Excerpt from "Blood-Mark: The Black Tigress - Episode 1 "Ghosts"

 A few hours later, after catching up on the news and having another cup of tea, Jonathan entered his upstairs bedroom and flipped on the light, but he did not really see anything in his room; nothing registered. He felt like he was moving through a haze. What had happened over twenty-five years ago was once again a raw, gaping wound in his soul. Vic Turner's presence had ripped it open, forcing Jonathan to reel from the impact.

Closing the door behind him, he ached to get into bed, to fall asleep and rid himself of the torrents of remembered grief he could no longer hide.

He thought about calling Richard but thought again. He didn't really want to talk to anyone about this—not a therapist, not a spiritual counselor, not even his best friend.

All he wanted to do was sleep and wake up in the morning to face his life as though this day had never happened.

Maybe it was his karma. Maybe after all those years of hiding, of running, his past had finally stepped out of the shadows, tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'boo'. And his past was the one obstacle keeping him from moving forward with his spiritual quest, the result of his own inhibitions… his own damn fear.

He glanced over to the bookshelf on the far wall in the living room. The album was there, hidden behind heavy tomes. The pictures…

He had flinched the last time things went bump in the dark. Would he flinch again?

He shut his eyes. Andrew would be ashamed of him right now. The old Andrew, whose soul had yet to be tainted by the dark kiss of demon spawn, would have made fun of him, were he to see Jonathan's reaction right now.

Who was to say Andrew wasn't there?

Jonathan had set his lover's spirit free that terrible night with a stake to the heart. He was certain Andrew had been set free, because Andrew's face had returned to its beautiful human appearance, his eyes returning to their natural sapphire blue. Proof he had not been turned completely. Jonathan would have been his first victim, his first kill. Once a half-turned human killed, they then turned completely. Andrew had been what the vampires called a Halfling. Halfling souls could be saved but only one of two ways—either the one turning them was killed… or they were.

Andrew's eyes had smiled up at him, their dark blue irises glistening in the moonlit beams that danced over them.

He had smiled, reached up with a warm hand covered in his own blood and touched Jonathan's face, and Jonathan had gripped the stake harder, unwilling to release it, unwilling to disconnect from his final seconds with Andrew's conscious awareness.

Andrew had gently brushed Jonathan's cheek. "No regrets," he had whispered, the blood issuing from his mouth in dark rivulets, marring his beautiful, full lips.

Even now the still painful memory moved him, and Jonathan shut his eyes against the sting of tears.

He reminded himself he'd had no choice. Andrew's soul had been at stake… pun not intended.

A small, ironic smile crossed over his lips. He had hoped time would have helped him avoided another run-in with vampires long enough for him to pass on from this existence and move on to another.

Reincarnation—the ultimate in witness protection.

He allowed the paralysis of fear to keep him immobilized for one more minute as he stood inside the doorway. He had to take that first step back into his past, but he didn't want to. He wanted to run away again, call Richard and tell him not to bother looking for him. He could create a new identity, had done so after his parents had been killed; changing his last name, forming a new life. Hiding.

The scent of Andrew's half-dead skin, with a vague hint of cinnamon… Andrew's scent. It had been the last scent Jonathan had smelled on him before Veritan had found them. It now filled the air around Jonathan, and he stiffened. "Stop it!" he groaned out, unwilling to open his eyes for fear of seeing his dead lover with the stake through his chest standing before him. "Go away."

You know what you have to do.

Jonathan leaned his head back against the cool surface of his bedroom door.

You can't run anymore, Jonny. You never really could. Sanctuary can't protect you forever.

Jonathan shut his eyes tighter, forcing the sound of Andrew's voice to leave his memory. "Under the power of Anubis," he called out. "I command you to leave."

In seconds the scent left; the feeling of Andrew being near was gone.

Jonathan chanced opening his eyes. He sucked in a deep and shaky breath when he realized he was alone.

"Andrew," he breathed . He buried his face into his hands and gave in to the racking grief seeking release.

"Oh, fuck!" he moaned, seeking comfort from any deity who would hear his cry.

His body's heat intensified under the assault, and he listened as the rain poured down. It was as though Heaven wept with Jonathan. He slowly walked out onto the terrace, letting the rain wash over him, his human tears mixing with the blessed, cleansing ones.

He didn't care if his clothes got soaked. He didn't care if the cold wind outside mixed with the rain, or that he would go to bed with a chill as a result. He would take a hot shower later, but for right now he needed to cool down, to become one with the element of water and symbolically wash away his pain.

