Don’t forget to tell Tony Happy Birthday. One free commenter will receive a free copy of Shadow Lord!
Today’s genre of paranormal romances, and/or, horror, features almost as many types of vampires as there are authors to write about them.
Each of us in this very esoteric and close little circle (compared to other genres, that is) has his own favorite type. They have as many names as there are those who write about them…the Undead…the sinmort… Nightwalkers… nosferatu… and if the characteristics don’t exactly fit our criteria, why we’ll just use that good ol’ artistic license and invent some that do. Literary vampires are as varied as the humans on this planet, depending on where and when he originally walked the Earth, as well as his writer-creator’s own particular preferences and originality, and those featured in my new series The Second Species are no different. (Actually, they are very different, and that makes them the same as all the others…does that make sense?)
My vampires aren’t the usual Undead, sleeping-in-a-coffin type. They may have many characteristics of the Undead but there’s one big difference: They’re a living people, a second species of Mankind, divorced from their human brothers because the entire group suffers from the hereditary disease XP (xeroderma pigmentosum), a condition which has a severe and often deadly reaction to sunlight. They evolved along different lines than their human half-brothers and this also explains away other vampiric characteristics. They have allergies, the most powerful one being to garlic and certain herbs. Their refusal to look at crosses, etc., is not because they are repulsed by them but because their own religion demands they not look on the sacred objects of other faiths, and so on. Learning from past experience how normal people fear them, they’ve hidden away in the Carpathians where the sun never penetrates and, except for isolated instances, avoided humans as much as possible.
And then…in 1793, the unthinkable happens. The Prince’s assassin in murdered…his son demands revenge and gets himself banished because of it. Marek Strigoi’s search for his father’s killer, as well as his seeking true love, makes up the theme of the series. It’s dramatic, sometimes bloody, occasionally erotic, and—I hope—entertaining.
When the hunter and the hunted are both vampires, not even Hell can stand in the way.
That is the story behind the creation of my “vampires,” based in fact, elaborated in fiction. The first novel in the series, Shadow Lord, is now available from Double Dragon Publishing.
“Sweet one.” He pressed his mouth against hers, tasting his wet upon her tongue, her
own honeyed flavor, and the lingering sweetness of the cherries overlaying it all. The
combination made the desire in his belly burn hotter. Breathing in that startlingly clean human scent, he brushed his lips across her shoulder, trailing butterfly-kisses against the slender column of her neck and up her throat.
She held her breath as his fingers touched the soft globe of one breast. Brushing a
thumb across the nipple before sliding lower to explore the smooth expanse of her belly, he discovered the narrow cleft guarding the sweetest mystery of all.
At his touch, her thighs parted. He rolled between them. He didn’t have to guide himself,
his stiffened, throbbing flesh found its own way. Gods, this has to be the most pleasant agony existing. Grunting with the effort, he drove into her, feeling her maidenhead tear as his hardened cock ripped through it. She cried out, incomprehensible words rising into a meaningless shriek as she pressed her mouth against his shoulder. Her arms went around him, hugging tightly. He was engorged, so swollen he couldn’t believe her body could contain him, but somehow it did. Surrounded and entrapped in its tight, hot tunnel, the heat of her flesh burned him, making him swell even more. Surely in a moment his cock would be seared, their bodies melded into one being. With a gasp he thrust again, felt her softness arch upward. His entire body became infused and damp, sweat trickling down his back, dripping between them, the wet slap of their bellies loud in the quiet of the room. The scent of male lust and female blood floated about them in a near-stifling cloud.
Wrapping her hands in his hair, she imprisoned his head against her breast. Marek opened his mouth, caught a pink nipple between his teeth, fought frantically not to bite into it as he felt himself nearing his release. Somehow he managed to control his fangs, keeping them from dropping…as he kept thrusting and thrusting, forcing himself even further into her. Her hands clung to his back, fingers grasping as he pulled away, leaving her body so violently that for a startling moment everything went black, as his body began to spasm. Once, twice…
He felt his entire being shatter, breaking apart into a thousand fluid pieces. His cry was wrenched from him, hurling itself into the air, leaving him gasping for breath. With a groan. A final violent surge wrung him dry. He was unable to move, a husk of splintered flesh drained of every drop. I’m destroyed. I’ve died. I’ll never leave this bed.
He lay there, panting, attempting to catch his breath before speaking. In spite of the tales the twins told as they bragged at the dinner table, he’d never believed deomi females could be so passionate or stir a man so. The aventurieri female who’d initiated him couldn’t compare to this little human. He kissed her again, rising to stare into her eyes. The scent of her virgin sacrifice was strong, and it made him want more from her, not just the passion her body engendered but to unite with her fully. In every way possible.
“Let me have some of your blood,” he whispered.
“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She didn’t hesitate. “Take it.”
He lowered his head to her slender legs. The insides of her thighs and that sweet mound were barely smeared, the sheet beneath them merely spotted. Gently, he pressed his mouth against her damp flesh, licking away her gift to his desire. “You’re delicious,” he told her, and settled beside her, pulling her body into the curve of his own.
He’d never felt like this before…sleepy, sated, and incredibly content. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to slip back into sleep with the girl’s body against his.
A writer of French Huguenot extraction, Tony-Paul de Vissage’s first movie memories is of being six years old, viewing the old Universal horror flick, Dracula’s Daughter on television, and being scared sleepless–and that may explain a lifelong interest in vampires.
This was further inspired when the author was kidnapped by a band of transplanted Romanian vampires sightseeing in the South. Having never seen a human who wasn’t frightened of them, they kept the youngster with them for several months, offering to pay his way through college if he would become an author and write about vampires in a positive manner. He agreed, was returned to his parents (who were also grateful for the tuition offer since it let them off the hook and enabled them to indulge in Carribean cruises and trips to the Orient) and set about keeping his promise tooo his supernatural mentors.