P.G. Forte's Blog, page 59

Sinful Sirens Blog Hop

Ashes of the Day, the fourth book in the Children of Night series, releases on May 21. As usual, life among the Fisher-Quintano vampires keeps getting a little more interesting. I think everyone's been wondering whether Conrad and Damian will ever manage to figure out where they stand with one another. I don't want to give too much away, but here's a sneak peek of at some of what the surly duo will be getting up to this time around. 




This is a scene that had to be cut out of book three (Now Comes the Night) due to length..






Damian clasped his hands around Conrad’s head and shifted closer until their lips met in a fierce kiss. A surprisingly helpless-sounding groan rumbled in Conrad’s throat. Damian reveled in it. The taste and the feel of Conrad’s mouth on his was so perfect, so familiar, so absolutely right. As was the sense of peace he felt when Conrad’s arms tightened around him.

There had been times, especially recently, when he’d felt fear while in Conrad’s embrace, times when Conrad’s enormous strength, and the realization of how much pain he could cause, had left Damian daunted and desperate to hide it. This was not one of those times. He felt cherished tonight. Loved. Safe.

Heat flared as Conrad’s hands roamed over Damian’s back, exploring every inch with a touch that was at once both possessive and needy. Fingers pressed harder into Damian’s flesh. If he’d been human, they might have left bruises. All they left him with now, however, was the stark realization that he was dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe. Even that seemed too much of a barrier. Damian peeled his mouth away from Conrad’s, pulling away only far enough to deliver a series of small bites—lower lip, chin, jaw, ear, neck.

“Damian.” Conrad’s voice shook as he breathed his name, making it less an order this time than a plea for him to continue.

Damian’s legs shook too, as he struggled to stay upright to not fall immediately to his knees as that voice, that sinful voice, worked its usual magic on him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complained as he extricated himself from Conrad’s arms.

A frown etched itself across Conrad’s brow. Growling impatiently, he tore off his shirt and flung it away. “Better?”

The sight of Conrad’s rugged chest and arms and shoulders, the strong muscles of his abdomen with the golden dusting of hair trailing over it to disappear into the waistband of his pants, caused Damian’s mouth to water. He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. “It’s a start.” Then he did sink to his knees, grateful for the thick, velvety pile of the Kashan carpet that cushioned the impact.

The carpet had been billed as an antique, originally intended to grace the palace of some nameless shah or maharajah. Damian had picked the carpet out himself when he’d redecorated Conrad’s study shortly after they’d first taken up residence here. At the time, he’d been thinking only of making himself indispensable to Conrad, expressing his gratitude for having been brought here. And perhaps giving himself an innocent-seeming excuse for spending as much time as he could in Conrad’s private quarters.

The idea that he might someday be welcomed here for reasons that had nothing to do with housekeeping, that he might someday be in a position to put this carpet, and some of the other furnishings perhaps, to such very good use, hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. Back then, he’d seen no reason to even hope he and Conrad would ever be intimate again.

Leaning in, Damian lavished Conrad’s abdomen with kisses and gentle bites, then coasted his tongue along the hard ridges of muscles.

“Damian.” Conrad murmured his name again, partially in protest this time. As Damian set to work undoing the fastening of Conrad’s pants, Conrad’s fingers speared into Damian’s hair. Did he mean to pull him away, or press him closer? Damian wasn’t sure. He suspected Conrad wasn’t certain either.

Damian’s fingers stilled. Fighting against the hold on his hair, he pressed his face against the front of Conrad’s pants. “Please, querido,” he breathed softly, taking a moment to run his open mouth over the thick bulge of flesh that tented the soft linen, to breathe in the musky heat. “Please let me.”






http://store.samhainpublishing.com/ashes-of-the-day-p-7402.html




Only blood can break your heart.



Children of Night, Book 4



New Year’s Eve, 1999. The world is braced for Y2K, but that’s not the only ticking time bomb in Conrad’s life. Damian wouldn’t be the first vampire to find a way to die, but Conrad is determined he will not be one of them.



Present day. Damian struggles to trust that fate could possibly be kind enough to give him a love as perfect as Conrad’s. Conrad balances on the keen edge of his own fear that one more slip of his formidable control could drive his lover away—permanently. 



Julie learns the hard way it’s not just interspecies relationships that seldom work out. Even between vampires, love is not a smooth course.



Meanwhile, intrigue and conflict within the nest continue to grow, fueled in no small part by Georgia’s slipping hold on a deadly secret. Marc works to consolidate his position as leader of the ferals—and discovers that being a walking anomaly has certain advantages. Including some that are totally unexpected.



Product Warnings
Contains more love triangles, more power struggles, more tears and teeth gnashing, and even more graphic scenes of manlove between moody, domestically inclined vampires than in previous editions. Definitely not recommended for anyone suffering from ALSSD (Auld Lang Syne Sensitivity Disorder) or with aversions to ballrooms, evening clothes, sarcasm, or close-quarter stiletto combat. 








This is an International Giveaway




a Rafflecopter giveaway

My Tortured Hero

Tortured heroes? Yeah, we got 'em. 



I've always loved reading about tortured heroes, so it's no big surprise that I'd love writing them too. Starting with my very first book, I made them suffer. But those were humans, things really got rolling when I started writing my vampire series, Children of Night. Forget years or decades, here were guys who could suffer for centuries.



With the first book in the series, In the Dark, currently being available for FREE until the end of the month (at Amazon, B&N, Sony,  or directly from Samhain) I decided to post a short guide to my nightwalking guys.



Conrad: Well, of course I have to mention him first, as the patriarch of the whole Fischer-Quintano clan, he'd expect no less. Conrad is probably my most tortured hero ever. He endured centuries of slavery, torture that ran the gamut from physical to mental to emotional, the loss of several lovers, and anything else I could think to throw at him. He's tough. But he came close to packing it all in a couple of times. The only thing that's seen him through? The love of his family. 





Damian: The great love of Conrad's life, has had his own share of torture. The course of vampire love doesn't always run smooth, you know. Damian is rash and impulsive and he's made mistakes. Life has left him scarred...okay, Conrad has left him scarred, but Damian endures because tomorrow is another night and Damian is a creature of boundless hope and a fervent belief that he and Conrad belong together.  



Marc: One of two vampires that Conrad and Damian raised (along with his twin sister, Julie) Marc is just starting to come into his own. He's young, but not so young he can't be tortured. Mostly, he tortures himself. Like father like son. He and Conrad have both always had mixed feelings about being vampires.





Armand: Armand's torture has been mild so far. He lost one girl to Conrad (the twins' mother) and as for her daughter...well, he and Julie have yet to work that mess out!



Nighthawk: To be honest, this big guy is a little less tortured than most of the others, up until now. Mostly he gets tortured by Heather--one of the younger vampires--who's always giving him crap about his stupid name. Well, she kind of has a point. Things'll get a little more interesting for him in book five. Just sayin'



Christian: A latecomer to the fold, Christian makes his appearance toward the end of the fourth book in the series, Ashes of the Day (available for pre-order now).  Christian is in love with Georgia, another of Conrad's exes. They've already had to endure a lot in their efforts to stay together, but the fun has just begun.




Brennan: Who says only vampires can be tortured? Brennan is in love with Julie, but he wants someone he can grow old with, and she's never gonna be that girl. Eventually, he's gonna have to let her go. But, in the meantime there's lots of heartache and angst.



And there you have it. I hope you'll come and check them out. Their series page is located here: http://store.samhainpublishing.com/children-night-series-260.html  And, as I mentioned earlier, the first book in the series is currently available FREE! You can't get a better deal than that. 



Also, enter my contest (the rafflecopter link below) for a chance to win an ARC of the newest book--book four--Ashes of the Day due to be released on May 21.








When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes.




1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the very last thing he should have agreed to do was to raise her babies and protect them with his life. But even twelve-hundred-year-old master vampires can find it hard to reject a deathbed request—especially when issues of love, guilt and blood are involved.




Present day. Raised in virtual isolation, twins Marc and Julie Fischer have always known they are vampires. But they never knew their parentage—or their unique status in the vampire world—until their “uncle” Damian comes to fetch them home. The family reunion, however, isn’t what they expect. They’re thrust into a world for which they’re totally unprepared. And the father they expected to see, Conrad, is missing.




How to find him…and whom to trust? Solving the mystery of betrayal and vampire family values will prove the Beatles had it right. All you need is love…and an occasional side of blood.




Product Warnings

While reading this book you may experience any of the following, an increased desire to wear flowers in your hair, dress in tie-dye or nap during the day. Other symptoms may include an intolerance to sunlight, an aversion to garlic-flavored tofu and a pronounced urge to bake…or get baked.





a Rafflecopter giveaway










http://carrieannbloghops.blogspot.com/p/tortured-hero.html

Love a Tree, Read an eBook

Hello and welcome to another awesome blog hop! As always, click on the tour bar at the top of the page to move on and if you get lost somehow, just go to www.justromance.me to get back on board.



For this hop, I decided to feature the first book in my Children of Night series, In the Dark. What do vampires have to do with Earth Day? Well, nothing really.  But it just seemed like a good idea. First of all, part of the story takes place back in 1968-69, which was only a year before the first Earth Day was celebrated on April 22, 1970.



Secondly, the digital version is available for FREE for the rest of the month, at Amazon, B&N, Sony or directly from Samhain. So you can Go Green and save some Green at the same time! lol! Also, the fourth book in the series is coming out in another month, so... What can I say? It was just good timing all around!



To read more about the series (and view all those lovely covers!) check out the series page here:

http://store.samhainpublishing.com/children-night-series-260.html



Enjoy!



