Author of Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy
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Thursday, August 25, 2011

I'm not dead!

Thought I would share this with you today since I've been a naughty blogger and have been far too quiet as of late.  Blame getting ready for school to start back up ;)  Feedback is ALWAYS welcome!
(for Blood Thief)
Too many people want vampire Celeste St. Ange dead. After discovering the keeper of her bloodline’s reliquary murdered, she takes the vessel from its hiding place, playing right into the hands of the killer. Now that she's brought the reliquary out into the open, Celeste is responsible when it is stolen and faces the ultimate penalty for its loss: second death. Permanent death. When help arrives in the unlikely form of a charming human thief, Celeste must choose who to trust and fast before a murderer destroys her and those she loves.

Joss Larsen was a child when his mother was killed by a vampire.  No one believed Joss then and now, after a string of foster homes and turning to a life of crime, he has begun to think perhaps he imagined that aspect of his mother’s death. That is, until he meets Celeste.  Wanting access to her world in order to avenge his mother, Joss inserts himself into Celeste’s life.  But what begins as desire for revenge turns into to desire of an altogether different variety.

Sunday, August 7, 2011


The following flash fiction is for the 7 Virtues Blog Challenge hosted by the lovely Lady Antimony at: (sign up is toward the bottom of that page).  Once again, as with the 7 Deadly Sins blog challenge, my entries are based in the world of my novel BLOOD THIEF, but are not canon for it.  Enjoy and please be kind and leave feedback :D

(Updated 8/8/11 - I've posted the remaining virtues today rather than doing them daily this week as I'm not sure if I'll be in everyday or not this week)

The mirror showed a strong jaw with just a trace of beard, dark hair, and hazel eyes that were more green than brown.  He relied on his looks when seeking female prey.  He smiled, sensuous lips parting to reveal straight white teeth and sharp fangs.  Women were a joy to drink, sweeter tasting than their counterparts.  Often they were willing, offering blood and body.  Memories of his long-dead love kept him from accepting the latter.  He would break the skin of their soft supple throats, but his fangs were the only part of him to gain penetration during the feast.

Temperance (self-control)

He was sprawled in my bed, sleeping soundly.  One arm rested above his head, the other dangled over the mattress’s edge.  His pulse visibly throbbed in his bare wrist and I caught myself licking my teeth.  It would be easy to exploit his vulnerable state, easy to drink from that unwittingly proffered arm.  He would wake as I drank, of course, but it would be to the flood of pleasurable sensation only a vampire’s bite can give. I shook my head, I promised I wouldn’t.  Marshalling all my will-power I slipped out of the room, closing the door behind me.

Faint weeping could be heard over the patter of rain.  With the rain cloaking my approach from my prey, I found the sound’s source up under the supports of the bridge crossing Jackson Street.  A woman clutched a sobbing child to her side.  Both were shabbily dressed and shivering. A rattling cough shook the woman’s thin frame.  As I approached, the woman quickly pushed the child behind her. Wordlessly, I reached in my pocket and handed her a couple of hundreds.  Gratitude shone in the woman’s eyes.  I turned and walked away.  I would find sanguine sustenance elsewhere this night.

My shoulder throbbed where it had been ripped open by the revenant’s teeth, but I switched the knife to my left hand and headed further into the caverns.  I needed no torch, my pupils had fully dilated at the first hint of danger, one of the many advantages of being a vampire.  I had sent four of the damned creatures to their second death already, including the one that bit me. I would make certain none remained.  Revenants were an anathema, the result of vampirism gone wrong, failed turnings.  It was my duty to eliminate them.  Every last one.

I wanted him, craved him.  Absolutely nothing was going to keep me from having him.  I wanted to enjoy every inch, every ounce.  His scent, the warmth of him, and the thudding cadence of his heart bid me to come closer, to have just a taste. 

I watched as he kissed her goodnight and as she went in.  He stared after her a bit then stepped blithely down the stairs, unaware of me watching him from the shadows.  I would wait.  The whimsical relationships of youth did not last long among humans.  When this was over, he would be mine.

He placed the envelope on the table as if daring me to look inside.  I didn’t.  I knew what the medical reports held.  I could smell the cancer in him, hear disease in his lungs, see the light fleeing his rheumy eyes.  Vampires have long been called the walking dead, but this elderly man deserved the designation more than I.

“It would be a kindness,” he wheezed.

“A mercy killing?”

He nodded, baring his throat.

Gently holding him, I pressed my fangs through his fragile skin, drinking deeply.  He sighed with pleasure, sagging into my arms and slipping into oblivion.

Flakes of old leather broke away from the cover as my fingertips touched the book.  Gently opening the slim volume, I found the print still legible.  The words it held were my guidance once. I read the prayer aloud, sinking to my knees as I beseeched my creator’s forgiveness for the grievous sins I’d committed.  Granted a measure of immortality, pride was surely the chief sin of the vampire.  The curse of the vampire however is two-fold: out-living those you cherish and the terrible memories one never out-lives. Blood tears coursed down my cheeks as I humbled myself before God.

If you enjoyed this, please visit the other participants in this blog challenge:

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Vanishing Point

Those of you familiar with art will know that a vanishing point is a point in a perspective drawing to which parallel lines not parallel to the image plane appear to converge.  It is often used to represent a road that leads to the horizon and, because of distance, disappears from our view.

Those of you familiar with L.A. Banks' VAMPIRE HUNTRESS novels know the vanishing point which she so wonderfully described . . . a place in time and space that is transcendent. 

Recently you may have heard that Ms. Banks was battling cancer.  Her medical bills skyrocketed and people began pitching in to help out.  She lost that battle this morning.  So with a great deal of sadness, we watch the lovely and talented Leslie Esdaile Banks reach her own vanishing point and leave our collective view, leaving this world for the next. 

There are still bills to be paid though and in tribute to her the Liar's Club of Philadelphia is holding an event to help alleviate the financial burden on Ms. Banks' family.  Go here for more info:​1958

Last, but not least, I found this tidbit on the dedication page of THE FORSAKEN by L.A. Banks: "Through this life, so far, I've found that the greatest battle one faces is the one within, the greatest challenge to one's humanity being the ability to be humane while being flawed and human." Oh how true.