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If I sit quietly as I am doing now, allowing my mind to wander, the years brush past my eyes like snowflakes, each with its unique design and momentary brilliance.  I can time travel from the latter days of the reign of the hapless –and later headless—Charles I to today, Christmas 2012.  The early years are not as clear in memory as the centuries since my birth to the Vampyre.

 

I am Morgan D’Arcy, the Earl of St. Averil and, in this lifetime, a concert pianist.

In 1659, Dominique du Montcleare gave me eternal life.

I’m quite certain that, even before her transformation, Dominique was as strong and aggressive as a man.  She demanded passion hot and sport dangerous.  She mastered her stallion on the spur and wielded her ivory-handled pistol with a marksman’s skill.  In a peach-and-silver tissue gown, she appeared at the theatre and stopped hearts.  In peach-and-silver brocade doublet and hose, she could stop a man in his tracks with her fist.  There wasn’t a meek bone in Dominique’s curvaceous body or, I’m convinced, a heart beneath her luscious left breast.  But we were kindred spirits she and I.  Dominique was the mirror in which I first recognized my own reflection.  Hunters both.

When Oliver Cromwell seized the English Parliament and disposed of his rival, King Charles I, most of the displaced nobility fled with the Royal Family.  For two decades, Charles II and his Cavaliers were to wander Europe.

In 1658, Charles II sent me back to France and sealed my fate.

Destiny wore a woman’s face.

This character, Morgan D’Arcy is the hero in my paranormal romance, Sinners’ Opera, to be released next year by Double Dragon Publishing, Inc.

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