In the Dark

Children of Night, Book 1






When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes.




1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the very last thing he should have agreed to do was to raise her babies and protect them with his life. But even twelve-hundred-year-old master vampires can find it hard to reject a deathbed request—especially when issues of love, guilt and blood are involved.




Present day. Raised in virtual isolation, twins Marc and Julie Fischer have always known they are vampires. But they never knew their parentage—or their unique status in the vampire world—until their “uncle” Damian comes to fetch them home. The family reunion, however, isn’t what they expect. They’re thrust into a world for which they’re totally unprepared. And the father they expected to see, Conrad, is missing.




How to find him…and whom to trust? Solving the mystery of betrayal and vampire family values will prove the Beatles had it right. All you need is love…and an occasional side of blood.



Product Warnings

While reading this book you may experience any of the following, an increased desire to wear flowers in your hair, dress in tie-dye or nap during the day. Other symptoms may include an intolerance to sunlight, an aversion to garlic-flavored tofu and a pronounced urge to bake…or get baked.




And now for a brief excerpt: 





Saturday, October 26th, 1968







“Isn’t this place fantastic?” Suzanne sighed as they strolled in the shadows of towering redwoods, breathing in all the cool, night scents. The fog was settling in, and between that and the trees, it should have been too dark to see. It wasn’t. Flickering torches, set along the winding paths that cut through the property took care of that. Given the costume she was wearing and the autumn breeze, she should have been shivering with cold. She wasn’t. The man walking beside her, with his electric voice and simmering smile, took care of that. “I don’t believe any of the rumors about it being haunted though, do you? I think it’s more like…well, like being in a fairy tale, or something.”

The sound of Conrad’s soft laughter made her cringe. He smiled indulgently. “A very dark fairy tale, perhaps, yes? Populated with monsters and demons and things too terrible to mention.”

Suzanne bit her lip. Fairy tales. What must he think of her, hearing her talk about such silly things? He was older—how much older, she couldn’t say, but definitely over thirty—and more worldly and cultured and altogether more fascinating than anyone she’d ever met before. And here she was, when she should be trying to act as sophisticated as possible, saying things only a baby would think to say. “I just meant…well, it’s just such a…such a gas to be here, don’t you think so too? I wonder who owns it.”

He slanted a curious look her way. “Don’t you know? Who brought you here, anyway?”

“No one, really. I was with some friends the other day and I guess they’d overheard some other people talking about it. They said they throw parties like this almost every weekend and that it was a real happening scene. So I thought I’d come and see for myself.”

“A happening scene. I see.” They walked a few more steps before Conrad asked, almost hesitantly, “So…is that…is that a good thing then?”

“Conrad! Of course it is!” Laughter bubbled up before she even considered that, perhaps, he was making fun of her, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t. “Look around you,” she said, slipping her arm free of his so she could twirl in place, her arms spread wide. “It’s all so…dreamy.” However older and worldly he might be, there were still things he didn’t know. She liked that. She liked the rush of power she got from the thought there were things she could teach him, things she could show him and tell him about—new things, things he might never even think of on his own. The realization left her so jubilant she didn’t even protest when he took hold of her hand and pulled her into his arms.

His kiss was nothing like she’d expected. It was earthy and dark, with just a hint of buried sweetness and a taste that was almost familiar. Tempting, yet somehow forbidden, just like the baker’s chocolate she’d once watched her foster mother use to make a cake.

The tantalizing scent as it melted in the top of the double boiler had made Suzanne salivate. No matter how much she’d begged for a piece, she wasn’t allowed so much as a crumb. So, that night, she’d crept down to the kitchen and stolen a square. It, too, was nothing like she’d expected. Bitter, intense, but exciting, all the same. Like her first sip of coffee. Or her first taste of love.

The press of Conrad’s mouth on hers was hypnotic. She couldn’t break the spell his kiss laid on her even if she’d wanted to. No more than she could keep from moaning in protest when he pulled away. His hand slid across her bare back, took hold of her hair and tugged. She let her head fall back as his open mouth ghosted, warm and wet, over her neck, as though he was searching for just the right spot. Her heart seemed to stop. The night grew still. Even the breeze seemed to settle as she waited, breathless for…something.

It never came.

Instead, Conrad’s mouth reversed course, traveling back up her neck to her ear where he whispered, “So much sweetness. It would be a shame to rush what should be savored. You’ll spend the night with me.”

That stopped her—almost. Stifling a gasp, she pushed out of his arms. His eyes blazed red-gold in the light reflecting from the torches and his expression was one of faint surprise, as though her actions startled him, as though he hadn’t been expecting her to show even this much resistance.

Why shouldn’t she resist? He was The Unknown personified—so much older, worldly, cultured…different. So very unexpected.

On the other hand, why would she resist? Wasn’t it for exactly this reason she’d left the no-name town she’d grown up in, vowing to put her past, with all its unhappiness, behind her? Isn’t this why she’d come to the city—why she’d come here tonight, to this very house—to experience life, to taste freedom, to embrace the unknown?

“All right. I’ll stay.” Smiling, she melted back into his embrace and lifted her face for his kiss. It was even headier this time around, darker somehow. Definitely intoxicating. It made her head spin and her eyes grow heavy. When her knees gave way he lifted her into his arms, holding her lightly, as though she weighed nothing at all.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, as he carried her back toward the house, “I wasn’t offering you a choice.”

A choice of what, she wondered, lazily. But, nestled safely in his arms, she didn’t care to pursue it.

She did know one moment of anxiety, however, when he stopped in the hallway to speak to Armand. There was something in the way the other man looked at her. The predatory gleam in his eyes, the subtle flaring of his nostrils, sent shivers running down her spine and had her closing her eyes again, more tightly than before. Had her pressing her face into the silk of Conrad’s shirt, curling instinctively closer to him. Like the rabbits she’d once watched in the fields back home, hunkering down on the ground when a hawk passed overhead.

When they started up the stairs leading to the mansion’s upper floors she roused herself enough to ask, “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to my room.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched her, as though awaiting her reaction.

She blinked in surprise. “Your room? Do you live here?”

“I do,” he replied, his smile even more evident. “I own this house. This happening scene into which you’ve stumbled belongs to me. And, you, my sweet, little uninvited one, are about to pay the penalty for trespassing.”

“Things too terrible to mention,” she murmured, trying to think back to what they’d said earlier, causing Conrad to almost miss a step.

His eyebrows rose as he stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “I sincerely hope not. Is that how it seems to you?”

Yawning, she closed her eyes and nestled closer. “No. You said that. I said it was like a dream.”

More From In the Dark

As I mentioned the other day, the first book in my vampire series, Children of Night, is currently available for FREE at the following venues: Amazon, B&N, Sony or directly from Samhain.



Here's another excerpt--just 'cause I can!




In the Dark

Children of Night, Book 1




When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes.




1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the very last thing he should have agreed to do was to raise her babies and protect them with his life. But even twelve-hundred-year-old master vampires can find it hard to reject a deathbed request—especially when issues of love, guilt and blood are involved.




Present day. Raised in virtual isolation, twins Marc and Julie Fischer have always known they are vampires. But they never knew their parentage—or their unique status in the vampire world—until their “uncle” Damian comes to fetch them home. The family reunion, however, isn’t what they expect. They’re thrust into a world for which they’re totally unprepared. And the father they expected to see, Conrad, is missing.




How to find him…and whom to trust? Solving the mystery of betrayal and vampire family values will prove the Beatles had it right. All you need is love…and an occasional side of blood.



Product Warnings

While reading this book you may experience any of the following, an increased desire to wear flowers in your hair, dress in tie-dye or nap during the day. Other symptoms may include an intolerance to sunlight, an aversion to garlic-flavored tofu and a pronounced urge to bake…or get baked.






Marc finished unpacking in the room Damian had assigned to him—one of many vacant rooms available. He’d found it odd that such a big house should be standing mostly empty, but in a night filled with oddities it had hardly seemed worth mentioning.

Apparently most of the vampires associated with the nest lived elsewhere, just as he and Julie had always done. So, maybe it wasn’t odd, after all. Maybe this sort of lifestyle choice was normal for vampires. Maybe they were solitary as well as predatory and maybe he was the strange one for thinking there was anything odd about it.

He lay back on the bed, folded his arms beneath his head and looked around. It was a nice enough room, he supposed. Large. Comfortable. A little dark for his tastes. A little heavy on the gold trim. Faultlessly decorated, but impersonal. There was nothing to indicate whether anyone had ever actually lived in it before. Maybe he would be the first. And maybe, if they stayed long enough, someday it might even begin to feel like home.

Maybe. But that could only happen if they found Conrad in time. And how in the hell are we supposed to do that? They had to though, didn’t they? Just as Damian had said. Because, if they didn’t, all bets were off, their lives would be forever changed and Conrad’s…well, for Conrad it would likely be over altogether. That thought—and the fear that went along with it—left him too anxious to rest.

He got back on his feet. A Jack-and-Jill bathroom connected his room with his sister’s. He pulled the door to it open and hurried through. “Hey, you wanna get outta here for awhile?” he asked as he emerged in Julie’s room. “Maybe go for a run or something?” Exercise was good and late at night—when no one was around to notice and maybe clock him going faster than he should have been able to go—was the only time he was really able to cut loose. If ever he’d needed to cut loose, it was now.

Julie was curled on the window seat, staring out at the night. She startled at his words and turned, almost snarling at him. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“Sorry,” Marc answered, a little taken aback. She wasn’t usually so short tempered. “You’re not thinking about going to bed already, are you?” It was getting close to sunrise, sure, but not that close.