He spread his arms and lifted his face to the sky, his tears mixing with the rainfall, and it was as though Sophia herself had come as Mother Goddess to wipe the tears from his face, to shower him with her love, assuring him he was not alone in his grief.

After a few minutes, he lowered his arms, forced his emotions back under the control he had trained his mind into accepting as normal, then turned… and yelled.

There, not five feet in front of him, standing as straight in this onslaught of rain as though still grounded inside Mother Earth's soil, were red and white roses arranged in a beautiful Eastern Indian vase.

The card attached was encased in cellophane to keep it protected from the promised rain.

His mind went back in time to when he'd received another such offering, after Andrew had been killed. After the funeral, Jonathan had returned to the retreat campground, where Andrew had been taken and turned, seeking for some clue which could lead him to find the one who had tried to curse Andrew's soul into darkness.

He had gone back to the barn where they had made love in what would turn out to be their final time. He had found the blankets still rumpled, but as cold as the wind had been on that night. He had lifted the blankets to his face, breathed in the scent of Andrew's skin still clinging to the threads and wept there, as he had never wept before. He had wept because Andrew being taken and then killed could have been avoided… if they had not taken so much time to please the desires of the flesh. If they had done the deed only a few times, then returned to the retreat fellowship before dusk, Andrew might very well still be alive today.

Jonathan had wanted the pleasure as much as Andrew, even though he knew better the things hiding behind the cloak of night. He'd been warned time and time again, but the need within his body had outweighed the need for rational thought.

Andrew's death was just as much his fault as it had been Veritan's and when he had seen the threat, he had done the only thing possible. Vampires, in spite of what Stoker wrote in his book, did not need to be invited in before attacking. They sought their prey and went after it, the only things separating them being whatever sunlight still streamed down during dusk and… the ritual of Sanctuary.

So Jonathan had chosen to run, to try to beat the vampires back to camp, but they had wasted too much time in the barn—far too much time.

He could have saved Andrew. Could have… should have.

When he had returned to his truck, after searching the retreat grounds and barn, he found on the hood a bouquet of roses tied in water-soaked paper towels and a note attached:  "This is the beginning, Exeter. The sins of your great-grandfather have been passed down to you. Andrew was only a warning. Prepare yourself." It had been signed: ~V~

Now after twenty-five years, another bouquet was there to greet him. Jonathan cautiously moved closer to the vase. His curiosity to find out who had left the roses warred with his desire to not find out for certain. He ripped the cellophane-covered card off its holder and read the inscription:  "I've been watching you. ~V~."

Veritan.

In anger, Jonathan pulled the cellophane off the card and crunched the paper into his fist. He reached down to pick up the vase and, making sure no one was below, he slammed it down to the gutter, the pottery shattering on impact, the roses crushed and mangled.

He hurried inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Running down the stairs, he hurried to the kitchen and turned on the burner to his gas stove. He glanced once more at the words Veritan had written and tossed the card into the flame, watching it burn. The handwriting he remembered so well distorted under the assault until the card turned completely to ash.

He quickly pulled out his cell phone from the case on his hip and dialed Richard's number. When Richard answered, Jonathan could only say, "Veritan has found me."

Can this be anymore heartbreaking, knowing how it's going to end? Colin and Bradley's performance here... if ever an award should be given for best 'Bromantic' duo, it should be to these young men. How Colin managed to call up such a vast amount of tears can only mean he truly felt the pain of his character, and how Bradley (who had no trouble calling forth tears of his own during the series) kept from crying is testament to his control. It still brings me to tears just writing about it. :'(

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17983842-blood-mark-the-black-tigress-episode-1-ghosts

A great review for "Blood-Mark Episode 1"
Thanks, MM Good Book Reviews! <3
Feeling the love. :-D

http://www.tylerrobbins.org/2013/05/have-you-dissed-another-author-lately.html?spref=tw
I needed to hear what this lovely lady had to say. Just... read. If you've ever been criticized, this is powerful and I fell in love with her eloquence and candid insights. Way to go, Tyler Robbins. :D

"Merlin" A Bromance For The Ages...

   "The Protector" by Obsidian Serpent

                                                                                                         "Execution" by Obsidian Serpent

                                                                  

To all the Arwenites out there for the show "Merlin" who are constantly posting how they cannot understand Merthurites, and that the focus of our adoration should be on Gwen and Arthur.

