Posts Tagged ‘Vampire Week’
Vampire Week – Cat Marsters/Kate Johnson
Mar 24, 2011 
Filed under: guest blogger, paranormal, TV, vampire, Vampire Week 
Tags: Anti-heroes, Cat Marsters, erotic romance, Kate Johnson, paranormal romance, vampire, Vampire Week
Today Kate Johnson is with us to share what she loves about Being Human’s John Mitchell……
John Mitchell: Did you just call me deadly furniture?
The other day on Twitter a couple of acquaintances made it known to me that I have somewhat, er, unusual taste in men. Well, in crushes, at any rate. I still don’t think it’s at all peculiar to fancy James Marsters as Spike, but I will admit that John Simm’s The Master isn’t traditional crush material. It’s just, he’s so charming. So much fun, with such a great line in smart quips. So what if he wants to subjugate a whole planet? You’d never have to clean the bathroom again.
So of course, when it came to BBC’s Being Human, it was almost inevitable I’d fancy the pants off Mitchell. That accent. Those eyes. That sense of humour. His befanged, tortured history. His occasional tendency to rip out people’s arteries. “My name is John Mitchell, and I’ve killed more people than you’ve met,” is possibly one of my favourite lines. Well, that and the ‘skinny jeans’ conversation.
I’m no stranger to crushing on vampires, and the more twisted the better. As a teenager it wasn’t Brad Pitt who did it for me in Interview With A Vampire, it was Tom Cruise. “There’s life in the old corpse yet!” Then, of course, came the Buffy years. Was it Angel for me? Hell no. Give me a vampire who kills people with railroad spikes and looks good in eyeliner. I mean, I even named my cat Spike (he’s gorgeous, has white hair, and occasionally kills things. Couldn’t resist).
So then there was Mitchell. What is it about him that’s so appealing? Quite apart from the eyes, accent, et cetera. I suppose he does get his kit off quite a lot, that helps. And you know what, the vampirism isn’t sanitised. There’s no Twilighty longing here. When Mitchell gives into his need for blood, terrible things happen. People die. Horribly. When Mitchell and Lauren feed from each other in that hotel bathroom the whole place is drenched in blood. When Mitchell & Daisy go insane on that train, there are intestines all over the place. It’s not pretty. Being a vampire isn’t pretty.
But of course for Mitchell it’s not all about being a vampire, it’s about, well, being human. He can’t deny the otherness of his nature but he can try to become better. He surrounds himself with normal people and takes a menial job in a hospital. He tries, really hard. And deep down, underneath all that monsteriness, he actually is a good man. He comforts Annie when she’s upset, he befriends a lonely boy who has no male role model, he even gives out fashion advice (“Seriously, George. Skinny jeans?”). He’s the father figure in the house, or at least the big brother.
He has an internal struggle in the way the others don’t. George literally can’t control his inner beast. When it’s full moon, he’s got no choice but to go insane, and worry later about what he’s done. Annie’s conflicts are all about other people. She can’t physically hurt anyone; she can’t even physically touch anyone. Neither of them have to constantly police themselves like Mitchell does. He can control himself…can’t he?
I don’t want to give away any Series 3 spoilers, because it’s aired here in the UK but I don’t think it has in the States. But, oh my God, there are some big things happening. With Mitchell. At the end of S2 he had a bit of a meltdown. Well, he massacred a train carriage full of people. That sort of thing weighs heavy on a man’s conscience. And yet he can still find time to flirt with a ghost or two and make some smart quips about a stinky zombie. Of course, he still hasn’t found time to wash his hair or find out how deodorant works, but hey. He’s a busy vampire.
As Lia, his guide in purgatory—yes, there’s purgatory in S3—says, “What’s got two thumbs and just lucked out? Hello. No, I’ve always been lucky. You should rub me. I’m serious. Rub me.”
Mitchell, you can rub me any day.
And here’s a taste of one of Cat’s own vampiric creations…..
Excerpt: Hardest of Hearts
By Cat Marsters
ISBN: 978-1-60521-119-0
Available 19th March 2010 from Changeling Press
Emma and Aidan can’t keep their hands off each other. There’s just one little problem: she’s sworn to kill all vampires and he likes the taste of blood a little too much.
Emma’s been raised in the knowledge that all vampires are evil. After all, they’re responsible for the death of her parents. Meeting Aidan shouldn’t change a thing: so he might be the most beautiful man she’s ever seen; he’s still a vampire, and it’s her duty to kill him, not to get him naked. Even if his Irish charm and quiet morality are extremely persuasive.
Aidan’s come back to town to avenge the death of a very old friend. But far from the old zealot he expected, his new enemy is a young redhead with a killer body. She’s determined to wipe out all vampires, and Aidan sees it as his duty to save his own kind.
