MMF Vampire Erotic Romance, HFN ending
Release Date 5 October 2020
22,000 words, 81 pages
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN (Smashwords): 9781005361945
Their love may be his last hope for redemption.
Bitter and alone, Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of Fin d’Espoir. He has sworn to never again taste human blood. Then a fierce storm and a runaway horse bring a slender, raven-haired beauty to his lair. When she begs him to take her, he cannot resist.
Madeleine and Troy hope that a carefree vacation in tropical Jamaica will reignite their faded passion. On a mountain trail ride, Maddy’s horse bolts, carrying her deep into the jungle. Injured and lost, she is saved by a giant of a man whose mere presence kindles unbearable desire. By the time she understands his dark nature, it is far too late for her to escape.
When Maddy returns, Troy finds her greatly changed : ravenous in bed, restless and disturbed otherwise. The elegant stranger he meets on the beach holds the key to her transformation – and soon has seduced Troy as well.
Tortured by his conscience, Etienne is determined to set the young couple free. But their love may be his last hope for redemption.
Note: This book was previously published by Totally Bound under the title Fire in the Blood. It has been edited and updated for this release.
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08K55W8QD
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08K55W8QD
Amazon Canada – https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08K55W8QD
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1045343
Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55526630-fin-d-espoir
Enjoy an Exclusive Online Excerpt over at Beyond Romance
The horse lurched and shuddered, plunging down a sudden slope. Maddy barely escaped tumbling over his head. A broken branch ripped through her shorts and gashed her thigh. Lightning bloomed overhead. In the brief instant of brightness, she glimpsed ragged cliffs towering above them and a lush valley below. Thunder and profound darkness descended together.
The horse continued his downward rush. Desperate, Maddy clung to the saddle, her legs aching with the effort. It was all too easy to imagine herself broken and trampled on that rocky ground.
Impossible brilliance dawned, followed by a crash that left her ears ringing. Maddy smelled ozone and charred wood. An orange tongue flared on a nearby ridge, silhouetting towering trees before it was quenched by the downpour.
The ground became more level. Her mount picked up speed, splashing through a stream that crossed his route and showering her legs with water far colder than the rain. The underbrush thinned. They raced along through a natural tunnel formed by the branches arching overhead. Another lightning bolt crackled through the forest. It illumined what looked like a man-made structure, a few hundred yards ahead.
“Hello!” she yelled, trying to make herself heard above the din of the storm. “Anyone—please—help…!” She peered into the grey-green shadows. Had she been mistaken? The rain eased slightly. The damp breeze was redolent of smoke and growing things.
She must have loosened her grip. Lightning arced through the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that rattled her bones. The stallion froze, screaming its terror to the freshening wind. It rose on its hind legs, beating the air with its front hooves and dashing Maddy to the ground.
Lightning snaked across the clouds. Like its twin, fiery pain forked in Maddy’s ankle. The horse reared above her prone body, ready in its mad fear to crush her into the muddy earth. Grimacing with the effort, she tried to roll out of the way, though she knew she was too late.
“Whoa now, my pretty. Du calme, du calme.”
A man’s voice, deep and resonant, full of power. The stallion responded immediately, dropping back to all fours and hanging its head. A tall figure stepped out from behind a tree and grasped the bridle. “Good boy,” he murmured in the horse’s ear, gently stroking its muzzle all the while. “No need to fear now. Calm down.”
The transformation from a crazed beast to a docile pet was close to instantaneous. The man’s voice had a similar effect on Maddy, slowing her racing heart, even easing the throbbing in her ankle.
The stranger loomed over her, a huge man-shaped shadow. Full night had arrived, and Maddy could see nothing of the man’s features. She shivered and felt her heartbeat quicken once again. She was lost and alone, crippled by an ankle that was sprained if not broken. What could she do to protect herself?
He sank on his haunches next to her aching, muddy body. “Are you hurt, Miss?” he asked, his vowels rounded by the traces of French. Maddy’s fear melted in the warmth of that rich voice. The scent of roses tickled her nostrils. The pain in her ankle dwindled to an occasional annoying twinge.
