Vampire Master, Bjorn Tremayne... what the heck is he up to now?

Fourth novel in the Sabrina Strong series
due out in May 2014

Hello, all my lovelies. Well, you know I'm about to release the next book in the Sabrina Strong series--

About dang time...

--and I was thinking I need to give you all a preview, let you get to know the characters, or re-acquaint you with some of them. Because of the way I've written this book, you will get to see inside my main characters, Vasyl, Bill, Tremayne, and Rick, the leprechaun, plus a few more as well.

Today let us take a look at Bjorn Tremayne. You know, he's become a rogue? And his scrambling to keep whatever wealth he has left from being frozen by the new master of the realm. Well, let us just have a peek, shall we? Bjorn has just come back from his night of feeding. He's managed to talk/scare Sabrina into coming with him, in order to stay ahead of demons who are after her (she has a bounty on her head).

“So, you didn't answer me. How did your night go? Or do I want to know?” Rick said from his spot on the couch, feet on the coffee table. He turned down the volume of the television with the remote.

Bjorn shot a frown at the leprechaun's feet, then softened. This wasn't his place... Why should I give a fuck if Rick is comfortable?

“It was nearly a bust,” he said on a heavy sigh, running thick fingers through his hair. He paused near the kitchenette. Frustration from the need to feed and have sex with the woman he'd captured—but couldn't because all hell had let loose—had him wanting to rage on someone, and the only available person was the leprechaun. Could life suck more right now?

Brown eyes stared up at him. Leprechauns and vampires did not mix well. His decision to bring Rick along at all was because he was the only magical creature he could cajole and bribe to do what he needed. So far, things were going fine. He reminded himself it would take time.

Rick flicked off the TV. “Really? Why? What happened?”

Bjorn stared a few more seconds at him. Making up his mind to tell him, he walked over and settled into an arm chair. Leaning forward, fingers laced between his knees he said, “You ever hear of someone named Priscus?”

“No. What is that? A man or a woman?” Rick asked, frowning.

“A man. Or he looks to be a man, but what he is exactly, I don't know.”

“Wow. No kidding? But no, never heard of any one by that name.”

“How about an albino?”

“An albino?” Rick drew his feet off the coffee table and sat up with a concerned look on his face. His feet couldn't quite reach the floor and hung about four inches above the green carpet.

“Does that ring any bells?”

“What was he? Another vampire?”

“No. Not precisely. Not like me, anyway. He wanted to know if I was going to drain the woman I'd captured.”

“Why? Did he want to share?”

“No. Not in the way a vampire shares a meal. He said he was going to feed on her life force—I took it to mean her soul. He wanted to know if I was going to drain her so that he could feed on her soul.”

“Holy crap!”

Bjorn rubbed the back of his neck, long blond hair falling down into his face until he tossed it back. “And then, when someone came along, he vanished.” He shook his head. “I've never met up with anything like him before. He moved faster than a vampire. Even I couldn't see when he moved from one position to the next. So, most of the time, he held very still, as though he wanted me to be able to see and speak to him.”

“Wow.”

“You've never heard of such a thing?”

“No, but I can make some calls in the morning,” Rick said.

Bjorn nodded. “I'll take watch. You go and get some sleep. In the morning, you take Sabrina over to that restaurant and get some breakfast. I'll leave some cash for you for meals and buy something at the gift shop, if you want.”

“Alright.” Rick slowly slid off the couch. “You have some destination in mind? I mean we aren't just wandering nomads, are we?”

“I'm working on that,” Bjorn said. “I'll let you know. For now, just get some sleep. You're on duty all day tomorrow.”

“Right. Good night,” Rick said as he slipped off the couch. He made his way across the room.

“'Night.”

Now, you see he has a problem, and he doesn't know if it's a large one, or something that he'll be able to handle. But these little problems are mounting. He needs to check in with his right-hand man Nicolas to find out what that witch, Ilona, has been up to while visiting.

