ll introduce himself to you. He’ll take you back to your house.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it for tomorrow. You’re safe in daylight.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

He hesitated, then decided now wasn’t the right time to go into everything else she’d have to temporarily sacrifice. “I’ll be in touch about tomorrow night. Until then, you don’t have to worry about it. Do you need to be somewhere tomorrow?”

She shook her head, looking utterly miserable. “I don’t work on Sundays.”

“That’s good – it’ll give time for your hand to heal. We can bandage it up now if you like.”

“What about my handbag? I’m going to have to phone my bank tomorrow to cancel my cards. I’ll have to report my driver’s licence missing. I’ll need to change the locks.”

“Do what you have to. If those guys – the gang – took your bag, they’re unlikely to spend your money or steal your identity. But they will use all information they can to track you. Especially if you killed their woman.”

She swore under her breath. Her voice was small when she asked, “Do you think she’s dead?”

He frowned at her question. Because whatever the answer, it brought up more questions. He picked his words carefully. “Usually, an attack like yours would not kill someone like her, but…”

“But?”

“When we left the area, she seemed … incapacitated by what you did.” He sought out any expression on her face that might relieve his own curiosity. Holy water didn’t kill vampires on its own, yet that woman was burning and the smell coming off her was one of disintegration. Only priests and nuns and those of unequivocal faith in the power of prayer and “God” (whatever one deemed that to be) could kill a vampire with nothing but holy water, their belief being the fuel for the metaphorical fire of the water. “Do you mind me asking why you were carrying holy water in your bag? Is it something you carry often?” He hoped the question wasn’t weird enough to pique her suspicion over it.

She seemed oblivious. “It’s such a silly story – it was just a thing I was given. I didn’t even know what I was going to do with it. Put it in the kettle or something.” She sort of tried to laugh at that, but it fell short. “I didn’t mean to hit her with glass – with something so lethal.”

“Don’t worry about that – I highly doubt you’re going to be a suspect in anything. I doubt the police will even look for one, to be honest. The gang have a way of making their own kind disappear – even after death. They really don’t want to be found.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

That seemed to calm her somewhat.

“I … erm … wondered if you were perhaps religious. If you were carrying holy water around, I mean?” He glanced at her for clues to her apparent strength during the attack.

“Oh, no. Hell no. I’m not sure I’ve ever believed in God.”

“Never?”

She half-smiled, sadly. “If one exists, he’s kind of cruel, don’t you think? Letting all kinds of horrendous things happen to good people – innocent people. Children…”

That seemed to be the end of that conversation.

They fell into a brief silence. Then he gestured to her hand. “Let’s get this tea towel off.”

“Okay.” She held it out in front of him and he loosened the knot as gently as he could, then stared at her bare flesh, unease traversing through him. “That’s…” What the hell? “That’s healed up nicely.” That was a fucking understatement. There was almost no trace of any injury. He’d only seen human skin heal that quickly after he’d licked the wound with his own protective saliva glands. Or on a vampire. He looked at her sharply.

She didn’t seem surprised or even like it was a strange occurrence. “Yeah – it’s not bad. Wasn’t sure it would fair well with the number of cuts I had from the glass. Still hurts a little, though. If I ball my fist, I think I’d split the skin.”

“Best not do that, then. Do you think you need bandages?”

She shook her head. “It’s not bleeding anymore – I should probably let the air get to it.”

“Do you usually heal so quickly?”

She met his gaze, genuinely surprised. “Do you think that’s quick?”

Was she kidding? “Do you not think so? Have you ever been around anyone else who was injured to compare?”

She furrowed her brow in thought. “No. I don’t think so. I’ve never really thought about it before.”

“Have you had injuries before?”

The shutters came down then – slammed down, more like. “No,” she said, curtly, then caught herself. “Only once. But I was six and don’t remember anything about it.”

That was one big trigger he’d just found. He decided not to press it. “Well, it’s all good. Your hand will be back to normal in no time.”

Another pause.

She looked around, awkwardly. “So, I’m sleeping here tonight?”

“You can have the sofa or my bedroom. It’s up to you.”

“Your bedroom?”

“I’ll be elsewhere. Despite my earlier actions, I am actually capable of being a gentleman.”

“Elsewhere? Do you mean you’re going out?” He didn’t miss the hint of nervousness to her question.

“I have some things I need to do. But I promise you’ll be safe here. Just don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back before you leave.”

She picked at a loose thread on her jeans.

“Sophia—”

She blinked at his calling her by name.

“I know it’s a big ask for you to trust me after everything that took place tonight, but I promise you, I don’t have any bad intentions and I don’t want to see you get hurt. I do want to know more about the gang we ran into tonight. I’ll even keep you updated on what I find if you like.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Selective information, you mean. You’ll only keep me updated on what you choose to.”

Yeah, she had him there. “I’ll definitely let you know when they’ve forgotten about you, or if they move on. I’ll let you know when you’re safe again.”

“I hate this. I hate feeling like I always need to look over my shoulder. I thought I’d…” She breathed out in frustration. “Never mind.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be for long.”

She said nothing, but nodded, and another silence followed before she broke it. “I’ll take the bedroom if that’s okay – my neck’s a bit sore from the way I was lying earlier.”

He forced his gaze to remain exactly where it was and not trail below her face to inspect her neck. “No problem.” He stood to gather his things – keys, jacket – and left his bedroom door open all the way so she wouldn’t have to feel apprehensive about what might be in there. He needed to feed – urgently – and he then needed to find out exactly where their new arrivals had headed. “It’s in there.” He gestured through the doorway. “Take a shower if you need and make yourself at home. I’ll wake you at sunrise.” Before the last thread holding his blood thirst together could snap, he slung his jacket over his shoulder and headed out the door.

That’s it! I do prefer the rewritten chapter, of course. And I’m very much looking forward to writing book 2.

Dianna xx

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