Rick

Hello, everyone! 
Well, as you know I'm excited about this next book. I've been bringing you several scenes and short bits from Vampire Caprice, and right now a contest is going on over at the facebook Fan page for Sabrina Strong series for a PDF version of the book. If you would like the chance to win this prize, please do go to the fan page on facebook. Today's question is: "Rick is a supernatural. What is he?" Please go to Fans of Sabrina Strong to vote there. Good luck!

Since I haven't posted any scene about Rick, I will do so here. Hey, it might give you a clue!

Rick

While holding the brush with the toes of his right foot Rick brushed his hair and aimed the hair dryer with his left foot. His toes were long, and nimble. He could write with both hands, and both feet, sometimes at the same time, but not when he was drunk. He tried that once on a dare and had fallen off his stool—in Tom's Tavern. It had the whole place guffawing. Besides, he thought his handwriting was much better when he held a pen in his right foot than the left foot—or either of his hands. That was because he could see what he was writing. The kind sisters at the orphanage of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace had helped him develop and work on his disability when he was old enough to learn to read and write. Sister Fred was his favorite nun. She had the disposition of a saint, and put up with his horseplay, as well as the magic he could do. She'd kept his abilities a secret, saying his magic was a “gift from God”. She only knew he could move things when he was small. Now his magic was fully developed. There were a lot of things he could do now that would probably have Sister Fred second-guessing herself. But he was a leprechaun, after all, and not a rich one either. The pile of money had dried up a long time ago from the settlement for the birth defect he was born with because of the drug his mother had taken while pregnant. He worked at Tom's Tavern, and did the odd jobs for the supernatural community, here and there for extra dough. But he would be fixing that real soon with the deal Tremayne had offered him. He'd not only be able to buy everyone who ever came into Tom's a drink, but could buy it. Of course, he wouldn't do that. Or, maybe he would. Tom might like retirement if he was given the right price.

Seated on the toilet, using his hands to keep himself steady holding on to the corner of the sink and the corner of the toilet tank, his hair was nearly dry. He'd slept the whole day, and when he woke up, he felt refreshed—and no longer needed to worship the porcelain god from altitude sickness. It was dark out, too, he noticed. Chris had shown him his room, earlier, and since no one was using the shower, he had ducked in here with his shower supplies. He loved the multiple shower heads as he could aim the lower ones right where he needed them. He didn't think he'd been so clean in all his life—he felt squeaky clean. He was pretty sure he hadn't sung that well in a long while, either.

I wonder what they might have for dinner in this joint?

His relaxed thoughts were jolted when someone suddenly materialized in the bathroom with him. He cried out, the hair dryer flew out of his toes and clattered to the floor with a loud noise. Rick wound up there with it. The towel that had been wrapped around him now flopped open leaving him as exposed as a flasher. The headache he'd gotten rid of was now back because he'd hit his head on the vanity.

“Ow! Shit!” He leaped to his feet, magicked the towel back around him and stared at the huge vampire who had materialized out of nowhere. “What the fuck are you doing? You scared the crap-olla outta me!”

“It didn't work,” Tremayne said, seeming unconcerned about the situation, and chaos he had caused. He gazed down at him, then offered a hand to help him up. Rick took it but wasn't happy.

“What?!” Rick's face had gone hot, and he imagined it redder than it had been a moment ago from the hot shower.

Tremayne sighed and rolled his eyes. “I said it didn't work. That thing you did to keep me from wanting her blood.”

“What do you mean? I did like you told me. You two looked really cuddly-smoochy when I walked in the other night.”

“I couldn't be close to her without feeling the desire for her blood.”

“Well, you're a vampire. What do you expect?”

“I thought you said you could do something about that.”

“If I take away your need for blood, totally, it would be total. I don't know if I can bring it back. You don't want that, do you?”

Tremayne paused in thought.

“You don't want that. Right? You'd never want blood again.”

“No. That wouldn't work either.” He let out a frustrated sigh, raked his fingers through his golden locks.

“You might as well face it, dude. You need to find a different way.”

