I can't wait until The Sin Eater's Prince, my latest gay fiction novel, is released in two weeks by Ravenous Romance and listed on the GLBT Bookshelf. Today, I'm leaving you with a teaser, a taste of the Historical/VAMPIRE novel. This book has it all, sorcery, magick, sin eaters, vampires werewolves and a few witches tossed in too!
Setup: Owen Rhys, the village Sin Eater has just discovered the man he loves is a vampire. To learn more about the undead, he thumbs through the pages of his tad's (father's) history books. LONG EXCERPT: (Rated R - Gay Fiction)
An innate sense of curiosity drew Owen to the hearth, and specifically to the nearby wooden crate. Shortly after his father passed, he’d relegated the man’s meager possessions and his collection of cherished books to the trunk and hadn’t looked at the contents since. If memory served him, he’d find not only several volumes on Welsh history, but another on legend and lore of Wales
He removed the lid from the crate and sorted through the books until he found what he searched for, Demons and Other Mystical Creatures of Wales. Thumbing through the pages quickly, he found the chapter entitled Lords of the Underworld: Vampyres.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and scanned the page, his eyes settling on a passage in the middle: The vampyre is the most dreaded and feared creature of the supernatural world. He’s not only obtained immortality, but has the ability to alter his appearance, fly through the night sky, and traverse the ground under the guise of the wolf or a wisp of smoke. After seducing his victims through hypnotic measures or mind control, the vampyre will drain them of their blood thereby bolstering his strength and power. A vampyre might possess beauty beyond one’s imagination or be hideously marked.
Owen’s heart launched into a triple beat and a fine bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. The mouth is thought to be the way the soul leaves the body, and also the way evil spirits are allowed to enter. If one has slain a vampyre in Wales
Owen turned the page with an acute sense of trepidation and read his third and final passage: Spiritual vampyres draw the life energy from their victims and at times, their very souls. This species of vampyre does not merely feed on blood but the victim’s essence in order to survive.
He slammed the book shut, tossed it back into the crate and replaced the lid. Then he rose and paced the cottage, the words from the tome tumbling through his head. He didn’t need to read the passages to know Maddock was a vampire; the man had admitted it. What he wouldn’t give to have known Andras before he arrived in Pembrokeshire. Had he always possessed such unearthly beauty or had he accrued it since Traherne turned him?
And what species of long tooth was Traherne? Had he not only fed on Andras’s blood, but sucked the very soul from the man? Andras, soulless? Nay, it could not be. He’d witnessed innumerable acts of compassion from the man while ministering to the sick, watched his eyes flood with empathy when they passed into the other world.
His intestines wound their way into a reef knot. Had Maddock played him false with his words of coveting him from afar and holding a place for him in his heart? Were those the words of a demon possessed of hypnotic capabilities or the words of a man who cared deeply?
The questions festered and churned until Owen knew only one thing: Maddock was a very dark and very beautiful vampire.
He plucked his fiddle from the case and bolted outside, the questions rattling his brain until he could no longer think. Settling into a rocking chair on the stoop, he drew a deep breath and gazed at the cloud-hung peaks of the mountains in the distance.
Hopelessness cloaked him. He had little in the way of earthly possessions—his goats, a roof over his head and his fiddle—tangible objects that could be taken away in the blink of an eye. But the two things he possessed that no one could ever take from him were his good name and his love of the song.
His father’s words from long ago found him, ‘Enw da yw’r trysor gorau’, a good name is the best of treasures. No matter what the villagers thought of him—of all sin eaters—he had his good name and had done nothing to dishonor it.
Plucking the fiddle from his knees, he tucked it under his chin, and with his arm stretched out, rested the beloved cwth on his collarbone. He angled the bow across the strings and strummed out a repertoire of ancient Welsh tunes his father had taught him. He lost track of time, misplaced all melancholy thoughts of vampires, sin eaters and the troubles plaguing him. Whisked away in the poignant, artful blending of tunes reminiscent of his Celtic roots, he didn’t see the dark shape watching him from a cluster of yews several feet away until he placed the fiddle at his feet.
Andras.
He shuddered, as much from his eloquent dark visage as from the memory of his kiss. Despite the passages in the book, and the questions afflicting him, one thing remained clear. He wanted Maddock, ached with the desire to touch him. Suddenly, all he saw was the magnificent features, the hard, powerful body—like a well-oiled apparatus—as he advanced.
Advanced? Duw help him.
The intoxicating musk of the man’s body drifted over him on the cool breeze of evening, and still the man didn’t speak. The implication of his hypnotic gaze stoked the fire raging in his gut.
The words from the book echoed in his ears, after seducing his victim with his hypnotic eyes, the vampyre will drain him of blood, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Andras’s face.
In one swift motion, Andras stood before him, his dark eyes blazing a luminous red. With an unexplainable momentum, he transported them into the cottage and slammed the door behind them.
Pressed up against the wall, his senses dazzled, Owen lifted his eyes and met the silver orbs he’d visited so many times in his dreams. “How did you know I’m gifted at the fiddle?” Gaw, what a dim-witted question to ask while in Maddock’s possessive embrace. Have you lost your senses, Owen?”
The somnolent lilt to Andras’s arrogant voice sent fire racing through his bloodstream. “Did I not tell you I’ve watched you from afar?” Without waiting for him to answer he added. “Does it frighten you to know a vampire has longed to look upon your face whenever possible; would risk everything for one stolen glance to feel the lightning coursing through him that only Duw can call forth?”
Owen melted like candle wax, buried his hands in Andras’s thick hair and pulled him down into the kiss he craved, would die for. He didn’t really want to know the answer anyway; not now. Not when Andras was here in the flesh, allowing him to touch him, stirring something deep inside him he’d only wondered about.
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