And if he has to seduce her to do it, so much the better…
Warning: This title contains explicit language and sexual content not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
Excerpt:
I saw my first vampire when I was sixteen. He was incredibly beautiful, a pale, tortured creature haunting the school corridors. An unearthly concoction of glittering skin and soulful eyes, drawing the yearning, desperate love of every girl in school.
I drove a stake through his heart, of course.
So when a vampire walked in through the doors of Oh My Goth one Friday night about ten years later, my fingers twitched for the stake in my bag. Unfortunately, my bag was in the back room, and no part of my outfit would have concealed it. Added to which, my boss would probably complain if I staked a customer in the shop. And I’d get stuck with cleaning up the blood.
The vampire was a looker. It’s a trick of fiction to persuade us that all vampires are hot. They’re not, just as not all humans are gorgeous. The better-looking ones are more successful, however. They attract more prey, which makes them stronger. Simple as that.
This one moved like a predator, the swagger and grace of a creature who won’t ever be challenged. A man who knows no woman can turn him down. A hunter who doesn’t believe he can be beaten.
I watched him move around the shop, graceful and predatory, even as my brain checked and discarded every available item it could think of which might be used as a weapon.
He was tall and lean in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and maybe I could stun him with one of the heavy coffee-table Bible of the Dead books he was slinking past. No, vampire skulls were thicker than that.
He had dark hair, black maybe, curly and tousled and just brushing his collar, and now he was prowling past the crucifix earrings, maybe I could use those. No, probably not—symbols of religious belief only really work if you actually do believe—and in my experience they’re still not terribly effective on anything but the newest vampire.
His skin was pale, like that of most Caucasian vampires. He didn’t gleam with the sheen of the newly-fed, which probably worked in his favor. If he looked like he’d just eaten someone, I’d have to leap over the counter and bludgeon him to death with a coffin-shaped handbag.
He needed a shave, which was somewhat unusual amongst vampires, unless they were very old, before the art of clean shaving had been perfected. Maybe I could offer him one of the ceremonial knives to shave with, and then accidentally cut off his head with it. No. The blades were quite small, and I’d have to do a lot of hacking. Think of the carpet.
His eyes were dark, narrowed slightly as he glanced at the admittedly tacky range of Goth gifts for sale. His lips were shapely, and I could see no sign of fangs. Not that it would have bothered most of our clientele if he’d been displaying them.
The vampire moved past the range of dying flowers on the Valentines display to the Turnbury Murders exhibition, and as he looked up I saw his eyes were a chocolatey shade, with dark lashes. His bone structure was impeccable, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His nose might have been broken once or twice, but that only served to make his perfection a little more human.
Except that he wasn’t human, and I was considering stabbing him in the heart with an ornamental fan.
I could follow him outside when he left, perform some of my usual look-at-my-neck moves—the vampire version of the crooked finger—and lure him around to the little yard at the back of the shop. Probably, I could hide his body there until the shop closed, and with any luck he might have disintegrated enough to simply be tossed in the organic recycling bin.
Then the vampire turned to look at me, and my breath caught in my throat. I’d assessed the details, inventoried features, dispassionately noted his good looks—but now he was looking directly at me, and that dark chocolate gaze was reaching right out to me and begging me to succumb. He had come-hither eyes, and I sure as hell wanted to hither and come.
Stake through the heart, I reminded myself as he prowled over to the counter. Poison in a pretty bottle. A gorgeous vampire is still a vampire.
Goddamn, he was pretty though.
“I wonder if you could help me,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips, and either the bastard was putting on an Irish accent to be charming or he was actually lucky enough to open his mouth and speak like that naturally. I wasn’t sure which would have been the more annoying.
“I’m sure I can try,” I replied, as politely as I could—which is to say, not very polite. Thankfully, people don’t expect someone working in a shop which sells coffin handbags to actually be polite, which suits me to the ground.
“I’m looking for information about the Turnbury Murders,” he said, and my eyes narrowed.
“Well, we have lots of it in our exhibition,” I said, waving at the wall.
He smiled then, a proper smile, a wide grin that lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. His teeth were decent, which told me that despite his lack of shaving standards, he wasn’t a terribly old vampire. More than a hundred or so years old and the standard of dental hygiene was so dismal a lot of vamps had a mouthful of brown teeth. Only their fangs looked remotely healthy.
But this vampire, Mr. Handsome Irish Charmer, had perfect pearlers. And dark chocolately eyes, and carelessly long hair. And now he’d moved closer I could see the muscle definition beneath his clothes. He had on a couple of layered t-shirts, frayed and faded, and the hand resting on the counter wore a fingerless glove. His leather jacket was worn in several places, and the silver chain vanishing under his shirt was tarnished.