“I do have a few ideas, actually. I've just implemented one, and now I need you to go and get me some virgin's blood.”

“You're shitting me. Right?”

“No. I'm not. And I'm giving you less than an hour to get it to me.”

Rick sighed. “How much?”

“How much? Ah...” Tremayne's eyes darted away from him in thought. “A couple of ounces, if you can't do a whole pint.”

“That might cost me.”

“My credit's good. You know that.”

“Done. What will that do—the virgin's blood?” Rick wondered.

“Take my mind off her blood.”

“Really?”

Tremayne gave him a side glance. “You kidding me? Virgin anything for a man is heaven.”

“Ah. Right, right.” Rick nodded. Vampires, shit.

“Also, you have to get her to cover that ring up. I can't thrall her if she has the ring uncovered.”

“Okay. What if I make it so that she doesn't uncover it? She just thinks she did.”

Tremayne slid his eyes to the leprechaun. A smile bent his lips. “Now I know why I hired you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get the hell out of here so I can finish up.”

Tremayne turned to go, but stopped. “I wondered how you managed to... you know, without... you know?” He made hand gestures toward the hair dryer.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Rick snarled and pushed him toward the door. Tremayne ducked out into the hall, and Rick slammed the door on Tremayne. He bent and reached down to pick up the hair dryer. He saw bits and pieces of it scattered on the floor. “Aw, fuck.” He shook his head slowly. With a snap of his fingers, the pieces flew back together. The dryer came to life, and he magically floated it toward his head. “I knew I shouldn't have gotten mixed up with a vampire. I just knew it.”

Contest for Giveaway!

Ah, here we are on the other side of the "long weekend". I hope all of you had a nice Memorial Day weekend. Mine was busy, but we won't go into that.

Today I'm going to give those of you out there who have followed the Sabrina Strong series an opportunity to win a PDF version of the fourth book. But you'll have to go to the facebook site Fans of Sabrina Strong Series in order to begin answering the questions I will be posting. You'll have to check it periodically, too. And I'll give you a heads up here at my main blog. See, I don't believe in doing those pesky things where you have to visit a whole bunch of places and "like" this or that. You only have to go to one site, and be attentive for the next few weeks, and answer the question. That's all!

I have one question up right now there, so you'll want to go there. Ah, this one's more a matter of GUESSING the correct answer, as there's no way you would know it since the question has to do with the fourth book, which isn't available yet. However, my next questions will have to do with the past books, in the next two weeks. At the end, I'll tally up whoever has the most correct answers, and will contact the winner.

Oh, and if you are not a member at this site, just make a request and I'll add you in.

Today I've got a short tidbit from Vampire Caprice. After you're done here, head on over to the facebook site, and hope to see you all there!

Fourth book in Sabrina Strong series

I couldn't take my eyes off of Niki and the other female vampire that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Feeling threatened, I picked up a rock and threw it. She ducked and it only grazed her shoulder. She looked down at where it had soiled her shirt, brushed at it, and then aimed a heated glare at me. “That was another favorite shirt you've ruined, bitch!” she growled.

“I was aiming for your face, actually,” I said, and only then realized I needed to take my damned glove off to control her, I pulled on the fingers of my right glove. I didn't get it off before I heard something shriek. I looked up in time to see Niki's fangs flash. Talon-like fingernails darted for me a millisecond later. However old this vampire bitch was I wasn't sure, but I did know that new-born vampires couldn't shift into any other creature. Hair grew on her face, her ears became more like a fox. She was shifting right in front of me. Oh shit!

How I Found the Write Path: Don't Tell me I can't become an author!

When I began writing--back when all we had were typewriters and the personal computer was just a dream.... I had high hopes. They were the usual ideas of fame and fortune. I thought I'd be published and living my life as I wanted.
Eh, yeah. Didn't happen. But I've had a lot of things happen in between. I did get a publisher (who then quit on me), but I've got books out there (Sabrina Strong Series). So, I've made my own dreams come true--to a point. I'm published!

