Tour with Me on the WIP Blog Tour!

Kimberley Clark asked me to be part of the Main Character WIP Blog Tour. She's the creative and talented author of the series, Battles in the Dark The series contains: The Species Within (book one) and The Ultimate Killer (book two, soon to be released). She was born in Sydney, Australia and currently lives in the Gold Coast of Queensland. You can find excerpts from her books on her website [http://www.kimberleyclarknovels.com] Connect with Kimberley on her Facebook Fan Page.

POST TO WIN!

Post comments on my page and each authors' blog that I've listed below to receive a FREE digital copy of Vampires of the Chesapeake: Kian MacTiernan (book 1) A 4.5 out of 5 star rated paranormal romance.

[Limited copies available so post early!]

Questions for Nikolaus Schild from Book Three in the Vampires of the Chesapeake trilogy:



1) What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?

His name is Nikolaus Schild and he is a fictional character based loosely on, Theuderic, a historic one.



2) When and where is the story set?

Nikolaus Schild resides in St. Mary's County, Maryland when he is not touring with his violin as a concert violinist. St. Mary's County is in the southern most part of Maryland in the United States and is chock-full of history. It was Maryland's first capital, before Annapolis, the current one. The area is surrounded by water, mainly, the Chesapeake Bay, the Potomac River, and the St. Mary's River among many others. Nik's house is a historic colonial from the late 1600's. When he's not in Maryland, Nik hangs out in New York City, but truth be told, prefers the rural life of St. Mary's to the hustle and bustle of the big city.



3) What should we know about him/her?

He is part of the Merovingians, a Frankish Dynasty united under the rule of Clovis who reigned in Gaul a part of Germany during a.d. 476-751. They were known for their long hair. Nikolaus was created with the son of Clovis, Theuderic, in mind. He was the eldest son of Clovis but born of a different mother than his brothers, Cholodomer, Cholothar I, and Childebert were. The four sons inherited parts of their father's kingdom, but Theurderic, being the eldest, received the better share. The brothers battled each other, almost ritualistically rather than for true military gains.


4) What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?

Nik has many conflicts--the poor, ancient vampire. The first and primary conflict is that between his two prospective love interests, which I cannot divulge, as it would be a plot spoiler. The second occurs with a bloodthirsty vampire hunter who is determined to destroy Nik.


His two love interests cause him much heartache, confusion, as well as a headache, and set his mind spinning when one forces him to break a personal vow. The battle between the hunter and Nik is self-explanatory. The hunter wants him dead, and Nik would like to remain alive, if for no other reason than to spend eternity with his chosen mate.



5) What is the personal goal of the character?

What is the goal of most living creatures? He desires to remain alive, live a happy life, and find a person he can love, trust, and with whom he can spend the rest of his existence.



6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?

The title is, Vampires of the Chesapeake: Nikolaus Schild. An unedited excerpt is below:

Chapter 1

December 10, 10pm

Nikolaus Schild walked off the outdoor stage making his way to his dressing room where his violin case was. He lifted the lid, but before putting away his Stradivarius, cleaned the rosin off the fingerboard, loosened the bow hairs, then slid the bow into its niche, and finally nestled the violin into the case.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was so damn hot, even at this time of night in Sydney. With his white shirtsleeve, Nik wiped the moisture from his face, and then closed the case. The large, open-air venue had a spectacular view of the water and an occasional breeze drifted onto the stage, but it never provided any real relief.


Nik picked up his case, slung it over his shoulder, and took the back door where his limo awaited. His bodyguard, Skeeter, leaned against the side of the limo, his large biceps bulging as he crossed his arms over his chest. Nik didn't need a bodyguard, but at times, it was helpful and kept up his human facade.

"Hey, Skeeter. I'm surprised they aren't here."

Skeeter opened the rear door, taking the violin case from Nik. After Skeeter shut the door, he placed Nik's case in the trunk, and then sat in the passenger seat opposite Sedrick, the driver.

"Here they come, sir," Skeeter's deep voice warned.

"Damn. Well, hope your driving skills are up to par, Sedrick."

"Yes, sir." Sedrick started the car just as the mob closed in on the limo. The screams vibrated the windows, and Nik looked outside watching them swarm the car. Fingers, hands, palms, grabbed at the limo as Sedrick edged the vehicle forward.


One female groupie rushed the limo, pressed her torso against Nik's window, lifted her 'I luv Nik' t-shirt, revealing her large, cantaloupe sized breasts. She bounced up and down screaming, "I love you, Nik. I'd do anything for you. Nik! Oh my God! I see him!"


Nik stared at the display, admiring the view. Hair as dark as midnight, fell over her shoulders landing below her breasts. Loose curls, sprung like little coils with every jump the girl made. Dark, chocolate brown eyes stared inside the limo and regarded Nik. She knocked on the window, waving, and smiling to flash straight, white teeth.


