Happy
Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate! Even if you don’t, I
hope you’ll take a minute to remember and acknowledge all your
blessings, and to hug your loved ones.
My
Thanks-Giving Back post today features Coming
Together In Vein, a multi-author collection of vampire
erotica that I edited. The book benefits one of my favorite causes,
Médecins Sans
Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders). MSF works to provide
medical services to the world’s most desperate, often in areas torn
apart by war or devastated by natural disasters. They provide care
for all, regardless of race, religion or political affiliation—and
they’ve suffered for that humanitarian position.
When
I compare my own life with those of the people MSF serves, I’m
humbled and grateful. This anthology, which includes fabulous stories
by M. Christian, Cheyenne Blue, Giselle Renarde, Xan West,
Nobilis Reed, and many more of my favorite authors, is worth buying
for its own sake. In addition, every cent of the purchase price goes
to support MSF’s courageous and compassionate work.
I’ve
included a sample from my story in the book, “Vampires, Limited”.
Leave me a comment with your email, and I’ll choose one person to
receive a copy of my paranormal collection Fourth World,
which includes two vampire tales.
“Try
the next picture.” The man’s body was tense, as though he was
working hard to hold something back. Slowly, tearing herself away
from the soulful gaze in the photo, she turned it over.
The
photograph that followed ripped her apart. Although vampiric in
theme, it was nothing like the camp pictures that her publication
featured. The same red-haired woman lay nude on a satin-draped bier,
graceful and pale. Her wrists crossed on her abdomen, just below the
modest swell of her perfect breasts. Her face was turned toward the
camera, her eyes closed, her lips parted. A trail of crimson fluid
trickled from her neck, across the white satin and onto the stone
floor.
Behind
the bier stood the vampire. His right hand held a white candle that
fitfully illuminated the arches of the vault. His left cupped his
victim’s breast, thumb resting lightly on her prominent nipple.
His
blond hair was pushed back from his brow, damp with sweat. His skin
was flushed with the blood that he had swallowed, the blood that
still smeared his lips. Looking into those eyes, eyes dark as hell,
Lara felt it all: his grief, his guilt and his awful, all-consuming
lust.
Who
was she, the ethereal, terribly convincing victim? And who, who was
he?
She
didn’t see him move. Yet all at once he was behind her, his hands
on her shoulders, murmuring in her ear. “Barbara was her name. She
was my girlfriend, back in college. A terrible mistake.”
He
was so close, she should have felt the heat of his body, but it was
as if a mannequin was pressed against her, instead of a living
person. She could smell him, though, a sharp grassy scent that made
her think of the country and wide open spaces.
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.
Thanks-Giving
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22 November
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23 November
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24 November
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25 November
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26 November
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27 November
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28 November