Today I've joined up with the blog fest called "The Write Path"

The idea is simple. Think back to when you first began to write, and think about how starry-eyed you were, and then consider where you are now, what would you tell yourself back then, if you could travel backward in time. There's more information at PK Hrezo's blog, and you can sign up for it, like I did and join the blog hop. You'll want to think about what sort of advice you might give yourself when you began to write.

So, here is my letter to my 17 1/2 year old self, when I was in my senior year in high school, dreaming of getting my writing published some day.

"Don't Tell me I "can't" Write"
by Lorelei Bell

In my senior year in high school I took a "creative writing" class. I loved it so much, I asked the teacher, Mrs. Penson, if I could take it the next semester, and she said that was fine. I wrote a lot of poetry, and began a continuous romantic story in a notebook(which no one saw but me). One day I told Mrs. Penson, who taught the class, that I wanted to become an author. I was expecting praise. I was expecting at least some sort of encouragement. Something positive. This is what I got from her:

"You'd better find another occupation, Lorelei, because your spelling is terrible and your grammar is horrible." (or words to that effect)

Okay, yeah. That stung! Truth does that to a person. I know I must have sulked a bit. Maybe a lot a bit. But truth be told, it was something I had to work on. My spelling gradually got better and grammar (wiggling hand)--I'm still lousy at grammar, but it's better than then, for sure.

What I remember from this experience was I did NOT give up. I didn't listen to her--as far as going into some other occupation--but I did try and improve on those areas. No one told me I was dyslexic. I guess they didn't really know about such things back then, they just put us all into the "dummy" classes, and gave up on us. I was 40 when I realized I was dyslexic. Go figure.

I spent the next 3-4 decades after high school working on improving my writing skills. It was a rough row to hoe, believe me. I really wish some people had just tried to show me where I could improve back then. If I could go back in time, I'd make sure I'd tell myself some of the things to look for. And, yeah. My spelling improved significantly from back then to now. I was a really terrible speller. Left behind by teachers--I'm sorry, but they didn't want to work on a wasted cause--I had to learn it all myself. Here and there I had small things published, and that encouraged me to continue. I had to ignore rejections of my book manuscripts--another thing that was not fun to get.

My advice is to never NEVER GIVE UP on yourself! Work on improving your writing. Something I used to do was I went back and read over what I wrote a year ago--or even 6 months prior, and compare to how I write at the time of reviewing. The idea is to see if the writing has improved. And it works to help you see that you are improving. I can say it's because of people who helped me along, but also from the books by other authors that I read--and study how they word something. I had to work at writing.

A last thought: the one reason I never gave up writing is because it gives me the biggest joy. Maybe it's how I've figured out the plot, or have enriched the story with unique characters. Oh, and when plotting comes together. And especially when I've gotten the book finished and out there.

Okay, your turn!

The Making of a Villain

from Art of Fantasy site

When choosing the villain for Caprice, I had some excellent ideas come to me. Firstly, the invention of an Undead--whoa, not so fast, my dears. Vampires in my books are not true "undeads". My vampires have a very slow heartbeat. A true Undead is someone who has died and found a way to return in the flesh and has to "feed" a bit differently. 

Meet Priscus, aka "The Albino", aka "The Undead". In the book I explain a little more, and we do learn that the "undead" do not have to be like this multiple-thousand year-old "undead" who hunts the sibyl (aka Sabrina Strong), in order to feed on her soul. They can feed in other ways... and I'll leave that to you to discover when the book comes out.

The next step was to decide how he looked, and the above picture sort of popped for me, only Priscus has very long white hair in this, and pink eyes (thus the pink eyes on the cover). 

In the first mention of him in the book, Tremayne is approached by Priscus who hopes to feed on the soul of the lady which Tremayne is drinking blood from. I had to make this guy compelling and unusual.

Then I saw this photo and decided this would be exactly how Tremayne sees the Albino--in this position in a truck stop, and can't figure out who/what he is at first.

Of course, Bjorn Tremayne will always be the one constant character in this series where he's in the gray area of good/bad guy, which he is in this book.

Now, then, I am sharing another part of the book where you will see Priscus in action... sort of.