Julie shook her head. “No, but what’s that got to do with anything? And what’s wrong with you, anyhow? Ever since we got here you’ve been acting crazy. I thought you and Damian were going to bite each other’s heads off in the kitchen.”

Good question. He wasn’t altogether certain what was affecting his mood but, in the interest of sibling harmony, he decided not to mention that Julie’s temper seemed a little out of sorts tonight, as well. “I dunno, I think it’s this place. Pretty funny, huh? All these years we’ve been practically begging Conrad to let us come out here and now…” He shrugged. “I guess maybe there was a reason he didn’t want us here, after all.”

Julie’s expression grew clouded. “It’s not what I thought it would be like, that’s for sure. I thought I’d at least recognize or remember something.”

“Jules, we were only a couple of weeks old at the time—or maybe not even. What did you think you’d remember?”

“I don’t know,” his sister sighed. “A smell, perhaps? Or a feeling. Maybe a familiar face. There should be something.” She shook her head sadly, then leveled another scowl at him. “And I cannot believe you accused Damian of planning to kill Conrad! What is wrong with you?”

“I told you what’s wrong. It’s this place! Don’t you feel it too? Besides, you heard him. That’s exactly what it sounded like he was saying.”

“Oh, stop. It did not. Damian would no more kill Conrad than I would, and if you don’t know that…well…then…you should! He raised us, Marc. He and Conrad and us—we’re family.”

Marc nodded. “I know that. But…oh, c’mon, Jules, you gotta admit he’s acting weird. First he lies to me on the phone to get us to come out here, then he lies to that guy, Armand, about being our sire and then…cookies? Are you freakin’ kidding me? You know how Conrad got last time. There’s gonna be hell to pay when he finds out what’s been going on.”

“Oh, cookies. Yeah, that’s real heinous. That’s just exactly the same as plotting someone’s murder. And, for your information, the only one I’ve noticed acting weird tonight is you.”

The unhappy look on Julie’s face told Marc he’d scored a point, whether she was willing to admit it or not. Yeah, sure, he was acting weird too. Given the circumstances, who wouldn’t be? But that wasn’t all of it. Not by a long shot. “This whole scene is seriously screwed up. It makes me want to punch something. I hate all this stupid vampire drama.” He paused, running his hands through his hair, trying to shake the moodiness threatening to overtake him again. “It just never stops, does it?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. Why would it stop, Marc? We’re vampires. Always were, always gonna be. I can’t believe you’re still trying to dream up idiotic reasons not to admit that. We’re different, so what? Learn to deal with it, already. Or, you know what? Don’t. If it honestly makes you feel that much better to pretend we’re really space aliens instead, then go for it, Star-man, live long and prosper.”

Marc flushed. Not fair. He’d never pretended they were something they weren’t. He’d merely theorized on the various possibilities. And it had been years since he’d floated the idea they might have evolved from some kind of alien life form. Decades maybe. Even though anybody with brains would have to agree that a dip in the extraterrestrial gene pool was a good, solid, reasonable explanation for the way they’d all turned out. It was scientific, logical and so much better than the traditional theory—that they’d originated from demon spawn.

Aliens, by virtue of the fact they’d had to travel through space to get here, were obviously smart, technologically advanced and, in all likelihood, peaceful ambassadors from a better, brighter world. Vampires, on the other hand, were murderers. They were monsters. They were the quintessential fairy-tale villains—right up there with ogres and trolls and gorgons—the kind of creature nightmares were made of.

Who in the hell would choose to be something like that if they didn’t have to?

“You know what I think?” He grabbed one of Julie’s paperbacks from the stack by the window seat and waved it in her face. “I think you just like the idea of being a vampire ’cause you think it’s sexy. I mean, look at this crap you read.” He opened the book at random and read aloud. “…satisfaction gleamed in the prince’s dark eyes as he drew back and looked her over, still licking the last traces of blood from his lips. My blood, Celeste thought, her breasts rising and falling more quickly with the realization. It was her blood, her life force from which he’d been feeding and her body ached with the need to give him more.”

“Give it back!” Julie reached out to snatch the book from his hand.

Marc smirked. “Is that really how feeding makes you feel? Do your eyes gleam with satisfaction when you do it? Maybe, next time you eat, you could take out your mirror and check to see. Oh, but, wait a minute—” He smacked himself in the head. “Since you’re a vampire, I guess you must be invisible in mirrors too, huh?”

“Funny.” Julie gazed at him resentfully. “You know what, Marc? It’s called fiction. And, for your information, if it’s got a good story and three-dimensional characters, nobody cares if some of the facts are a little sketchy.”

“Whatever.” His anger spent, Marc dropped into an armchair facing his sister. “Think what you want.” Obviously, they could both see their reflections just fine when they looked in a mirror. They didn’t need to sleep in their native soil—thank the stars for that! Holy water didn’t do a damn thing other than get them wet. And, no matter how debilitating they found sunlight to be, they’d certainly never yet burst into flames when they’d gone out during the day.

As for the question of whether or not they should accept being labeled as vampire when they clearly didn’t fit the mythological profile—well, that was a long-dead horse. Not even. It was horse dust. And no amount of beating was ever gonna make it run.

Doesn’t any of it bother her, he wondered. Or did Julie never even think about how weird their lives were, how aimless and disconnected, how relatively empty—and, yes, damn it, how different from most other people’s.

Like he’d really needed her to point that out! Marc knew damn well they were different. He’d always known. There’d never been a time in his life when he hadn’t felt that way, even when they were kids. No, especially when they were kids. Growing up with no parents. Schooled by private tutors. Moved every four to six years to a new house, a new community, where, once again, they’d be discouraged from interacting with anyone who hadn’t been carefully screened by either their grandfather or their uncle—the only two constants in their constantly changing lives.

Then there were the admonitions, repeated over and over again, until they were second nature. We don’t feed in public. We don’t show our fangs to the other children on the playground. What’s said in this house, stays in this house. And, most important of all: You must never tell anyone who or what we really are.

The only trouble with that, Marc thought, as he ran his tongue over the small protuberances on the roof of his mouth that hid his retracted fangs, was that he really didn’t know what he was, and he wasn’t always as certain of the “who” part as he’d like to be either. Despite having grown up in their care, the twins had always known that neither Conrad nor Damian were biologically related to them—or to each other, for that matter.

Obviously, they’d had parents at some point, but no one had any idea who their father had been and, other than her name and a few bare facts about her, neither of their “father figures” seemed to know very much about their mother either. Certainly they didn’t like talking about her. Who was she, he wondered for what had to be the trillionth time. How did she die? Why were the events of their birth shrouded in such secrecy?

“Do you think she was ever here?” Julie asked suddenly.

Marc shrugged, not even a little surprised that his sister should be reading his mind. There was nothing new about that, was there? “Our mother? Probably. She and Conrad had to have met somewhere, right?”

Julie’s mouth tightened. “That’s another thing. How are we going to find Conrad? I mean, what are we, the FBI? Damian can’t seriously be expecting us to do this on our own, can he? There’s gotta be someone else he could call.”

“Ghostbusters?” Marc teased. He shook his head. “Beats me. I guess there has to be something we can do to help.”

“Like?”

“I dunno—things! Ask questions? Snoop around? Hell, Jules, you know Damian—I’m sure he’s got some devious plan in mind.”




Devious? Was that another dig? Julie frowned at her brother, but before she could open her mouth to call him on his choice of words, she was startled by a knock on the door that led out into the hall. “Who is it?” she called.

“It’s Armand. Just checking that you have everything you need. May I come in?”

What now? Julie’s gaze flew to Marc’s face, but he was already on his feet, silently retracing his steps across the room. “Go,” he mouthed silently. “Answer the door. Find out what he wants. Ask questions.”

Ask questions? Julie stared in consternation as her brother slipped back into the bathroom, leaving the door behind him ajar. What kind of questions? Questions about what? She stared irresolutely after Marc—not missing the point of the open door. So, he thought he could just listen in on her private conversations now, did he? She couldn’t decide whether that made her feel safe or merely spied upon. Eavesdropper.

She was tempted to close the door on him, and lock it as well, before letting Armand in. It would freak Marc out if she did something like that, and serve him right to boot. But how smart would it be? Considering Conrad was missing and Damian didn’t know who to suspect, it was probably not very smart at all. So, in the end, she left things as they were, plastered her brightest, most unconcerned expression on her face and went to answer the door.

“Hey there, Armand,” she said, pulling the door to the hallway open just as he’d raised his hand to knock again. “Whazzup?”

He looked startled for an instant. An odd half-smile flickered to life on his lips. His too-intense eyes swept her face, taking inventory of her every feature. For far too long.

“See something you like?” she inquired, when she could think of nothing else to say.

“Yes,” he replied, still staring. He colored abruptly and dropped his gaze. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise. When you answered the door just now, you sounded…so young.”

She sighed, having heard it all before. “Yeah, well, I’m not really as young as I look.” Then it was her turn to blush when his smile turned mocking.

“Ah, mais oui. That goes without saying. Who of us is, eh?”

“Right.” Julie nodded. “What was I thinking?” House full of vampires. No one’s as young as they seem. Gotta remember that. It shouldn’t be so hard, really. After all, when had she not lived in a house full of vampires? But that was different. That was Marc and Conrad and Damian. It struck her, suddenly, that the only people she’d ever been able to open her heart and explain her deepest thoughts to, were the very people who’d never needed the explanation in the first place. Because they already knew everything there was to know about her.

Now that she thought about it, it kinda sucked. 