A lot of vampires tended to dress like they were homeless, and I’d still never quite worked out why.
This guy made it look like the height of style.
“I’m interested,” said the vampire, “in Joan Moorcroft, and William Huntley, and Lizzie Bathgate.”
His eyes suddenly became less like chocolate and more like wood, old, hard wood, the kind that’s turned rocklike with age and hard use, and can’t be shattered by anything.
The three people he was asking about had been vampires. And they’d been killed by me.
“There’s not much information up there about them,” the vampire continued. His gaze never left mine.
“Not very much is known about them,” I replied steadily. “It’s not even certain they were murdered. They simply disappeared.”
Those three vampires had been old, old enough that their bodies disintegrated with nauseating speed. Torrence had simply scooped their crumbling bones into a weighted bag and dumped it in the sea.
“And where do you think they disappeared to?” asked the vampire. His nails were short and clean, his fingers elegant.
I held his gaze. “I think they probably went home,” I said. “We have some books on the Turnbury Murders, if you’re interested.”
“I’m just interested in those three.”
“Well, we have very little information on them,” I said. He was lean, but muscular. Probably knew how to use his body in a fight.
He continued to stare at me. “I knew Lizzie Bathgate,” he said, his voice very low.
“Did you? Then I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Loss? I thought she went home?”
“Well, maybe you should try calling her there.”
“Lizzie was never very good with phones.”
“Wasn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. I’d given up the pretense of being polite.
“They were somewhat before her time.”
I smoothed my hands over a stack of Turnbury Murders leaflets. “How unfortunate.”
“She’d have been more than seventy when they were invented.”
“Is that so.” The nearest wooden object was a pencil far too small to really do any damage with, but I rolled it under my palm in a move I doubt he missed.
“Which would make her nearly two hundred years old.”
“Well, she didn’t look a day over twenty,” I snapped.
There it was. A tiny softening in those hardwood eyes, a tilt of his head, and an utter lack of surprise. The vampire knew who I was.
The three or four other customers in the shop barely turned their heads. Daisy, the only other member of staff present, was helping a girl try on corsets in the changing room. The gloomy Emo music Daisy preferred kept our conversation private.
I was alone with a vampire who knew who I was, and the only weapon I had was a damn pencil.
“You’re Emma Howard,” he said.
“My reputation precedes me,” I said curtly.
“Young vampire hunter with curly red hair and a killer body,” he said, surveying what was visible of said body behind the counter. His eyes caressed me as a lover’s would. “There can’t be many about.”
“Did you want something?” I snarled.
His eyes met mine again, and he smiled, the motion lazy.
“I want plenty,” he said. He reached towards me, and I tensed, prepared to fight him bare-handed if I had to, but all he did was slide a Guide to the Turnbury Murders leaflet from under my palm.
“Thanks for the information,” he said, and one eyelid quirked in what might have been a wink. Rage nearly consumed me.
“Be seeing you,” the vampire said, and sauntered out as casual as anything.
Beneath my hand, the pencil snapped in two.
Vampire Week – Selena Illyria
Mar 23, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, excerpts, guest blogger, interview, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: erotic romance, Loose Id, paranormal, paranormal romance, Selena Illyria, vampire, Vampire Week
Today the seductive Selena Illyria joins us with her thoughts on vampires…..
Like Moths to a Flame by Selena Illyria
They’re dark, dangerous and oh so seductive. They can be animalistic, primal and savage in a minute and in the next they’re weaving a silken web of desire in us, winding us so tight that we can’t resist. Perhaps it’s the age. Being immortal has its perks. To a vampire an eon is a blink of the eye. What wonders they could see, the good and bad of humanity. It’s fascinating and yet terrifying to know that this person could have seen everything from say the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to the Moon Landing.
Despite that fear, there is also the knowledge they could pick up. *wicked grin* Think of all the delicious delights they could have learned along the way, all those tips and tricks to make you squirm, scream and cry out in ecstasy. But it’s not all about the sex and danger is it? Well, maybe it could be depending on how you view it.
I find both sides of the coin fascinating. In a sense you have monster and lover all rolled into one. Think about it, you could have this ancient being, this person who’s seen it all and probably done most of it interested in you, of all the people they could pick. And yet depending on the kind of person you get, you could have the Saint or the Sinner or the devil in your bed. Pretty heady, yes? The question is what kind of vampire would you like?
There’s also something forbidden about the fact that they feed off of blood, our life source. You are literally they’re purpose for life, what’s keeping them alive, their next breath depends solely on you. Whoa, powerful , yes? There’s also the fact that we’ve grown up being told that drinking blood, at least in some cultures, is bad, wrong, you could be damned and here is a creature that does it. We’re defying societal and religious norms to be with this person. Romeo and Juliet eat your heart out! Brushing all that aside, what is it that you find sexy? Fascinating? Desirable? Irresistible? Who inducted you into the dark side and made want, yearn, for that painful kiss? Answer these questions and be entered to win a copy of Blood Claim: Trapped.