"Stop," he commanded Sedrick. The car stopped and the shrill screams exploded outside the car. Nik pressed the button on his door and lowered the window a few inches. "What's your name?" he asked the dark-haired girl with the large chest.


"Oh my God! He's talking to me!" she screamed. "Um, I'm Cindy." She giggled and pulled her t-shirt down over her breasts.


"Cindy, would you like to go for a ride?"


After covering her mouth, eyes widening to the size of a full moon, she nodded her head, and her dark curls swung in unison with her head.


He shut the window, opened the door, and slid to the other side giving her room to sit. When she sat down, shut the door, Sedrick locked the limo doors, and rolled the car forward. The crowd parted, but continued to holler, slap the windows, and bounce like excited children at a birthday party.


He grinned at her, and she beamed back.


Nik leaned forward and pushed the button raising the partition between the front and backseats. The window was tinted giving Nik privacy. He reached down and removed a beer from the mini fridge, offering it to Cindy, but pulled it back. "How old are you, Cindy?"


She looked at the beer and then into his eyes. "Nineteen."

"Do I need to card you? Because I will." He could also read her mind, which was screaming that she was not of age.

For a moment, she simply regarded him, perhaps judging if he would card her or not. Then, thinking better of continuing her farce, she confessed, "No, I'm seventeen, but next month I'll be eighteen. I've graduated this month. I'll go to university, maybe in a few months or next year."

He opened the fridge and put the bottle back, removing a bottle of water. He handed it to her and lifted the corner of his mouth, in a lopsided smile. She took the water, sighed, and twisted off the cap. He, however, was of age, and pulled out a tumbler glass, pouring a bit of scotch into it. Nik swirled it and then took a drink, watching Cindy, considering what he wanted to do with her.

The limo drove out of the parking lot, and onto Macquarie Street, heading to Metroad one toward Sydney Airport. He needed to make his decision before they arrived at the airport, because he knew for sure he wasn't about to take her home.

She took another sip of her water, capped the bottle, and set it in a drink holder. As he pondered why he let her in his limo, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. His eyebrows rose. Cindy scooted closer to him, pressing her bare chest against his body. Bold, he thought and entirely inappropriate. Then, she made a bolder move, and slid her hand between his legs. He coughed, as he nearly spit his scotch across the backseat. Her hand rubbed him, but he wasn't interested in her that way. She was undoubtedly attractive, well built and well endowed, but she was incredibly young - too young. Youth was beautiful but not desirable, not to mention, not legal.

"What do you think you're doing, Cindy?" He smiled at her, sipping the last of his scotch. She ignored his question and unzipped his pants. How did someone so young get this forward? Would she honestly perform sexual acts or have intercourse with a man she didn't know? Some young women these days, he thought as he rolled his eyes. "You think I asked you in the car to screw your brains out?"

The question halted her hand, which was in the process of slipping inside his pants. She was preposterously young and this was beyond awkward.

"Well, would you?" She blinked at him.

He frowned and removed her hand from his lap. "No."

She actually stuck out her bottom lip, but took up stroking his knee instead, perhaps believing he was kidding.

Nik grabbed her hand, removed it from his thigh, zipped his fly, and crossed his legs.


Her mouth hung open. She looked around the floor searching for her shirt, no doubt. "What a whacker! What the hell's wrong with you? Does your donger not work, or something?" She shot him a look. "Oh! I get it, you're gay!" she concluded, obviously astonished that he hadn't fallen for her charms. Instead of answering, he just watched her snatch her shirt off the floor, pull it over her head, and shove her arms through the sleeves. "Why the fuck did you let me in, then?"

"You not only have a dirty mouth, but your attitude is demoralizing. I'll grant you that you're a beautiful girl, but for God's sake, have your parents not told you men do not marry what they get for free?" He shook his head.

A dramatic scowl creased her brow, and she pouted, he thought she might even stick out her tongue. Disgusted, he wanted to throw her over his knee and spank her backside, except she'd probably like it. Christ almighty, her skirt was bunched around her hips, and her bottom and notch were exposed - and she waxed. "Good God, please fix your skirt. Do you have a boyfriend?" Doubting it, he waited for her answer.


"No, boys my age are dickheads. Look, I just thought you'd like a little wristy or have a gobby. I didn't know you preferred blokes."

Wristy? Gobby? He hadn't heard those terms, but he got the gist. "I assure you my preference is for women, and that is the pertinent word - women. You are not. And you need to learn that men worth having will appreciate a bit of subtlety, not to mention offering yourself as nothing more than a coffee house where men go in and out at their leisure denigrates your propriety. Try leaving something to the imagination."