The man’s skin reminded her of the Blue Mountain coffee she and Troy had enjoyed at breakfast, a brown so dark it was almost black. Raindrops gleamed on his smooth cheeks and pooled in the hollow of his throat. Looking at him made her thirsty. He was powerfully built, with massive shoulders swelling out from his worn denim vest. Underneath, his muscled chest was bare. A tight frizz of black hair grew in the furrow between his breasts.
As he crouched at her side, his jeans stretched taut over his thighs but hung loosely around his narrow hips. Another line of kinky curls ran down from his navel to disappear under his waistband.
His face was the visage of a Nubian king, prominent cheekbones and a fleshy nose with elegant, flared nostrils. His liquid-brown eyes were set wide apart, in deep sockets protected by the fine arch of his brows. His proud forehead rose above them, up to the tight-knit black frizz that covered his skull.
And his mouth… Maddy couldn’t stop herself from staring at those full lips, mahogany-red against his rosewood-dark face. They were parted in a half-smile that revealed the pearly white of perfect teeth.
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh
supernatural, paranormal, time-travel, erotic, romance
“How’s the headache?” Jake asked.
“Mmm, better, thanks. Just have a bit of a sore throat today.”
“Gran says you look a little flushed.”
Hannah chuckled nervously.
Jake’s gran set a bowl of porridge in front of her and sat down to join them.
Hannah took a spoonful of treacle from the fancy little pot and swirled it over the porridge, wondering how to bring up the subject of her missing man. She really should have got his name before she fell asleep. It would make this inquiry a lot easier.
“Um…” She tried the oatmeal. “Do you have…workers—you know, employees that work here—besides you?”
“Nope, there’s just me and Gran. When we need outside help, the neighbors usually pitch in.”
“Huh. Do you rent out rooms?” she fished.
“Nope, only to you.” He chuckled, scraping the last of his breakfast from the bottom of the bowl.
Hannah pinched her lip. “Um, okay, look… Last night, I, uh… My throat was sore, as I said, so I came down here to see if maybe you had some orange juice. I hope you don’t mind,” Hannah rushed. “Um, and I, uh, ran into a man…”
Jake’s Gran shot to her feet and she crossed herself just like she’d done last evening before she’d left Hannah’s room.
“You met a man…down here?” Jake said slowly.
Hannah swallowed and laughed again uneasily. “Yeah, he…um…he was here in the kitchen. He looks just like the guy in the painting in my room.”
Jake’s eyes rounded and his spoon fell noisily to the table as his gran spoke rapidly in Welsh and an overly excited voice. Uneasiness skittered across the back of Hannah’s neck.
“Did he give you a name?” Jake asked. “Gran wants to know.”
“No, I didn’t catch his name. I was hoping you could tell me.”
Jake shook his head. “Nope, I can’t help you.” He stood up from the table and took his bowl to the sink.“You let me know when you’re ready to go to the bus station, Hannah. I’ll gladly take you.”
“But…I was hoping…to stay and…”
Jake shook his head slowly with a skeptical look on his young face. “And hang out with a ghost some more? I doubt that’s what you had in mind for your holiday.”
“A ghost?” She gave a half-assed chuckle, watching Jake intently. “Right, a ghost. Funny. Canadian tourist, right here”—she pointed at her own face—“in haunted old Wales,” she tried to joke, but by the look on his face he didn’t find it funny.
“Look, Hannah, I don’t know what to say. Gran swears he’s here. I’ve never actually seen him, so I don’t really believe it, but I will admit some strange stuff goes on here that defies explanation. If you ran into him last night, I’m sorry that he scared you.”
“He didn’t…scare me… You’re scaring me, to tell the truth. You’re trying to make me believe that…that the guy I”—she almost said ‘fucked’ before she caught herself—“met was a ghost?”
“Well, I guess you should consider yourself lucky that he didn’t frighten you. I’ve gotta go get some work done before you need to leave.” He began to walk out of the room.
Hannah jumped up and gripped his arm, as near hysteria climbed up her sore throat. “The guy, in the portrait. He’s dead?”
“Well, I don’t know. I assume he is. That painting has been here as long as I can remember. It was here when Gran was a child, she told me before. Her family has lived here for generations.”
Hannah began to tremble uncontrollably.
Jake lowered her into a chair. “It’s okay, Hannah. You’ll be all right. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll take you to Swansea and you can just carry on with your trip. Just think of the story you’ll get to tell when you get back to Canada.”
