It's my pleasure to welcome another SHU WPF alumni, Anna Zabo, to Friskbiskit today. Anna's first published book, Close Quarter, just came out from Loose Id on Tuesday. I had the privelige of being a beta reader for the book and I can tell you, it's action packed, hot, and heartfelt. But you'll find that out for yourself because Anna's going to share an excerpt with us. She's also giving away a copy -- read on for more details.
But first Anna has a thing or two to say about vampires. Take it away, Anna!
I love vampires. Not the sexy, sexy, tormented kind who feel
awful for having to be beautiful, sexy, and live forever while drinking blood. I
don’t mind those vampires, but what I
really love are monstrous vampires who are compelling and terrifying. The ones who
see humanity as an endless snack bar.
The villain of my debut novel, Close Quarter, is an Ancient vampire named Anaxandros. He has no
soul—literally. Vampires, in this mythos, give up their soul’s immortality in
exchange for bodily immortality. But they are dead, since to not have a soul is
to not be living. These vampires are extremely compelling—those that meet them
can’t help but find them bewitching and intoxicating. That’s the lure to the
victim, the beauty, the sensuality, but beneath that lies the terror of the
prey, the fear the rabbit feels when cornered and the hound is closing in.
The vampires in Close
Quarter don’t want sex—they’re incapable of it—they want control and fear
and to consume life. In particular, Anaxandros wants the life of the forest fae
Silas Quint and his new-found lover, Rhys Matherton.
Anaxandros has had Silas before, trapped and fed from him
for more than one hundred years—that torment is what propelled Silas, once he
escaped, to hunt vampires and why he finds himself on a trans-Atlantic cruise, in
the middle of the ocean, cut off from his element.
On the cruise, he finds Rhys, and in Rhys Silas finds what
he most needs—the energy of the forest and the field, all wrapped up in one
very sexy, irresistible, smart-mouthed brash human. Silas can’t get enough of
Rhys and the energy inside Rhys—and neither can the vampires. It’s an issue.
How can Silas defeat Anaxandros and
protect Silas without stealing energy from the human and becoming the same kind
of monster he’s been hunting?
Rhys? He doesn’t want to become a vampire’s snack and he’s
damn well going to make sure Silas doesn’t end up back in Anaxandros’s hands,
either.
I’m giving away one copy of Close Quarter to a commenter. Let me know your favorite type of
villain!
For this excerpt, we have Rhys’s first run-in with vampires.
Silas has gone hunting. Unfortunately, so have members of Anaxandros’s pack...
Close Quarter Buy Link: http://loose-id.com/authors/a-f/anna-zabo/close-quarter.html
Excerpt:
Rhys flipped though a coffee-table
book on New York City that contained beautiful photographs of places that
looked more real on glossy paper than they did in life. Battery Park, with
pristine blue water in the background. The Brooklyn Bridge in golden light,
with no cars. Times Square, with not a drop of trash in sight. He’d been to
most of them, knew their true colors, the bits the photographers had cleverly
edited out.
Had Silas been to New York
before? Probably, if he was as old as Rhys suspected. Hell, he might have been
there back before they built the skyscrapers. The thought of Silas dressed as a
colonial in tight breaches and a long coat coiled heat in Rhys’s belly.
He reached for his drink, his
third this evening, thanks to Vasil. He’d been here two hours and had been
through nearly every book in the scrawny bookcase. Most were like the book on
New York, large and full of color photography. A few were dog-eared paperbacks,
probably leftovers from past travelers—King, Patterson, Roberts.
Every single one he’d flipped through
so far made him think of Silas in various costumes or in various states of
undress.
He needed something to take his
mind off the fae.
Fae.
The longer he sat, the more of
an idiot he felt. Would Silas even come back? He rubbed his forehead. Was any
of this real? Was there truly danger, or had that been a convenient way to dump
him? He could have gone to a movie. Or learned ballroom dance. Or smoked cigars
and drunk brandy—whatever it was they did on cruises like this. Something more
interesting than paging through picture books.
The memory of Silas’s kiss
intruded on his growing frustration, the pull of Silas’s hands tangled in his
hair, the taste of his cum. His cry of abandonment and pleasure.
Rhys sighed and pushed those
thoughts from his mind. Flipped a page. Central Park. All that greenery. What
would it be like to fuck there? Or in real woods? Naked, his back pressed into
the dark earth, Silas holding Rhys’s legs apart as he entered him.
