Saturday, 28 November 2015

Night’s Eternal Vow by Julie A. D’Arcy.




Lord Vincent D’Armano, a young nobleman, on leaving his mistress’s house in London one rainy cold night in the 1700’s is set upon by a sensual, vampiress, Epatha, who is in search of a mate.
Many years later, after travelling to America and killing a war chief’s son, Vincent is cursed by a Cheyenne Shaman and has the ability to feel emotion restored. He escapes Epatha’s deadly embrace, although she still tracks him, and re emerges into society decades later only to meet with the very woman that could destroy him, in more ways than one.
Detective Elara Gale hates Vampires after her childhood boyfriend is murdered and she sees a black cloaked figure fleeing the scene.
So when she discovers the dark stranger she is already more than half in love with is no other than the Vampire she is hunting, her loyalties are torn between her desire for Vincent’s touch and her duty to the law.
Lust, Romance, Magic and Murder combine to make Night’s Eternal Vow fast-paced, mission-oriented and filled with life and death issues. Vincent and Alara after battling Epatha in the present are cast back in time by an unusual hypnotist and an arrest gone wrong, and faced with a struggle to stop the Vampiress from making Vincent a vampire, and to save his mortal soul. 


Vincent followed her up the concrete steps of her apartment building and stood behind her as she jiggled the key in the lock of the glass security door. The arch of her slim white neck caught his attention, and his gums tingled. The sweet perfume of her young body, singing an age old tune to him.
What was he doing here? He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her in the reflection of the glass. What would he do if she looked up and noticed his reflection did not fall in behind her? She was so small, so frail. So easily he could break her. Nonetheless, he knew he wouldn’t. Already, he was in deeper than he had anticipated. The woman beckoned, like a siren’s song. Sweet, alluring, her blood would be like honey on his tongue, but the taste of her mouth would be even sweeter, as would the touch of her body. He felt a stirring in his loins, kindling a flame in his belly, which he thought had died long ago with the death of his wife. He should go, leave now, never see this woman again.
He knew what happened to people when he got too close.
They died. 
“Got it,” she said, turning with a shy smile. “The lock is old and tends to stick.”
He gave her a strained smile. It was, how did that song go? Now or never. She pushed open the door and preceded him inside, and he stepped into the foyer after her.
They trudged up two flights of stairs and along a narrow hallway. He could have done the journey in a fraction of the time had he swept her into his arms and traveled at his normal pace, but unfortunately that was out of the question.
 He counted three doors before she stopped, once more producing her bunch of keys. They seemed almost too large for her small hand.
“Would you like me to do that?” he asked from behind her.
She turned, handed him the keys, and moved aside. “I seem all fingers and thumbs.” She smiled.
He fit the key to the door, pushed it open, switched on the light around the corner, and allowed her to enter. When he did not follow, she turned and frowned.
“I thought you were coming in?”
“Do you wish me to?”
“I thought that was understood. You were going to have some wine, listen to Bach.”
“Then you must ask me.”
 Again, she frowned. “I thought… Is this some kind of joke?” She took off her jacket and held it to her chest almost defensively. “If you don’t want to come in just say so.”
He pushed his hands into his coat pockets and remained looking at her. He knew she was annoyed, but how could he explain that a vampire could not enter a domain unless he was invited. He remained silent, seeing a gambit of emotions cross her face.
 “Very well.” She sighed. “Would you like to come in?”
 He released a heavy breath, stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. Well, he was here. Now what?
She tossed her jacket onto the lounge and crossed the carpet to switch on the heating. “Have a seat while I get something for this headache. I’ll only be a moment.” She disappeared through a door on the left. He heard her rummaging in a drawer in what must have been the kitchen, the clink of glass and the running of water.
He had a feeling she was angry with him.
He didn’t really care. He could leave in the blink of an eye and make her forget he ever existed, but she interested him, so he would stay awhile. It had been long since he’d shared company with a woman, and she had promised him Bach.
A sleek Siamese sauntered into the living room from what he thought must have been the bedroom. At first the animal did not notice him as it stopped to give a luxurious stretch, but on spying him it arched its back, hissed and bolted back into the bedroom.
A small chuckle escaped his lips. Astute animals, cats. Perhaps that was why the Egyptian Pharaohs had favored them above all other creatures. They were good at sensing evil. However, he did not like to think of himself as evil; though he knew through the centuries his kind had earned that reputation, with heinous creatures like Epatha on the loose.
He just liked to consider himself a survivor.
Too restless to sit, he moved to a tall window across the room. Pushing aside the red velvet curtains, he peered out onto the bay. A full moon had the whole of the water aglow. Boats of every description dotted the harbor, a bobbing carousel of multicolored lights, and in the distance the faint black shape of the mountains.
He shook his head and sighed. The whole scene was far too surreal; by the name of all that was unholy, what was he doing here? The woman was beautiful, yes, and reminded him far too much of Annabelle, but he had promised himself he would never again get involved with a living being. He had to get out of here!
But too late.
He felt her presence before he heard her. She stood behind him. He could see her reflection, and at the same time realized, he could not see his. He spun too quickly, crashed into her, and caught her in his arms before she fell.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to be so clumsy.” He guided her so that she faced away from the window and led her back to the center of the room.
“Would you like to take off your coat?” she asked, pulling free.
She bit her lip and looked away, she seemed nervous. And she had all reason to be.  But would he stay? He should leave right now. He slid his arms from his black leather coat and dropped it onto a nearby armchair, and his mystery woman moved across the room to lift a bottle of wine down from the top shelf of a tall oak wood cabinet. She had to stand on tiptoe to maneuver the bottle, she was so tiny.
“Here let me help.” He started to reach up behind her, but she turned.
Too close, pressed to his body in all the right places. He could feel her heart beating into his chest. Her soft, subtle perfume, a mixture of violet and lilac teased his nose and surrounded him, blending with her own womanly scent. He swallowed, fighting his hunger. A different kind of hunger. The hunger a man felt for a woman. Had felt for women through every age in history: primeval, earth shattering, eternal.
His fingers threaded through a riot of dark blonde curls as he held her head in place, taking her lips in a deep, drugging kiss that cried for understanding, compassion, realization, and she answered him with a fervor that unlocked the dark, cold pit of his heart.