Bjorn sat back in the chair, wondering where Nicolas was at the moment. In his own suite, he supposed, in his robe and either drinking Real Red, or had one of his paramours handy.

“Five of her very elite arrived today.”

“Five? All vampires?”

“Yes.”

“Do we know them?”

“One of them is J.C. Durmont. The others are lesser in rank, but notoriously deadly.”

Bjorn's lips curled. JC Durmont was a heavy in his brother's select sentinel. A 215 year old vampire who was—had been—his brother's right hand man. He stood six-seven, looked like an ogre, and was built like an oak door—he was the same thickness from his huge feet to his huge head. One thick brow caterpillared across a heavy brow. What he lacked in intelligence he more than made up in brutish strength. Automatically, the memory of the one time he'd challenged JC to a sparring match to see what he was made of came to the forefront. The bastard had nearly killed him—he was enormously strong and had Tremayne pinned with his razor-like teeth embedded into his chest (for some reason the idiot like to bite the chest—which was the only thing that had saved Tremayne—his teeth would have sawed his head off if he'd bitten him in the neck), and Erik, who controlled JC, held off telling the ogre to stop, just to prolong his embarrassment, and teach him a “lesson” in who had the stronger sentinels. Tremayne had to cry uncle before Erik would call his dog off.

JC was Ilona's lap dog now. How the hell had this happened?

“This is not good news,” Bjorn said out loud.

“She is calling you an outlaw,” Nicolas added. “She's making it a public statement to the Powers that Be.”

“Well, fuck.” Tremayne shifted in his chair. To be labeled an outlaw meant that she had the right to legally—within vampire law—freeze his assets (those in the United States). He would have to act and fast.

“What is it you wish to do, Sire?”

Tremayne closed his eyes and breathed out, counting to ten. It helped to hold back the scream of rage he wanted to make. He didn't want to wake or alarm his companions. “You remain stationed as you are. I'm going ahead with plan A.” As he had been doing, and so far everything was going smoothly.

“Is she with you?”

“Yes. Of course.” Tremayne's brow flicked slightly at the way Nicolas had avoided using her name. So, Nicolas no longer brooded over the sibyl. Sabrina was now a “she” to him. Had he written her off that easily? I wonder. For Nicolas to become worked up about any female—human or vampire—was unusual. But then she was the sibyl. Nicolas had desired Sabrina to be his, before they knew what she was. Tremayne wanted Sabrina, and denied Nicolas to make any move on her. Once Tremayne learned she was the sibyl—well, only a master could rightfully claim her. The fact that Vasyl had swooped in before Tremayne was a big annoyance. So, he'd concocted a plan. So far the plan had worked. Getting Vasyl away from the house, using a distraction, had been his idea from the beginning. No need to involve anyone, except his minions who did his bidding.

“How did you get her away from him?” Nicolas asked, pulling Tremayne out of his thoughts.

“Sent in my sentinels.”

“All of them?”

“Of course. Vasyl is as strong as I.” He knew that a few of his minions had given their lives for him, which is part of a sentinel's job. It was enough of a distraction to hold Vasyl at bay, while Tremayne took Sabrina away. Three had perished—he'd gotten a text earlier about it—that left him with ten in his sentential. They had done their job.

~*~

A yawn escaped Bjorn, and he closed his cell phone. The drive had been tedious, and now these last minute details to take care of, trying to avoid being left penniless when Ilona worked toward a take-over because he was deemed a “rogue”, had drained him the rest of the way. A nap was long overdue.

Long steps took him into the hall. He paused, looking down the hall where his two humans bunked. Correction, one leprechaun, and one V.I.P. Was she was asleep? He closed his eyes, reached out and was able to ascertain she was into REM. Good. I came too close. Too damned close. He had to stay away from her—not touch her like that again. At least not yet. He had to keep telling himself her blood was off-limits, as much as he longed for it.

How he would do that, while sitting right next to her, as he drove eight-hundred miles, and not want her so badly he could go mad, was beyond him.

