I am currently working on the sequel to Sinners’ Opera, which was released in print as well this week. Amazon has the book at a discounted price. http://www.amazon.com/Sinners-Opera-ebook/dp/B00DIKLEH2/ref=sr_1_1/192-6242563-2157269?ie=UTF8&qid=1372504733&sr=8-1&keywords=sinners+opera
To the WIP:
MORNING OF THE NIGHT
In six months, the pain should have subsided.
Yet grief and sorrow still twisted her heart.
Isabeau hurried through the darkness along the familiar path to the log cabin. She’d grown up in Beaufort, but it no longer felt like home. Nowhere does.
Only the whisper of the pines broke the silence of the chill November night. Before she left the stables, she’d checked the white ceramic watch she’d bought on sale. The silver hands pointed to nine o’clock. In her jewelry box at home were countless reminders of a life lost. She never wore the emeralds, diamonds or expensive watches anymore. The jewelry he’d bought her glittered alone in the darkness.
Time had dimmed the exquisite, dreamlike happiness she’d known but not the memories.
By eight, her mother would have tucked Eroica into bed. She’d stayed too long with Bianco, grooming and petting the white stallion. On her sixteenth birthday, a transport van delivered the answer to Isabeau’s prayers. For thirteen years, she’d begged her parents for a horse. The driver claimed that her father had won a contest, the prize a beautiful Andalusian. Bianco was the first of many mysterious gifts. Marianne Gervase had kept a secret from her daughter…and her husband. When Isabeau learned the truth, it was too late. She was already in love with her godfather.
Last month, on October 11th, a miracle was born. Isabeau intended to breast fed her little Libra, but the baby had tried to bite her nipple. Knowing who—what—Eroica’s father was, Isabeau decided to bottle feed her daughter. As Lucien St. Albans had predicted, Eroica looked like a female reproduction of her father. She had his silken blonde hair, his captivating blue eyes. Isabeau had rejected Morgan’s calls, hadn’t opened his emails or the snail mail letters that arrived once a week. He was trying to seduce his way back into her life. If she’d heard his lilting voice on the phone or read the same cadence in the emails, she’d have lost her battle against him.
But God it hurt.
The Thanksgiving holiday had raced by. On Sunday morning, Isabeau would return to Charleston. She and Eroica would be alone in her echoing Orange Street house. Her friend Kirsty offered to babysit, but, except for the hours spent at LifeGen earning their living, Isabeau hated to be separated from her miraculous child. She refused to touch the small fortune Morgan sent as child support. That money belonged to Eroica and would, one day, pay college tuition and settle her comfortably for life. She didn’t dress her daughter at the expensive children’s boutiques as her father would have done, but shopped at sensible department stores.
Isabeau’s life centered around Eroica—and the genetic puzzle of vampire DNA. She longed for the state-of-the art lab behind Rover House, abandoned now for months. In fact, she yearned for the idyllic life she’d shared with Morgan. She’d been a princess, living in a fairytale spun by her beautiful lover. She hadn’t chosen this lonely existence. Fate and Lucien St. Albans had made the choice. Isabeau knew the truth of freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. Still, her life was in her hands now. Oh, but tonight she wished Morgan were here to whisper promises—whisper madness—in her ear.
A shadow materialized from the trees. Her heart chugged over a beat of fear. She halted in her tracks, a shiver rippling the hair at her nape. Who—what—lurked on the path ahead? Her mother wouldn’t leave the sleeping baby. Strangers failed to notice the dirt and gravel drive to the cabin. She would have called, “Who’s there?” but her dry throat constricted.
Six months ago, Isabeau had made a bargain with the devil. Her racing heart cramped. Had he come to collect? The shadow wafted closer. Holding her breath, she retreated. Again it moved. Too fast to be human. If the dark figure was Lucien St. Albans, she’d be lucky to escape the confrontation with her life.
Morning of the Night is the working title. Toni Sweeney, an author friend who pens great vampire novels, suggested Sinners’ Obsession since I am also working on a prequel, Sinners’ Waltz. Which title do you like better?