Allow me to interject here. I am a Merthurite. However, I lean more towards the Bromance angle of Merlin and Arthur's relationship, much more than the slash angle. Not that there's anything wrong with an intimate relationship imagined up by those who are so inspired. (Even I have loved seeing the portrayals of intimate closeness for Arthur and Merlin, as long as they are done in good taste. Some aren't and I skip over those, but I cannot deny the likes of Obsidian Serpent and others who truly pour out such intense inspiration and love into their projects. I heartily congratulate such wonderful use of their talents. As For OS's work check out "The Protector" and "Execution"(above)to see what I mean. Absolutely story-inspiring work. And I am in the midst of discovering others. Let's face it. Merthur has arrived and it's bound to stay for a very, very long time. And as for me, a writer of Male/Male love be it in a romantic or bromantic way, these works do inspire the, what is termed *feels* for powerful stories. Being that I cannot draw at all, I am left only with the pen and paper as my brush and canvas.)

Now, that being said, please realize something about this show. It was, from the beginning, a show about Arthur and MERLIN. NOT Arthur and Gwen. Though Gwen's role is VERY important in the life of Arthur, the show itself was geared to the destiny of Merlin with Arthur and no one else. It's Merlin's destiny, intertwined with Arthur's, not Arthur's destiny with Gwen. We all knew he'd get the girl anyway, so, there you have it.

What we did not know was how the relationship between Merlin and Arthur would go, where it would end, and what we would feel when we got there. I've seen the ending only once over a month ago and it is still cutting me soul deep. (Yes, the *feels* have come and taken root and I doubt I'll ever want to dig them out. The story, the entire 'love' between Arthur and Merlin, though shown more from Merlin's standpoint as the show is about his life with Arthur, was and is powerful and breathtaking. Even now.)

All other characters with the exception of Morgana and Mordred (of whom little was really seen in the show, but even Alex caught the gist of the story line), are supplemental characters, geared to move our main duo along, and even in that respect that was what Morgana was… a necessary evil to set the stage for the tragic ending. And a beautifully portrayed villainess, I might add. (Wink-wink, nudge-nudge to Ms. McGrath.)

The creators have even said that it was a 'love story' between Arthur and Merlin (and bear in mind that platonic love stories do and have existed over the course of centuries, though when it comes to homophobia in the entertainment industry, it is sorely lacking.) Even Katie McGrath has been seen in interviews as throwing her support towards what the fans want regarding Merlin and Arthur. She has had no problem with it. And the most powerful argument of all is Bradley James himself when asked which was stronger Arthur's romance with Gwen or his Bromance with Merlin immediately and without hesitation said, "Bromance with Merlin. It's there for all to see… no contest."

I realize how frustrating it is for those who want to see fans give more attention to a pairing you'd rather see than what is really out there. I've been there. I've waited for over 30 years for a Bromance pairing of this nature to come to TV or a book or a movie, even. I've written my own fan fiction as a result of feeling the lack of what I've been aching to see all these years. But again… it's been a terribly long wait for me. TERRIBLY long. Ever since the original Starsky and Hutch went off the air in 1979… does that put it in perspective for you a bit? I hope so.

Now, every once in a while I'll get a little carrot dangling in front of me, but then they yank it away in lieu of a male/female pairing. White Collar comes close. Sam and Dean come very close, but Merlin is what I have been waiting for. I'm sorry the Arwenites are upset that Merthurites exist, I truly am as I know how it feels to be frustrated. But… we get male/female pairings all the time nowadays. Very rarely will we get bromance shows that have such emotion as beautifully acted by the likes of Colin Morgan and Bradley James. Give us Bromantics a break and cut us some slack. This one is OURS.

Thank you for letting me vent a bit. Just trying to get others to see our side of the fence. I've been seeing their side for decades now. And yes, I'm aging myself. I don't care. This show stole my heart and all because it was about Arthur and Merlin and their destinies being linked together. I have needed this for so long. Those who cannot possibly understand probably never will, but at least do us the courtesy of letting us imbibe in this feeling for as long as it will last.

Again, thank you.

Sincerely,

Myristica

(Writer of Male/Male and Bromance stories.)

Excerpt from first Episode: "Ghosts" from my "Blood-Mark" series. Coming soon!

BLOOD-MARK

EPISODE 1

GHOSTS

©2013 by Myristica

All Rights Reserved.