****

For more about the series, please check out the series page at Samhain: http://store.samhainpublishing.com/children-night-series-260.html

In the Dark

So, for the rest of the month, In the Dark, the first book in my vampire series, Children of Night, will be available for FREE on a variety of venues Amazon, B&N and Sony. This is absolutely perfect, by the way, since the fourth book in the series, Ashes of the Day, releases on May 21. Which means you have just enough time to get all caught up with the first three books to be ready! To whet your appetite, I'm going to be posting a bunch of excerpts over the next few weeks and running a few contests so be sure to stop back here to see what's new and what else I'm giving away!




In the Dark

Children of Night, Book 1




When you live forever, you’re bound to make a few mistakes.




1969 San Francisco. World-weary Conrad Quintano should have known better than to fall in love with a human—much less Suzanne Fischer, the barely legal, adventure-seeking hippie beauty known as Desert Rose. And the very last thing he should have agreed to do was to raise her babies and protect them with his life. But even twelve-hundred-year-old master vampires can find it hard to reject a deathbed request—especially when issues of love, guilt and blood are involved.




Present day. Raised in virtual isolation, twins Marc and Julie Fischer have always known they are vampires. But they never knew their parentage—or their unique status in the vampire world—until their “uncle” Damian comes to fetch them home. The family reunion, however, isn’t what they expect. They’re thrust into a world for which they’re totally unprepared. And the father they expected to see, Conrad, is missing.




How to find him…and whom to trust? Solving the mystery of betrayal and vampire family values will prove the Beatles had it right. All you need is love…and an occasional side of blood.



Product Warnings

While reading this book you may experience any of the following, an increased desire to wear flowers in your hair, dress in tie-dye or nap during the day. Other symptoms may include an intolerance to sunlight, an aversion to garlic-flavored tofu and a pronounced urge to bake…or get baked.



Excerpt:






Present Day

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Marc asked as the limousine pulled to a stop in front of the expansive Victorian mansion. He was out of the car and across the sidewalk in a flash. Given that he didn’t wait for her response, his sister assumed the question was rhetorical. “Jules, come see this place,” he called as he stared through the fence. “It’s huge!”

Julie Fischer took her time joining her twin on the sidewalk. They’d been waiting years for this moment to arrive. She wasn’t going to rush now and spoil it. Happily breathing in the moist, fog-laden air of San Francisco, she glanced around curiously. They’d seen very little of the city on the drive in. The car that had been sent to pick them up from the train station in Emeryville, on the other side of the Oakland Bay Bridge, had been equipped with windows specially darkened to protect their sensitive eyes from exposure to the setting sun. But night had finally fallen—blessedly dark, blissfully cool.

“Well?” Marc inquired impatiently as he turned to take their bags from the driver. “What do you think?”

Julie cast an appraising eye over the edifice before them, or as much of it as she could see through the wrought-iron bars and the engulfing vegetation. Conrad’s house. Home. At last! They’d been hearing about this place their entire lives, but this was the first time since they were babies they were actually seeing it. She sighed, vaguely disappointed when no memory surfaced. “I guess I thought it would be more…I dunno, gothic, or something.”

“You and your damned clichés.” Marc shot her a disgusted look. “So, what’re you saying? Red, black and overgrown isn’t broody enough for you now? You were hoping for a moldy old castle, maybe?”

Julie sighed. “No. You know that’s not what I’m saying either.” Okay, so she had to admit, the landscaping was a tad on the uber-mature side. What might once have been a conventional lawn was now no more than a patchy green blanket of moss spread between the tangled roots of a mixed stand of evergreens—redwood, hemlock, laurel—that combined to create a lot more shade than most people would find tolerable. The bulk of the house had been painted a deep, striking shade of red, a color commonly known as oxblood, but Julie had read enough about historical design trends to suspect that the trim and the gables, everything Marc was calling black, was actually a Van Dyke brown. A not uncommon color combination for structures of this period, not that it mattered. Marc’s point, such as it was, was valid. This house was home to vampires. It looked the part. It just wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

Before she could reply further, they were interrupted by a large, slightly menacing figure who emerged from the gatehouse, clipboard in hand, to inquire, “Can I help you folks?”

Julie’s hormones perked up as she looked the man over—all six and a half heavily muscled feet of him. Late twenties. Caucasian. Reasonably healthy. He had close-cropped dark hair and suspicious blue eyes she was fairly certain would prove a dead match, color-wise, for his nicely snug jeans. Yum. “We’re here to see Conrad,” she said, nodding at the Quintano family crest embroidered on his black polo shirt—the same design that had been worked into the iron of the gate. She tested the air around him. Hunger burned in her veins. Definitely human. Recently fed upon. Still semi-enthralled. I could have him. Her fangs pulsed at the thought and it was all she could do to keep from licking her lips. I could have him right now.

“Certainly, Miss. If you’ll give me your names I’ll check and see if you’re on the list.”

She drifted closer, throwing all the power of her will at his mind—just for the fun of it. “You don’t need our names,” she murmured in her most compelling voice.

For a moment, it seemed to work. He drew back slightly, blinking in surprise. His eyes heated as he looked her up and down. She smiled as she sensed his determination start to waver. Then he shook his head and frowned at her sternly. “Yes, Miss, I’m afraid I do.”

“Marc and Julie Fischer,” her brother supplied, stepping in before Julie could make another attempt. He grabbed hold of her arm, just above the elbow, whispering, “Down, girl,” in her ear as he forced her to back away from the man.

“Thank you, sir.” The gatekeeper glanced at his clipboard, then punched a code into the gate’s control panel. “Go right ahead.”

“Spoilsport,” Julie grumbled as she took back her arm.

They headed up the brick walkway to the house. Marc smiled mockingly at her. “You don’t need our names,” he said, adding in his best Darth Vader voice, “Oh, the force is strong in this one—not!”

Julie elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Shut up, Marc.” Really, though, she supposed she deserved his teasing this time around. She should have known better than to try and countermand orders the gatekeeper had probably received from Conrad himself. When had that ever worked before?

The Victorian’s double front doors were standing open. As the twins climbed the white marble stairs to the porch, they could hear music coming from inside the house; drums and horns and hot, Latin guitars.

“Sounds like someone’s throwing a party,” Marc observed as they stepped inside the dark, paneled entrance.

“You think maybe it’s for us?” Julie suggested hopefully. “You know, like a surprise homecoming party or something? I mean, we still don’t know why we’re here so…it could be anything, right?” It had been a shock to be so suddenly summoned here, with no explanation offered, after years of being told that either the time or the circumstances weren’t right.

Marc shook his head. “Little noisy for a surprise, don’t you think?” He put their bags on the floor next to the ornate brass coat tree and glanced distractedly around the empty foyer. “I dunno. Something doesn’t feel right.”

They hesitated for a moment longer but no one appeared to greet them. Curious, they followed the sounds—the laughter, the music, the chatter of voices—toward the rear of the house.

The closer they drew to the noise, the stronger the smells became. Wine and incense, arousal and sweat and most potent of all, layered beneath the rest, the sweet, rich, coppery scent of fresh blood. Julie’s mouth was watering by the time they reached their destination.

“Holy shit,” her brother muttered, stopping dead in his tracks. Julie found herself nodding in agreement. The center of the large, dimly lit room had been cleared of furniture to serve as a dance floor. Most of those dancing were barely clothed and phenomenally well-toned and all of them, male and female, vampire and human alike, wore expressions of almost orgasmic bliss.

“And then some.” Julie’s gaze traversed the room’s perimeter, which seemed to have been lined with a succession of chaises and sofas and piles of pillows, all occupied by small groups feeding from one another. “Wow.”

Suddenly, a loud commotion arose from the low dais at the far end of the room. “Ay, ay, ay,” a familiar voice called out in greeting. “Mis queridos—you’re here!” Make that almost familiar. Julie stared in consternation as a tall, sculpted figure rose from the chaise upon which he’d been reclining and hurried forward to greet them. The voice was Damian’s, all right, but the tone—high-pitched and excited—was entirely more Chihuahua-like than she’d been expecting.

Marc gave a strangled gasp as their uncle strode toward them, his arms held wide, his long black hair streaming out behind him. He was wearing an open, floor-length, red- and black-patterned kimono over gauzy black pants—and a sly smile that suggested he knew exactly the kind of impression he was creating and was loving every scandalous second. Gold rings glittered on his fingers, his ears and both nipples. The crowd parted deferentially to let him pass.

“Stop staring,” Julie whispered urgently to her brother. “It’s not like we didn’t know.” Damian had never kept his sexual orientation a secret, but even so, they’d never seen him quite like this before. Tonight, he wasn’t just out of the closet, he’d brought the whole closet out with him.

Before Marc had a chance to resist, Damian swept him up in a big hug and kissed him loudly on both cheeks. “Ah, mi amor,” he crooned, pinching his cheek as he let him go. “It’s been too long.”

Next, Damian turned his attentions on Julie. As his arms closed tightly around her she found herself transported back to her childhood. This was the Damian she remembered. Big, warm, comforting. The uncle who’d read her bedtime stories and tucked her in at night. Who’d wiped away her tears when she fell and skinned her knees—never once pointing out that the scrapes had sometimes healed before the tears even started.

Julie returned his embrace. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Nice threads, Uncle Damian,” she whispered in his ear. “I like this whole ‘Queen of the Damned’ look you’ve got going on.”

Damian threw back his head and roared with laughter. “That’s my baby girl.” Pressing an enthusiastic kiss on Julie’s forehead, he smiled at her approvingly. “I knew I could count on you, chica.” Then he drew back and looked at them both. “Now,mis niños, let me look at you. How was the train? Did you have a good trip? You must be famished.” He waved a hand at the surrounding crowd and suggested. “Why don’t you go find yourselves something to eat?”