The story she’d get to tell? Who the hell would believe her? Oh, by the way, Cassie, I shagged a ghost while I was in the UK. They’d lock her up and throw away the key for sure. “But…but who is the man in the painting?” She looked at him, needing answers.
“I don’t know. Like I said, it was here. For all we know it is just an artist’s vision and not a real person at all.” He looked over at his gran and shrugged.
Hannah didn’t believe that. He had been real. If he was a—she didn’t even want to think it—a ghost, then he had to have been alive at some point.
Near tears, she covered her mouth. What was going on? She felt that same awful ache of grief she’d experienced upstairs. She couldn’t be so sick and feverish, that she’d hallucinated this whole thing.
Jake bent down and patted her shoulder. “Why don’t you go throw some cool water on your face and pack up your things? I’ll take you to your hotel.”
Hannah swallowed hard and nodded, getting up and stumbling blindly towards the stairs.
She entered the room, keeping her back to the portrait, piling her things into her suitcase without folding them neatly. She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, throwing cold water on her face then drying it without even looking into the mirror, afraid that she might see him there.
Hannah had to know. She pulled the collar of her shirt wide and looked down at her breasts. The bruises were still there. What the fuck? Wow, I’ve been ‘used’ by a ghost. Leave it to her to have a relationship with the most unavailable guy around. Oh, wait—he wasn’t a guy at all. She felt light-headed. Jake was right, she needed to get the hell away from here.
Hannah took her toothbrush and hairbrush from the sink, tossed them carelessly into the case, and zipped it up. Hastily, she looked around the room for anything that she might have forgotten.
“Can I help…?”
Hannah jumped a mile at the sound of Jake’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just wanted to help with your bags.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Allowing him to take the two bigger bags, she followed him out, slinging her carry-on over a shoulder. As Hannah passed the painting she had to expend an enormous amount of willpower not to look at it. It was as if it pulled at her, demanding her attention. She ignored it and hurried down the stairs after Jake.
As Hannah reached the bottom of the stairs the floor tilted. The room’s particles whizzed around and she knew he was near. Even though it felt like she was going to pass out or throw up, she bee-lined for the exit. Hannah pulled open the massive door and lunged outside, inhaling deep gulps of cool air into her lungs.
She sat down heavily on the front steps while Jake put her things in the car.
“You ready, Hannah?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Yes.” He reached a hand out to her and she took it gratefully, needing some support—not only physically but emotionally as well.
They drove down the lane. Hannah had already made the decision that she wouldn’t look back. But she did, and almost choked when she saw an old farmhouse. Last night when they’d driven up, it had been a castle. She’d seen it. The lightning had flashed and she’d seen a freakin’ castle. At least that was what she’d thought. Nothing was making sense. As she stared at the old house, she caught sight of movement at the very topmost, octagonal-shaped window in what must be an attic. The pane of glass took on the silvery hue she’d witnessed so many times during the night, as if the house or someone in it were trying to summon her.
Hannah closed her eyes and turned back around in the seat.
Enjoy an Excerpt from Book 4 – Rising from the Darkness
After about an hour of lifting medium-sized boulders into a mining cart, Mishel slowed, his body heavy and listless. He could do this all day at any other time, but for some reason his normal drive was deserting him. But he didn’t want Joel to think he was a bad or lazy laborer, so he kept at it until he almost dropped a large rock on his foot.
“’Er now. Wha’ are ya doin’, mate? You’re gonna break your geddamn foot.”
“Good thing for steel-toed boots, eh, Ten?”
“Ya don look so good. Perhaps ya’d better sit. Grab my canteen o’er there and take a drink.”
Appreciatively, Mish did. He took a long draw on what he assumed was water, but came up spitting and sputtering. “Jesus Christ, Ten. What the fuck have you got in here?” Disgusted, Mishel dragged his hand over his mouth.
“Whiskey, o’ course. How the hell do ya think I keep from goin’ looney tunes down ’ere?”
“Well, there’s one way to do it. But you could warn a guy.”
Ten sat on a massive rock across from Mish and held out his hand. Mish passed him the flask. The big man took a big gulp.
“Where are ya from?” Ten asked.
