For a vampire, love means watching someone you care about die.
Sneak Peek Sunday is a new (at least for me) hop that shares excerpts. Since I love to share, I thought I would participate. What we're doing is sharing six paragraphs from a published work or a WIP (work in progress).
My submission for this week is from my 1st book, Mortal Illusions. A vampire romance published by New Concepts Publishing, Mortal Illusions is currently the first in a series of 3 books. Its sequel, Fatal Desire, is currently under production.
In this excerpt, which is the beginning of the first chapter, Germaine St. Justine has sensed his former lover's pain, and is on his way to her.
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He closed his eyes and reached out again with his mind. The swaddling haze of a drug-induced sleep had muzzled the gnawing pain he'd felt from her earlier. Even so, she waited for him. She hadn't tried to reach him, nor had he sought any contact with her for more than ten years. Nonetheless, Marguerite Danielson knew he would seek her out tonight. Modern medicine had done all it could, it was his turn now--just as it had been so many times before.
The moment he stepped beneath the unnatural glare of the life-draining fluorescent tubes inside the treatment center, Germaine shielded his eyes behind the high-standing collar of his coat. The special contacts he wore enabled him to see in light that would normally blind him, but they didn't eliminate the pain.
He hated hospitals. Hated their bare, white-tiled walls made even more sterile by their color-leeching lights and cotton-swathed staff. No wonder everyone looked near death within these hallowed institutions that reeked of alcohol and iodine, ammonia and--blood.
The distinctive coppery scent taunted and teased his senses the moment he stepped through the sliding doors. Gritting his teeth against the wolfish hunger the heady lure evoked, he forced his thoughts back to his task and continued toward the elevator. A nearby orderly cast a wary glance in his direction. Having neither the time nor the patience to rebut a volley of bothersome inquiries, Germaine merely caught and held his stare. Seconds later the bewildered attendant turned back to the perky nurse's aide he'd been talking to--completely and blissfully unaware of Germaine's presence.
On the seventh floor the lighting had been dimmed to help promote whatever rest its troubled residents might find. Long, white tubes recessed behind partitioned rectangles of opaque plastic gave off little more illumination than a night light. Germaine's eyes instantly adjusted, allowing him to see clearly and without pain. The corridor was empty, but he knew the room number by heart--713. As he silently traversed the narrow gray and white tiled hallway, he could hear the soft moans of distress punctuating the uneasy sleep of the patients.
The seventh floor was the terminal floor.
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M/F, Contemporary vampire romance in a society based on D/s.
Read the first three chapters at: Mortal Illusions