Well, you see what I mean? He's getting in a little deeper as he goes along. Sabrina's blood is something he can't keep his mind off of--well, that and having sex with her, something he has been wanting to address for a long, long while, and he thinks he's got a perfect plan. Do you wonder if he can have his way with her, and not kill her, this time? Not only that, he will have to out-wit the Mystic Ring, which can thwart most vampire thralls. Hmmmm....

Vampire Caprice will be out this month--we are crossing our fingers!

Happy Bloody Valentine's Day!

You know a number of people try to brush the vampire genre off the face of bookshelves every ten years or so. Sorry. Vampires are just as popular now as they were when the first book was printed in the 1800's. There are thoughts about why the vampire lives on in popularity. I think it has a lot to do with his lusty needs. He fixates on the object of his desire--whomever it is. For the vampire it's probably all physical lust, plus his need for blood. For the victim she's too enthralled to know the difference. For Sabrina, it's a little difficult for a vampire to thrall her since she's got the Mystic Ring. However, Bjorn Tremayne has been working on a way to get around that. Oh, and drinking her dry (see excerpt below).

I'm joining in a couple of blog hops on Valentines Day. On Muse I am joining A.F. Stewart's The Bloody Blog Hop, and you can check it out here.

We will be celebrating heartbreak, love gone wrong, romantic mayhem and tragedy, hopeful with a little splash of humor and blood.

Naturally, if you've ever visited my blog here before, you know that I have always rooted for vampires/Dracula. I'm going to give you an excerpt in that area from the next Sabrina Strong eBook, Vampire Caprice where I've cranked up the romance and her troubles with male suitors. Not just two men, not just three, but four are vying for her attentions--and not all are vampires, but they are not simple humans. In this excerpt vampire master, Bjorn Tremayne has found a way to trick Sabrina into bed with him. The result? Well, I think you'd best read it. Tremayne may have to pay for this vampiric menage a trois.

His fingers found my chin and turned it in order to angle it up to face him. Being this close to Tremayne was not in any girl's best interest if she was trying to keep the blood in her veins, or her clothes on her body. This was as uncomfortable as I'd felt with him—since that night in his secret abode where he got me stripped and in his bed in ten seconds flat. But tonight, this was different. He was being purposefully slow, sly and knew all the moves, where I was inexperienced as far as men and such things.

“Sounds very safe. Very innocent. If you want to go with Chris tomorrow, go ahead.”

“You don't trust me?” I accused. “And by the way, since when do you tell me who I can or can't see?”

“You're forgetting one thing,” he said, sounding trite.

“What's that?”

“Tonight I've got you all to myself.” His hands came up and cupped my face and his lips covered mine. A warmth began at the base of my neck and went south and settled in my groin. I tried to reach for my glove to get it off my right hand so that he couldn't thrall me. I couldn't reach my glove from around his wide shoulders. I moved my hands downward, between us and began to tug at the glove. It was as though it were glued on.

Realizing what I was doing, he grasped both my hands and placed them at his sides, and then filled the gap between us with his body, preventing me from doing something—I forget what I had been about to do.

“Now, ask me again. What was it you wanted to do tomorrow?” he said, smile broad.

“I-I don't remember,” I said looking up into his handsome face. The soft light in the room threw shadows across the contours of his face, making it look somewhat like a fine piece of artwork. I realized I had not had the opportunity to really take in the details of his high cheekbones, the curve of his lips, almost-straight nose, the arch of his brows.

“I like that answer,” he said. His lips captured mine once more, then his kisses traveled down my neck. Naturally, I arched my neck and my back, his arms holding me to him. I waited for him to sink his teeth into me, super aware of the throb at my womanhood. This was becoming maddening. There was only so much I could take. Teasing me into a whirlwind of desire, his hands went down, grabbed my shirt and it was off before I knew what had happened.

“There,” he said, his eyes crawling over my exposed flesh. “Much better. My turn.”

