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Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Oldest of them all

I managed to fall in love with this book over the course of crafting it, even though the birth was difficult to say the least. I ended up gutting and rewriting extensively, changing the whole direction, and I couldn't be happier. I got the idea from a news article about the oldest house in history, discovered in the highlands of Scotland, and, together with seeing numerous plotlines about vampires thousands of years old, I told myself: That's not old enough—let's make a REALLY old night walker. Let's make him the first. The book does have sensual, erotic scenes of both same sex and straight relationships, but I have tried my best to make sure they are tastefully done.

     Alasdair Connery has seen a lot in ten thousand years. 

   He’s the first of his kind; the father of all nightwalkers. Together with his trusted assistant Edgar, he trolls for victims to feed from at his time of blood lust. When he’s invited to a wedding, he meets his perfect choices—a married couple. Bruce and Jules have their own sets of insecurities and secrets. She hides a wealth of insecurities under a shield of bravado, and Bruce? He hides the fact that he can’t stop thinking about the love of his life—his college flame Dr. Jeffrey Bayfield. With Alasdair’s powers of seduction working a little too well, he finds that both of them are growing somewhat dependent on him. 

   Growing increasingly annoyed at their emotional baggage, some of which he is responsible for, he’s willing to put up with their games for a short time, but something has to happen before his blood fever is over for another fifty years and he has to go back to donors once again, unable to kill humans for their red gift. He rather likes the killing part. 
And what is he going to do about Edgar’s own growing feelings for him?

Here is a small excerpt:
   He closed his eyes, locating Bruce in his mind.  He had just finished a run, and he was cooling down, sweating slightly as he leaned his hands on his knees. Alasdair admired his strong chest and broad shoulders showing through the thin damp t-shirt sticking to his trim, slightly sculptured torso. He wondered idly if he sported any chest hair at all. He could find out by picturing him nude in his mind, but--he preferred to create a little mystery for himself.  He would see soon enough. A smattering of chest hair was always pleasing to stroke with one’s fingers.  He himself did not possess any, but he was sure Bruce wouldn’t mind in the least.  Dear Bruce missed a male touch desperately.  This was one of the reasons that he had chosen his house setting for Bruce, to see how he would react.  Take it slowly, leave him wanting more.  The hunger for human blood was building in him even now, however, and the small appetizers he received from Edgar quickly became insufficient when his blood fever was climbing.   Wild animals had much more primitive emotions, and their spirits were very strong--     
     But humans were stronger, and had much more flavor.     
     The thought made his erection stir again, then it made him hungry.    
      He walked over to the snare to check it, again enjoying the soft swish of his wool kilt around his nude lower body. He smiled.  A small rabbit was there, still alive.  He had no use for pets, or creatures who lived in the shadows of humans.  Let others he had sired and their descendants live on rat blood and whatever else they could catch.  Disgusting.      
     Thankful, he grabbed the small creature and felt it tremble in his hands as he opened his mouth and released his fangs in its neck, careful not to damage the soft skin. He drank the warm red blood, feeling the transfer of energy.  When he felt its spirit leaving its body, he took his knife and skinned it with a few quick strokes, then deposited the carcass in the bushes for the larger creatures to consume.  The skin and fur always had its uses. And the carcass--well, if it lured a mountain lion, so much the better.  That thought made him smile as he walked toward the house.  He saw Edgar standing at the door, waiting to see if he could be of assistance.  He walked toward him carrying the small scrap of fur and skin. Edgar watched as he ran his tongue around his lips, cleaning off the last of the rabbit’s blood.     
     “Edgar, please take care of this rabbit skin in the usual manner, then come and join me by the fire.  Thank you, my dear.”
     “Yes, sir.” 
     He walked inside to watch the fire and listen to music, perhaps Mozart or possibly Adele, her voice had such a rich quality.  He enjoyed rich things.        
     Edgar took the skin, holding it up to his face, smelling it and taking a small taste of the leftover blood before he took it to the shed to start the curing process. Servants of a lower station than he would finish it.                          


   The characters haven't let me go yet either—I'm working on the sequel. The Ancient is available for purchase  on Amazon:

Thanks again!
Kathy Griffith

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