ACT I

1-1

Kevin Laredo hated getting into elevators. The feeling of literally being boxed in made his flesh crawl with anxiety and his heart rate increase. Over the years he had taken classes on how to ease away the fear, learning techniques such as closing his eyes and breathing deeply into the need to panic, but they only helped a fraction, never really pulling the fear from him. It helped when other people were in the elevators with him. He could strike up conversations and get his mind off the possibilities of earthquakes or cables ripping, but when he was alone, those fears took point.

He hesitated a moment before deciding he had no choice but to get in and start the breathing exercises.

Pressing the button for the garage level, the door closed, and the car began its twenty-story decent. (Why did his client have to live in a luxury hotel so high off the ground?) Kevin pushed himself against the far wall and locked his gaze on the elevator lights above the door. Eighteen more floors then he could get into his SUV and head back to Sapphire Ridge. Ben would be wondering what the hell happened to him.

As though being summoned, his cell phone rang. Pulling the device out of the case on his hip, he looked at the LCD screen to see Ben calling him. He smiled at the telepathic connection the two shared over the span of… how many years now? Eleven?

"Hey, Ben."

"Where are you? Time's wasting. I'm fucking ready to get drunk."

Kevin smiled. "I'll be there soon. Just finished delivering the bad news to the wife."

"How'd she take it?”

"Unconcerned, considering she was in bed with another woman when I got there."

He could hear the choking sounds coming from Ben and knew the former police detective was forcing down a shot of whiskey. Kevin didn't feel sorry for him. The man should know better than to put anything in his mouth when they talked. Kevin had a tendency to throw Ben some zingers.

Getting some control back, Ben sputtered, "Shit! That's got to be a first for us. Husband having an affair with another man, just as his wife is having an affair with another woman."

Kevin shrugged. "We live in California. The twilight zone was bound to creep into our reality sooner or later."

"Ain't that the truth? Okay, about when can I expect you? The Tiger's Lair has already started happy hour."

"I'll be there in about forty or so minutes baring traffic. No worries. I'm almost to the car. I'll see you then."

"I'll keep a seat warm for you, partner."

Kevin pocketed his cell. He looked up at the lights as the elevator descended the last two levels. As the doors opened he shoved all images of his phobia away, like stepping out of a roomful of clustered cobwebs…

…Directly into the arms of a madman.

A howling yell, a thunderous push, and a meaty arm clamped around his neck like an octopus. Everything happened so fast he almost thought it was unreal.

Ah, shit! All he wanted was to meet up with Ben and down a few beers, drown his blah attitude and hope it would die with the rest of his heart. His life was now suddenly passing before his eyes, and he had no time to think of anything except the hand on his head and the arm around his neck. If he was going to die, goddamn it, he wanted it to be on his terms. Giving that decision over to some fat-assed moron would not be his epitaph.

"I'll break his neck! I swear to God! Back off," the large man shouted, tightening his hold.

His assailant reeked of oil and gasoline, the fumes adding to Kevin's already growing headache.

Cringing, he tried to move, to utilize the self-defense techniques taught him at the Academy, but the guy was too large and positioned in such a way Kevin could not find enough leverage. He would have to wait for the bastard to do something stupid. The pressure on his throat increased. Silly me. Always look both ways before exiting an elevator. They should make that a new law.

He was yanked back and lost what little leverage he had to at least gain a proper footing. The stranglehold tightened. He managed to work his left hand between his neck and the man's arm, freeing some airflow. The man was meaty, but he was mostly fat. The flesh around the forearm allowed some give.

"I mean it, man! Back off!"

Kevin wondered what the man would do if he accidentally-on-purpose pinched the hell out of his pliable fat content?

Probably snap his neck.

Oh, well. It was a thought.

Then Kevin heard a low voice carrying a tone of calm confidence and an almost lackadaisical demeanor. "Whoa there, Benny-boy. You don't want to hurt this guy. We can take this real easy."

Kevin opened his eyes and what greeted them was a vision.

There, not ten feet away, stood a young man in his mid-to-late twenties, wearing tight stone-washed blue jeans, black cowboy boots, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. His shoulder-length, curly, sand-colored hair hung loose, but the bangs were short, and Kevin gazed into round dark eyes that stared down the length of a .45 automatic.   

The face of this young man was of both devil and angel, a hard and young beauty, with eyes showing he'd been around the block a time or two. A Zen-like mentality and intelligence poured out of his stance and gaze. Hints of recognition flowed through Kevin. Somewhere in his jaded past this young man had made a blurred mark, staked claim for a mere heartbeat, and then had disappeared like a specter, but where and when the meeting took place escaped him.