He unbuttoned his shirt. I focused on his fingers as they un-did each button. He moved slowly, and gave me a few inches of views at a time to his broad, heavy chest and the darker chest hairs there. Further down—his ripped stomach. Tremayne having been a Viking when turned, still had the look he'd had at that moment he became a vampire in the year of our Lord 947. Heath had told me the year Tremayne had been turned and for some reason that year was branded into the surface of my brain. Removing his shirt, he was now bare from the waistband of his jeans up. His hair fell past his shoulders, and the candlelight gave the impression it wasn't hair, but spun gold. His aqua eyes the most beautiful I had ever seen them. Old war wounds that branded his chest, sides (and I knew he had some on his back because I had seen them and felt them once), made me hot with desire. Warrior. Vampire. King. He was all of these things still. Looking upon him threw a wave of delicious desire through me. There was no question I wanted him. I wanted him bad.

Candle flames fluttered with his movements of tossing his shirt to the side. He allowed me to view him like a male peacock with especially fine plumage putting on his tail display. Damed if it didn't work.

My inhibitions seemed to have abandoned me as I moved my hands to undo the button of my jeans. I seemed to be all thumbs—but then, I was wearing gloves. Well, one, anyway. Tremayne's large hands came to the rescue. Fingers as large as sausages actually seemed more nimble than my own smaller ones inhibited by the glove.

He had the zipper down and was peeling my jeans off without haste. I wore slippers and they flopped off my feet. The chill of the room hardened my nipples. His hands went around my back and unhooked my bra. Kissing along my collar bone, he edged the strap of my bra off my shoulder, lips tenderly following the motion, feathering across my skin, giving me more goose flesh until the bra fell away. He did the same for the other side, and I was so into the feel of what he was doing, I hadn't even noticed when the bra actually came off. He kissed each breast tenderly, reverently.

His hands cupped my butt and lifted me and suddenly my bare legs were around him and we were moving. My lips were once again captured by his, and I had no idea where we were going. Not right away, anyway. At least we weren't spinning again.

Then I was dropping, falling back. When I landed I was on my back. Why was I surprised there was a bed down here? And it was round. And huge. With silk sheets.

We sank into the soft bed. Crimson silk surrounded us like a red tide. It was everywhere; draped on the walls, covering the bed, even the ceiling was covered in upholstered crushed red velvet. My eyes darted back to find something more shocking: A mirror above sent a reflection of Tremayne's bare back, with me peering over his left shoulder. It was like I was in some turn of the century bordello. Candlelight made the color richer somehow, and threw jumping shadows everywhere. My stomach fluttered from nerves. What was expected of me in here? I worried that perhaps there could be a hidden video camera somewhere recording our every move.

I stiffened each time he moved, but at the same time I craved his touch. Just like the other times. I wanted him, though more than I could ever remember.

Slowly, he went down on all fours and looked down at me.

“Let's make a baby,” he said, and he hooked my panties with two fingers and slid them off.

“Huh?” I said, my throat, lips and tongue going dry as desert sand.

Tremayne went up on his knees again and undid that huge belt of his. I realized this was the big moment of truth. I mean it was one of those things a woman is curious about—how large a man really is. This wasn't a matter of curiosity, but more whether or not I'd survive it.

Large belt buckle hanging, he undid the button. Then the zipper and suddenly he was unwrapped. Now, I'm not a prig, but also I have to admit that I find it hard to stare at a man's... essentials. This was Tremayne, after all. Giant among vampires, and most men. Of course I had to check him out. I have to admit I'd been curious about Tremayne's essentials. I'm here to report there were no surprises one way or another. I now knew exactly what they meant by the old saying, hung like a stallion. However, I felt a deeper dread about where he was going to fit that thing than I had when first I'd met him and he made it clear I was to be his paramour.