I know I love the danger and seduction of the vampire and I’m fascinated by how much they’ve seen and all the things I can learn. But let’s be honest, it’s mostly for the danger. lol
An excerpt from Blood Claim: Trapped:
Blurb:
Kit has never forgotten the cruel way Rysen rejected her as a possible consort over a hundred years ago. She’s striven to get stronger, pushing her attraction to him down and using her anger as fuel.
Rysen has always regretted the way he rejected Kit. As much as he loved her, Rysen despised the way her clan tried to use her as a political gambit for power and protection. But he never stopped wanting Kit, trying to make her his in every way possible.
When enemies attack, they use old magic to seal themselves off and stay safe. But now they find themselves trapped with a century of hunger rising between them….
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, domination.
Excerpt:
Rysen ignored the throbbing of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck her right now, he couldn’t. She was unconscious and she was hurt. When he got her in his bed, she was going to be awake and strong and enjoying every last bit of it.
His gaze roamed over her bruised and battered face. “Gods, she is beautiful,” he murmured. He leaned down, scooped her up in his arms, and held her close. He took in her mocha skin, some patches darker with bruises. One eye was swollen shut. He regretted every mark, every bruise, every injury he had inflicted on her, but words did not work with her. Ever since he had passed her over a hundred years ago, when her clan had offered her to him as one of his consorts, she’d loathed him, and she’d taken up her clan’s fight to avenge his insult against them.
He had wanted her — by the gods, he had wanted her — but he had always felt she was just too fine to bring into his world. She deserved better than to be a political sacrifice. His body shuddered at the very thought of her in his bed, arms over her head, tied to the bedposts, her legs spread far apart, her hairless mound glistening with her dew. Her pussy already dripping, ready for him to fuck her hard, fast, and deep. He wanted the image in his head so badly, and yet he knew if he even tried to make a move, she’d either kill him or die trying. He was tired of fighting her. He wanted to tie her to his bed, blindfold her, and show her the delights that could be had if she would only let him dominate her.
Carrying her up the stairs, he held her body close, cradling her like a precious relic. He made his way to the second floor. Out of all the women he’d ever encountered, she inflamed him like no one else. Her oval face, with her large, liquid brown eyes flecked with red, haunted him. Her full lips beckoned him. The graceful column of her neck invited him to sink his teeth into her jugular and drink deep of her life essence. He wanted to cup her small, high breasts and watch his hands travel along the curves of her sides, over her hips, down her thighs, caress her calves, and massage her feet. He wanted to rub his scent into her skin so that all would know she belonged to him and only him. There would be no others if she agreed to be his consort.
He could smell the odious poison in her blood. The wound on her palm was still open, blood slowly dripping from the cut. He would have to drain most of her blood and give her some of his. She would hate him for that.
Giving her his blood would allow him to track her wherever she went, to invade her thoughts and dreams, sense her moods, even from thousands of miles away. He would know if she were with someone else, he could even see through her eyes and take control of her body. He was the third chieftain of the Vampyre nation. He was the third most powerful vampyre in existence, his clan the third largest, and he was also third in line to ascend to the throne of the Vampyre monarchy. All he needed was a queen.
He made his way through a hallway and couldn’t understand why she’d bought this horrid place. It had no class, no sophistication. It was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, the nearest town five miles away.
“How in the hell is help supposed to get here in case of an emergency?” he asked the sleeping figure in his arms. “And it’s not even pretty land. For the love of the gods, the garden is overrun with weeds. The lake is a cesspool, and I have yet to see one animal around here. My darling, you should have taken my offer to make you a queen. Then you could’ve had all the beautiful land you could want.”
Even in sleep she defied him. As if on its own, her hand rose and tried to hit him.
He chuckled. “I shall call it a pet project for you, then. A hobby. But this should not be your life. You’re too talented to waste your gifts on this place.”
She tried to hit him again. He wanted to take hold of her hand and kiss the back of it, brush his lips against the pulse point and feel her heart beat. He looked up and saw he was only a few feet away from the bedroom he sought, the largest one at the end of the hallway. He could feel the rival vampyres outside, walking around, plotting their next move. Once he saw to her comfort and recovery, he would go outside and destroy them.
“How dare they interrupt our fight,” he growled. “As soon as I know who they are, they will be dealt with.”
If he had won, she would have been forced to concede to him, and therefore her fate would be in his hands. As much as he hadn’t wanted it to come down to that, he would have preferred it to the suicide mission she seemed to be on when she decided it was in her best interest to fight him.
