Sunday, 14 February 2016

NEW RELEASE: Re-release of Forever Dusk

Blurb: There is nothing as strong as the bond between a sire and his vampire.

But what do you do when you find out your partner’s sire is also your own?
Jonah had been a vampire for over a hundred years when he met Sebastian, the owner of the vampire-themed nightclub in downtown LA. Twenty years later and Jonah and Sebastian are stronger than ever.

But when another’s jealousy brings their sire to the club, will their relationship be able to withstand the strength of their bond with Vincenzo, and their bond with each other? 


“What can I get you, sir?”
Jonah looked up at the bartender standing in front of him and quickly scanned the array of microbrews behind the man. “You know what, surprise me,” he said boldly, then handed over his twenty and rested his elbows on the bar. He grinned when the bartender waited for his opinion on the beer he had put before him and returned Jonah's smile when he nodded his appreciation after the first mouthful. He let his gaze idly roam the club after the bartender had moved on to his next customer and he marveled at the lengths some of these freaks had gone to in order to get into the whole vampire thing.
Jonah felt his stomach tighten when he saw a girl lift her companion's wrist and sink her teeth into the soft flesh. “Jesus,” he whispered to himself as he watched two rivers of dark red blood drip from the man's skin and onto the table in front of them. He was transfixed as the girl drank greedily until she pulled back and licked the excess blood from her lips. “Holy fucking shit,” he mouthed, unable to believe what he was actually seeing. Then his mouth dropped open in stunned surprise when the man ripped what looked like a used condom from his wrist and tossed it onto the table, before he slanted his lips across the woman's and licked the blood from her mouth. It was fake. It was all fake; just a bunch of Twilight wannabes with their little tricks and bags of theater blood. Or maybe it was corn syrup, just like they used in Carrie. He sighed heavily and took another draw of his beer.
Had he really expected to find what he was looking for here? That his search would be over? How long had he waited? Well, this was his fifth pass through higher education, so long enough. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the bar. He didn’t look bad for his age. All one hundred and fifty-six years of it. Well, one hundred and seventy-seven if you counted the twenty-one he’d notched up when he was human. Jonah picked absently at the label on the beer bottle and gave himself a mental shake.
What am I doing?
A vampire, pretending to be human, in a club full of humans pretending to be vampires. Freud would have a field day with this one. Although, having met the man himself on several occasions, Jonah was sure he’d have thrown some sort of Oedipus complex in for good measure. At least Anne Rice had gotten something right. The loneliness and despair. The desperate craving for solace only others of your kind could provide. Contrary to popular opinion, vampires didn’t band together in cozy little nests and, those that did, were the sort of vampires not even other vampires wanted to run into. They mindlessly followed a self-appointed leader and lived for the hunt.
Jonah swallowed a slightly hysterical laugh before it could escape. Tonight he’d been at the mercy of Theo’s dick; that night so very long ago, he’d been at the mercy of his own. As he’d dressed to attend the town fair with his family, he was filled with excited anticipation. The fair was the highlight of the year and this time he was old enough to join his father in the drinking tent. His older brothers had been raggin’ on him all week and if he said he wasn’t looking forward to tasting his first drop of alcohol, he’d be lying. If he’d known his first would also be his last, he may have stayed at home—
Jolted from his reverie by the slide of someone’s hand down the curve of his ass, Jonah sighed heavily. He turned to look at the owner of the hand, a polite rejection ready, when a strong arm was wrapped around his waist and pulled him against a firm body.
“Look, man,” Jonah said as he looked into eyes covered with the now familiar contacts. “I'm not interested. I'm just here with a friend.” He expected the guy to just nod and move on, so annoyance warmed his belly when the arm around him tightened and lips parted to reveal sharp white teeth. “I said I'm not interested,” he hissed, and tried to disengage himself with as little fuss as possible. Obviously, he could have dispatched his unwanted admirer with one finger, but this was hardly the time, or the place to attract even more attention. But when his assailant wound spiteful fingers into his hair and pulled, it took an iron clad grip on his senses not to send the moron hurtling across the club. When the man’s hand slipped lower and palmed his crotch, the tenuous hold on his temper was stayed by the sound of a voice from behind him.
“I believe the gentleman said he wasn't interested.”
Jonah turned his head and winced at the pull on his hair the movement created. The man holding him took one look at the owner of the voice and released him.
“I'm sorry, Sebastian,” the oaf slurred, obviously drunk. He turned back to Jonah and held his hands out in an attempt at placation. “I should not have been so forward. I overstepped. Please forgive me.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jonah said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the crowd that seemed to have assembled around them. He turned away and looked down at his beer, desperately willing the people to disperse so he could die quietly. He started when a slender hand fell onto his shoulder and he looked into eyes the color of which could only be described as violet, in a face so ethereally handsome that his mouth actually dropped open.
“I'm Sebastian O'Keefe,” his savior said softly. “I’m the owner of this establishment and I would like to extend my apologies for the way you have been treated this evening, Mr…?”
“Roberts, Jonah Roberts,” he replied, hoping he didn't sound like a complete moron, because his tongue was currently stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.
“Mr. Roberts, again, my apologies. Braden will furnish you with a drink on the house.” He motioned to the bartender. “Please, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Sebastian nodded politely and turned away.
“Wait,” Jonah said on a rush of breath, not entirely sure what he was doing, but certain in that split second that he didn't want to Sebastian O’Keefe to leave. “The least I can do is buy you a drink after you defended my honor.”
“Thank you, but no,” Sebastian replied, his violet gaze traveling over Jonah slowly from beneath lowered lashes. “I have some work to do in the office, and I don't really care for alcohol.”
“A soda then?” Jonah blurted as the man turned away. “Tea, coffee?” He held out his hands in a hopeful gesture. “I've got a breath mint in my pocket…”  Jonah smiled as Sebastian's lips twitched and he tilted his head, hitting him with his best hang-dog look. “Just one?”
“Very well, Mr. Roberts,” Sebastian replied. “Just one.”

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