Genre: Adult, paranormal
Publisher: Rainstorm Press
Number of pages: 218
Word Count: 85,000 words
Formats available: Print. E-book
Cover Artist: John Cosentino
Her soft golden skin, her warm smile…these are the only images Veronica Austin has left of her mother who disappeared without a trace twenty years ago on the streets of Minneapolis while researching the Ramanga, the Lamia, the Metusba, and the Lugat. Known only as the Deamhan, they are a different breed from the modern bloodsucking vampire.
A stranger to this world, Veronica’s search for the truth about her mother’s unexplained disappearance takes her into their sinister and precarious world. She gains the trust of the only other human familiar with the Deamhan lifestyle. With his help she finds not only can the Deamhan not be trusted but it’s her own father, president of a ruthful organization of researchers, who has diabolically maintained that distrust.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/JvXvINwJpH0
The flames of white candles stationed on wooden ledges throughout the room gave the space a disenchanted glow. The air smelled of Indian incense. An immense glass window towered over the dance floor with a thick red curtain draped over its edges. A glass bowl filled with grapes sat on a glass table arranged between two black leather couches covered in red and blue velvet pillows. A black curtain blocked the far wall of the room. Veronica awed at the room’s splendor. It was absolutely beautiful and not what she expected of a vampire.
It was far from stereotypical. She expected to see filth and remains of dead or dying victims scattered throughout. She’d prepared herself for the smell of blood and decomposing flesh covered in pure orifices of human decadence. There was none of that. Unlike a Deamhan, Lambert valued luxury over secrecy. Veronica’s curiosity surrounding him grew.
“Would you like a drink?” Alexis walked over to the bar near the black curtain.
She grabbed a glass from the counter and pulled back on the tassel. The curtain drifted to the left, revealing an unsettling image.
Veronica gasped, covering her mouth. Two wooden beams in the form of a cross held a woman who looked to be near death. Metal bracelets covered both her wrists and ankles, keeping her stationed on the cross with only a small, wooden platform for her bound feet. Totally naked, bite marks, welts, and other bruises peppered her skin. Bloodied thread sewn her lips shut. Her eyes remained closed with her head tilted to the side.
Veronica watched Alexis press a white button located on the wall. The woman’s body jerked. Her mouth opened slightly, and she let out a muted scream. The metal bracelets constricted and blood seeped from a tiny hole in them, dripping to another opening located on the bottom platform, beneath the woman’s feet. She pressed the button again and the woman wailed. The flow of blood continued, and Alexis placed her cup beneath the window near the floor, under a small spout where it emptied. She stopped pressing the button and gently sipped the blood from her cup.
“Ah.” She snickered at Veronica’s horrified response. Underneath the bruises and dried blood, the woman looked oddly familiar to Veronica. She’d seen her before in Dark Sepulcher, but she couldn’t place where. Her ponytails were disheveled. It took only seconds to finally realize where she’d seen the woman before: in the bathroom with Alexis on her first night in Dark Sepulcher.
The curtain whisked back into place, hiding the malicious view. Suddenly the environment didn’t seem as luxurious as Veronica believed it to be. It masked the dark side of Dark Sepulcher and it gave a fooled sense of contentment to its victims before they were devoured. Just like the victim behind the curtain, drained whenever Alexis wished it. This was the Dark Sepulcher Sean warned her about.
Alexis walked past her and toward the door.
“Is this what I came here for?” Veronica’s question did little in aggravating Alexis.
“Who? Her?” There was no remorse in Alexis’ voice. Still grasping the cup in her hand, Alexis licked her lips. “She’s just another bipedal on the food chain. Like you.” She closed the door behind her.
Veronica walked to the couch, slowing sliding into the cushioned seats. She buried her head in her hands to rid the image of the woman from her mind. She thought of the pain of sharp incisions on her wrists and ankles every time that button was pressed, her wounds kept open and being kept alive for as long as Alexis wished.
Being a witness to another human’s suffering tampered with Veronica’s reason in accepting her invite. Feeling powerless to stop the woman’s pain and suffering—was this going to be the norm? Veronica mentally prepared herself for this. But why did the woman’s plight haunt her?
“Focus, Veronica,” she whispered to herself.
Her hands tottered slightly and she grabbed a grape from the glass bowl. The urge to run out of the room to the nearest police station flew from her thoughts. They wouldn’t believe her anyway.
She popped the grape in her mouth and took another from the bowl. She placed her hands underneath her legs to control her shaking. Her eyes scanned the room’s decorations: a huge flat screen television, cordless phones, a DVD player, computers, printers, a microwave, massive stereo equipment—all overshadowed by artifacts littering the walls.
An ancient double battle mace weapon, complete with two mace heads covered in long spikes laid next to a desktop computer. Near the flat screen television she saw a chain mail armor suspended above a long table covered in a red silk table cover. A warrior’s helmet sat in the middle, surrounded by small knives and miniature candle holders.
Hanging above the computer, Veronica saw an old oil painting of a man in chain mail armor and a helmet. His deep, dark brown eyes beamed at her. His brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders. He sat in a chair decorated in jewels and small carved statues of dragons.
She stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to the glass window. Below, the club seemed alive with movement. The thick and insulated glass kept out the music, yet it thumped to every sound of bass.
“Veronica Austin.” A voice called out behind her. She turned around facing the man behind the voice. He shifted his fingers through his thick brown hair. He wore a black turtleneck shirt with black pants. The candlelight tricked Veronica’s eyes, and she observed his irises changing from brown to hazel. His prominent jaw line and his pointed nose completed his smooth and seemingly ageless face. Her eyes shifted to the portrait, then back to him. It was him but from a different time period. The picture didn’t do his guise any justice.
“It’s a one way mirror,” the male announced. “Don’t worry. No one can see you up here.”
Veronica looked back at the mirror. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Depends,” the male replied. “I’m Lambert.” He bowed his head slightly. In his hand, he held a chalice similar to Alexis’. “That picture is of my other life. Not the best portrait of me, but I prize it nonetheless.” He walked over to the couch. “Are the grapes good?”
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About the Author:
An avid gamer, writer, and lover of history, Isaiyan Morrison was born and raised in Minnesota. She moved to San Diego, California while in the Navy. After serving four years of active duty, she moved to Los Angeles.
After a few years, she moved back to Minnesota where she started to pursue her dream to be an author.
Besides writing, she also likes to read, surf the internet, watch movies, and play video games. She likes warm drinks, pico de gallo, and her love for cilantro is legendary.
At one point she was sponsored to participate in video game tournaments. During that time she traveled to Canada, Nevada, New York, Pennsylvania, Florida, Iowa, Oklahoma, and Caribbean.
Her novel Deamhan, the first book in the Deamhan series, was accepted for publication by Rainstorm Press for release in mid 2013. She’s currently in talks to have the second book Sensual Appetite published by the same company.
Other novels the author has completed are The Carriers (Sphere Episode One,) The Bond (Sphere, Episode Two,) and Old Farmer’s Road to name a few.
She’s currently writing the third Deamhan book titled, Revelation, and Maris. The Brotherhood Files.
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/isaiyanmorrison