"Fuck, you sound like my olds." She crossed her arms over her large breasts and stared out her window.

"No darling, I'm much older than your parents."

"Crikey, what a piker you turned out to be. Just let me out."

"Oh, I can't do that just yet."

He felt his fangs drop, and his eyes sparked to silver. She looked over her shoulder at him and frowned. Nik reached for her, yanking her to him. He brushed the dark strands of hair off her neck, and inhaled. Holding her in place, tightly against his chest, he considered how much effort he wanted to expend. Should he just feed and then wipe her memory, or give her some pleasure? No, he did not want to find his face plastered over every tabloid claiming he'd molested an underage Aussie. He could just see the headline now, Nikolaus Schild, child molester. He'd wipe her memory afterwards and let her think they just drove around, chatting.

When his teeth sunk into her soft, young flesh, she yelped, squirming in his arms. Sucking deeply he drank, enjoying the warm, sweetness of her blood. He'd known she would be sweet, just from her smell. It was a weakness with him, always had been. When he was human, if someone put strudel or torte in front of him all willpower left him. It hadn't changed in the last fifteen hundred years. Some habits never died.

When she whimpered and sobbed, he realized his venom was burning her. He retracted his fangs, licked the wound, then pushed her to the other side of the limo, and wiped her memory. He watched her eyes glaze over and then clear.

"Next time, you'll think twice about getting into a car with a total stranger, I hope." Feeling like he wanted to lecture her and call her parents, he couldn't help himself. "For God's sake, wear some panties. Do the women of your day not believe in leaving anything to a man's imagination?" He tisked and glanced out the window before adding, "In my day, imagining what was beneath a woman's skirts was half the fun, and then working to actually get under her skirts was the best game ever invented. Try a little subtlety, my dear. It's much sexier and will get you into less trouble. Now," he smiled, as he explained while using his ancient power to blur her memories, "We had a nice chat all the way to the airport. I gave you an autographed photo." He lowered the partition and asked, "Skeeter, you have any photos up there?"

Skeeter rummaged through a briefcase at his feet, and then handed one to Nik.

"Thanks." He raised the partition again, set the photo on Cindy's lap. "You will be more careful of strangers in the future. I advised you of this on our little drive. Now, wake up."


She lifted the photo and squealed, threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek. When she blushed, Nik gave her a crooked grin, and said, "You're welcome." He stared out the window the rest of the way to the airport.

When Sedrick stopped the limo, walked to Nik's side, opening the door, Nik instructed him to take Cindy back to the Opera House before Sedrick returned to catch the next flight to the states. Sedrick nodded, then retrieved Nik's violin case from the trunk and his one piece of luggage.


He poked his head inside the back of the limo before going into the airport. "It was nice to meet you, Cindy, be a good girl and remember what we talked about, never get into a car with a stranger." He winked at her and walked next to Skeeter into the airport.


"Sir?" Skeeter inquired, giving him a quick look.


Nik lifted his chin, affirming he heard his bodyguard.

"I was just wondering if I can have Christmas off again this year?"

Nik stopped walking and faced Skeeter. "When have I ever denied you any holiday vacation?"

"Sir, I don't like to assume."


They headed for the ticket counter. "Of course, take your vacation through the first of the New Year."

"Don't you have any more shows?"

"Not until the end of January. I'm tired and bored. I'd like a vacation myself."

"Where will you go?"

Nik placed his boarding pass on the counter for the clerk to check. "I was thinking, Saint Mary's County. It's time to be home."


7) When can we expect the book to be published?

The book will be released sometime in 2014, closer to January, however.


I hope you enjoyed learning a bit about Nik. He's dying to meet you too. Please, subscribe to my blog or Facebook Fan Page to receive up-to-date information on any new releases, giveaways, or book signings.

Visit these talented authors' pages and read excerpts from their books, meet their character(s), and check out their blogs!

Diana Graves

[http://www.dianagraves.blogspot.com]. Author of paranormal urban fantasy novels: Fatal Retribution, Grave Omen, Mortal Sentry,and Paranormal Washington [the boxed set] are available at Amazon.com. Deadly Encounters will be released summer of 2014. Connect with Diana on Facebook: Grave Novels Fan Page



Renee N. Meland

[http://www.reneenmeland.wordpress.com] Author of the sci-fi dystopian debut novel, The Extraction List, can be found here. Connect with Renee on Facebook: Renee's Fan Page


Antoinette Houston

[http://antoinettehouston.com] Her urban fantasy novel, Red Summer, can be found here. Connect with Antoinette on Facebook: Red Summer's Fan Page