The tightness in his belly
spread down to his cock. Silas better return soon. He wasn’t sure how much
longer he could put his fantasies on hold. It was getting more difficult to
hide his huge erection, even under the large book in his lap.
“Are these seats taken?”
Rhys nearly jumped out of his
skin when the woman spoke. He hadn’t noticed her approach. For a moment, all he
could do was stare up at her.
“N-no.”
Her laugh was bell-like. “Oh, I
am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. All the other tables are occupied.
You seem like you might enjoy some company.” She smiled, baring a flash of
white between her immaculate ruby lips.
Rhys exhaled a breath he hadn’t
realized he had been holding. “You’re welcome to them.” He gestured at the
other two chairs and attempted a smile of his own.
“That’s very sweet of you.” She
offered her hand, palm down. “Radmila.” Her voice held a trace of an accent,
different from Silas’s. Closer to Vasil’s.
He took her hand, gave it a
gentle squeeze before letting go. “Rhys.” Though her skin was soft, her hand
felt like ice. Cold. Hard underneath. His heart rate kicked up. People
shouldn’t feel like sculpture.
“Charmed.” Same smile. She
settled into the closest chair.
Rarely did he pay that much
attention to the physical attractiveness of women, but this one—she was
different. Chocolate-colored hair that moved like water fell to her shoulders.
Rich brown eyes set into a round face. Her skin was almost luminescent, like
mother-of-pearl. If she had been a man, he would have had a very hard time
saying no to anything she asked.
Radmila frowned ever so slightly
before her features smoothed over. “Are you alone, Rhys?” Soft words.
He shivered. Something about
that question made his hair stand on end. He shouldn’t answer, but the response
tumbled out of his mouth anyway. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
“We’re waiting for someone too.”
She glanced back at the bar. “Perhaps we can idle the time together.”
We. Rhys followed the path her gaze had taken. A blond man walked
toward them, right hand in his pocket. His blue eyes took Rhys’s breath away,
even from halfway across the room—pale as a summer’s morning. He was
thin—thinner than Silas—and he had the same marble-like skin as Radmila.
She took the man’s left hand as
he joined her. “Has the waiter seen our friend?”
“Earlier, but not recently.”
God, the man’s voice. It dipped
and rolled like the sound of an oboe. Rhys curled his hands about the book in
his lap. Instinct told him to flee these two, but when the man’s gaze shifted
and lingered on him, he couldn’t look away.
“I see you’ve found a new
friend.”
More so than Radmila’s, this
man’s smile froze Rhys’s blood. He would do anything to touch the man, to be
touched by him. The thought repulsed Rhys, even as it made him hard.
“Rhys, this is Jarek.”
Jarek took a step forward and
offered his right hand.
He tried not to take it. Failed.
Cold skin, iron grip. Rhys couldn’t let go.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,
Rhys.”
The way Jarek said his name, the
desire that lingered in the blond man’s eyes, set Rhys’s bones on fire.
“He’s waiting for a friend too,”
Radmila said. She released her partner’s hand.
“So I see.”
Those words and the sudden chill
of his own skin made Rhys pull away. Or at least think about it. His hand
stayed in Jarek’s grip.
“No, Rhys. That won’t do at
all.” Jarek lifted the book from Rhys’s lap and placed it on the table. “Why
don’t you sit between Radmila and me? Let us have a little chat?”
Rhys stood, though his mind
shouted not to. Oh, God. Where the
hell was Silas? He had to get away from these—people?
All he could do was what Jarek
instructed. They rearranged the chairs so they sat close together. Rhys sat
between the two.
“Now.” Jarek’s thumb stroked the
top of Rhys’s hand. “Who are you waiting for?”
Sharp spikes rattled against
Rhys’s lungs when he tried not to inhale, struggled not to speak. Still, it came
out. “Silas.”
“Silas?”
“Quint.” Speaking the word felt
as though he’d been crushed into and then dragged over broken glass.
Radmila’s laugh rang out. “He’s
rearranged his name.”
Jarek smiled, displaying a mouth
full of teeth that were wrong. Every
last one was pointed, like a saw blade. “And do you know where Silas is?”
That question, at least, Rhys
was willing to answer. “No.”
“When will he return?”
“By first light.” Because
vampires—and that must be what these two were—couldn’t stand sunlight. But it
was dark now, and Silas was not here.
Why wasn’t Silas here?
“Of course,” Jarek murmured. He
brought Rhys’s hand to his mouth and licked it. “You’re absolutely delightful.