Clothes were no barrier as hands tore at buttons and cloth and found bare flesh. He swept her up and lowered her to the rug, then came down over her in one languid move, bringing with him a promise of completion and one perfect night of passion.


Thursday, 26 November 2015

Hello Today I would like to welcome paranormal romance author

 Penny Estelle to my Blog to talk about her book Dugan’s Creek

A devastated Heather Stone is driving eight hundred miles to cry on her sister’s shoulder, after her boyfriend of three years has dumped her. 

He needed space!  Our sex life is boring!  You need to find the passion that’s been lost!

“Well, screw you!” she yells, just as her overheated car, pings, coughs, and shudders to a stop on a deserted road by the Arizona eastern border.  Could anymore happen to her?  She grabs her purse and starts walking.  The sign Dugan’s Creek, leads her to an oasis of lush foliage and rushing water to cool off her blistered feet.

The sun starts to set and Heather is thinking this might not have been the smartest move.  Moving shadows and night sounds from the brush lets Heather know she isn’t alone at Dugan’s Creek.

            “Space?” Heather asked slowly.
            “Look…” Steve stopped, running his hand through his hair.  “Yea - space.”
            “No, please,” Heather said, folding her arms across her chest, “continue with what you were going to say.”
            Steve plopped down on the Ethan Alan black leather, no-armed straight back chair. “It’s us, Heather.  We’ve been together for more than three years and…and, well it’s just not fun anymore.”
            She took her Liz Claiborne suit jacket off and carefully hung it on a dining room chair.  “Well excuse me if one of us needs to play the part of an adult.”
            “Christ, Heather, we never go out.  This is October!  We have had to back out of 2 different Halloween parties because you have unexpected obligations.  Don’t you remember our plan?  I was going as the werewolf and you were going to be Little Red Riding Hood?”  He watched as her face turned angry.  “Couldn't you just tell them, 'Sorry, I’ve got plans?”
 “Not if I want to get somewhere in this company!  I thought you were with me on this?” She started pacing.  “It’s all make believe, Steve.  Werewolves aren’t real! It used to be fun to pretend, but we have to grow up.  You…you have to grow up!”

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