How long have you been a vampire?
I was infected with the virus that mutates human DNA in 1659 in France. Of course, at that time, I only knew I’d been drained near death, fed blood from my vampire mother’s veins, and woke up immortal and craving blood.
Do you drink blood or are you a psychic vampire?
Personally, I think the psychic vampires are more dangerous. I’m a blood drinker.
What’s the worst thing about being a vampire?
Loss of the sunlight. I’d love to see the sun shining on the blue ocean below my ancestral home.
Are you a magical creature or are you a different species?
I’m a magical different species. (he laughs)
Do you enjoy being a vampire?
Most times. Of course, being a vampire does present problems, sorrow and regret at times.
How do you feel about humans?
I’m in love with a mortal woman to the dismay of the Vampyre Council and to my own danger. I judge humans the way I judge vampires or any other species—by their actions. But I do have to admit that beauty is high on my list of attributes.
Where are you from?
I was born in 1632 in Devon, England.
What is your main purpose in life?
A race of immortals with human morals and gentleness—half-vampire and half-human to be a bridge between the two factors.
Do you have a code of honor?
I’m a relic from the Restoration era. My code of honor is often influenced by that mortal man who became the vampire Morgan D’Arcy. Now, in the middle seventeenth century, the aristocracy drank to excess, whored, and…well, I try not to allow this time of my life to rule my actions. The Vampyre Council, Les Elus, has the end say, but I’m a rebel at heart.
What makes you angry?
Lucien St. Albans and Les Elus. I offer this explanation. Both stand in the way of my life purpose. Les Elus forbids the creation of a DarkeChilde, a vampire-human hybrid. As you may have noticed, I’m not overly bothered by the rules.
Name one person you admire.
Charles II. I was with his touring band of banished Royalists after his father was beheaded at Whitehall. He suffered great hardship, and yet was restored to the throne of England without an ounce of bloodshed.
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Since Sinners’ Opera, Sinners’ Obsession, and Cardinal Desires are parts of the Obsession series, I’d like to include the book video links rather than blurbs. The following excerpt is from the book of my heart, Sinners’ Opera, starring Morgan, whom I love.
Excerpt:
Dreams misted the dark eyes drifting over my face. Her memories came to me clear as images on a movie screen. She thought I resembled a British musician in the rock band she’d been watching on television the day the lawyer delivered adoption papers. That sinful day Mary Jones had cast her illegitimate son away, like little Moses, on a river of legal documents. She considered taking vows to atone for that sin.
My heart segued to the rhythmic throb of her pulse. I was too sick to question why I could hear her thoughts and simply closed my eyes to listen. In the limbo between wakefulness and sleep, the sorrow in her soul lapped at me. I wished somehow I could ease her pain.
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 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. All so long ago. For almost four centuries, I had 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.”
Saliva broke beneath my tongue. My heart thundered like a cavalry charge. Fever stung my veins. Instinct twisted me around to face my salvation and my damnation. My lips parted to reveal the one unmistakable characteristic of my kind.
“Fangs,” Mary breathed, clutching her cross. “Lord Jesus, save me. You’re a demon.”
I knelt in front of my savior, bowed my head over her heaving breasts to touch the cross to my lips. “Too late to run, too late to hide, and Mary dearest, your cross won’t save you.”
I held her gaze, a slow smile parting my lips. Her eyes clouded, jaw slackening. Too weak to command my more esoteric powers, I could still mesmerize my prey. It was just too bloody easy. Vampires are the perfect predators. But I had a choice. Didn’t I?
“What’s your name?” She inhaled a long, slow breath, toying with my hair. “You’re as beautiful as an angel.”
Another wave of misery broke over me. She wasn’t the only one who thought I looked like an angel. Once, the woman I love—the woman who didn’t love me—believed I was an angel.
“My name is Morgan.” I couldn’t bring myself to say my second name, an angel’s name.
Mary ran her finger down my cheek. “Pretty name, Morgan.”
So simply, the seductive dance that would end in death began.
Linda Nightingale on a Half Shell:
Born in South Carolina, Linda has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Atlanta and Houston. She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for thirteen years.
Linda began writing in high school when her favorite English teacher, Mrs. Burris, allowed her to submit a short story instead of a book report. She also wrote very dark poetry brimming with teenage angst. These she showed to an editor at the local newspaper and was promptly shot down. Thereafter, she put her pen away until 1992 when she began a vampire novel which became Sinners’ Opera.
With Cardinal Desires, she won the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award and received a call from Berkley. The publisher didn’t publish vampires (at that time) and asked if she had anything else. Novice that she was, she said “no” rather than asking what they wanted!
She has two wonderful sons and also loves Andalusian and Lusitano horses, her snappy black convertible, and her parlor grand piano—and writing, of course. Visit her at http://www.lindanightingale.com for a free vampire story starring Morgan D’Arcy, the hero of Sinners’ Opera and a member of the supporting cast in Cardinal Desires.
You can find me at:
Web site: http://www.lindanightingale.com
Publisher Buy Link: http://www.double-dragon-ebooks.com/single.php?ISBN=1-77115-112-9 (Will bring up all my vampire books as well as my controversial dark fantasy)
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LNightingale
Blog: http://lindanightingale.wordpress.com/