Sandra R. Campbell

[http://sandrarcampbell.com] Author of dark fantasy novels: Butterfly Harvest, Dark Migration, and Butterfly Harvest (Special Edition) . Connect with Sandra on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dead_Sassy  On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/butterflyharvest


J. C. Mells

[http://www.jcmells.com] author of urban fantasy and paranormal romance novels: from The Pierced Series, Pierced book one, Escaped book two, Pinked book three, and Perfect book four. A novella, Napoleon will be released soon. Connect with J. C. on Facebook: J.C. Mells' Fan Page

Victus [Humans bred by immortal race for sustenance] Chapter One

Image by ping phuket at freedigitalphotos.net

 

 

 

Chapter One

Verity

Every morning at six, we walked to the commissary, passed the marketplace in the center of our quarter, passed the muddy fields pocked with shoeprints, and passed the young girl who waited for us, with hair as brown as the mucky field. Our group consisted of one hundred citizens, male and female, ranging in age from twelve to twenty-one. 

In lock step, heads down, we arrived, famished, ready for our morning rations.

The Immortalis waited at the commissary door, standing like bookends on either side of the entrance. They towered over citizens—all citizens. This was a fact, a simple variant between species, and citizens did not envy such distinctions. Most of my family and friends didn’t notice the Immortalis, not their size, hair color, sound of their voices, nor dress. Staring at them was forbidden; therefore, any glance I stole needed to be fleeting and hopefully unobserved.  

The large guards unlocked and opened the doors. We filed inside, orderly and calmly, leaving the dry, bitter air behind, welcoming the commissary’s heated interior. 

Once indoors, the crowd dispersed, moving toward particular stations, depending upon the type of ration tickets they had. I had the female, adolescent voucher. It allowed me to eat slightly more protein and dairy than those who had adult voucher cards. Females over seventeen received the minimum rations, not including children under twelve. Males over twenty-one qualified for the second least.

The adolescent ration station was at the front of the enormous room. Its line lengthened, rapidly. Already in front of me were thirty teenagers, all girls. I took my place at the back of the line, behind a girl wearing brown pants, soiled at the knees, a cream wool sweater two sizes too big, and a standard issue orange, winter coat indicating she belonged to Stratum Lûteus. I belonged to Stratum Flâvus; my jacket was yellow.

Today, was Thursday, which meant they would serve fish, kale, apples, and a grainy roll at morning meal. I hated kale.

I shuffled to my right and took the metal tray when a worker set it on the counter in front of me. At the end of the counter, another worker waited for us to flash our voucher cards confirming we were in the correct line. 

Ethel, her nametag displayed on her shirt collar, was the voucher inspector. She looked down at my plastic card and then back to my face. One nod meant you could go eat because your card was correct. A headshake sent you to the council; no one I knew had ever gotten a headshake.

I exhaled and slouched, heading for my usual table where I hoped to find Jacquard. 

The metal chairs at our table, Jacquard’s and mine, were empty. I sat, put down my tray, and bit into the fish. It was a white fish, probably trout, not bad. The kale, on the other hand, gagged me, but I had to eat it. As I swallowed the last spoonful of the bitter vegetable, Jacquard pulled a chair out, straddled it, and plopped down. 

“Hey, Vee,” Jacquard said, using my nickname instead of my given name, Verity. “Sup?”

“Nothing, Jay,” I answered, poking at the roll with my finger. “How’s your mother?”

He shrugged and ate the two fish in about four bites, considering the roll on his tray next. 

“Did she talk with the medic?” I examined my roll. It was hard, but surprisingly tasty. 

“Yep.” Jay studied his roll, turning it over, as if he might find a hidden treasure somewhere on it. I suppose he could be looking for mold. Sometimes they gave us moldy bread in order to get rid of it, as they weren’t permitted to throw anything out, unless it was meat and spoiled. I don’t know why. It’s just how it is.

“Yep? That’s all you’re going to give me?” Polishing off the roll, I glanced at the wall clock. We had twenty more minutes before the exit doors would open and everyone would need to leave. I didn’t know why he was being so secretive about his mom. She’d been sick for over a year now.

“What’s there to say? She saw the medic; she’s still sick.”

I waited, but he never continued. Guess that is all I was going to get.

“Will they put her to work?” I pushed my tray away.

Jay looked at me with squinty, gray eyes and a hard-set mouth. One shake of his head was the only answer given. He finished his roll, all of the fish, and even ate the kale with gusto. Then, he pushed his tray back, folded his arms over that strong chest of his, and stared at me.

“What?” I wiped at my mouth and then beneath my nose. “Do I have something on my face?”

He gave me a slow smile, saying, “No.”

“Well, why are you looking at me like that?” 

Jay was a year older than my sixteen years, which meant this was his last year in the adolescent group. Then, the Immortalis would move him to one of the young adult circles. 