“Where’s Conrad?” Marc asked, ignoring the pleasantries, startling Julie with his abruptness. His gaze scanned the room. “He’s not here. Where is he?”

“Oh, who knows where he’s gone!” Damian heaved a long-suffering sigh. “That man. Always running here, flitting there—who can keep track? Entre nous? Given all the places he tries to be in at one time, I’m almost afraid the big silly has begun to believe he can turn into a bat.”

“Has Conrad left town?” a male voice inquired. Julie stared at the new vampire with interest. He was slim with auburn hair; not quite as tall as Damian. He had a delicious cleft chin and an unsettling inquisitive gleam in his hazel eyes. “I hadn’t heard.”

A shadow passed through Damian’s eyes, something dark and dangerous, and then it was gone. He smiled at the newcomer. “My dear, dear Armand, I’m sure your guess is…oh, well, let’s see…probably almost as good as my own, n’est pas? But, wherever he’s gone, I’m sure he’ll be back to delight us all again very soon.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Marc demanded, the tone of his voice practically turning the words into an accusation. “I thought you said Grandfather wanted to see us? Isn’t that why we’re here? Why would he leave town if he knew we were coming? And…what on earth are you wearing, anyway?”

Julie stared at her brother, perplexed. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like Marc to be so confrontational. It wasn’t like either of them, come to think of it. At almost forty years old, they both still found it nearly impossible to act counter to the expressed wishes of the two men who’d raised them. Especially Conrad. Her pondering was cut short when her attention was snared by a soft, amused chuckle.

“Grandfather?” A disbelieving smile had curled Armand’s lips. His gaze flicked curiously over them all. “Are you referring to Conrad? I’m sure he must love being called that! But, come, Damian, you must introduce me. Are these yours?”

Once again, Julie caught sight of that dark gleam in Damian’s eyes. He flashed a look at both twins, warning them to silence, before turning back to Armand with another saccharine smile. “Why, yes, Armand, indeed they are. And now you know all my little secrets. But, aren’t they just too precious? This is Julie and her brother, Marc. Marc’s a little cranky at the moment. He gets that way when he isn’t fed.”

“Who doesn’t?” Armand sent a cursory, disinterested nod in Marc’s direction before bowing low over Julie’s hand. “Mademoiselle. Enchanté.”

Julie shivered in delight as he pressed his lips to her hand and the warmth of his kiss traveled all the way up her arm. “Likewise.”

Armand’s eyes met hers and he smiled in gentle amusement. Then he turned his quizzical gaze on Damian. “I must admit, mon ami, you’ve caught me off guard. I didn’t think your tastes ran in quite this…direction?”

“Oh, Armand.” Damian raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed theatrically. “You disappoint me. Can you not see that they’re twins? How could I break up such a pretty set? It would have been…gauche.”

Relieved laughter burst from Armand’s lips. “Of course. My apologies. I should have guessed it was something like that.” He eyed Julie one more time, a little more intensely than before, then he gave her hand a final squeeze and let go. “Tres bon. I’ll leave you three to your reunion,” he said as he bowed once again. “Au revoir.”

Damian watched as Armand disappeared back into the dancing crowd, then he turned his attention back to the twins. “Watch yourself around that one,” he advised Julie sternly. “Don’t get too close.” He regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, then suggested, “In fact, I think it might be best if you two were to wait for me in the kitchen until I’m done here. It’s down at the end of the hallway, toward the back of the house. Go eat. We’ll talk later.”

Disappointed, Julie was turning to leave when Marc shook his head. “No. We’ll talk now. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Where’s Conrad?”

“Marcus,” Damian’s voice, though pitched low, held a note of warning. “You will do as I tell you. Conrad always said you two couldn’t handle this environment yet. This is no time for you to be proving him right.”

Julie held her breath as the two men stared at each other, each refusing to back down. Finally, Damian sighed. “I have no time for this,” he grumbled as he shook his head. He looked to be about equal parts aggravated, worried and quietly proud. He turned away abruptly, so suddenly that his robe flared out around him. Clapping his hands to be heard above the music he called, “Out! Out! Vayamos! Party’s over! Everyone go home!”

A chorus of disappointed groans and half-hearted protests rose from the crowd but Damian stood firm. Smiling serenely, he repeated the order. “Out! Everybody. Now.” The authority in his voice was such that even Julie found herself once again turning to leave. She saw Marc begin to do the same until Damian reached back and grabbed hold of their wrists. “Not you two.”

The disgruntled guests filed slowly out through the doorways. Armand was among the last to leave. The parting glance he shot in Damian’s direction was filled with seething animosity. Julie stiffened in alarm, but Damian appeared not to notice.

Finally they were alone. Damian sighed as he let go of their wrists. Reaching for the tiny strings that fastened his kimono he drew the garment around himself and secured it in place. “Now, then,” he said as he threw an arm around each of their shoulders and propelled them from the room. “Let’s go down to the kitchen and have something to eat while we talk, shall we?” Drawing them both even closer, he pressed a kiss against the side of each of their heads. “I baked cookies. Who wants chocolate chip?”




“This is so great.” Julie beamed at Damian as he slid a plate of freshly baked cookies onto the pristine surface of the antique kitchen table. She looked and sounded far more enthusiastic than Marc thought anything about the evening warranted. “I can’t believe you made us cookies. It’s been years!”

“More like decades,” Marc grumbled, resisting the force of habit that almost had him reaching for one. What was the use, after all? When they were children, Damian had made it a point to bake some kind of treat whenever the twins had a play date. It was for the sake of the other children, mostly, but also so that Marc and Julie would feel more comfortable, would know what to expect and how to behave on those rare occasions they were allowed to accept an invitation to play at someone else’s house.

But what was meant to be a comfort had backfired in his case. It had only made him feel more different from the other children, rather than less. The fact that they could eat “normal” food had finally convinced the then thirteen-year-old Marc to try and wean himself from his dependence on blood. After five days, he’d collapsed in the middle of a routine fencing lesson and a distraught Conrad had gone ballistic and had to be talked out of completely disassembling the kitchen. From that point on , there’d been a ban placed on any further attempts at cooking and any foodstuffs other than blood were strictly forbidden from even being brought into the house. It was a line drawn in the sand—very deep, very definite, very distinct. A line Damian had never once dared to cross. Until now. Which only made his actions tonight seem even more alarming.

“Does Conrad know about this?”

Damian’s mouth tightened. A faint frown creased his brow as he finished doling out snacks, taking clear PVC bags filled with blood from the refrigerator and tossing them down in the center of the table. “No, Marc,” he said at last, after seating himself across from the twins. “He doesn’t. Conrad is…well, he’s missing, actually.” His voice faltering, he paused, as though to regroup. “That’s why you’re here. That’s the reason I sent for you. I need you two to help me find him.”

So that’s why, Marc thought, feeling oddly vindicated, even as the cold thrill of adrenaline iced his veins. He’d known something was wrong, right from the start. The moment he’d stepped foot inside this house tonight he’d sensed the tension. The fear running beneath Damian’s seemingly carefree demeanor had set all his nerves on edge.

“I don’t understand,” Julie said, sounding mystified. “You said earlier that he was just out of town. How could he be missing, Damian? Where would he go?”

Damian spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, child. He wouldn’t say, exactly. All I know is that he had some…some minor business that he thought needed his personal attention. It shouldn’t have taken him more than a couple of hours to resolve things, at least that’s the impression he gave me. That was almost three weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Three weeks? For almost a minute, both twins just stared, shocked into silence by his admission. “But—when you called—when I talked to you on the phone the other day, you told me he wanted to see us,” Marc protested. “You’re saying that was a lie?”

Damian shrugged. “I didn’t want to alarm you. I thought it was better if you didn’t know too much ahead of time. Just in case.”

“But, Damian, that—” Julie’s words stumbled over each other on their way out of her mouth. “I mean, what if he’s… He can’t be… He’s not…”

“Dead?” Damian smiled sadly. “No, chica. He’s not dead. Not yet.” Eyes burning with conviction, he leaned into the table, his closed fist pressed to the center of his chest. “I would know if that were the case. If he were dead, I’d feel it—here.” He shrugged and then added, “As would you, I’m sure. We’d all feel it, if that were to happen. The entire nest would erupt into chaos such as you cannot imagine. But, that’s not even the worst that could happen, might still happen, if my suspicions are correct.”

Marc started in surprise. What could be worse than losing Conrad? “What suspicions are those?”

Damian sighed. “From what little he would tell me, I have reason to suspect Conrad was lured away by someone who had knowledge of a very personal nature, someone who knew about a particular weakness that could be exploited. Since he hasn’t been killed, I believe it’s likely he’s being held somewhere, most probably without food, until he’s weak enough to be overcome by someone who wouldn’t be able to do so otherwise.”

No food? Just the memory of his own hunger—raw, unreasoning, screaming for sustenance—brought Marc rushing to his feet. “For three weeks? And what the hell have you been doing all that time? Besides throwing parties and baking cookies and lying to everyone and dressing up like a—”

“Marc!” Julie glared at him. “That’s enough. Stop it!”

“It’s a reasonable question,” Damian murmured, seemingly unaffected by Marc’s outburst. If anything, he appeared almost amused by it, his smile taking on a faintly ironic tilt. “Given how little either of you really understand about us—how we live, what we are.”