Possibly it was when I grasped the sheets, trying to rip them off the bed, and a little scream escaped me that tipped him off that I was really not looking forward to this. But he remained cool. He was out of his pants and boots, and covering me in a matter of seconds—because vampires can move quicker than the wind when they want to. Yes, there was no awkward waiting for any vampire to get the rest of the way undressed. If I had looked as stunned as a deer that was about to be hit by a semi, I was. A sound, a little cry for help, seeped out of my trembling lips.

“There, there, Sabrina. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll be gentle.”

“Right. There's nothing gentle about that,” I said with accusation.

That was when he must have upped the pheromones, because suddenly I felt a wave of desire sweep me, and I was panting, and writhing, I was so worked up.

“That's better,” he said moving into position.

I let out an explosive cry when he entered me, and it just didn't get much better the further he pushed into me. His thrall really didn't help the pain much. Yeah. The old act a woman might put on that she's enjoying it, but really, really isn't—I'd had a few episodes with my ex, Jack—this was one of those times where there was no way I was that good of an actress.

After several minutes of his grinding and pounding into me his head went up and he let go some primeval sound that if I weren't already scared half to death, I would have fainted by this time where it not for the pheromones keeping me hot for him.

He said in a long, drawn out way, “No-o-w... ” past huge fangs.

I felt a subtle movement to my left and before I could comprehend what was going on a bountiful head of black hair moved into my periphery. The ebony tresses tickled my skin at my neck and shoulders as the woman—I realized it was Cilia—gracefully slid her head back across my chest. Well, excuse me?

I looked up to see Tremayne's huge fangs were fully extended, large as a jungle cat's. Another horrifying, animal sound issued from his throat, and the fangs darted toward Cilia's neck. She made a muffled cry, but that was all. Initially we both jerked at the moment his fangs slid into her flesh. I watched, horrified and, at the same time, traumatized, that we had suddenly become locked in a vampiric three-way orgy. Blinded by the huge orgasm that took me, I suddenly didn't care. Tremayne's arms went around me and he lifted the both of us a little bit off the mattress. While his fangs were in Celia, his thrusts became ruts that I thought might just chisel straight through me. His groans of pleasure—and by the way mine and Cilia's—wracked the room. That was when the room tipped. A few seconds later Celia was gone, and Tremayne's face was blurred. The vision ripped through me: I was in a cave, and the cave was falling in on me.

I screamed.

“Sabrina.” Tremayne's voice troweled through my mind. I blinked, looked up and saw Tremayne's face. I was no longer in the cave. I wasn't dying. Thank God! But the hand of the man with the spiderweb tattoo moved toward me, then the vision blurred and was gone.

My heart pounded in my chest, as though about to explode. Dizzy and disoriented from the vision, I was unable to comprehend anything beyond five or six inch radius around me at the moment. Tremayne's face and naked torso hovered above me. Celia had moved away—off of me. Thank you!

“Take a breath, for crying out loud! It's done,” he said, anger spilling from him. Then he added, “It's done.” It may have looked as though I were holding my breath waiting for him to 'finish', but he wasn't the reason behind why I was suddenly more traumatized than before—if that could be. My fists clenched silk sheets fearing that if I were to let go I might slide off the edge of the world because it had tipped and was having a hard time coming back to level. The vision had been clear and pronounced: me in a cave with people I knew. And I wondered what Bill Gannon was doing in it. What future moment was this and why was I in a cave?

Dizzy and spent, I gulped in a breath. Letting it out, I took another. Finally the tiny stars across my vision abated. My eyes swam taking in red surroundings. My gaze darted toward the ceiling. Naked people were plastered on the ceiling. Oh, shit the mirror. It showed myself, Celia and Tremayne on the big round, red bed. God, I looked like crap! Smears of blood ran over my chest—where the frick did that come from? Celia was off to the side of me, curled up in a ball, shivering. She was the only one who had clothes on. Tremayne's blond head, broad shoulders, and naked Viking butt made up the rest of this picture that my eyes would not, or could not move away from. Long black hair fluttered at the edge of the mirror, and one brown leg, then gone. What the hell? No one else was here in the room with us. Just the three of us. Then I understood who that might have been hiding in the mirror, watching us, and not here in the physical world. Crap. Dante?