“So stubborn is my darling,” he murmured softly. He loved her for that. He loved everything about her.
He kicked open the door and looked around. He was relieved to see that the room was in good condition. The furniture was of good quality, no dust or broken items. A large bed, piled high with pillows and bed coverings, stood against a far wall, the headboard a wrought-iron monstrosity whose top nearly hit the ceiling.
“This will do for now. You, my darling, deserve so much more.” His cock throbbed at the thought of laying her down in the silks, satins, furs, and velvets of his own massive bed. He shook his head. He wouldn’t feed his sexual desire now, not yet anyway. He refused to leave her while some unknown threat waited outside, prowling around looking for a weakness in Blyder’s protection spells.
“They won’t find them,” Rysen murmured as he arranged her on the bed and pulled off her boots. He paused, wondering if he should undress her to see how extensive the damage was. Making up his mind, he gently took off her tank top. Next, he removed her jeans and then her underwear.
Once she was naked, he catalogued all that he saw. Though his body reacted to the sight of her, his mind worked overtime to keep his lust at bay. He could see the bruises and wounds slowly starting to heal or disappear, but not fast enough. He took hold of her wrist and held it, palm up. Her self-inflicted wound had not disappeared.
She was too weak. Her immune system wouldn’t be able to defend itself until she had fully recovered. The poison was working much too well.
Swearing, he placed her arm gently on the bed and shrugged out of his black leather duster. Kneeling, he took hold of her arm and brought it to his mouth. His tongue lapped at the spot he would bite into, preparing it to stave off infection.
His canines extended. His body began to heat, and his cock grew harder. He kissed her pulse point before biting down, and his back arched as her blood hit his tongue. The sweet, salty, metallic flavor caused his taste buds to explode with pleasure. His eyes drifted closed while her life filled his mouth like sweet, hot lava. The faint bitterness of the poison did not dampen his pleasure; it was nothing to one of his strength. He drank of her, careful not to drink too much.
A soft moan drew his attention. He saw her back arch, her breasts thrust into the air. The scent of her desire filled his nostrils, and he moaned in response. Blood slipped from his mouth, coating his chin, dripping down to stain his shirt.
“Easy, darling. Be at peace. I’m going to take the poison from you,” he whispered with his mind.
“I’m dying,” she responded.
“No. I won’t allow it. You will not meet the Great Maker now or ever, if I have my way. Relax, my darling. Let me take care of you.”
“No…”
“Do it,” he growled out.
He felt her resist before he reached out with his power. Like a whip cutting through the air, his power flicked out into the space between them; like rope, he wrapped his will around her, pressing her down to the mattress. Her body flinched before relaxing back onto the bed. Once he was sure he had taken enough of her blood, he reluctantly released her wrist and lapped at the wound. Once the puncture marks were closed, he bit down into his own wrist.
He gazed upon her naked body, which looked cold and waxy, almost deathlike. He shuddered. He’d become a vampyre so he wouldn’t have to lose anyone else he loved. Seeing her like this reinforced how much he loved her. His wound welled, blood dripping down onto the worn bedspread. He reached out and pried her lips apart.
“Don’t fight me, darling. Drink of me.”
He placed his wrist at her mouth and watched her react. Reaching up, she took hold of his arm, holding it in a vise grip, her lips pressed to his flesh. Her tongue darted out and lapped at his wounds, causing pinpricks of fire to dance up his arm, inflaming his arousal. Her mouth latched onto his wrist, and each pull of her lips felt like a caress on his cock.
Rysen’s shaft throbbed in time with each tug. He reached down and, with one hand, ripped open the button of his jeans, pulled down the tab, and slipped his hand into his pants. Taking hold of his dick, he began to stroke his hardened rod, eyes now closed, head tilted back. He rose on his knees and, with a bit of awkwardness, tugged his pants down until his cock was fully freed. He wrapped his fist around his shaft and started to pump, up and down, in a grip that would cause tears to form in most men’s eyes. The pain and pleasure cascaded through his body. Warm waves ebbed and flowed through his veins as his hips moved back and forth. He fucked his hand as if he were inside her.
“Rysen,” she moaned, her voice echoing softly in his mind. He grunted in response.
“My love,” he answered. He did not care that he had just admitted his feelings for her or what she would think of them. He paused briefly, remembering the moment that had brought them to this place. The point where he had become her enemy a hundred years ago.
http://www.loose-id.com/Blood-Claim-Trapped.aspx
My Vampire Books:
(Out Now at Purple Sword Publications)
Vampire Week: Michele Bardsley
Mar 22, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, excerpts, guest blogger, interview, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: erotic romance, Michele Bardsley, paranormal, paranormal romance, vampire, Vampire Week
Today the lovely Michele Bardsley shares her creative take on vampires….