Vampire. The word whispered in Marc’s mind and, as usual, he fought to deny it. He knew they weren’t like other people. He’d always known that. But did that automatically make them monsters? Did it make them demons? Did it make them…something less than human? How often in the past had he tried to argue that point, until Julie would groan in frustration, clap her hands over her ears and refuse to hear any more.

“I always said it was a mistake to keep you two so sheltered from the world you’d eventually have to re-enter.” Damian shook his head, his amusement deserting him. “And, now… Ah, it’s impossible.” Shoving back his chair, he got to his feet and began to pace. “There’s too much you two don’t know, so much you need to know, and now, even if I had the time to explain it to you—which I don’t—I still don’t know how much he would want me to say.”

Marc watched him, teeth aching to tear into…something, his stomach burning with an unaccustomed ferocity. The tug of Julie’s hand on his wrist, urging him to sit back down, finally registered. He gave in to it, but grudgingly.

“Damian, you said ‘that’s why we’re here’,” Julie reminded him. “What did you mean? What makes you think we can find him if you haven’t been able to? Especially if you can’t tell us anything helpful.”

“Because you have to,” Damian snapped, eyes blazing as he turned to glare at them. “Because there’s no one else who can do it, no one else I can trust with the truth. Don’t you think I would have kept this from you if I could have? Do you have any idea how furious Conrad is likely to be when he learns I’ve brought you here? But it can’t be helped. There are reasons why I cannot look for him myself. Reasons, which you two can’t possibly understand at this point, why I have had to stay here and yes, Marc, throw parties, and continue pretending that everything is just as it’s supposed to be. For as long as I can.”

Marc crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and returned Damian’s angry look with one of his own. “Well, I don’t care about your reasons. You’re going to have to do a much better job of explaining things than that. Otherwise, you can kiss any hopes you might have of us helping you good-bye.”

“Marc!” Once again his sister turned to look at him, her expression scandalized. “What are you saying? Conrad’s missing! Of course we’re going to help find him.”

Damian’s gaze turned haughty. “This is not the time to be thinking with your blood, chavalo. I need your help with this and you will give it to me. Now, what is it you wish to know?”

“Just what I said,” Marc replied. “I want to know what’s going on. Who’d want to kill Conrad. And, and why?”

“Such ignorance.” Damian resumed pacing. “If I knew who was behind such a plot, Marcus, I would already have destroyed them myself, would I not? As to why…dios mio, there could be so many reasons for that! Let me see how I can make things clear to you. Do you recall anything you were taught about the social structure of lions and wolves and other such predators? They live in family groupings, do they not? Under the protection of a single dominant leader? It’s not so different for us except that, since we grow stronger with age and have fewer spawn, our nests are much more stable, our leadership far less likely to be challenged. But, if something were to happen to Conrad.” He waved a hand at the encompassing space. “Then this house and most of the people you saw here tonight, all the wealth and power Conrad has amassed over the centuries, the houses you grew up in, the money that supports you, everything you’ve ever known—all of that would be at risk.”

Sighing, he continued. “It’s bad enough when a leader, such as Conrad, meets with some sort of fatal accident. Imagine an anthill, if you will, after you’ve stirred it with a stick—that’s what we would be like. Everyone in the nest would be at each other’s throats, fighting for supremacy, struggling for power, for control, until a new, uncontested leader finally emerged to take charge.”

“Someone like you, for instance?”

Damian’s gaze iced over. “Yes, Marc, if you were to be very lucky, it might be me. But this nest is far larger than I think either of you realize and many of its members are exceptionally strong. It’s by no means certain that I would prevail if such a contest were to take place. However, fighting within the nest is only one of the possibilities we face. If Conrad were to be killed outright, intentionally dispatched, as it were, things would be very different. There would be no fighting then, for there would be no need. The vampire who killed him, who drained him of his blood, would instantly inherit a large portion of his power, automatically gaining control of the nest and all its resources without any need for further bloodshed. The transfer of power would be orderly, almost instantaneous—painless for most of the nest—making for a scenario that many people might view as preferable. Do you have any idea what it is I’m trying to tell you?”

“Yeah, I think so. You’re saying it would be better for all of us if we let you kill him—is that it?”

LGBT Blog Hop

Old Sins, Long Shadows



Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.


Children of Night, Book 2



1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.



Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken. 



When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.






Old Sins, Long Shadows is one of those 'books of the heart' that demand to be written. Originally, Conrad and Damian's story was supposed to be long over by the time the series started. Then, once I realized they both wanted--desperately to get back together, I expected this would take some time--and several books to bring about. But my characters had other ideas. This book haunted me until I finally had to rearrange the entire series to bring them their happily ever after sooner rather than later. ...




Here's how their story began...






Alcázares Reales de Sevilla, España

Late Fifteenth Century




The evening was balmy and warm. The air, already thick and sweet with the fragrance of a thousand blossoms, was made even more so by the guitars of the Sevillanas. The courtyard of the royal palace was crowded tonight and in the flickering torchlight, the jewels and glittering raiment worn by those in attendance threatened to outshine the stars.

Truly, if the world had an epicenter, Sevilla was its name. Of that Damian Ysidro Esposito-Montoya, Vizconde de Castile was absolutely certain; and he was one of the privileged few lucky enough to live here, at the very heart of all that was cultured and elegant, beautiful and refined. As he glanced around appreciatively, he was aware of an almost unbearable excitement welling inside him. The night was young and filled with infinite possibilities.

“Well, amigo, it appears your beauty has caught someone’s eyes,” the voice of the duke, his patron, murmured in Damian’s ear. “Did you know of this?”

Damian inclined his head and smiled back at him, his expression an almost perfect blend of humility, adoration and gratitude. “Sí. Muchisimas gracias, Excelencia. I am flattered. You honor me, as always, with your kind regard.”

“You misunderstand me,” the duke replied peevishly. “The eyes to which I’m referring are not my own. They belong to that creature over there, the one lounging against that pillar on the far side of the hall. Who is he? Do we know him?”

Dutifully turning his head in the direction the duke was indicating, Damian cast a desultory glance across the marble floor of the patio de las Doncellas, already knowing what he would find. “Ah. Sí, Excellencia. He arrived here a fortnight ago in the company of that Italian baron you found so amusing at dinner the other night. His name is…oh, dear, let me see if I cannot recall it for you. Is it Señor…Quintano, perhaps? Sí. I’m almost certain that is what he is called.”

While the duke processed the information he’d been given, Damian allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Yes, that was very well done. As the duke’s most trusted attendant, he was expected to remember and keep track of the names and status of everyone at court, as well as any other information His Excellency might find useful to know. As his most intimate companion, on the other hand, he was not expected to have eyes, or even the smallest level of interest, for any other man.

It was important, therefore, that he strike the proper tone when attempting to recall the name of the man who, had the duke but known it, had spent most of the past few evenings watching Damian from beside that very same pillar. Damian was confident his answer—calm, disinterested, just hesitant enough—had achieved the desired effect. In truth, however, there had been no “perhaps” about it. By now, he knew the man’s name almost as well as he did his own.

His name was Conrad, Conrad Quintano, and those eyes that had been at the center of the duke’s complaint, the eyes that Damian could feel trained upon him even now, were surely the most astonishingly mesmerizing orbs the good God had ever created.

In fact, those same adjectives could also be applied to the man himself. Conrad was, perhaps, half a head shorter than Damian, but possessed of so powerful a physique that, just gazing upon it, quite literally stole Damian’s breath away. His face was hard, not beautiful in any sense of the word, but strong and so very masculine. His usual expression was dour, grim, the look of a man who had perhaps seen too much of the world. But fierce as Conrad was wont to appear, there was yet a sweetness to his mouth that Damian could almost taste and he wished, oh, how he wished, that he could taste it in truth.

As of yet, they’d exchanged only a few brief smiles and a handful of words in passing, but Damian had spent most of the intervening hours spinning deliciously erotic fantasies in which they did and said so much more. These last few nights in particular, as he rolled about on his cot, quite unable to sleep, those same sweet syllables had repeated themselves endlessly within his head. Conrad Quintano. Conrad Quintano. Con-rad Quin-ta-no.

“He looks like a peasant,” the duke observed.

Damian sighed. He did not look like a peasant. There was a regal air about the man that showed itself in the way he stood, the way he walked, the way he held himself. “And yet, he seems quite taken with you, my lord.”

“What’s that you say?” the duke snapped. “Me? Are you blind, Montoya? It is you he’s been staring at.”

“Sí.” Damian pressed closer to the duke, faking a tremor. “I fear your Excellency is quite right about that. If looks could kill, I know I would be in grave peril. It’s obvious he envies me my position and wishes to replace me by your side. In truth, now that I think it, I’m not sure I should not fear for my life. He looks to be extremely dangerous. Do you not think so, Excellencia? And more than capable of doing…well, just about anything he might wish to do.”

The last part of his speech was no exaggeration and Damian could not completely suppress an actual shiver of delight as he thought about it. In his fantasies, Conrad had already done a great many things, all of them capably.

The duke frowned. “Has this been going on for some time then? You should have mentioned it to me sooner. Who does the brigand think he is, to threaten you while you are under my protection? It’s insupportable. I shall have those eyes plucked from his head for his presumption. Perhaps I should send a few men over there now, to teach him some manners.”

Ay, Dios mio. Damian bit his lip. It was possible he’d overplayed that last hand. “Oh, but surely that’s not necessary? If your Excellency pleases, would you not prefer me to bring him over here, that you might speak with him instead?”

The duke looked affronted. “You forget yourself. Why should I wish to speak to such a one as he? Did you not just hear me say it? The man is a peasant. I am sure of it.”