I’d known him most of my life. Our houses are not far apart, and we went to school together, but weren’t in the same classes.

At ex-hour—short for exercise hour—we’d stand next to each other as the instructor counted out the group’s jumping jacks. Sometimes, Jay walked me home. But every weekend he and I would hang out.

Our favorite place to go was the little stream near the mud fields. We would throw rocks into the water, hunt for crayfish beneath the stones, and on warm days, which were rare, we waded barefoot in the water.

I’ve always thought of him as a friend, like a brother, but nicer. Until one weekend, during the summer, we were at our favorite spot by the stream lying on our backs, gazing at the sky, when he rolled to his side and kissed me. On my mouth.

I pulled back, wiped my lips, and ran away. I was only thirteen. He was fourteen. But ever since that day, we’ve remained guarded around each other, as if a fence stood between us, allowing us to see each other but not get too close. 

“No reason, Vee. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Exclusive Interview with Riley Crane from Renee N. Meland's, The Extraction List

Renee N. Meland's

 The Extraction List

When fifteen-year-old Riley Crane figures out her best friend Olivia is being abused at home, she knows just who to turn to: her mother Claire, writer and spokesperson of President Gray’'s Parental Morality Law. Under this law, Taskforce Officers remove children from their homes if their parents do not meet certain guidelines, taking them to government-run boarding schools where supervisors rehabilitate them, turning them into productive members of society. Or at least that is how it was supposed to work... Now, after a government official threatens to make Riley the law's latest victim, Riley and Claire must rely on Cain Foley, a gifted killer with a tongue as sharp as the knives he carries, to get them out of America alive. Though he slices through men’'s necks as if they are warm butter, Riley can't seem to keep her cheeks from flushing every time he speaks. But when they stumble upon a deserted boarding school, Riley sees that escaping the country is only part of their problem. Together, Riley and Cain figure out that a killer can save a life, and a mother can damn a nation.

Q. Welcome. Tell us your name and age, please.

Riley Joyce Crane, 15

Q. Riley, what's it like where you live?

It sucks. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the people I’m with are amazing (especially this guy named Cain), but being a fugitive is hard work. I used to say I only run when I’m being chased. I guess God has quite the sense of humor. Good one, God, good one…

Q. Well, I could certainly use a good run, but I don't want anyone chasing me. What about special customs where you live?

Yeah…stay alive as best you can.

Q. Do you have family? If so, what are their names and relation?

My brother died, and my dad left, so it’s just my mom Claire and me.

Q. Oh, I'm sorry about your brother and your father. Who is your closest friend?

Her name’s Olivia. Known her since first grade. Haven’t seen her in three years though. The Taskforce took her and… I’m sorry can we talk about something else?

Q. Of course. What about someone special? Are you attached or single?

Hadn’t known anybody worth my time. Until recently…

Q. Hmm, sounds promising. Whom do you get along with the best/worst in your family?

Mom and I are a team, always have been even when my dad was around. He couldn’t really be bothered with the whole “father” thing.  Mom and I do everything together. She’s the only person I have ever really been able to depend on. Besides Olivia…

Q. You're very lucky to have a mom like that. Where did you meet your spouse/mate? Or What might your perfect mate look like?

Besides those blue eyes, Cain isn’t perfect. But my perfect mate isn’t perfect. In fact, he’d be the first one to say so. He’s got scars on the outside but they’re nothing compared to the inside. He’s helping us leave the country, and I know I should be worried about a million other things, but I can’t help it. I blush every time he opens his mouth. Hopefully he hasn’t caught me yet…

Q. He's a lucky guy. Do you have any enemies? If yes, who are they, and why are they your enemies?

The Taskforce, and the (cusswords implied here…my mom could be reading this) who took my Mom’s law and scrambled it up into the big mess that got us into trouble in the first place.

Q. You're wise young lady to watch your words and be so respectful of your mother. What do you look like?

If I could wear the same outfit every day, I’d be pretty excited. But in normal circumstances you’d usually find me in tattered jeans, flip-flops, and a t-shirt. My curly red hair tends to have a mind of its own, so at least for school I stick it in a ponytail. But after, I just let it fly.

Q. What is your favorite thing to wear to bed?

Wouldn’t you like to know? Perv.

Q. I see your respect has limits. Point taken. How would other people/beings describe how you look?

Mom and Olivia say I’m beautiful. But they have to say that.

Q. If you could have any power, what would you choose and why?

Cain has power, and he’s teaching it to me. He’s not a super hero, but put knives in his hands and he will hear you coming before your first step lands on the ground.

Q. What is your moral code, if you have one?

Cain is teaching me his life strategy, which I think is a pretty good one: he calls it Back to Basics. Protect your own at all costs. How you do it doesn’t matter if it keeps the people you love alive. 