So full of fear.” He turned Rhys’s hand over, scraped those razor teeth over
his wrist, and then bit.
Jarek’s mouth felt like acid
burning through his flesh. Rhys couldn’t even scream. An instant later, the
pain diminished. Jarek pulled away.
Bite marks and blood, but a
wound so small it looked like a kitten’s nip. If that was what a small bite
felt like, Rhys would never survive a real one.
“Now,” Jarek said. “Give your
other hand to Radmila.”
God no. But he did as he was told.
Radmila bit him as Jarek had, to
the same effect. By the end, he took air in short gasps. When she released his
hand, she said something to Jarek in a language Rhys didn’t understand. He
laughed in response.
Jarek ran a finger down Rhys’s
neck. “Do you know what your friend Silas Quint is?”
The answer tore its way out of
Rhys’s throat even as Rhys tried to pull away from Jarek’s touch. “Fae.”
“And did the fae tell you what
you are?”
“I don’t—” What he was? Dredges
of dinner conversation surfaced. “He said I was fairly unique in the world.”
Radmila snorted.
Jarek clicked his tongue. “Now,
now. The pixie told him the truth.”
“As far as that goes.” Her hand
encircled his wrist. “I want more of him.”
“Yes,” Jarek said. “But not
here.” He rose and pulled Rhys up as well. “Don’t worry. Your fae will join you
soon enough.”
Radmila stood and snaked her arm
around Rhys’s. “It’s a lovely night for a stroll on the deck.”
They walked him toward the dark
glass of the outer door, which slid open as they approached. The night air was
breezy and cool, heavy with the smell of the ocean. A sliver of moon hung over
the water, casting white onto the inky black of the water. It would have been
beautiful had he not been strung between two vampires. Where was Silas? He was
supposed to be hunting these things!
“I almost want to let you run,”
Jarek whispered into his ear. “Just to taste your hope die.”
Sound escaped his throat then,
but it was only a whimper.
Radmila licked Rhys’s neck. “Oh,
but it just did, didn’t it?”
They walked him down to a table
nestled close to the bulkhead and draped in shadow. Jarek pushed him hard
against the metal wall. Cloth ripped, and his tie was stripped from his neck.
His shirt followed, buttons clacking to the wooden deck. Cold lips skimmed his
shoulder blade. Jarek’s teeth ripped into Rhys’s skin and muscle.
Flaming spikes pierced his
flesh. Rhys’s throat ached as though he screamed, but only whimpers came out.
Those small sounds seemed to drive Jarek on. Fingers dug into his other
shoulder and tore into that flesh as well.
Rhys was going to die. God, he
wanted to die. Then the torment, the burning fire in his blood would stop.
It didn’t. When Radmila yanked
Jarek away, it lessened for a moment. She spoke, but the words made no sense.
Again Jarek laughed and backed away. Radmila closed in.
Rhys burned as if someone had
set fire to the marrow in his bones. When she pulled back, he would have cried
out in relief had he been able to make any sound at all. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
They ripped off the rest of his
clothes, the fabric screeching as it tore. The only other sound in the night
was the hum of the ship and the slap of the water against the hull. No
footsteps. No one to save him.
Jarek lifted Rhys and laid him
out on the table, the cold open-weave metal scraped against Rhys’s bare back,
an almost pleasant touch compared to what had come before.
The respite didn’t last. Radmila
hovered in his vision, teeth fully bared. She drew a claw down his cheek, a
parody of a lover’s caress. The wound stung as if sand had been rubbed into it.
The sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nose. He tasted the tang in his
mouth.
Then the vampires tore into his
body. Ice sliced through his legs. Fire pulsed up in waves. He felt the tug and
rip of his flesh and the acid burn after, when sea spray covered them. Teeth
pierced Rhys’s chest like glass daggers. Radmila’s hair fell against the ruin
of his face and shoulder. The fine strands slithered like maggots, then buried
into his flesh. Rhys’s nerves screamed and seemed to rip out of his body. A
buzzing filled his ears, and lightning flashed over his vision. But he
didn’t—couldn’t—pass out. Something close to a wail finally escaped his lips.
Rhys shouted a single name over
and over in his head.
Silas!
Find Anna on the web:
Website: http://www.annazabo.com
Twitter: @amergina
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AnnaZabo
Loose Id Link: http://www.loose-id.com/authors/a-f/anna-zabo/close-quarter.html
Wolf in Gucci Loafers 
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her bestselling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soulmate husband and her soulmate dog in Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!
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