 Priscus aka The Albino aka the Undead

The white tail doe browsed in the long grasses along the Interstate. Head up, her ears perked attentively to some sound, or an awareness—aside from the constant sounds of traffic nearby. Being a creature of the earth, she sensed something was there. That alone spooked her.

Priscus slowed to human speed when he discovered the doe, and then slowed down to a stop, not ten feet from her. Since he had no scent he wanted her to see him, and she did. This had the anticipated and desired results. Her fear of the unknown had a particular pheromone that he could feed upon, but it wasn't nearly enough to satiate him.

Predictably the doe, upon seeing, him turned and bolted. Leaping gracefully, she sailed over the fence bordering the Interstate. Bounding along the ditch, her white tail like a great white flag in her wake. Priscus watched, and then followed her at his usual pace—too fast to be seen.

Traffic on I-80 moved along at a constant clip. Of course, Priscus was able to move at the speed of light. How terribly slow humans are! Hovering over the road, he paused to watch. Cones of light from the vehicles moved along the dark pavement constantly. The doe now traveled at less than half the speed of traffic. Fear bounded her directly into the pathway of two cars. When she made a huge leap and dodged the first car, which braked, another one zipped around her. Horns blared.

Delighted, Priscus chuckled and clapped his hands at the doe's agility, and sheer luck. He had set the stage—something he did when bored—and like always, it worked with the fantastic results of a fireworks display.

The doe had gained the relative safe-haven of the grassy meridian between the two strips of interstate, headlights spearing down either side of her. She continued along the strip of grass until she darted yet again into the dangerous east-bound traffic. Horns blared again. Would she be as lucky as she had been on the other side? Priscus patiently awaited the outcome, laughing at how the drivers veered wildly. One car drove off the pavement, into the meridian, and managed to swerve back onto the road, skillfully avoiding the deer.

Dismissing the car, Priscus' eyes surveyed the deer's progress. The distinctive sound of a semi's air horn blasted above the interstate noise. The sudden loud engine breaking alerted Priscus that an accident was imminent. The sound of the doe being hit was subtle; it was a thud of soft flesh, bone and sinew colliding against the metal brush pusher of the semi. He heard it as easily as though he were in a silent room, when the proverbial pin dropped. The impact shattered the deer's flank, snapping it's neck, killing it instantly. Were he desperate to feed on the innocent soul, he would have done so at this point. But why nibble on such inferior fare, when the main course was coming at last?

All this was fine, but it was the next series of events that Priscus was anticipating with relish.

Vasyl- from Vampire Caprice & Explanation of how I went about writing this book

Hello, my pretties. How are you all this fine day? We had snow yesterday. Yes, we did. Big huge flakes fell for about 3 or so hours. That was interesting, and depressing at the same time.

Oh, well. On to business.

Today I thought I would bring you a section of the book dealing with Vasyl, Sabrina's protector/husband/vampire. But before I get into this, I thought I would explain how I decided how I would write all these other character's POV in Vampire Caprice. I realized while writing it that if I didn't go mind-dipping into each of my main characters, this book would be extremely short... and basically boring. Well, except for all the sex scenes--tee-hee.

But seriously, if I stayed in Sabrina's 1st person voice the whole while, readers would not get the broad spectrum of the whole story--which wound up being each of these character's story. I had to figure out how I was going to do their voices. No. Not in first person, otherwise people would wonder who's head I was in. I wanted something different and, possibly experimental, but I've seen other writers write like this too. I went with 3rd person on each character, and dipped into their pasts (see below).

In this scene Vasyl discovers that Sabrina has been taken away by Tremayne, who has been able to keep him busy elsewhere while setting Sabrina up. So, I bring you a portion of that scene today. I hope you enjoy it! I'll try and get another one up soon from another character, and keep on bringing them up to and after I've gotten the book out. I am still working on a third read-through of the book, and hope to have this thing ready to go to Amazon in another week or so. It's a very long book, and I want to make sure it's solid before it goes to be published.

Also, from time to time I'll have individual snippets from the book at facebook group "Fans of Sabrina Strong Series, if you want to join me there and join the group, you only need to ask.