Finally, I blinked, turned my head away from everything—as if dismissing or denying that had been me up there in the mirror. It wasn't me! It wasn't! I didn't have sex with Tremayne! No way!

As the dopamine fed to my pleasure center by Tremayne's pheromones eased from me, my reasoning returned. The realization that I'd been duped filled me. New anger rose to the surface. I wasn't sure how this was set up, but I knew why. Tremayne's lust for my body had been the whole reason I was here. Now he could check screwing me off his Things-To-Do list. It had been slated for tonight, whether I wanted it or not. Some how he'd choreographed and planned it and I was stupid enough to fall for it.

As I lay there bathed in sweat—mine and Tremayne's—the scent of candle wax, blood and sex heavy in the air, I made feeble attempts not to cry of both embarrassment and anger. Absolutely exhausted by the rut I'd been given, I found some strength left in me to push the blood doll, Celia, away from me with a grunt. It was mean spirited, I know, but I had to release my anger on someone, and she was smaller than Tremayne, and closer. The bed was large and round, but I wrangled and pushed her so violently she fell on her ass to the floor. I heard her little screech of protest as she landed. I nearly laughed, but I squelched it the last second, anger overriding every other emotion.

It was the next louder, very male scream that caught me by surprise. Startled, I jumped, and pushed myself to a seated position. One second Tremayne was on his knees gazing down at me thoroughly satiated, his lips covered in Celia's blood; the next his face became contorted and his hands were clutched at his chest as he let loose the most horrible scream I'd ever heard a man make in my life. It was almost a roar, but more like that of some large animal in great pain. My eyes shifted to where his hands were. Blood gushed from a wound where a dagger had plunged into him left of center. The offending dagger was none other than the Dagger of Delphi. WTF?

I screamed too and somehow got to my knees, my knuckles pressed into my cheek bones, hoping this would all go away like the horrible nightmare it was. Whatever was going on I couldn't wrap my mind around it quickly enough to do anything about it. I realized I couldn't do anything about it.

And then I understood. I understood the whole damned, ugly thing all in a matter of three or four seconds: The Dagger of Delphi had somehow broken away from the drawer where Tremayne had stashed it. It had slid out of the confinement of it's sheath—somehow—and came to my rescue—about ten minutes too late.

FOURTH BOOK OUT IN 2014!

If you have not yet read the first three books, you may want to get caught up! See links on left!

Pitting a vampire against a leprechaun...

Good evening, dawlings!
Well, I've been sooo busy working on another WIP, and I've been neglecting things here. *sorry* I don't want you to forget my fourth Sabrina Strong book is still being worked on. I'm slating it for a possible February release--but don't hold me to that. I'm doing my best working on it along with everything else that's been going on in my life.
Here is the book's cover:

My friend Lucy Pireel helped me with this cover!

With that said, let me give you a sample from the book. You know, what I love to do is place one loose cannon (character) with another. You just never know what the outcome might be. It could be exciting, volatile, might be funny and at the same time crazy. The two in this scene are my big handsome, seven foot tall vampire mogul, Bjorn Tremayne, and the other is Rick, the leprechaun who has a birth defect and left him with almost no arms, but hands situated at his shoulders. Well, these two are such complete opposites in stature and in mannerisms, and I love to throw the two together and see what comes of it. 
Let's go check in and see what Rick is up to right now...

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 the hands. It was mainly 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. Plus she'd kept his abilities a secret. She thought his magic was a “gift from God”. Well, maybe they were. But he was merely a leprechaun, 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. But he would be fixing that real soon with the deal Tremayne had offered him.

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 eat for dinner.

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. 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 after hitting his head on the vanity.

“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 there 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're kidding me? Virgin anything for a man is heaven.”

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

“Also, I've got to have you get her to cover her 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 as soon as Tremayne was out. He 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.”