Not your typical vampire story: this book is an unforgettable paranormal adventure just waiting to reveal itself without restraint! Starting off at a slower, fairytale pace, the story shifts, killing the sweetness without looking back, and jettisons the reader into a world of chaos and calm, loyalty and adversity, redemption and long lost love.Blood Life is a vampire/witch thriller full of blood, magic, love, violence, and sex. It is no Twilight or Vampire Diaries! It's much darker and sexier, but equally as engrossing and unique. The witches and vampires of the fictional world of the Spectrum have united and created a race of half-breeds called the Combined. These are very powerful entities, but their race has been threatened by a rogue vampire with very old, powerful blood named Lokee, the son of the Great Witch, Devendra. This story is about letting Fate play out, but in all its turmoil, trying to save one woman who will be the key to saving the witches, the vampires, AND the Combined. Of course, the villain is very much against all that, and tortures her time and again to try to destroy her.Can the Combined's strongest vampire adversary form an army to defeat them, or will the power of three keep the race on top? Centered around the lives of four integral characters, Blood Life is an adventure series unlike any in the genre. Meet Devendra, a powerful witch descended from one of the first lineages; Lokee, her son and worst enemy; Roman, her friend and companion; and Alethea, the key to it all...
Ok, first, let's all take a moment and look at that cover. Whoa! It is beautiful and frightening. Truly a piece of art! And on top of that all, this book sounds fabulous! So today I have an excerpt for you, and a giveaway!! Good luck!
“Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey
Come from caverns deep
View’d the maid asleep.”
The channel seemed deeper, the troughs and rivets in the road more treacherous. Every rushed step seemed more dangerous and awkward. The city, with its dark gray ceiling, closed in around him and shoved him through the atmosphere. Mud clumped against his boots and his shirt had reached the frail point of hanging off his shoulders as he fell through his doorway.
The odor of the room reached him as he was rising from his knees. A solid, coarse smell that relentlessly tortures the senses; the rancor of fresh blood overwhelmed him.
“Alexandria,” her name rang out, yet he did not realize he shouted it.
The exhaustion of the clamor brought him to rest against the wall in the hallway. Her name rang out from his throat again, still uncontrollable. His vision was stolen to a mass on the floor in the sitting room.
What used to be a wonderful, skilled woman, of witch’s blood, lay unmercifully dead.
Roman covered his mouth, sweat beading along his forehead, and walked in to get a closer look. Elizabeth was stripped; scratches and bruises covered her body. It was the position of her body that told him a rape had taken place before her death, or maybe after.
He lifted her blood-drenched hand to find her forefinger absent. A broach of Amethyst that her mother had given to her before she died, sat quietly in a puddle of bile and saliva in front of Elizabeth’s open mouth. Roman backed up the way he came, sick with fear and denial. He could not bring himself to look away from her petrified eyes, open and locked on his.
Sliding down against the wall, Roman fell into view of the bathroom. Laughing, taunting voices filled his head. He frantically looked around to find nobody there. The pure ivory basin and polished marble floor were now a reservoir. The wooden shutters with broken glass allowed lines of light to seep through, revealing small portions of the red coating on the floor and walls. Overflowing, trickling droplets down the side of the basin were streams of liquid life; but through Roman’s eyes, they were signs of Alexandria’s death.
His first step came out from under him, as his body was crushed across the room and against the basin. Already weeping and shaking his head to try to shut out the voices, he lifted his eyes over the rim to find Alexandria’s lifeless body.
Complete, haunting, silence.
Streaks of her blood marked the wallpaper: four lines, two intertwined and braided down the middle with one straight on either side of the formation.
Marked, he thought as he ran his fingers along the gashes, smearing the blood. He dropped to his knees beside the tub, reaching into the water to collect Alexandria into his arms. He pulled her to him, sobbing, suffocating himself in the tender flesh of her neck.
“NOOOOOO!” he screamed to the ceiling. “WAKE UP!!” He pinched himself, finding no satisfaction; he beat his own head against the tub, trying to beat himself out of the nightmare, the trick.
He found himself outside the house aimlessly searching the surroundings with blind eyes. He held fast to Alexandria, carrying her with him. The weight pushed him back down to his knees. He looked up and saw the sky revolve and twist. He witnessed no Gods above him.
“Have the ethereal angels been lost,” he cried at the top of his lungs. “Can you strike me down, or have you lost your lightning arms? Now I am truly here to stand against this term of mortal torment alone. I have lost my will to live!” Gravity brought him face down. He protected Alexandria’s limp head from the dirt.
“There is no one left to heal this hideous wretch, nobody to choose my mortality. Oh, if I could free my soul from this pressing time of mourning, if I could drop my aegis and expose my heart, there would still be no God to take its rhythm. Who would allow this withered corpse to fall into the covenant of the earth and join my Alexandria?”
He laid her body down softly in front of him. Smoothing her hair back, he kissed her eyelids, closing them to give her peace.
A strong, masculine hold pulled his head from her chest.
Reluctantly pulling his grasp from his love, Roman stood up. Swaying on his feet, he tilted his head down, unable to look away from Alexandria’s unmoving form.
Slowly, he convinced himself to lift his eyes and study the force that had demanded his attention. He found himself staring into the face of the woman from the pub. Her velvet garments were whirling and enraged.
“She is just resting . . . isn’t she?” His words tore at the woman, her face grew darker and she reached out to take his hand.
He snapped his arms away as she did. “You filthy witch—” his voice couldn’t unleash the rage in his heart, “—I’ll burn you!”
He lunged with all his might, only to land at her feet. He turned and scrambled back over to Alexandria, protecting her from the woman.
She stood, frowning down at him. “You would be mad to try.”
“Her blood—” he gathered her body into his arms again, holding her out for the woman to view, “—you drained her blood . . . you took her from me.”
He found himself choking on tears again as he lay on the ground and pulled Alexandria on top of him, cradling her to his chest.
“No, not me,” the woman answered solemnly. “Lokee took her life; I am your protector, but I could not save her. If I left you, you would have ended up as Alexandria is now. Don’t you dare blame me! I, Devendra, have been with you.”
Roman looked up at her, surprised by her name and familiarity. Devendra leaned down and took Alexandria into her own arms, carrying her away.
Roman jumped up, following her to a grove of redwood trees not far from town. The walk seemed to take hours, as he fell countless times, weeping and unable go any further. Devendra urged him on, promising a light at the end of his tunnel.
Moments later, they reached a bed of roses, fresh and at full bloom. Devendra laid Alexandria down on them, murmuring a soft, sweet prayer, then with a thrust of her hand, ripped open the Earth and lowered Alexandria’s body down into it—safe to rest in peace.
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