Vasyl

Sabrina's house came into view and he slowed, made a circle around the house about fifty feet above. Nothing seemed out of place, except, for Sabrina's missing presence—and her Jeep. Certainly she couldn't be staying over-night at her brother's house.

His indecision kept him hovering. The eastern horizon glowed orange-red and hastened his descent to the house and finally landed on the roof. He had no choice but to enter the domain and stay there for the duration of the day. He knew where the extra key was hidden, and entered. Inside he found the abode silent. The lack of a human heartbeat confirmed it: Sabrina was gone.

But the scent of Sabrina and two others still lingered. Sacrebleu! I should have known! One was a vampire, this he knew by the scent. His whole being sank in spirit, and dread filled him. This very scent had been on Sabrina from time to time. Bjorn Tremayne. The master who had hired her for his own dealings, and had nearly got Sabrina killed on a number of occasions. Vasyl had never met Tremayne, but he knew that scent anywhere. Tremayne had never been to her house, until now.

The other visitor was more difficult to determine. But he was neither vampire nor demon. He, she, or it didn't smell like a vampire or demon, or human for that matter. Perhaps he was something other, but he was not simply human.

Another more troubling scent was that of Ba'al demon. It was as strong. Possibly one, or all of them, had dealt with a Ba'al at some point during the night. Was the demon the danger? Surely, when it came to Tremayne, Sabrina never seemed overly frightened of the master, although she should be.

Vasyl prowled through the house, his dread and anger building. He stopped at the threshold of Sabrina's bedroom where the sliding oak door stood open. The bed still made. But scattered upon it were articles of clothing. Some were still folded, and others in a hap-hazard disarray upon the bed, as though gone through. Drawers were left slightly open.

Curious, he opened her closet. A number of hangers were bare.

It wasn't difficult to put together the scenario. “So, she left with Tremayne! The swine!”

Clenching his fist, Vasyl turned away. He could curse the magnate up and down until he was blue, but that would do him no good. He now understood what had happened. Tremayne had taken Sabrina while Vasyl had been detained by his minions all night. Vasyl believed it wasn't so much against her will since she had packed a bag. But Tremayne must have used extremely devious and persuasive measures. Who knew how bent he could get if he wanted something badly enough? He knew the master vampire had tried to woo Sabrina on a number of occasions. She had confided in him once about those times she had spent with him.

Vasyl wasn't sure what Tremayne's plans were with Sabrina, the sibyl, but he didn't like the idea she was with him. She was vulnerable to him, since he'd had her blood. The blood bond was strong, but it was only vampire-to-human. Vasyl's blood bond with her was stronger, since he had shared his blood with her twice, now. He was certain she had never drank any of Tremayne's blood.

Could he have tricked her into doing so? No. She was not a stupid woman.

He reached out again to find her. Sabrina's spirit was too weak to locate. She must have been miles and miles away. Too far away for him to get to her in a night's trip. And certainly not now with the sun rising.

Vasyl swore under his breath, ran fingers through his long hair, and strode into the kitchen. He stopped. The sun's rays were gleaming through the gaps of the kitchen curtains, glancing in off the table, and a few appliances.

To keep himself safe from harmful rays, he stayed tight to the wall, and angled to the refrigerator. Opening it, he looked for the one thing he knew would be inside. One black bottle of Organic Red. Vasyl did not always have need of bottled blood, but Sabrina always made sure she had some on hand, just in case, which was wise of her, but unnecessary. He had long ago made adjustments in feeding from animals, instead of humans, in order to look for the sibyl and not desire her blood. He'd had it, purposely, only once. Once was enough. The nectar of it was incredibly sweet, and it had given him a slight high, like a glass of very good wine for a human. A lesser vampire, should he drink even a small amount, would find it difficult to stop drinking the richness of her ichor-like blood. To spill her blood would be sacrilege to him.

Vasyl paused to consider why Tremayne would have taken her. He was a master who had lost his crown—so he was told. Tremayne was now considered a rogue. What would a rogue want with the sibyl?

Better yet, what would Tremayne want with Sabrina?