Vampire Moms are Cool (and Scary) by Michele Bardsley
Writers are often given the advice to “write what you know,” which honestly isn’t all that fun. We know boring crap, like how to do dishes and mow lawns and yell at children. Wait. That’s what parents know. Writers know … how to make up stuff and Google a lot.
In 2004, I really wanted to write a vampire novel. Even though I was told the market was oversaturated with fanged ones (Hah! We are still neck deep in vampires, people … and yes, I will continue to make lame vampire jokes. You’re welcome.), I couldn’t get the idea outta my head about a group of single parents who were suddenly undead. My parental mind whirled with all the possibilities.
What would you do if you could never see the sun again? What if you were on a permanent blood diet? What if you had no choice but to become nocturnal? How in the world would you raise kids when you’re dealing with paranormal issues–not to mention a few cool new superpowers like über strength and mind control? How would you deal with the concept that you’re immortal … and your children are not? And what if a 4,000-year-old Irish hottie told you that you were his destined soulmate? (Okay, that last question was just a perk of writing romance. Heh.)
Answering these questions is how the small town of Broken Heart, Oklahoma and its supernatural residents were born. The first character to experience the wonders of being undead was Jessica Matthews, widowed mother of two. She’s just a normal mom dragging the trash can out to the curb one night, and then she gets attacked, killed, and wham! She’s sucking on the muscled thigh of a vampire with a killer accent and eyes like silver (that’s Patrick O’Halloran … oh, yeah, he’s that hot).
I wasn’t sure that readers would embrace the idea of parental bloodsuckers. After all, my vampires (aside from Lorcan, of course) aren’t driven by angst and guilt. Mostly, they’re cool with being undead and immortality and having awesome abilities. Also, my heroines are all snarky, and the stories, even when I’m addressing serious issues, are all on the humorous side.
Readers not only liked the concept of paranormal parents, but also enjoyed the world I created in Oklahoma, which is now populated with a variety of parakind. Broken Heart has lycanthropes, were-cats, fairies, dragons, and … well, who knows what else. Those are stories waiting to be told. To think, it all started with one smart-ass mother who doesn’t mind being a vampire at all. And when she says clean your room, kiddo, she means it. Hey! Don’t make her get out the fangs.
Excerpt from I’M THE VAMPIRE, THAT’S WHY
By Michele Bardsley
The night I died, I was wrestling a garbage can to the curb.
I had a perfectly healthy fourteen-year-old son who should have taken out the garbage after dinner, but he, and let me quote him directly here, “forgot.”
Every Sunday and Wednesday night we had the same conversation, usually five minutes after he crawled into bed. Here’s the script:
Enter the Mother into the Pit of the Despair. I refuse to walk more than a foot into the Pit because I’m afraid a radiated tentacle might emerge from a gooey pile of papers and clothes and drag me, screaming and clutching at the faded carpet, into the smells-like-lima-beans clutter. I open the door, try not to inhale any noxious boy-room fumes, and delicately scoot one Ked-protected foot inside. Cue dialogue.
“G’night, honey. And Bry? Did you take out the garbage?”
“Oops.”
“It’s twice a week. It’s your only chore. I pay you ten bucks every Friday morning to do it.”
“It’s a heinous chore.”
“I know. That’s why I pay you to do it.”
“Sorry, Mom. I forgot.”
At this point in the twice-weekly argument, variations occurred. Sometimes, Bryan faked snores until I went away, sometimes he actually fell asleep mid-lecture, and sometimes he whined about how his nine-year-old sister Jenny didn’t do chores and I still paid her five dollars every Friday morning.
So, yet again, just after ten p.m. on a Wednesday night, I found myself pulling first one, then the second thirty-gallon garbage can down the driveway, and trying to align the grimy plastic containers near, but not off, the curb. Do not get me started on sloppy, lid-flinging, half-trash-dumping garbage men who are extraordinarily picky about the definition of “curbside pick-up.”
When huge, hairy hands grabbed my shoulders and heaved me across the street and into Mrs. Ryerson’s prized rose bushes, I didn’t have time to scream, much less panic. The whatever-it-was leapt upon me and ripped open my neck, snuffling and snarling as it sucked at the bleeding wound.
Good God. What sort of man-creature could hold a grown woman down like a Great Dane and gnaw on her like a favorite chew toy? It slurped and slurped and slurped … until the excruciating pain (and honey, I’ve suffered through labor twice) faded into a feeling of weightlessness. I felt very floaty, like my body had turned into mist, or like that time in college when I took a hit of acid and had the “Tinkerbell” episode. I knew that if I just let go, I’d rise into the night sky and free myself from gravity … from responsibility … from Bryan and Jenny.