Q. Do you believe in true love?

Absolutely.

Q. Have you ever lost someone important to you?

Oh nobody. Besides, oh I don’t know, everyone in my life except my mom.

Q. And you've lost them at such a young age. That must be hard. What kind of home do you live in?

Home? Yeah…don’t have one of those anymore.

Q. What types of conflicts/wars are happening in your world?

People are afraid they are going to lose their children any second because of the Parental Morality Law. And given how full the boarding schools are, they’re probably right.

Q. Do you believe in an all-powerful being that created life as we know it?

Never been very religious, but I do believe in God. I don’t believe you have to believe in one to believe in the other.

Q. Do you worship, if so, how, and if not, why not?

I’ve been praying a lot lately, that’s for sure. We’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to make it out of America in one piece.

Q. Can you die? Where do you go when you die?

Absolutely. May die today actually.

Q. Your favorite thing to eat is...

anything cooked by my mom’s best friend Bo, NOT by my mom. She tries, but cooking’s not her strong suit, that’s for sure.

Q. My only regret is...

Olivia getting taken by the Taskforce…that was my fault. I thought I was helping her, but there’s a good chance all I helped her do was trade one Hell for another.

Q. Anything you’d like to add?

Stay out of politics…seriously.

I'll take that into consideration, Riley. It was very nice to meet you. I wish you the best and hope you make it out of America safely.

The Extraction List

Book One

By Renee N. Meland

Price: $8.99 Print, $2.99 Kindle Edition

Readers can buy the book here: Ebook on Amazon and Smashwords, Print just on Amazon

Website: http://reneenmeland.wordpress.com/

Twitter:@reneenmeland

Facebook: Renee N. Meland’s Books

Lost in Transylvania New Novella .99 FREE EXCERPT

Chapter One

7 pm Monday, September 29

My head throbbed; God, it hurt.

Darkness—that’s all I saw until I blinked, focusing straight ahead on the two headlights of my rental car, which were shining on the bark of a tree.

Where was I? Something seemed wrong.

I needed to get out of the car… to figure out what had happened, where I was, and find help.

The front windshield was splintered like a jagged spider’s web, beads of water sliding around it, creating a Picasso effect on anything viewed through it. A sharp breeze dragged across my face; I realized the wind blew in through the driver’s side window. I hadn’t rolled it down. Had I? Turning my head to check, I cringed at the shattered driver’s side window.

 A crack of thunder exploded sharpening my acuity and that’s when I felt wetness on top of my head. It was frigid, flowing in through the open driver’s side window.

 I squinted and groaned, my body aching, as if bruised from head to toe.

My awareness faded in and out. I considered shaking my head to clear the fog of confusion warping my brain, except the thought of moving any part of my body seemed like a bad idea.

Remembering I wanted out of the car, I reached for the seatbelt, intending to unbuckle it, but a knife-like pain ripped down my neck, and I sucked air in through clenched teeth. It dulled and settled at the base of my skull, thudding in time with my racing pulse. Trying again to unlatch the seatbelt, I reached across my body, grunting, when a sensation as hot as fire shot through me, but ignoring it, I unbuckled.

I pushed the airbag hanging deflated out of the steering wheel, to the side, and put my shoulder against the door intending to open it. It opened, and my legs tumbled out into the cold water. Wherever the water touched, explosions of pain popped, as if a million tacks pierced my skin.

I lay on my side on the ground, rolled to my back, and scooted away from the little VW, grunting through the pain in my back. When I was far enough away that I could see the whole scene, I lifted onto my elbows, and eyed the gray hunk of metal before me.

Even as it lay upside down, I could tell the hood looked like an accordion. The middle of the roof bowed in, balancing on the ground precariously like an awkward top. Two of the four tires that I could see, were flat.

Another snap of thunder sent adrenaline coursing through my veins, and the memories fell together forming a clearer picture of my situation.

I’d had an accident.

I was in Romania…in the forest…at night—alone.

With that awareness, my eyes closed, and I saw only darkness once again.

Chapter Two

12 pm Monday, September 29

It had been twelve noon when I landed in Cluj-Napoca, Romania. I’d left Maryland at three o’clock on Sunday and arrived in Romania Monday afternoon. The modern world and its technology amazed me. You could be anywhere in the world within almost twenty-four hours.

Two weeks ago, my boss came to me informing me I had to take my vacation time, or lose the accrued days. Apparently, the office needed a supervisor, or manager, on site at all times, and since the other supervisors and managers had already either taken or scheduled their vacation days, that left yours truly.

Thus began my search for cheap, simple, and interesting destinations. The simple part meant I was going to ask the travel agent to arrange most of it. The cheap part bit the dust the moment I decided to call the travel agent.