It didn't take him more than a few seconds to come up with the reason. He wanted to mate with her. His mating would fulfill the age-old prophecy.

“Two masters who are polar opposites in appearance, and beliefs, will seek the sibyl. She who holds the ring, and who has Knowledge. Two powers shall struggle to take over the new continent. The last sibyl holds the key. The descendant of the Watchers hold the seed, in the abduction there shall be salvation. Redemption shall overrule revenge. And a new race shall be born.”

“Sacrebleu!” In other words Tremayne knew of this prophecy too. Who would not look at these lines of the prophecy and not presume the two who were opposites were he and Tremayne? If he was successful, Tremayne might be reinstated as a master by the Powers That Be.

Vasyl let go a frustrated roar that filled the house. He picked up a lamp and threw it. It crashed on the floor. Tremayne was despicable!

He looked at the lamp he'd destroyed. He would buy her a new one. “Damn him to hell and back!”

Fourth book will be out soon!

Bill Gannon - Known Nephilim, Chasing Sabrina across the Midwest!

Hello, my pretties. I do hope all the mothers out there had a great Mother's Day.

As promised I've got another titillating piece from the up-coming Vampire Caprice.

I wanted to share a few pictures with you of the area that this book takes place. I had to snag a few from the Pikes Peak area to give you an idea of what it looks like, if you missed any of the other posts I did, here is a link to the last one "The Vampire Lair", and from this one you can hop over to the first one.

Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs

Rockie Mountains, Colorado

Today I'm giving you a little of Bill Gannon's POV from the book. He's on the road, following Sabrina via GPS, he has sneakily put a tracker in her purse in order to follow her. He's quite desperate, you see, it's his life-long goal to seek the sibyl. Only she's not cooperating at all.
Well, here is the sneak peek into Bill's inner turmoil...

Bill

from Vampire Caprice

Bill awoke with a start. Sitting up in bed, he gulped in air. He ran his long fingers through strands of wavy brown hair that had fallen over his eyes. The sheets were soaked, and his shirt was off. When had I undressed?

More disturbing, his wings were unsheathed. An escape reflex. It had happened often when he was a child, after a nightmare. But never as an adult. Why now?

Shaking himself from the dream, and an inexplicable fear, it took a moment for Bill to recognize the motel room, and a few more seconds to remember exactly where he was. The lights from outside slanted in like a beam, where the curtains didn't quite meet in the center, and along the edges.

It took a full minute to remember what state he was in—Nebraska. Meanwhile, the dream still lingered with intensity, making it feel too real.

Yes, of course. The dream. It had come unbidden again.

“Celeste,” he murmured, still running his fingers through his damp hair, like it would help clear his mind of the dream that wanted to re-run again and again through his mind.

Why am I dreaming of her? Of that night...

He knew why, if he were honest with himself.

He shook his head wanting to rid himself of that particular memory. He felt like a dog with a flea in a spot he could not scratch.

Something softly touched him on the arm. He jumped, and glanced to his right. It was a secondary feather from his right wing.

He swore under his breath. Then chuckled lightly. Get hold of yourself, Bill. Reaching back, his fingers gently stroked his primary and secondary feathers. He found them slick with perspiration. He would have to let them dry before re-sheathing them. There might be a few that needed tending to as well. He may have bent them during a fitful sleep.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling the stubble of his beard, and let out a frustrated hiss. Throwing off the sheets, he reached over and turned on the lamp near his bed. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sought his slippers. They weren't there, of course. He hadn't opened his suitcase.

Dismissing the need for slippers, he padded his way into the bathroom. He had the distinct feeling someone was watching him, as soon as his bare feet hit the cold tile floor. His skin crawled with a sense of some unseen entity was there with him—something supernatural, something powerful. He flipped on the light switch and looked into the mirror, not at himself, but around the edges of the mirror. He flipped the light off . Then back on. Hadn't there been the slightest shadow of something there in the mirror? There were beings that could not be seen in this world, but hovered just beyond a thin membrane that could sometimes be breached. A mirror was their favorite conductive route into this world. They could harness it's two-way powers, if they were of a mind.