“South Carolina.” Just as he hadn’t been more specific with Joel, he was the same here. Most likely they’d have no idea whereabouts he meant anyway.
“‘Ere now, take another sip, and let’s get back ta work. The boss is the devil’s own when we slacken off.” Ten screwed the top on and tossed it to Mish. He then went to work. But Mish set it aside. He was already feeling somewhat queasy—another sip might make him lose his lunch.
“Christ, when was the last time he cleaned the inside of that flask.” Mish spat, trying to get the revolting taste out of his mouth.
Sluggishly, he attempted to work, but his head ached along with the rest of his body. The nausea led to dizziness. He wanted to escape the cavern in the worst way. But when Joel had gone above ground he’d taken the lift up to ground-level with him.
Unable to locate Ten by that point, Mish sat on the ground. The blackest of moods settled over him. Dark thoughts plagued him. The longer he sat there, the worse it got. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, beginning at the top of his head, and peel it away. The image of it developed in his mind. The urge to mutilate himself was almost overwhelming.
He rubbed his eyes viciously, irritated by the dust he assumed.
All of a sudden he heard scratching noises. “Oh just fuckin’ great. Rats, no effing doubt! God I hate this place. Joel, Christ! Come get me. I can’t stand it.”
He listened intently. Somewhere off in the distance, he thought he could hear water trickling. But beneath that… there was something else. “What the fuck is that?” He shut his eyes and concentrated.
It sounded like a woman, crying. She was in agony, as if she were being brutalized. Calling, begging, pleading for help. Her suffering was palpable, the sorrow in her cries crushing. It consumed him—the anguish to get to her was overpowering.
Mish sprang to his feet with sudden energy. “I’m coming! Hang on!”
He started to run, but found himself knocked on his ass. He’d run into something absolutely solid.
With a shake of his head, he stared up.
It was a man, but it definitely wasn’t Ten.
Mish’s blood ran cold. The man was not of this time. His chest was bare except for a scrap of thin blue fabric worn like a sash. Mish gaped at the hardened warrior who stared at him intensely.
“Don’t you hear her?” Mish asked, his voice sounding puny and pathetic, even to him. “Why aren’t you helping her?” He stood up, facing the giant.
The ancient man opened his mouth to speak, but the horrid smell that came from his gape sent Mish to his knees, retching.
Mish was so drained he crawled on his hands and knees, finally collapsing with his face in the dirt. Unable to move, he was certain he was dying. The rock beneath him began to crumble away. He was totally aware, but too exhausted to save himself.
Just as suddenly as the earth had begun to disintegrate, it stopped. Most of his body had a solid base under it—only one arm dangled over the precipice. Mish groaned as his stomach roiled again. He had nothing left to heave.
Listlessly, he turned his head, dragging his chin through the dirt. He looked over the edge and peered into the clear blue eyes of a woman.
She reached for him.
With his arm hanging limply over the side, their fingers almost touched.
Help me, she pleaded, but her lips never moved.
He’d found her. But it was too late. For both of them.
For a more erotic excerpt hop on over to the original Pick a Genre Already and enjoy an extract from The Fall of Cairnnon Castle, and for a non-erotic, more evocative teaser, click over to Breaking Genre for a snippet from Dark Foursome.
Single mom Mikaylah MacDonough and her only daughter Autumn have been on their own a long time. So, when Autumn goes off to school, it seems only natural for Kaylah to pull up stakes and follow, though with some clear-cut boundaries, of course. She’s determined to give Autumn space to enjoy the whole college experience but remain close enough for emergencies, meals and laundry. But when the closing date of the current house overlaps with taking possession of the ‘new’ house, along with orientation week, Autumn has to go it alone. From that moment on, Kaylah’s dreams of a new beginning turn into a complete and total nightmare.
When former serviceman Jerusalem Aames drives up to the century-old Cleary house, he sees dollar signs for himself and his all-veteran crew. The rundown, old place would finally put his fledgling construction-renovation firm in the black. But the moment he meets the gorgeous homeowner who had been duped into buying the money-pit, his attraction is swift and instantaneous.
However, there’s something very strange going on in the dilapidated house that has nothing to do with rotting timbers or shoddy wiring. Whatever it is, it’s affecting Kaylah’s state of mind, and Salem finds himself in a battle he’s not sure he can win.