Oh well, it’s only money, right?

But how I chose Romania, well, that came out of left field.

My ex-boyfriend called me, asking me to go out. We’d rehashed why I wouldn’t go out with him, which boiled down to he thought a once a month booty call made for a good relationship, and I did not. After three years being at his beck and call, I’d had enough. I was twenty-nine years old, with no prospective husband, and no children—not that I was in a hurry to get pregnant—this only fueled my mother’s belief that my eggs were going to dry up on my thirtieth birthday.

Anyways, during the call with my ex, the vampire thing came up.

“Well, we were going to go to Transylvania,” he’d said. “We still could. Combine our resources, save some money.”

“Pete, I am not traveling with you. What the hell? We never went on vacation when we were dating so why go on vacation now?”

“I don’t know, Kendra, we used to have fun. Thought we could take some time and, I don’t know, see if we could start something again.”

“Christ, Pete.” I held my head. “You know, most guys just shut themselves in the bathroom and jack-off when they get horny.” The man didn’t want a relationship; he wanted sex, that’s all he’d ever wanted.

“What? No, that’s not—“

“Look let’s not do this. We were talking about my vacation and somehow we got onto dating again.”

“Fine!” His voice turned hard and cold. “Why don’t you just hop a plane to Transylvania and see if you can find fucking prince charming there because a cold, dead guy is about the only one that could stomach you.” He hung up. Just as well, because after that rant, I’d have hung up on his ass.

So, I said, screw it, and called my travel agent asking her to book me a trip to Transylvania. Yeah, I planned my vacation based on defiance and spite. Stupid, but here I was.

Stepping off the airplane and onto stairs that led to the tarmac, I got on a bus, which took us to the airport terminal.

Everything looked so…normal.

I don’t know what I expected—dark, moody clouds, with a bit of mysterious fog hovering inches above the ground? Graveyards on every corner? That’s not what I got.

The bus dropped all the passengers in front of the airport. It looked like any undersized terminal. It was small and modern, even had one screen in English, which made sense since many here were English-speaking tourists.

I wandered with my mouth hanging open, as if I’d never seen an airport before, until someone asked me something— in what I presumed to be either Hungarian or Romanian.

And when I stared, dumbfounded at him, he smiled and asked, “You speak English?”

My eyes widened. “Yes,” I answered. “I’m looking for the rental cars.”

The older man, dressed in khakis, a shirt, and jacket, held up his index finger and pointed as he gave me directions. His bushy, salt and pepper brows rose and lowered as he spoke. I thanked him and lugged my backpack in the direction he’d indicated.

I found the rental company and leased a VW Up for two hundred U.S. dollars for nine days. Signing my life away, I paid the sales clerk, and she handed me the key.

I put my bag in the backseat and slid behind the wheel of the tiny, gray car. It felt no bigger than one of those Smart cars. But hey, this was a vacation for one, and I had no passengers.

Good thing I packed light though, I thought, staring at the compact interior.

Taking a few moments to acclimate myself to the car’s dials and knobs, I found the lights, turn signal, etcetera, pulled my portable GPS out of my bag, and turned it on. It took a moment to come to life, but then searched for its position.

Giddy, I typed in the Pension Villa’s address, hit go, and watched the technology point the way—Did I mention I love technology? The familiar electronic female voice directed me left out of the parking lot, and I drove east on Strada Traian.

On my way out of Cluj, an eclectic mix of ancient with modern buildings shrunk in my rearview mirror. Two-story, plain houses, some in disrepair, others newer and tidy, hugged the narrow streets. Cars that parked on the curbs kept two tires on the road, while the other two tires rested on pseudo sidewalks or small patches of sketchy grass.

Did they not have garages here? I wondered.

The colors of the houses and shops carried a more whimsical flavor than I expected. Shades of bright yellow adorned one church I passed in Cluj. The cheery yellow and spring green paint on the Chamber of Commerce and Industry building seemed to contradict its architectural style. With serious Gothic elements mixed with a sophisticated splash of Art Nouveau, the frivolous, spring-like colors softened its otherwise stern character.

As I continued through the town, nearing the highway, a distinct separation between the residential and urban areas here didn’t exist. One moment, tiny, one-story homes sporting turquoise paint surrounded me, the next, Cathedrals and shopping centers filled my view. My head twisted left and then right, the sights changing. Homes were quaint, but mostly dilapidated. Many of their exterior walls sported crumbling plaster, which exposed a more durable stone beneath. And backed against the old residences a modern cafe with neon signs proclaimed its presence. The scenery shifted in the blink of an eye.

I left Cluj and took the two-lane road, E81, a country road that meandered through small towns and farms. At least to me it was. I don’t know what the Romanians considered it, but it sure as hell wasn’t the D.C. beltway. The roads here were…eye opening. They were smaller than I was used to and in worse shape than those in the states.