He switched the light off, exited the room, and shut the door. Hairs on his arms stood on end. He would not be able to retract his wings the way he was feeling right now.

He hoped the unseen being would move on.

Is it looking for her? This one question left his nerves on edge.

Fourth book in Sabrina Strong series
May 2014

The Vampire Lair

Hello, my pretties. Yesterday, if you recall, I put up a post explaining where the majority of my fourth book takes place--in Colorado Springs, and surrounding area. If you missed it, check it out here. I've put up some pics to help you with visuals.

I'm going to be posting some excerpts from Vampire Caprice this week and next, up to and beyond when I get this thing published. I'll have something from Vasyl, something from Rick, and something from Bill and something from my evil-doers.

So, without further eloquence... the scene:

The Lair

When we finished eating, Chris asked if I still wanted to go with him down to the Springs tomorrow.

“I'd like to, but I'll have to see if it's alright with my boss.” I stood with my plate, and stepped out to help him clear the dishes.

“What's alright?” The voice came from the other end of the kitchen, behind me. A spot that I hadn't even considered. I looked toward the steps I'd taken upstairs earlier. The large frame that belonged to Tremayne stood next to that gliding stairway, in the portion that went down. To me it looked like a dark hole. Obviously he had come up from the “lair”. I thought this odd since when last I saw him he was reading in the front room.

“Uh, that I take the day off tomorrow and do what I want?” I said with a hopeful edge to my voice.

“Oh,” he said. “We'll talk about it. Come downstairs when you're finished. Have a night cap with me.” He turned, and I watched his golden head disappear down into the “lair”. A nightcap? With a vampire? With Tremayne. I didn't like the sound of it and a chill ran all the way up my spine.

“I gather that's the vampire lair?” I said, feeling a little more than petrified about going down there. Especially with Tremayne.

“It's nice. Really,” Celia said. “There's a wet bar down there, couches, a fireplace.”

“Vampires,” I added drolly.

“Technically only one vampire right now,” Rick said. Oh, that's helpful.

I slid my eyes to him and pressed my lips, giving him a WTF look. Tremayne was certainly one vampire that I wasn't all that sure I wanted to be alone with again, after that near miss the other night.

With dinner finished, I helped Chris load up the dishwasher, and tried to dawdle as much as I could, putting it off with Mr. Tremayne.

Rick was playing Wii with Celia in the living room while I made small talk with Chris. Five minutes later Rick came in to get a beer. “Haven't you gone downstairs yet?” he said in an exhaustive voice, like I was being a naughty child.

“No,” I said. “I'll be alone with him.”

“Oh, pl-EEZ!” he said. “You guys were pretty comfortable the other night.”

I caught Chris looking at me from across the room. I could think of nothing to say in my own defense. It was obvious to Chris that I was probably Tremayne's squeeze on occasion, and not just his employee.

I was between the proverbial rock and hard place. I couldn't stand the guilty feelings, and the looks I was getting from Chris, and Rick was not helping matters.

“C'mon, Brie,” Rick said. “He just wants to have a drink with you and talk.”

Maybe it was the inflection in his voice, implying that I was being silly, and Tremayne had no ulterior motives in mind, but I caved. The voice inside my head said, You're gonna kick yourself... later.

Without a word, I stepped over to the entrance of the lower section of the house. There were lights on down there, they just weren't very bright. Holding on to the railing, I descended into the dank vampire lair. I had to block images from events bombarding me. It was like walking through a cloud of images each one clawing for supremacy. I had to pause to stabilize my chi and keep from having a massive synaptic over-load. A lot of human-vampire orgies had taken place down here. What was one more? Shut up!

Soft music drifted up to me. It sounded like sexy jazz. Crap. A few steps down, I found myself at the bottom and now faced a French door with a sheer curtain over it. As though on automatic pilot—or under a vampire thrall—I grasped the brass door latch, opened it, and stepped through, quietly closing it behind me.

“Hell-o?” I sang.

“In here,” Tremayne called from somewhere deeper. I smelled exotic incense, or maybe candles burning. Okay, sexy music and candles. This wasn't good.