Blood Lure

Is it one of the great truisms of romance writers that everyone has a vampire story tucked away somewhere? Yeah, me, too. Here's a snippet from the beginning. The heroine is a witch - this implies both religion and magic. She's been called in by the police department to consult on a set of ritual murders - trying to understand what ritual was being performed and to what purpose.

            “No one works this site after dark,” I said.

            Silence met my pronouncement. I glanced up. The ring of police sneered at me.
            “Sure. We have all the time in the world for a good night’s sleep,” Officer Crandell snapped. “This is a murder investigation. . .”
            “And if you work this investigation past sundown, it’ll be a massacre,” I retorted.
            He jerked back as if I’d hit him. “Sunset? You can’t be serious. Vampires?”
            Tanya closed a hand around my arm. “This is a vamp site?”
            “It’s a prison.”
            They stared at me as if I’d sprouted wings.
            I stared back, horrified and amazed at the blank faces. “Do you not feel the weight? The hooks digging in as you move nearer that corner? Can you not feel the rage? The vampire is trapped.”
            Uneasiness crawled through the knot of blue uniforms.
            “For the love of God, don’t free it!” one of the uniforms grumbled.
            “That isn’t my intention,” I replied. “The vampire nation polices its own. Any vampire they consider enough of a threat to bury in a place like this isn’t high on my let’s-be-friends list.”
            “Not to mention that mucking with vampire magic ends so badly for anyone who isn’t a vamp,” Tanya muttered.
            “Not to mention,” I agreed.
            “So, vampires murdered three people to imprison someone?” Crandell asked. “Sacrifices for some kind of spell?”
            “What do you smell here?” I asked.
            The cops glanced around, nostrils flaring, noses wrinkling.
            “Death,” said one.
            “Blood,” Tanya said.
            I nodded. “Blood. Vampires don’t waste blood. Not like this. Vampires didn’t commit these murders. You don’t trap a predator with the blood of its prey.”
            Crandell’s eyes widened. “It’s a lure?”
           “That’s my guess,” I said. “And that’s all it is. But given the amount of blood, the placement and the fact that the trapped vamp is awake within his prison. . .”
            Crandell’s eyebrows climbed. “Him?”
            I shrugged. “Overwhelming sense of masculine presence. Every susceptible man and woman in this room feels it.” I glanced at Tanya. She’d hunched her shoulders. When she caught me looking, she forced them down and back. When I looked at the one gay investigator, he met my gaze, rolled his eyes and wiped sweat from his upper lip.
          “I stumbled into one of his snares,” I said. “I got a good look at him.”
           Tanya gasped. “And he at you?”
           I shrugged. “He is trapped.”
           “For how long?”
            Uneasiness roiled through my gut. “I don’t know. As if you didn’t have incentive enough to catch the killer, I suspect this is a mortal’s attempt to free the vampire and bind him to service.”
           “Is that possible?”
           “I don’t know that it’s impossible,” I said. “I am motivated to find out.”
           Crandell blinked, then frowned. “Because the vamp has a lock on you, now.”
           “Because he has a lock on me.”

Vampires and Wærewolves are Bad Ass!!!

by Linda Robertson
First, lemme say congrats to Jeffe on the release of SAPPHIRE. (Squee! Happy Dance!)
Ahem. Now, down to business.
I don’t always look forward to our topics as some of them have made me feel decidedly uninformed on said topic, but this week is different. I’ve been looking forward to this!

Meet my main wærewolf character, Johnny:

Johnny’s boots thumped across the wooden boards. He was knocking before I could open the front door.

“Hello, Red.” Johnny smiled, his low voice warm and rich. His tone said so much more than “hello.” Behind him, the golden leaves rained down from my pair of oaks. Wind whipped over the porch and through the screen to chill me as I stood staring up at him, ensnared like a cat in a cage.

Johnny wasn’t the kind of guy I flirted with. Remembering how we’d talked on the phone, embarrassment clenched my stomach. I forced my attention to neutral space—the floor—catching details of his jacket and black T-shirt beneath, the leather pants he wore. Where did guys over six feet find leather pants? Johnny was at least six foot two. His motorcycle boots, with silver- plated chains clinking, oozed utter bad-boy coolness that no red-blooded female could deny—and added another inch to his height. His presence screamed power and danger.

Everything he wore enhanced his dangerous look, and all of it was on purpose. Didn’t that justify my fear? Did that mean I didn’t have to beat myself up for being shallow, since I was only reacting the way he wanted people to react to him?

My hand shook as I tucked my hair behind my ear, bit my bottom lip, and looked up again.

He wore his black hair pulled back as usual, leaving the tattoos on his face strikingly exposed. Black lines surrounded and decorated his eyes like the Eye of Horus or Wedjat. My heart beat more slowly and my blood felt colder in my veins. Multiple tiny, white- gold loops adorned each brow, each ear. Little diamond studs glistened on either side of his nose.

He smiled and, strangely, it was as fearsome as it was friendly. “Food’s getting cold, Red.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You can do this, I told myself. He just seems scary. Ask him in.

I swallowed and put on a fake smile of certainty as I reached for the latch. “Come in.”

                       --VICIOUS CIRCLE pg. 78-9

Meet Menessos, my main vampire character:

I hurried to the front door and saw an entourage flowing into my driveway. A limousine that—despite the fading light—I’d have guessed to be silver, escorted by four motorcycles, two each at the front and the rear. The motorcyclists cut their engines and put down kickstands, but none removed their helmets or got off their bikes. The limousine’s far rear door opened, and Goliath slid out. His pale hair shimmered; he shot a look toward the house and grinned. The driver, in a neat black suit and cap, jumped out and hurried back to open the door on the near side of the limo. The man who emerged very literally stole my breath.

Longish wavy hair, the color of shelled walnuts, fell around his square face with careless perfection. His beard, trimmed thin on the sides, accented every angle, and he wore it a bit thicker on his pointed chin to balance the squareness of his jaw. A narrow nose above thin lips added to the austere quality of his face. Broad shoulders and a tailored suit enhanced his lean, masculine image.

I was speechless as he approached. But for the modern clothes, he was my Arthur, exactly as I had dreamed him for all the years I’d been enthralled with Camelot.

Closer now, I could see that his eyes—stern and gray like cold, cold steel—were eyes that had seen more horror than happiness. His shirt, open to the fourth button, showed the curve of a muscular chest. As my attention returned to his extraordinary face, I realized he’d seen me counting the open buttonholes. It seemed to please him.

“Persephone Alcmedi.” I expected his voice to have an exotic accent when he spoke, but he said my name without any telltale inflections. He even got the pronunciation right.

“Menessos.” Saying his name forced me to remember he was a vampire, not Arthur.

He made a show of appraising the area. “What a . . . rural . . . place you have here.” I wasn’t certain if he was insulting the simplicity of my location and my unpaved driveway or if he was just pointing out that there was no one around for miles to hear our screaming.
                      --VICIOUS CIRCLE pg. 226-7

Both of these fascinating men make am impression on the main, main character, Persephone. Both have pros and cons, both have definite alpha male qualities, both have distinct personalities. Johnny looks dangerous and plays the part when it’s to his advantage, but he’s also playful, and has a rampant sense of humor. Menessos IS dangerous and when he’s behaving in a friendly manner, everyone else thinks he’s playing a part…you can’t be sure if he is or isn’t.

Check out both videos and tell me which you prefer, musically.

 

WæREWOLVES?

 

or VAMPIRES?

THIS VIDEO IS INSTRUMENTAL. NOT WHAT YOU’D EXPECT. GIVE IT A LISTEN.