“Sí, Excellencia, I am sure you are correct, as always. But, if you’ll forgive me, that is precisely my point. One would not wish to discount the peasants too quickly, would you not agree? For, upon my honor, I’m convinced they must rank among the world’s most proficient lovers.”

“Montoya! What nonsense is this? Is it your intention to insult me?”

Damian shook his head. “No, no, Excelencia. Le ruego perdonarme. Never would I do such a thing. If my lord will but allow me to explain?”

“Sí. Do so,” the duke replied, glaring at Damian through narrowed eyes. “Immediately.”

“Well, my lord, if you will but consider their numbers, I’m sure you will agree with me. How can they not be prodigiously skillful at the art of lovemaking? There are so very many of them in the world. Given the rate at which they’re reproducing, they must be devoting all of their time to practice!”

It took a moment for Damian’s thrust to hit home. Eventually, it did however. The duke laughed aloud, clapped Damian on the back and turned immediately to the neighbor on his other side and repeated the joke, giving himself the credit for having thought of it.

Satisfied the danger had been averted, Damian allowed himself the luxury of glancing once again in Conrad’s direction, but the space he had occupied all night beside the pillar was now vacant. Disappointed, Damian scanned the courtyard, hoping for at least another glimpse of the man, but Conrad was nowhere in sight. Que pena, Damian thought sighing sadly, his enjoyment of the night severely diminished. What a pity.

Never, in all his life, had Damian known anyone who affected him in the way Conrad did. Next to him, all other men dwindled into insignificance. They left him cold, whereas Conrad fired his blood.

He wanted him as he had never wanted anyone. His body ached to have him in all the most unholy ways. There had to be some means by which he might satisfy the lust that raged within him or it would surely drive him mad.

All he needed was a small space of time in which to indulge his desires, just a few short hours, perhaps a single night, if he were lucky. If he could but contrive a way in which the two of them might be alone together, undisturbed—was that really so much to ask? Ah, if only fate would smile upon him.



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Now Comes the Night

Home is where the heart bleeds.



Now Comes the Night

Children of Night, Book 3



Growing up, vampire-born twins Julie and Marc Fischer were taught one simple fact of life: you can choose your food, but not your family. Six months after moving to San Francisco, though, the new challenges and choices each are facing are a Gordian knot of complicated.



Marc must decide whether to stay with Conrad and Damian, the only family he’s ever known, or embrace his destiny and the unexpected family—the ferals—that comes along with it. Meanwhile, Julie is forced to deal with the unpleasant realization that the man she loves isn’t necessarily the man who’s best for her.



For Conrad and Damian, the holiday season is stirring up bittersweet memories, and neither can keep from revisiting past passion and pain. 



Faced with new mysteries to solve, new alliances to forge, new secrets to keep, and old relationships to rebuild, it’s no wonder the Fischer-Quintano vampires long for the good old days—when food was food and family was all that mattered. 




Product Warnings
If you’ve previously suffered from Disco Fever, this book could precipitate a relapse. Extreme care is recommended for anyone with a pronounced weakness for mistletoe, fang play, pretty young men of either species or extremely dangerous alpha-male vampire single dads. May contain trace amounts of polyester. 




Tour Dates:








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3/5 Harlie's Books



3/7-8 Smutketeers

3/9 Day Dreaming Book Reviews



3/11 Ms. Romantic Reads












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Available at:



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Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Now-Comes-Night-Children-ebook/dp/B00AYOSV6W




Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/now-comes-the-night-pg-forte/1114192603?ean=9781619214729

He's a Heartbreaker...

When it comes to heartbreaking-heroes, I've written a few. One of my favorites is Conrad from my Children of Night series. Conrad is a twelve-hundred-year-old vampire. And what makes him a heartbreaker is his inability to completely control the dark, violent out-of-control side of his nature--what he refers to as "the beast".



Conrad can be pompous, arrogant and even self-indulgent at times--in short, he can act like a real jerk. His temper is often unpredictable and he's chased most of his lovers away, at one time or another, but he has a tender side as well. And he'd move heaven and earth for any one of his loved ones. He's also very protective--as seen here, in this snippet from Old Sins, Long Shadows, when he's forced to leave a newly-turned and undefended Damian behind:






 “Sleep, mi amor,” he murmured softly. “And fear nothing. I will stay with you now for as long as I’m able to; and I’ll be there to greet you when you awaken.”

And if anyone dares harm you in between, I will kill them. You have my word on that. I’ll return here with an army and make Sevilla a cursed place and not rest until I have avenged your death by filling the streets with blood and slaughtering every living soul within the city walls.




Luckily, it didn't come to that!



Conrad's a complicated man. As one reviewer put it recently:  "Conrad comes across as a badass, but he's super loyal and has a big heart."



He also grovels quite deliciously. 


Here's an excerpt from the first book in the series, In the Dark, which is set partially in 1968-69. In this scene, Conrad is just waking up after his first night with his new lover, a young hippie known only as "Desert Rose": 







Sunday, October 27, 1968









“Wake up, sleepyhead,” a soft voice murmured in Conrad’s ear, startling him back into consciousness. His eyes shot open, only to be met with an excruciating brightness. Someone must have pulled aside the heavy drapes that hung over his windows. Brutal daylight washed the room, like a flood of daggers. His heart racing, he twisted around, his fangs lowering automatically into position. He had to force his mouth shut when he realized there was no threat to be neutralized, no enemy to be vanquished, when he remembered where he was, and with whom. His bedroom. Desert Rose. Fuck.

Swearing silently, he turned away from the girl and buried his face in the pillows He clenched his teeth, swallowing the bitter venom that filled his mouth, waiting for his pulse to slow and the kill instinct to subside. He only hoped it would be soon, or at least soon enough.

And all the while…“Con-rad,” she chanted in singsong as she walked her fingers up and down his back. “Time to get up. Wakey-wakey.”

No. It could not possibly happen soon enough. “Get away from me,” he snarled in warning.

“Well, someone’s a grumpy bear this morning, isn’t he?” Heedless of the danger she was placing herself in, Desert Rose leaned over his back to press a warm, wet, entirely too sloppy kiss on his cheek. Her hair brushed against his face setting his nerves on fire.

Conrad shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge her. It didn’t work.

“You really might wanna think about getting up, you know,” the girl said as she began to bounce up and down on the bed.

Deep breaths, Conrad thought, calm down. The scent of her filled his nostrils. Her blood called to him to take it. No. Think about something else. Like her innocence, the tears she’d almost shed for him, the sweet trust in her eyes.

“It’s getting to be almost noon here.”

“Yes.” Conrad sighed. He was almost in control again. “It does that. Same time each day. Now, stop bouncing and shut the curtains.”

“But, how come? Don’t you wanna let the sunshine in?”

His control dissolved. Who did she think she was, anyway—some new front man for The Fifth Dimension? “I said shut the damn curtains. Now!”

“Okay, well, you can stay here and sleep, if you want. I’m gonna go out and enjoy this beautiful day. So I guess I’ll say good-bye now.”

Now she had his attention. She couldn’t be serious? Half turning, he squinted and looked her over. Yes, apparently, she was. She was already dressed, right down to her boots. Her face looked hazy, but he supposed that was just an effect of the light. “Where, exactly, do you think you’re going?” he demanded in what he hoped she’d recognize as an ominous tone. Had he told her she could leave? He didn’t think he had.

His question seemed to surprise her. “Nowhere, really. I’m just, you know, going.” She shrugged. “But, um, I was thinking we could, you know, maybe see each other again sometime?”

“I don’t think so.” He briefly considered forcing her back to sleep. He could do it, of course, but it would be an effort. Besides, it was probably better if she did go. These days, he almost always slept more soundly alone.

“N-no?” The girl’s eyes widened into an expression of forlorn dismay. “B-but, I thought maybe—”

“No,” Conrad growled, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “We will not ‘maybe see each other again sometime’.” What had the girl been thinking? “I will be seeing you again, right here, next weekend. There will be no maybe about it. Is that understood?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. Half-smiling, she murmured, “Well, gee, I guess I could do that. If I’m not too busy or, you know, if I don’t forget all about you by then.”

Another angry snarl lifted Conrad’s lips. “Do you honestly think it’s a good idea to annoy me like this?” He’d never taken well to being teased—and certainly not in the morning. The morning! He couldn’t even recall the last time anyone had dared wake him at this time of day.

“Okay, okay.” She was smiling wider now. “I’ll see you next weekend. Happy now?”

“No,” he grumbled, closing his eyes again. “But shut the curtains on your way out and I might begin to be.”

“Fine, then. Be that way.” She heaved a long, exasperated sigh as she got off the bed. A moment later blessed darkness reclaimed the room. Conrad relaxed in relief. His conscience, however, was not as easily assuaged. As he heard his bedroom door begin to close, he knew he could not let her leave so soon.

“Wait,” he commanded as he threw back the covers and got out of bed.

“What now?” She paused in the doorway while he shrugged into his dressing gown and crossed to where she stood. He pulled her back into the room and shut the door. Then he pushed her against the wall and kissed her thoroughly, giving her something to remember him by and further cementing his influence over her.

“Now,” he said, eyeing her sternly as his hands caressed the curves of her waist. “No more foolishness. You will tell me exactly what I wish to hear. Where will you be next weekend?”

“I’m coming here,” she answered obediently. “To see you.”

“And you will not forget?”

Her laugh sounded a little forced, a little uncertain but she shook her head and murmured, “No. I won’t forget you. I promise.”

“And if you need anything before then, you’ll call me, yes?”

“I-I…what?”