A speed limit sign made me look twice. It said the limit was fifty kilometers an hour. Well, that shocked the hell out of me. In the states, that was about thirty-five miles per hour. I decided, I would get nowhere fast in Romania.

 However, when the first car passed me, driving much faster than fifty kilometers, I rethought my initial impression of Romania as slow.

The GPS screen noted it would take me four and half hours to get to Pension Villa. That seemed optimistic at a mere thirty-five miles an hour. Regardless, I would need to stop and eat, and the growl erupting from my gut said my stomach agreed.

Chapter Three

Alba Lulia was halfway to the pension—I thought.

In my little VW Up, I took the exit for Alba Lulia and searched for a restaurant.

The streets were hard to navigate; between the language barrier, unfamiliar terrain, and many one-way streets, I was lost.

I pulled over and parked near what looked like a shopping plaza. The buildings sat away from the street, and a sidewalk framed the commercial district with bricks. Many newer shops were in this square where pedestrians and shoppers were protected from motorists.

I followed the brick path, passed by two women carrying shopping bags—a good sign, I thought.

But after walking for another fifteen minutes and finding no restaurant, my stomach reminded how hungry it was.

Where in the hell was I going to eat?

These streets and buildings were too new for my GPS, so I couldn’t rely on it for help. I walked another few blocks, but I gave up, and spotted a woman bent down wiping off her daughter’s mouth.

I broke out my phrase book.

“Scuză -mă, restaurant?” I asked in horrible Romanian.

She smiled up at me, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun and then stood to answer my question, in English.

If I walked another block and turned right, she said I’d find a nice Italian cafe. I thanked her profusely, “Mulţumesc….”

She waved and took her daughter’s hand continuing down the brick walkway.

Antik Pizza was in a Mall. Inside the mall, it was bright, white, and crowded.

I found the Pizza place and then realized I’d have to order in Romanian.

The smell of warm tomato sauce and baking crust made my mouth water, and I flipped through my little book to find the translation for pizza. Go figure, it was…pizza.

“Două felii de pizza?” I asked for two slices of pizza and when the man behind the counter rattled off, what I presumed to be choices for toppings on my pizza, I simply shook my head.

Hell, if I got sauce with no cheese, at this point, I didn’t care. Just give me some food.

I shifted to my right and paid at the register with my credit card, as I hadn’t gone to an ATM yet. Probably should do that before I left the city.

The man who’d offered me topping choices handed me a plate with two slices of cheese pizza. He smiled broadly, flashing white teeth, and sparkling brown eyes. He nodded once, and as I grabbed the plate, he held fast. I frowned and tilted my head. I let go, thinking I’d forgotten to do something.

Mr. Smiley came out from behind the counter holding my plate of pizza. He walked toward a table, grinning, and set the plate down. As he pulled out a chair, he motioned for me to sit.

Is this how cooks treated patrons here?

I lowered myself into the wooden chair and murmured, “Mulţumesc.”

He sat down across from me. Nodding toward the pizza, he said something in Romanian. The pizza looked delicious and my stomach growled again urging me to dig in.

I took a bite and then Mr. Smiley asked in broken English, “You American?”

With a mouthful of cheesy pizza, I nodded.

“I holidayed in Florida. You know, Florida?”

Nodding, I finished chewing, and squeaked out, “Yep.”

“You like România?”

“It’s nice so far. I just got here a few hours ago.” I took two more bites.

“Where you going?” He watched the pizza as I set it down on my plate.

“Um,” I began, while I chewed and covered my mouth before I continued, “South, toward Zărnesti.”

“No, I do not know that. Are you going to Castelul Bran?”

I wasn’t sure why he was talking to me, but he was cute, with a cool accent, and seemed harmless enough

“Um, is Castle Bran, Dracula’s Castle?” I hadn’t planned on it. It seemed too touristy for me. I wanted a historical and nature centered vacation.

“No, that not Dracul’s castle.”

I paused with the pizza in front of my lips. “Not Vlad Tepes’ castle?”

“No. Castelul Bran was never owned by the Prince of Wallachia. Although, he was…how you say…kept in jail in the basement for a few months.”

The cashier hollered at Mr. Smiley. A customer waited to order. He stood and gave me a quick nod saying, “Have good holiday. What is your name?”

“I’m Kendra. What’s yours?”

“I am Sebastian. Nice to see you.”

“Yes. Good pizza.” I held up the half-eaten slice. And Mr. Smiley…smiled.

Well, that was interesting.

I finished my lunch, tempted to peruse the mall, but got back in my tiny VW Up instead.

Another two hours and I’d be in the Carpathian Mountains.

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