Welcome to my weekly feature where authors share about the hobbies, careers, or passions of their characters.
I’m pleased to introduce today’s guest, Linda Nightingale…
A Fine Line Between Passion and Obsession
How closely does your passion border on obsession? Quite frequently, for very passionate people, their passion in life is an obsession, particularly those cursed with creativity. I freely admit that I am one of those people. For centuries I have dreamed of a woman to be my wife, the first to bear the title of the Lady of St. Averil since 1685. There’s a problem or two with my dream. You see, a vampire siring a child from a human woman is prohibited by Les Elus, the ruling council of the Vampyre. In fact, such a child is removed from the Vampyre Gene Pool as soon as his/her existence is known. Not only is the offspring killed but both parents suffer the same fate.
The ritual of conception is very exact and very dangerous for the mother. She must be fed the vampire’s blood three times over a short period, then drained near death when she is impregnated. If the father fails, he loses not only his dream but the woman he loves.
My hope was that my vampire/human child would have the powers of the vampire and the morals and sensitivity of its human ancestors. The Vampyre have gifts to offer to humankind. Our blood will heal grievous human ills, and temporarily slow aging. I’m sure there will be quite a call for vampire doctors. I hope my child will be a bridge between two different species. Make no mistake—vampires and humans are different species. The Vampyre Effect alters the mortal’s DNA (Isabeau could explain this better than I) and grants immortality to a predator.
All lofty dreams aside, now a mortal woman has become my passion….Isabeau. She’s beautiful and brilliant—a gifted geneticist (which will come in handy). She loves me, too, but enough to stand the test of eternity? I never dreamed that the woman who’d be my partner in crime would become my passion. Oh, I still cherish my dream of a race of half-breeds, but she is my focus, and I find it difficult to even think of risking her life to make my dream come true.
Sinners’ Opera tells the story of our folie a deux, our double madness. Read but do not judge. Les Elus will sit in judgment one day too soon.
Love is a passion. Obsession is a passion. Love and obsession tread the same fine line as between genius and insanity. Passion means standing naked before the mirror of one’s desires. Do you have the courage? I’m not sure I do.
Morgan D’Arcy is an English lord, a classical pianist, and a vampire. He has everything except what he desires most—Isabeau. As the Angel Gabriel he’s steered her life and career choice, preparing her to become Lady D’Arcy.
Many forces oppose Morgan’s daring plan—not the least of which is Vampyre law.
Isabeau Gervase is a brilliant geneticist. Though she no longer believes in angels, she sees a ticket to a Nobel Prize in Gabriel’s secrets—secrets that have led her to a startling conclusion. Gabriel isn’t human, and she fully intends to identify the species she named the Angel Genome. Morgan is ready to come back into Isabeau’s life, but this time as a man not an angel. Will he outsmart his enemies, protect his beloved and escape death himself? For the first time in eternity, the clock is ticking.
Razor-sharp memory sliced through me, jerking me upright. “’od’s teeth!”
Before the fall, I’d been shot.
Rapid-fire images snapped before my eyes. I saw my Jag plunging over the guardrail at the top of the Old Cooper River Bridge. Now, in the silence of a church, I felt the wind whistling past my face as the force of the fall sucked the breath from my lungs and tried to pluck me from the convertible. Irrationally, I’d clung to the wheel while my beloved roadster sank, in a slow rocking ballet, to the river bottom.
During that interminable swift plunge, I hadn’t been afraid of dying.
Mary touched my arm. “Be still, hon, or you’re gonna start bleeding again.”
I was in no danger of bleeding to death or dying from any natural cause. I knew why I’d heard her thoughts, why the aroma of her blood bedeviled me. I knew who and what I am.
The blood staining her blouse was a miracle drug that could cure the most grievous of human diseases—and secure eternity for a predator. The wound that would have been fatal to a mortal had almost healed. Within hours after the ritual blood exchange, a fragile yet potent virus had mutated my DNA. I’d never actually died; would never feel death’s cold hands. The Vampyre Effect was a transformation from one species to another. For almost four centuries, I’d been a vampire.
The woman leaned over me. I heard the blood whispering in her veins, saw the jugular bulging with each strong heartbeat. Even the scent of my own blood fed the craving. Hunger wrenched my stomach, the need for blood shuddering over me in flashes of heat. The pain twisting inside me was a living thing—ugly, urgent, older than the world. In a vain attempt at control, I ground my teeth until my jaw ached. My hands clenched into fists, the tendons bunched like steel bands beneath the skin. I was losing it, my eyes turning red.
“Run, Mary,” I panted, shoving her. “For God’s sake, run.”
Her hands branded my shoulders. Need coursed through me.
Her brow puckered. “How did you know my name?”
“You look like a Mary,” I gasped, trying to crawl away. “Bloody hell, run, woman.”
After 14 years in Texas, Linda just returned home to her roots. She has seven published novels, four of which are available from Audible.com in audio. For many years, she bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses. So, she’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer. She retired from a career as a legal assistant at MD Anderson Cancer Center to write full time.
She has 2 wonderful sons—one in Texas; one in England—and 4 equally marvelous grandchildren.
She loves horses, sports cars, music, and piano, and enjoys dressing up and hosting formal dinner parties.
Web Site: http://www.lindanightingale.com
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