Just thinking about my kids slammed me down to Earth. My husband had passed away a little more than year ago in a car accident. Don’t feel too sorry for me, though. I was in the middle of divorcing the son-of-a-bitch.
I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t lift my arms. I couldn’t open my eyes. But I felt my body again, every aching, pain-throbbing inch of it. The heavy, smelly thing pressing my limp body into thorny branches and noisily smacking against my throat grunted and rolled off. Dry grass crunched and leaves rattled as it moved, growling and groaning like well-fed coyote. I didn’t flicker an eyelid for fear it would try for a killing blow, though if the state of my neck wound was as bad as I thought, I was dead anyway. Then I heard the sounds of bare feet slapping against pavement and realized the thing was running away. Fast.
I don’t remember how I disentangled my sorry self from the bushes. I have vague memories of the roses’ too sweet scent as I crawled across the street and collapsed near my knocked-over garbage cans.
For those who know me, meeting my end amid muttered curses and spilled refuse was not a great shock. But, shock or not, it was still a crappy way to go.
* * *
Some people believe that dying ends all possibilities of humiliation.
Not so.
When I awoke, I wasn’t standing at the pearly gates of heaven. Well, not unless the religious definition of “pearly gates” was way, way off-base.
I was latched onto the velvety inside of a muscular male thigh, my teeth embedded in the flesh near his groin, my mouth soaked with warm, very tasty liquid.
No, the man was not wearing pants. Hell, he wasn’t wearing underwear. Who am I kidding? The man didn’t have on a stitch of clothing.
I wish I could say that the embarrassment of my cheek brushing against his testicles outweighed my need to suck his blood—and yeah, I know, ew—but it was like … it was like … a half-off sale at Pottery Barn. No, better. It was like eating, without gastrointestinal or caloric consequences, a two-pound box of Godiva’s champagne truffles. No, no … like … oh God, like finally fitting into that pair of skinny jeans that taunts every woman from the back of her closet.
Uh-huh. Now you know the ecstasy I’m talking about.
After another minute or two of sucking on the stranger’s thigh, I felt firm, long fingers under my chin.
“That’s enough, love,” said an Irish-tinted voice. “You’re healed now.”
With great reluctance, I allowed the fingers cupping my jaw to disengage me from the yummy thigh. I sat up, licking my lips to get every dribble of blood (ew, again) smeared on my mouth.
“Where am I? What happened? Where are my kids?”
“Ssshhh. Everything will be explained.” He tilted his head, looking me over in a way that caused heat to skitter in my stomach. “Your children are fine. Damian is watchin’ them.”
Damian? Who the fuck was Damian? Whoa, girl. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Well, crud. The whole breath thing wasn’t working. I didn’t even want to think about my lack of heartbeat. I had to stay calm. I focused on the room and realized I could see everything clearly. What the hell? I had been relying on glasses to see past my nose for almost ten years. With this kind of vision, I probably could see all the way to Canada.
“So … with all the, uh, blood-sucking, I’m guessing I’m a vampire now.” Just saying “I’m” and “vampire” together was so ridiculous, I wanted to giggle.
Vampire Week – Kate Hill
Mar 21, 2011 Filed under: book recommendation, excerpts, guest blogger, interview, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week Tags: Changeling Press, erotic romance, gay romance, Kate Hill, m/m romance, paranormal, vampire, Vampire Week
Today to kick off Vampire Week, Kate Hill shares her love of vampires……
Vampires–A Family Tradition by Kate Hill
For as long as I can remember, vampires have been part of my life. As a child I used to watch vampire movies with my mother. She was also a vampire fan. Maybe because I grew up watching vampire movies and reading vampire fiction, I never found them particularly frightening, but I always found them intriguing.
I like the idea of their extended lives and I love their physical strength. While I enjoy many characteristics of traditional vampires, I also like stories that take liberties with the legends surrounding them.
As a reader and a writer, I prefer stories in which vampires are not inherently evil and I also love the idea of vampires as aliens or another species instead of supernatural monsters. In my books, vampires are like humans in that some are good, some are bad and others fall somewhere in between.
For me vampire stories are an irresistible contradiction. They’re exciting yet comfortable and seamlessly blend romance, erotica and horror, sometimes with a touch of science fiction.
My latest series of vampire books is called Bloody or Nothing. It’s set in my Blood and Soul vampire world. In the first Bloody or Nothing book, called Sudsy, a vampire drag queen who protects Las Vegas from vampiric crime teams up with a handsome singer whose affair with an up and coming mixed martial artist threatens his life. Sudsy and his new lover join a fight against an evil bent on taking over the world.
The following excerpt is from Sudsy, available from Changeling Press.