She looked surprised, which pretty much mirrored his own thoughts on the subject, especially when he found himself elaborating on his instructions. “Before you leave the house today I want you to find Armand. He should be downstairs somewhere. Wake him up, if you have to. Tell him I said he should give you my private phone number. Is that clear?”

“Armand? You mean he lives here too?”

“Yes. Make him write it down, so you don’t forget it. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have anything to write with up here.”

“I don’t get it. Does he, like, work for you, or something? I thought he was your friend?”

“He is,” he answered, not even attempting to explain the complexities of vampire relationships. “He’s my friend who works for me.” And who would likely be extremely surprised at being asked to give out Conrad’s phone number. That number was private for exactly one reason: it was never given to anyone outside of his nest. Why he was choosing to break the rule now, he couldn’t imagine. But, it was his rule, which meant it was his right to break it any time it suited him to do so. Without having to give anyone a reason for it. Not even himself.

“Okay. I’ll call if, if I need to.”

“Good.” After brushing another brief kiss across her lips he opened the door and ushered her into the hall.

He walked her to the top of the stairs then kissed her again, still toying with the idea of holding her captive a little while longer, of feeding from her again before he let her go. Frankly, he could use it. The sudden exposure to so much daylight had left him with a pounding, debilitating headache. He felt like crap. But he’d taken quite enough from her last night. Besides, perhaps leaving a faint edge on his hunger for once would be good for him. It would, at least, be an interesting experience, one that might sharpen the anticipation of seeing her again.

“Au revoir, mignonne,” he said as he let her go. She tripped lightly down the stairs and disappeared from his view. A minute later the murmur of voices reached Conrad’s ears. Good girl, he thought approvingly. Half a minute more, and Armand appeared, his face pensive as he climbed the stairs. “Ça va?” Conrad asked the younger man as he came to stand beside him on the landing. It goes well?

“Oui.” Armand nodded in grudging assent as they leaned on the rail together, side by side, both of them watching through the stained-glass window as Desert Rose made her way down the walkway. “It goes well enough, I suppose. Although I do not think our friend is very happy with me this morning.”

“Ah, mon pauvre garçon.” Conrad threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders and patted him consolingly. “Is she no longer interested in you then? Pardonnez-moi. My fault, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Armand frowned sullenly. “It certainly is.” He shot Conrad a curious glance. “She said you wanted her to have your number. I take it she’ll be back?”

“Definitely. Next weekend, in fact.”

“Really?” Speculation gleamed in Armand’s eyes. “And yet…she seems not to have realized what we are?”

“No.” Conrad could not help smiling as he thought about it. “Intriguing, is it not? The matter appears, somehow, to have escaped her attention. I’m thinking of keeping things that way for a while.”

“Is that wise?”

“I don’t know. But it’s what I want.”

Armand shrugged. “Tres bien.” He paused for a moment, then murmured hopefully, “She’s pretty, no?”

Conrad sighed. Wrapping his arms around the other man, he pulled him close, his chest to Armand’s back. He leaned into the boy’s shoulder and whispered warningly, “I would hate for you to be unclear about my wishes in this matter, Armand. She’s pretty, yes. She’s also mine. All mine. Elle est la mienne. Comprenez-vous?”

“Oui. Je comprends.”

“Good.” Conrad kissed him on the cheek. “Make sure everyone else understands that as well, would you, dear?”

Armand nodded, but his voice still sounded a trifle sulky as he muttered, “D’accord.”

Conrad sighed. “Oh. You’re disappointed.” Taking hold of Armand’s shoulders, he turned him so that they were face to face. He gazed at him thoughtfully. He was a beautiful boy, this newest of his children, but still very young in many ways. Young enough to be hurt by a pretty girl’s rejection? Perhaps. Young enough to be angered by another man’s succeeding where he had failed—or not even failed, but rather, been forced to give way? Definitely. It was, after all, only a dozen or so years since Conrad had sired him. He was still very human. “Perhaps I should make it up to you. You’d like that, yes?”

Comprehension flooded Armand’s face with color. He nodded eagerly. “I would. I’d like that a lot.”

Conrad smiled. He did so like to see that look. Almost nothing made him happier than an eager gleam in his lover’s eyes. And he was sure nothing would restore his depleted energy faster, or make him feel more like his usual self again, than the dark kiss of another vampire. “As will I, mon cher,” he murmured as he drew Armand into his embrace. “I will like it very, very much.”






The third book in the series, Now Comes the Night is now available for pre-order and will release later this month. To read more about this series go HERE. And now, back to the blog-hop!!





We have THREE grand prizes. You as a reader can go to EACH blog and comment with your email address and be entered to win. Yep, you can enter over 200 times!





Now what are those prizes?








1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet



2nd Grand Prize: A $100 Amazon or B&N Gift Card



3rd Grand Prize: A Swag Pack that contains paperbacks, ebooks, 50+ bookmarks, cover flats, magnets, pens, coffee cozies, and more!










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Blue and Gold Salad

I love salad and I love Spring and I love California and all of that comes together in this dish--a salad that reminds me of Spring in California when all the  wildflowers are in bloom—like this
scene from A Taste of Honey (Oberon, book 4):




“It was a glorious
Spring day.  The air along the coast was
warm and lushly scented with yerba buena, eucalyptus and sage.  Fat, majestic puffs sailed across the sky,
casting cloud-shaped shadows onto the earth and sea below, further mottling the
already variegated landscape.  When she
turned off the coast road onto the canyon drive that led to the nursery, she
saw that the  hills that lined the way,
gray-green, emerald, and gold for most of the year, had been transformed.  They’d blossomed overnight into an almost
endless expanse of  orange and
blue--mostly California poppies and lupine--disrupted only where the spiky
silver foliage and dried flower heads of wild artichokes broke through to tower
above them.” 




Ingredients




4 golden beets

4 purple potatoes

3 Tbs EVOO

1 pinch fresh rosemary

1 pinch thyme

salt and pepper to taste

¼  cup + 3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

1 Tbsp honey

1 pinch each of
fresh rosemary and thyme, finely chopped

Juice from ½ Meyer
lemon

Salt and freshly
ground black pepper

4 golden beets

4 purple potatoes

4 slices Applewood
smoked bacon

6 cups fresh
arugula or Mesclun salad mix

2 Granny Smith
apples

½  cup walnuts

¼  cup dried cherries

½  avocado, cut into cubes

3 ounces coarsely
crumbled goat cheese (preferably chèvre)




Directions




Line baking sheet
with foil. Preheat oven to 350 F.




Clean, peel and
chop beets and potatoes into bite-sized pieces. Toss with 3 Tbsp olive oil,
herbs and seasonings to coat then arrange in a single layer on a baking sheet
and bake for 30 minutes.




Remove pan from
oven and stir contents. Add walnuts and drizzle honey over beets, potatoes and
walnuts. Return to oven for another 10 to 15 minutes, or until beets and
potatoes are tender and slightly caramelized.




Remove from oven
and allow to cool slightly.




While beets and
potatoes are cooking, Cook bacon until crisp. Set aside to cool and then
crumble.




Chop apples into
small pieces.




In a small bowl,
combine lemon juice with ½ tsp. salt and ¼ tsp. pepper. Slowly whisk in olive
oil until vinaigrette comes together. Adjust seasonings as needed. 




Serve with a nice glass or Rose or Chardonnay and enjoy!

Happy New Year!

http://carrieannbloghops.blogspot.com/

Welcome to another awesome New Year's Blog Hop!!! It's a new year and we have new books for you to celebrate with--not to mention some fabulous prizes:







1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet



2nd Grand Prize: A $300 Amazon or B&N Gift Card



3rd Grand Prize: A Swag Pack that contains paperbacks, ebooks, 50+ bookmarks, cover flats, magnets, pens, coffee cozies, and more!








As I write this post, the new year is only a few minutes old. My daughter and I have just concluded our traditional ringing-in of the new year, which includes writing down our wishes and goals for the new year and--at midnight--burning the paper on which they were written to send our wishes out into the universe. Then we stood outside, watching the fireworks, while drinking sparkling pink moscato. This year we added a new twist by drinking our wine out of snowman mugs. We'll see if that one sticks.  



Earlier, I made my traditional New Year's Day dessert (and breakfast--what can I say?) Meyer lemon chess pie and my daughter, who spent part of the summer in Portugal made pastel de nata. 



As you might imagine, we're big on New Year's traditions, which (as I've mentioned several times this month--sorry, I mean LAST month!) is something I share with the characters of my newest release, Finders Keepers, even though the book is set several decades in the future. 



To me, it makes sense that people in my fast-changing future world would seek to hang on to whatever traditions would help them feel grounded and secure--especially on a holiday that emphasizes newness. 



So, on this beautiful new day (and according to the weather forecast, it will be very beautiful) I wish you all a very happy new year, wishes fulfilled, and a future that's brighter than you can imagine. 










Sometimes finding what you want is the easy part.



Caleb is a bionic soldier with little-to-no memory of his past. He's seeking the truth about himself and those missing memories.



Aldo's an undercover cop who just might have the answers to Caleb's questions. But if Caleb's the man Aldo thinks he is, how can he let him get away a second time?



Then there's Sally; she's an ER physician who used to be married to Aldo's late partner, Davis. Sally's not dealing with widowhood very well. In fact, it's getting harder, every day, just to find a reason to keep getting out of bed. If the truth about the men's shared past comes to light, she could lose them both. Along with her last, best reason to go on living.



This holiday season, chance will bring them together and give them an opportunity to help one another find what they each want most. But every gift comes with a price. And keeping what they've found once they've found it? Yeah, that's gonna be the hard part. 



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For a hot excerpt, check out this blog post HERE







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