Anyway...
The chat. Yes, I should talk about that. It will be at Romance Books R Us. That'll be me, although they seem to want to call me PJ. Which, really, I should be used to by now and to tell the truth, I kind of wished I'd thought to call myself that, if it weren't for the fact that I used my real initials and all. But, however, I'll be talking about my new release, Old Sins, Long Shadows with maybe a sneak peek at some of the other things I've been working on. Who knows? It's two hours. I could come up with a lot of stuff in that time. I do love to chat, you know. *g*
The link is: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rbruchat/ Love to see you there!
In the meantime, here's an excerpt ('cause I love those too!)
Dawn tinged the sky as Damian made his way home, but he paid it no mind. He wasn’t at all concerned about the lateness of the hour. At his age, he was more than strong enough to be able to function at close to normal capacity no matter what time of day it was. And given the surfeit of blood he’d consumed over the course of the night, a few extra minutes exposure to sunlight didn’t even rate a second thought.
There were, however, other circumstances that did concern him. He paused in the mansion’s entry hall to scent the air, searching for any hint of danger, any sign of impending ambush. With two Lamia Invitus in residence, only a fool would proceed without proper caution.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, he headed for his room, his muscles protesting as he climbed the stairs. His body felt pleasantly and thoroughly used, aching in all the right places.
Once inside his room, he slipped off his shoes and let down his hair. Perhaps he wouldn’t even wash before bed. As tired as he was, he’d no doubt sleep soundly, but it was early evening that was still the most difficult part of his day. If he could wake up tonight with the scent of so many strangers lingering on his skin—how could that not help to ease the craving with which he usually awoke? The craving for that which he could no longer have.
He turned to his bureau to retrieve his hairbrush. He might be willing to put off bathing before bed, but failing to give his hair its customary one hundred strokes—that was simply too uncivilized to contemplate. As he reached for the brush, a slight motion in the mirror caught his gaze. He turned around, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. “Conrad?”
“You failed to return to the party as I’d requested,” Conrad said as he rose from the chair in which he’d been seated.
“Imagine my surprise to learn you’d gone out instead.”
The husky edge to Conrad’s voice set Damian’s heart racing. His body, so recently sated, ached with need. An all-too-irrational hope took root in his soul. “Wh-why are you here?”
“I believe my questions take precedence,” Conrad replied as he crossed the darkened room. “Where have you been? I won’t ask what you’ve been doing, since that, at least, seems obvious. You stink of blood and sex.”
Damian shrank back against the bureau as his knees went weak once more. After all this time, how was it Conrad still had the power to affect him like this? He curled his fingers around the dresser’s edge, determined to hold himself erect by whatever means necessary. “Sí. I imagine I do. It’s hardly the first time and, strangely, I don’t recall it ever bothering you before.”
If anything, the reverse had once been true. For ages it had seemed as though nothing excited Conrad more than the knowledge there had been others before him. Damian’s heart tripped and faltered, recalling the hours of furious lovemaking that had so often followed; of a passion so intense he doubted anyone human would have survived it.
“Did I say I was bothered?” Conrad replied, stopping right in front of him; just out of reach, yet still so close it was all Damian could do to keep from lunging at him. “I was merely making an observation.
Old Sins, Long Shadows
Children of Night, book 2
PG Forte
ISBN: 978-1-60928-450-3
Living forever is hard, but loving forever? That’s damn near impossible.
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
1856, New York City. Moments after Conrad Quintano drives his life-mate away, heartache and guilt descend around his heart like a pall. Convinced that Damian’s hatred is as permanent as the scars Conrad has inflicted on him, Conrad steels himself for an eternity of emotional torture.
Present day, San Francisco. For the sake of vampire twins Marc and Julie Fischer, Conrad and Damian present a united parental front. In reality, their truce is a sham. Conrad, weakened by his recent ordeal, struggles against the urge to bring his mate back to his bed. And Damian misinterprets Conrad’s explosive temper as proof their relationship is irreparably broken.
When an old enemy’s quest to create a dangerous new breed of vampire threatens the twins’ lives—and the precarious state of vampire peace—it’s imperative the estranged lovers put the past behind them. Or the shadows of the past will tear apart everything they hold dear.
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