Welcome to another Charity Sunday blog hop. I’m glad you could join me and my fellow bloggers to enjoy a bit of reading and make a small contribution to the world. Last month, I received fifteen comments and donated $20 to Room to Read, an organization dedicated to worldwide literacy, especially for young women. I’d love to see this month’s Charity Sunday generate an even better response.
Every time I do a Charity Sunday post, I’m faced with the choice of a cause to support. There’s no shortage of worthy charities, of course. However, I find that there’s all too often a political dimension to charities. I definitely have quite strong political views. On the other hand, I don’t think it’s appropriate, in most cases, to impose my views on others. In any case, trying to change someone else’s political position is rarely effective. I also don’t want to alienate readers who don’t agree with me.
Today, I’ve chosen to support one of my favorite organizations: Doctors Without Borders/Médécins Sans Frontières. MSF provides humanitarian and medical assistance to victims of epidemics, disasters and conflicts, and increasingly, to migrants and asylum seekers. The doctors and nurses who volunteer for MSF put their own lives in danger to care for their fellow human beings. MSF is renowned for its policy of treating those in need, whoever they are, regardless of their nationality or position in a conflict.
Immigration and asylum have become political hot topics in the past few years. You will undoubtedly have your own opinions on the question of whether immigration is a threat to society and how migrants should be treated. MSF rises above these political considerations. The organization will try to help people who need help—regardless of the legal issues. We are humans first and foremost. All of us, regardless of nationality, race, color or religion.
So please leave a comment – even one that disagrees with me. Every one means a dollar for MSF.
For my excerpt, I’ve got a bit from my short story “Vampires, Limited”. This story appeared in the charitable anthology Coming Together: In Vein, which I also edited. All sales of this anthology benefit – yes, you guessed it – MSF.
When you’ve finished with my excerpt, and hopefully left a comment, please visit the other authors participating in this month’s Charity Sunday event. You’ll find their links at the end of this post.
Casually he trailed a finger up the side of her neck and circled her earlobe. A shiver raced through her, winding tight around her nipples, spiraling down to her sex. He nipped at her ear, playful, but hard enough to make her gasp. “As for me, you know who I am, don’t you? Or at least, what I am.”
Lara knew what he was saying. She just couldn’t accept it.
“Here.” Still behind her, he grabbed her hand and placed her fingers on his throat. His skin was cooler than the air, cool and smooth as marble. “Do you feel any pulse?”
“No—but—it’s just not possible. It’s just a myth. A fashion, a fad. Everyone these days pretends...”
He brought her wrist to his lips, flicking his tongue over the spot where the veins were closest to the surface. His mouth was hot, unlike the rest of him. A violent shudder of desire rocked her body. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.
I should call off this farce now, Lara thought, but she obeyed anyway. Something pricked at her flesh where he held it against his mouth, the tiniest sting, hardly deserving the name pain. Then there was heat, and a pulling, not at her wrist but somehow at her heart, which leaped up in response and began to pump at twice its normal rate.
Red flooded the space behind her eyelids, scarlet, crimson, three-dimensional eddies of color like billowing clouds. A brief icicle of fear stabbed at her, then melted as warm, sweet pleasure flowed through her limbs. Her nipples, her pussy, everywhere there was this hot, wet current, aching and yet somehow not urgent.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Let go.” She heard his voice, coming from a long way off. She saw his eyes, burning through the red haze. They had darkened from blue to empty black. She felt herself tumbling into their depths. Some last fragment of self-consciousness cried out for her to resist, but she ignored it. He was too strong, his will irresistible, the gifts he offered too precious to refuse. She let herself drift. He cradled then released her. She felt herself beginning to drown in the scarlet river of his blood lust.
The shock of separation drove black spikes of pain into her temples. She opened her eyes, gasping for breath. Motes of red swam in her vision. She twisted around to look at him, in wonder and terror.
“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I didn’t know how else to convince you.”
“You’re—you’re the real thing, aren’t you?” Lara thought her chest would burst. “Nosferatu. Undead.” She rubbed at her throbbing head. “I never believed...”
“Believe,” he said, his voice low and solemn. Then all at once was back in his chair, leaving her heart slamming against her ribs. He smiled at her, that wide open, American country-boy smile. Lara worked to catch her breath, to calm herself to some semblance of normalcy.
Please leave a comment. And please visit the other bloggers participating in today’s event.