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!