For a fleeting moment, Kevin tried to dig into the files of his brain for the answers, but the arm tightened its hold and remembering would have to wait.

"I don't wanna have to shoot you, Benny. I mean, I would rather get us all out of this mess without any bloodshed, but I also can't let you go, either."  

That voice. Damn it! Where had Kevin heard that voice before?

"I'll kill this guy, you bastard," the attacker screamed.

In spite of his fingers prying the choking flesh away from his throat, Kevin felt his airway restrict. Stars flared across his vision.

"You kill him, Benny-boy, and you won't live long enough to see him fall to the ground. I mean it, Cutthroat. You know how good I am with this thing."

Cutthroat? Kevin groaned at the nickname. Oh, geez! This can't be good.

He lifted his gaze again, locking with that of the demonic angel before him, and in a split second of understanding, Kevin knew he would be all right. The look in the gunman's eyes told Kevin all he needed to know. The body language, the stance, the handling of his gun—all testament to the fact this guy was not about to let Kevin die.

And suddenly he remembered. The name escaped him, but Kevin remembered where he had met this guy before.

Three years ago in another world, another life.

The younger man locked gazes with Kevin. He had recognized him too. A smile, a wink, a nod of acknowledgment, and they reconnected.

Kevin's body relaxed. He had trusted this guy before; he would trust him again.

The gunman held out his hands, palms out, clicking on the safety to his .45. "Benny-boy, Benny-boy. You know, your mama should have taught you to follow the rules."

Suddenly his body jerked. The bounty hunter broke into an American Indian dance and chant. As the chant grew louder and louder, the dance increased in tempo.

The performance so confused Cutthroat that the hold around Kevin's neck loosened. He quickly ducked and rolled away as his young savior moved in close enough to unleash a roundhouse kick to Cutthroat's chest.

Kevin joined his ally, and between the two of them, they managed to subdue the flailing arms, enough for the younger man to cuff the meaty wrists. It was a struggle, but the bounty hunter evidently knew how to subdue a man larger than his six-foot frame. No small feat, Kevin surmised, given the younger man's lanky but limber build.

Kevin held Cutthroat steady and grinned. "You always act like you're on crack when taking down a bounty?” he asked.

"I'm gonna kill you, Turner," Cutthroat shouted. "Kill you and cut you up in a thousand pieces!"

Turner! That's the name! Kevin felt the wave of a memory rush forward as the blood came back into his brain.

Turner smiled back at Kevin, ignoring his prisoner's taunts. "It worked, didn't it?"

Kevin shrugged. "Well, it was certainly creative. We've met before. My name's…"

"Kevin Laredo. I know. I'm Vic Turner. Pleased to meet you… again. Seems like I'm always getting you out of strangleholds."

Kevin chuckled.

The two stood, leaving the cuffed prisoner on the ground, and shook hands. Kevin rubbed his bruised throat. "More than pleased to meet you again. Buy you a beer? I mean, you just saved my life."

Vic's laughter flowed over Kevin, both warm and genuine. "True, but I did manage to get you into this mess by chasing the asshole down here."

Kevin let out a nervous laugh, releasing the tension built up in his body from the adrenaline. "Well, in that case, you buy."

Vic clapped him on the arm. "Anything you say there, Cochise."

Cochise? Kevin chuckled again.

"Something funny?"

Kevin sobered a bit, but the smile would not leave his face. "I remember you called me that at the precinct back then."  

Vic shrugged, inconsequentially. "It's a name I use for a lot of people. Just a habit of mine."

The light from Vic's eyes washed over Kevin's body and through his limbs. It brought a sense of knowing, of familiarity.

Kevin had felt an instant attachment to Vic at the precinct three years ago , possibly out of obligation for the young man saving his life, but this second meeting had been auspicious for other reasons. Somehow, he was looking into a younger version of himself. Not very much younger, to be certain, but younger just the same. A younger and less jaded soul was housed in Vic's frame, a soul Kevin had to admit was able to connect with his in just a few short encounters through their lives.

For one brief instant a shiver of electricity flooded through him and then disappeared like a snuffed candle with traces of smoke lingering in the air around him.

It brought back the memory of that moment in time when Kevin's life had been saved, and the hero had never stayed around long enough to be thanked. Vic had been a missing piece nestling into a puzzle long ago labeled incomplete; still full of fractured pieces, none of them glued down to keep them from breaking away.

