Paranormal Romance, Vampire – 455 Pages
About the Book:
Robin Dashwood, a handsome and charming British vampire with long gone aristocratic connections, is about to be thrown into an epic adventure that will shine light upon the rise of the vampire. This is the last thing he could imagine himself doing. Robin prefers to hide in plain sight — having devised a quiet life for himself in New York as a history professor in hopes of avoiding other more powerful vampires and their dangerous, decadent political machinations.
A chance encounter in a Manhattan art gallery introduces him to the beautiful Lady Caroline DeBarry and reveals a vicious murder from Robin’s human past. In search of answers to this historical mystery, he returns home to England and to Caroline who has captured his heart. As Robin uncovers the truth, he finds traces of a far more ancient and shrouded realm than even that of the vampire. This will shake the foundations of vampire lore and its brutal hierarchy, placing Lady Caroline in terrible danger and setting in motion events that will lead to a final bloody confrontation between a revenant army and human kind.
Hawkesmoor is the first book in a trilogy that will continue the eerie adventures of Robin Dashwood – a very British vampire.
Robin emerged from the Bailey impeccably turned out in his favorite dinner suit. Made for him in the 1930’s, it possessed superb lines almost extinct in modern versions. It was a perfect spring evening — he even had little trouble flagging down a taxi. Perhaps going out wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Where it be, mister?” asked the driver as he slid into the back seat.
“The Glockner Gallery, please.”
The driver nodded jovially. “Yep, opening night party, right? I’m old school — remember when cabbies used to know what was happening anywhere in the city?”
“Would you happen to know what the opening is for? I honestly don’t know myself.” Robin reached into his breast pocket for the invitation as the cab pulled away from the curb. It would probably say something about the event. He hoped it wasn’t another tiresome retrospective on the impact of fashion.
“Some English display of old furniture.” The cabbie thought for a second. “From some castle. Hawk something Castle.”
Robin froze. Surely he had heard the man incorrectly.
“Hawkesmoor Castle?” he asked in a low voice.
The driver beamed. “Yeah, that’s it! Hawkesmoor Castle. Couldn’t forget that name.”
With trembling hands, Robin tore open the cream-colored envelope and read the engraved card inside. Lady Caroline DeBarry would be present to open an exhibit of fine English antiques from Hawkesmoor. All to benefit the current refurbishment project at the castle itself in Yorkshire, England.
He let out a small, strangled cry. The cabbie looked back in the rear view mirror in real concern.
“You okay back there, mister?”
Hawkesmoor Castle. The words swam in front of his face. Hawkesmoor Castle, his keep, his abandoned responsibility, his Earldom. The place where he should be buried next to the woman who should have been his Countess who would have had his sons. Elizabeth — her name still had the power to hurt him like a blow to the body.
“You want I should pull over?” The cabbie began slowing the yellow cab down a fraction. “Hey, mister!”
The hunger began to pound in his temples like a migraine. His joints ached with it. His horror at the sudden reemergence of Hawkesmoor Castle, the place of his birth and human death, had caused the blood hunger to accelerate.
This was a disaster. His head reeled at the possible ruination of the careful, predictable life he had so pointedly devised for himself. He had always been meticulous — hunting in the smallest hours of the night in black corners of New York where even angels dared not alight. But now, in the middle of bustling Soho, he was a vampire rising.
“Hey, mister,” repeated the worried cab driver. “What should I do?”
Robin felt his eyes dilate — a targeting system booting up. His unique revenant chemistry was reconfiguring for attack. He inhaled desperately, trying to reroute the impulses to what was left of his humanity. The relentless migraine narrowed, focused and became a laser — a razor blade — ripping through his veins.
“Yes,” Robin hissed, “pull over.”
“I’ll radio for an ambulance,” the driver offered as he edged the vehicle off the main thoroughfare and double parked on a quiet side street. “Hang on, buddy!”
Robin was in a deadlock. Frantic attempts to defuse his vampire system were failing, lost in the hypersonic pulse in his veins that ignited every nerve ending. He felt his entire frame light up like a Roman candle — the pain was exhilarating. Robin Dashwood was off line. What remained was a devastating weapon.
“Please help me.”
“Sure thing, mister.” The cabbie jumped out and came around to the rear door. He held out a strong hand for Robin to grasp.
“I’m sorry,” the vampire said hoarsely as he accepted the hand. It was the last flickering remnant of Robin Dashwood
“What the hell?” the cabbie began.
His superior vampire strength had the cabdriver in the back seat and neatly pinned with a crushed larynx before the man could finish his sentence.
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