Thank you for looking and thanks for having me on your blog, Silvia!
Excerpt from BLOODY OR NOTHING: SUDSY by Kate Hill
From Changeling Press
Julian rose and approached. He wore another simple black shirt open halfway down his chest. Sudsy longed to stroke those curly dark hairs dusting his pecs and take a closer look at Julian’s interesting tattoo of roses.
“Different look,” Julian said, his gaze searching Sudsy’s face, then sliding down his chiseled chest in the snug tank and lingering on the bulge in the front of his trousers. When he was in drag no one had a clue exactly how well endowed Sudsy was. “I like it.”
Sudsy cocked an eyebrow, as if to say who asked. This didn’t seem to intimidate Julian in the least.
The singer stepped even closer and added, “I like it a lot.”
“So the rumors about you are true?”
“Which ones?”
“The ones that say you swing both ways?”
A few of the local gossip columns had made mention of Julian’s bisexual tendencies.
A smile tugged at Julian’s adorable lips. The top one curved into a delicate bow, but the lower one was full and enticing. Sudsy longed to nip and suck it.
“Partially true.”
“Oh.” Sudsy stepped away and turned to the balcony where he looked out at the city lights. “I see.”
Seconds later, Julian’s hand fell lightly on Sudsy’s shoulder. Sudsy turned to him. Their burning gazes locked and this time Julian stood so close that their lips almost touched.
“Playing along with the bi rumors helps my career. I have a fair share of female fans and women love to flirt, you know.”
Sudsy smiled. “Naughty boy.”
“I’ll show you just how naughty I can be, if you let me.”
Julian’s face dipped even closer, but Sudsy stepped back and placed a hand to the mortal’s chest. He’d meant the gesture to stop any further contact, but that was a very bad idea. Beneath Julian’s warm, hair-dusted flesh, he felt the mortal’s heartbeat and its quickness told him the man was truly aroused, not just offering payback or prepayment for the business deal they’d discussed. Not to mention the scent of his lust didn’t lie.
Julian drew a deep breath and hesitation glistened in his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ve had a long night, Julian, and you’re still healing. Not to mention we need to talk business.”
“Yes. Business. If you think I’m trying to bargain for a better offer–”
Sudsy narrowed his eyes. “You’re good at getting what you want, aren’t you, Julian?”
At that comment, Julian laughed sardonically. “Yeah I’m great at getting what I want. I’m unemployed, unattached and recovering from a stab wound. Everything is going exactly as I planned.”
Sudsy folded his arms across his chest and sighed deeply. This guy got to him and that could be either wonderful or dangerous.
“I’ll be glad to help, if you tell me what happened because I don’t believe for a second you were mugged.”
“Why would I lie?”
Shrugging, Sudsy said, “People have lots of reasons to lie. I don’t think you’re into anything illegal.”
“I’m not.”
“Then maybe it’s someone you care about–someone you’re trying to protect?”
The look in Julian’s eyes and the sudden skip of a heartbeat told Sudsy he was close to the truth. Sudsy was an excellent judge of character. He’d possessed that gift long before becoming a vampire.
“Whoever it is, are you certain he or she is worth risking your life for?”
Julian didn’t reply and for several long moments they stared at each other, Sudsy willing the mortal to confess and Julian holding strong against the vampire’s hypnotic gaze. Very few mortals could endure a vampire’s probing stare without surrendering, but despite Julian’s pretty boy appearance, he emanated underling toughness. He was a complex man and one Sudsy wanted to know better.
“I’ve had a long night,” Sudsy said. “And I need to get some sleep.”
When he headed for the door, Julian’s long fingers curved snugly around his upper arm. Sudsy glanced at his hand then met Julian’s piercing gaze.
“Sleep here,” Julian said, his voice soft but commanding. Another smile tugged at Sudsy’s lips. Julian aroused him to a feverish level, but no one gave Sudsy orders.
“Do you know what you’re asking for, stud?” Sudsy asked.
In reply, Julian tugged Sudsy closer and covered his mouth in a searing kiss.
Damn. In his long, long life no one had ever kissed him like this.
About Kate Hill
What do trips around the world, endless nights of breathtaking sex, and a muscular, 6-foot 3-inch, brown-haired, blue-eyed significant other have to do with Kate Hill? Absolutely nothing, but she can dream, can’t she? In reality Kate is a single vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies.
Currently, she might not be traveling around the world, but Kate has visited Europe and Africa and those beautiful places have been wonderful inspiration for her writing. While working at various times as a clerk, assistant karate instructor, house painter and banker, Kate dreamed of being an author. In 1996 her first short story was accepted for publication and since then she has sold over ninety short stories, novellas and novels.
When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, and researching vampires and Viking history. Visit Kate online.
