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Brantwijn Serrah Walking Strange Roads.j
  • Brantwijn Serrah

A Little Nibble of Blood Magic, Coming December 6


Book cover for Blood Magic by Brantwijn Serrah and Torie James

Dagda carried me over the threshold to our room in a corny gesture that made my heart melt, and flung me playfully onto the huge, white bed. The sheets were cool and clean and soft as silk, like rose petals against my skin.


Dag was already shrugging out of his jacket as he kicked the door shut behind him. "I took the liberty of booking you a spa appointment tomorrow at ten. Don't be late, of course."


"You always remember everything to the minute, " I remarked, rolling to lie on my stomach and kick up my legs like a teenage girl. "How do you do that?


"When one has little to do with his hours besides look forward to this single night, one becomes adept at remembering each detail."


Stripping his silvery shirt off next, he joined me on the bed, bending to kiss me. "It's the focus of much of my attention, with whatever mind and memory I have which is not taken up by the tedious concerns of weasels."


I stroked his unshaven cheek, delighting in the light, pleasantly coarse stubble under my fingertips. The whole evening already seemed to be moving past in a rush; unfortunately, no matter how we tried, it always did. I wanted to savor every sensation, every detail.


With any luck, I will have all the time in the world to revel in him soon, and never have to say goodbye again.


"Your thoughtfulness is appreciated," I murmured, letting my fingers drop down to his chest, tracing the tips of my manicured nails along his skin. "But I think I'll skip the appointment. I don't want to miss a moment I could spend with you, beloved."


"Well, I won't be disappointed if you'd rather stay in the room and make love 'til you can no longer walk..."


Our lips met again. His arms twined around me, pulling me into his lap, and one hand slid down to my thigh. I sighed as we parted, leaning back in his embrace, thrilled by the gentle rasp of his palm along my smooth skin.


"Sweet one," he murmured as he brought his kisses to my throat. "My beautiful, enchantress. How shall I please you this night? Tell me everything you want, and I will provide it. I will be your most worshipful slave, Brigid... merely ask, and I shall oblige."


A giggle escaped me. "Goddess, you sound like one of the old poets yourself."


I swept my other hand through the soft waves of his pale hair and cupped the back of his head to hold him closer, shivering as his kisses traveled along the line of my neck.


"For you, yes," He slid the strap of my dress down my left shoulder, following it with more kisses, gentle as the breath of dawn, like lace over the morning flowers. "Brigid... before we go any further..."


He didn't need to say more. What came next was something always unspoken between us, each time we came together as lady and lover. I didn't like to ask it of him, but Dagda seemed to take particular pleasure in it. Still... it was difficult.


I never drank from human veins. Never... except when Dagda offered his.


He lifted his wrist to my mouth, and I took it in trembling hands. I tried to still them, and managed to, a little. Each time I grazed his flesh with my fangs, I feared I might lose control in my deep, dark passion. I'm not always as composed and calm as I might appear to the younger Brides. Everything about my love cried out to me: his sweet scent of herbs and incense, the smooth, pale planes of his body, the delicate tracery of veins just below his flesh.


Our eyes locked, and I gazed deeply into his as I ran my tongue over his flesh. Biting into Dagda was sweetest, most intimate bliss. He didn't even flinch. Rather than pain, a blush of pleasure colored his cheeks, and his long lashes dropped down to hide his beautiful eyes. He moaned and I did too, awash in the ecstasy of his warm, wonderful blood.


What mixed blessings. My transformation to evenfall was the catalyst that allowed us to be together again. At the same time, an eternal reminder of the darkest day in both our lives, a choice that haunted us... and a demon forever between us.


The thrill of hot, beating blood ran through my body: wicked energy rushing from head to toes, stirring deeper, more lustful thirsts.


Carmilla forbids us to drink from human veins, knowing to do so pushes us nearer to the ways of our progenitors. We must not lose ourselves, as they have, she is fond of reminding us. We must retain our humanity.


But when it is just me and Dagda... when our pulses race in the wild, delicious heights of hunger for each other... it is almost unavoidable. I need him, on a primal level.


And he delights in fulfilling that need. No matter how dangerous it is.



Series banner for Brides of Carpathia, by Brantwijn Serrah and Torie James