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Blurb:
Paris, France, 2010 -- In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.
Elena, a twelve-hundred-year-old Moorish vampire, has met her perfect match in Stephan Garou, an ageless werewolf, who needs her almost as much as he desires her. But death stalks them both in the form of her ex-husband, Marcus Trent, known long ago as Drakulya, prince of medieval Wallachia.
Garou and Elena are intent on bringing the hunt to their implacable foe. But the millionaire businessman seems to be one step ahead of them, sending death in many forms to hunt them down in his quest to eliminate all "abnormals" -- those who, through infection, have become creatures of legend, cursed to live forever in the shadows.
Marcus has lived more than five centuries as a vampire himself, but in his heart he is still a man. A man who has a place, perhaps, for something he has all but forgotten... and he thinks he's found that in Marie Laverre, Garou's long ago lover.
To save herself from a slow, agonizing death, Marie has injected herself with Garou's blood. The blood of a werewolf is filled with power, and will cause changes that not even Garou could anticipate. Inhuman, immortal, virtually invulnerable, the White Vampire has risen -- and she has a plan. One that doesn't involve becoming a thrall to Marcus Trent.
Excerpt:
Garou: White Vampire
Jonathan Wright
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Jonathan Wright
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Marie gloried in her vitality. She looked and felt decades younger than her seventy-two years. The terrible hacking cough and shortness of breath had disappeared entirely. She had always been beautiful, but now men a third of her age looked at her with unguarded lust, which gave her considerable pleasure.
She wanted to experience again what had been slipping away from her over the years -- the attraction of a new lover, the sense of mystery and intrigue about the dance of love. And the passionate sex. Oh, how she had missed that!
A fuck a week from Bertrand, a nice trim man of about sixty, did not constitute passionate sex, not by a long way in her book. Especially as he already had a wife of more than thirty years. Silly woman, to let him stray. Clearly she deserved no less. But now Marie wanted far more than Bertrand could ever offer.
Less than a week had passed since Marie had received the mysterious package from one Mr. Wolfe. After first setting it aside, she suddenly muttered an epithet under her breath and opened it, finally understanding who the sender had to be.
Within the careful packaging lay a small vial of dark liquid, and a short, cryptic note: "A votre santé, ma Cherie."
She chose a robe of sheer silk that she had not worn in ages. A simple rose tint with sky blue streaks, that only just covered her compact hips and even when belted displayed her tits to generous advantage. That and nothing more.
From habit she tapped out a cigarette and then tossed the pack in the trash, remembering the gagging reaction she had experienced before. Stephan would approve. At least she could still enjoy her other vices -- wine, clothing and sex.
She thought of Stephan now, not as a fine memory from her youth. More like a future experience, to be anticipated. I do not care that he has another woman. I want him. I will have him.
When he had come to her before, searching for Vlad Drakulya, she had helped him and sent him away, feeling the sadness and -- she admitted it now -- the self-pity of one condemned to death. She smiled in mild disbelief. That I could have been so melodramatic.
Then had come the little package, and the innocuous vial of...
Stephan's blood.
She stood before her mirror and lifted her firmer, fuller tits. Everything looked better, to be sure. More vital. Lines she still had, but they were less than before, and seemed to be disappearing as she watched. Thirty-five, perhaps forty, and very well preserved at that. And getting younger by the minute. The process fascinated her. Rejuvenation. Amazing.
She had known the risks. Stephan had made that clear, years ago. She had one chance in five, perhaps less. Less a matter of blood type than simply the nature of the virus itself, a virulent and implacable entity. Merciless. If it did not merge with her body in whatever way it needed to do, she would die.
Injecting herself with the blood had not been as easy as she had expected, even though she knew she would be dead in months, if not weeks, from lung cancer. But we never really believe it until it is upon us. She had hesitated...
She fluffed her thick, dark hair before the mirror and did not wonder if Stephan would want her, only how she would handle him. His incredible strength, and that overpowering musk, had always made her feel weak and very submissive. She expected she would still feel that way, but with a twist. I think you will be impressed, Monsieur werewolf.
The doorbell rang. She glided across the living room, checked the peephole to affirm her expectation, sighed, and slowly opened the door.
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