An unspoken question filled the silence as Vic studied Kevin in return. Would there be more than just a few minutes between them this time?

Vic helped Cutthroat sit up but kept an effective grip on the man's shoulder.

"You took off before I could thank you last time," Kevin said, ignoring the grunting sounds of protest from Cutthroat who struggled in vain against Vic's hold.

Vic ignored him, too. Shrugging, his expression turned solemn. "Well, I'm here now."

A shiver went down Kevin's spine. His skin prickled.

I'm here now.

Those words conjured up another memory of Vic. It was faded, a wisp dangling just out of reach, more a feeling than anything certain, but the insinuation of 'I'm here now' had been the same. Kevin had seen Vic another time between the incident at the precinct and now, but where the second meeting happened remained in the shadows. Maybe it had been just a glimpse of Vic out of the corner of his eye, or maybe just a dream.

He shuddered. Waxing poetic was a talent that had died almost three years ago… when his estranged wife Crystal and his two boys had been murdered. It was a trait he used at one time to put some color into his life while on the job… and at home while trying to maintain a façade of lies. He hadn't done it since the bombing.

"Something bothering you?" Vic asked.

Kevin was about to reply when the cuffed man broke into another tirade. "Kill you, Turner! When I get off on this charge, I'm gonna come find you and rip your heart out. You bastard! You think you can take me in like this? I'll show you later on what it's like to be cuffed. What I'll do when I cuff you to a chair and rip off your clothes…"

The clearly implied threat sent a heavy wave of protectiveness surging through Kevin. He slammed his fist into the guy's gut, forcing him to his side with a loud groan.

Vic shot Kevin a surprised look, but a hint of a grin on those full lips belied any anger. "What'd you do that for?"

Kevin wrung his hand, flexing his fingers. He hadn't hit anyone in a damn long time. "Can't stand people who don't know when to shut up."

1-2

Like a seismic jolt, Thomas Hampton could feel the shift of thoughts warp within his mind. Bloody ribbons festooned his inner vision, and he knew the symbolic metaphor acted more or less as a warning that her claws had been unsheathed and arteries were spilling blood. A group of people were being killed as he stood there; a message to him. She could simply have come after him directly, bypass the subtle hints of revenge altogether, but his blood, or rather undead blood, would never satisfy the vengeful craving now unleashed within her immortal frame.

No. First she would bring him to his knees, make him suffer.

However, it wasn't as though he never expected her to escape. He knew her. And for the first time in over four hundred years terror gripped him. Not for himself, per se, but for what Arina could bring down on all of them; vampire, lycanthrope, elf, dwarf, dragon, fairy… the entire Dimenlien network was at risk.

He stood on the terrace of his high-rise apartment suite, located in the upper-west side of Sapphire Ridge, California. He had chosen this city over other more practical business locations in Southern California for one very simple reason. He enjoyed the view.

Though he couldn't see the green of the hills after winter brought its showers, nor the sunrises that modeled perfect poses for the nature photographer, neither of those things attracted him to this place. It was the view of the city at night that held him here.

The stars shone clearly on this night, particularly after an earlier high wind had blown smog from the atmosphere.

His bloodstained tongue roamed over his white teeth, feeling the familiar sharpness of his incisors. Most vampires acquired this habit: the need to rub their taste buds over their fangs in order to revel in the lingering flavor of blood hours after feeding.

Tonight the blood had been especially rich.

A young and beautiful man had graced his path, and Hampton had lured him home with both hypnotic energy and desire.

The sex had been rough and fulfilling, and when they had brought each other to completion, the young man had bared his neck willingly for Hampton to succumb to his nocturnal hunger.

Still alive, the mortal would wake up in his bed the next morning. He would be weak and disoriented, and with no memory of the night before, but he would live, perhaps to be fed upon another day.

Very rarely did any of the vampire clans kill their source of food. On some occasions, should a victim's will refuse to turn itself over to the trance, or should the vampire take too much blood (either by intent or accident), they were never to leave the body to be investigated by the police. Priority rule number one dictated no evidence was to be traced back to the clans.

The majority of humans believed vampires were myth and that belief could never be revealed as false. Such strategy had kept the vampires safe all these centuries.

Until now. What could keep them safe from another master vampire gone insane and forcing the media to take notice?

To be released soon from Kindle Direct Publishing.