Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Inspiration Time

My inspiration comes from a variety of places: books, movies, songs, t.v. shows, etc. However, one of the most visceral sources is the weather. And, one of the best times of year is October, when autumn breezes carry the promise of cooler weather and the scent of freshly fallen leaves. Combine this with my love of history--and the possibility of dressing in period costume--and my enjoyment of horror and my fingers twitch with the need to be behind a computer screen writing. It seems only natural I'd also combine my interests and write a paranormal, period piece.

Donovan, the hero of His Hope, Her Salvation,  is a vampire, but not the blood-sucking kind. I've been in love with vampires since I was a small child, but the thought of drinking blood always turned my stomach. When I found out about psychic vampires--people who feed off of other's emotions--it seemed the perfect fit. 

People shed emotions without thinking about it. Happiness, sadness,'s all out there for others to devour. Few people can effectively hide their emotions. So, there's plenty of food for a psychic vampire.

What's scary about psychic vampires though isn't their ability to passively feed, but that talented ones can manipulate people, conjure the emotions that provide them the most energy.

In the world of the Guardians--a people devoted to protection--a psychic vampire, or Hunter, would never intentionally cause harm to innocents. The solution? Find a mate who can provide them with the emotions necessary to keep them fed.

His Hope, Her Salvation
Promised in marriage to an abusive oaf, Judith resolves to find out if there can be passion without love. Snatches of conversation overheard at the local inn lead her to a mysterious American merchant who might be able to satisfy her carnal curiosity and capture her heart.

Donovan, a Guardian Hunter, is on the trail of a rogue Elysian in Georgian England. As the son of the First Hunter, he long ago gave up hope of finding his heart's mate. When Judith appears in his study, his inner beast and his heart demand he answer her plea for help.

Will their passion answer their hearts' pleas, or will it wither under the threat of reality?

The voices in the taproom of the Horse and Hound deafened us as we entered. A large group of men stood packed together in the center of the room. A roar ripped through the crowd as it surged inward.
I shoved my way through the mass of sweaty bodies with Eallair following in my wake. I stopped when confronted with the scene that held the crowd enthralled.
A large, older, well-dressed gentleman gripped my mysterious guest from earlier by an elbow. He shook her and yelled, “You little whore!” He raised a hand and slapped her across the face with his open palm.
The crowd cheered as she collapsed to her knees, her shoulder wrenched as the hand on her elbow restrained her from crumbling into a heap on the floor.
The dead look in her eyes and the lack of any outward emotion testified to the regularity of similar scenes she must have suffered. With a bellow of rage, I swooped forward and scooped her to her feet just as the old man raised his hand to strike her again. Placing my body between them, I snarled, “Release her.”

Available from The Wild Rose Press 

Also at Amazon

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