By Kristen Painter
Gothic delusion meets vampire fiction during this debut novel from
Kristen Painter - choked with politics, intrigue, and blood.
Born right into a lifetime of secrets and techniques and repair, Chrysabelle's physique bears the telltale marks of a comarré -- a different race of people bred to feed vampire the Aristocracy. while her shopper is murdered, she turns into the best suspect, which sends her working into the mortal world...and into the palms of Malkolm, an outcast vampire cursed to kill each being from whom he drinks.
Now, Chrysabelle and Malkolm needs to interact to forestall a plot to merge the mortal and supernatural worlds. in the event that they fail, a chaos not like whatever an individual has ever obvious will threaten to reign.
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Couldn’t be. He blinked, then stared harder. The flickering glow remained. It reminded him of a dying firefly. Instinct kicked in. Sparks of need exploded in his gut. His gums ached, causing him to pop his jaw. The small hairs on the back of his neck lifted and the voices went oddly quiet, save an occasional whimper. His world converged down to the soft light emanating from the crowd near the downstairs bar. He had to find the source, see if it really was what he thought. If it was, he had to get to it before anyone else did.
It’s okay. ’ After a long breakfast, she packed a few things and dropped the bag out the window. Later, she’d skirt around and pick it up. Having a backup plan was never a bad idea. She tried to read for a while but concentration eluded her. Finally, she excused herself to get ready. Back in her room, she strapped on her carved bone wrist daggers, then tucked a different blade into the sheath on her waistband. If only she had her sacre, but hiding a sword was a little trickier. Saying good-bye to Maris without tearing up was difficult.
She would start with bringing that thin-witted girl before the council. By making an example of her to the other comarré. A dark joy lifted Tatiana’s thoughts. When she was appointed Elder, Algernon’s manor would be hers. Along with all his property in it. Not that she cared for any of his baubles and treasures but one, the one she and Lord Ivan had come to fetch when they’d found Algernon’s body. At last, the pieces were knitting together. All her work, her meticulous attention to detail, her endless studying of the prophecies, her personal sacrifices … finally, she would wear the mantle of power she’d been stitching these many years.