About the Book
Isabeau Gervase is a brilliant geneticist Though she no longer believes in angels, she sees a ticket to a Nobel Prize in Gabriel's secrets—secrets that have led her to a startling conclusion. Gabriel isn't human, and she fully intends to identify the species she named the Angel Genome. Morgan is ready to come back into Isabeau's life, but this time as a man not an angel. Will he outsmart his enemies, protect his beloved and escape death himself? For the first time in eternity, the clock is ticking.
Since this scene is about midway through a long book, I’d like to introduce the reader to the story. Sinners’ Opera is a study of true love—and obsession.
I=Morgan D’Arcy, the dark hero, a renowned classical pianist, an English lord, and a vampire.
Isabeau=the heroine, a beautiful but nice brainchild, an up and coming star in the field of genetics, and Morgan’s true/obsessive love.
Avery=Morgan’s long-time manservant and friend.
D’Alembert=one of the villains, a vampire who took the gift of darkness for the sole purpose of exacting revenge on Morgan.
Cheval de Bataille=the Vampyre (race; individual is vampire) police force and enforcer of the few and not very stringent laws.
This scene is set outside Isabeau’s house. The book is set in beautiful Charleston, SC.
As the day lost its hold on the city, I stirred, sleep dropping away, life returning to my limbs. In a hot shower, images of Isabeau scrolled lazily through my mind. I hummed a tune while I snarled my hair with the electric hairdryer. When I tried to untangle the mop, I understood perfectly what the dread in dreadlocks meant.
Quarter to seven, Avery hadn’t returned from his watch. Last night—an eternity ago—I’d suggested he order this evening’s meal from a caterer who served in private residences. The old man had been most adamant he’d prepare and serve dinner for Lady Isabeau. I glanced at my watch. He was cutting it close. Beef Wellington required a great deal of prep.
At seven, another blasted storm blew in off the Atlantic. From the tall windows in the parlor, I paced to the doors overlooking the black-and-white tiled veranda, awash with rain. Another plan spoiled. I’d imagined us sitting outside, Isabeau sipping mint juleps.
The clock chimed the quarter hour. I ambled to the music room, impatience dogging my steps. Avery was to stay with her, secretly escort her here. Where was he? Was Isabeau waiting for the storm to abate? I gripped the pain twisting in my solar plexus.
She’d stood me up, opting for the familiar, the safe and secure. She’d chosen John. I’d duped myself into believing that, after thirteen long years, I still owned a place in her heart. The woman the child had become had forgotten her Gabriel. I’d forgotten the bitter taste of rejection and how it weakens like the rush of blood from a fatal wound. I gazed out the window at an endless gray landscape.
Closing my eyes, I summoned Avery mind-to-mind. A terrible, impossible silence engulfed me. My old friend was bound to me in the Blood, compelled to answer. Avery was either unconscious or dead.
Before my heart missed the next beat, I stood in the downpour on the sidewalk in front of Isabeau’s house. Thoughts, extreme emotions, both human and vampire, struck with the force of a blow. I sensed d’Alembert the instant he sensed me. He stopped mid-breath and released her to a deep, unnatural sleep. Fear iced my spine. Pulse racing, I scanned her condition. She was physically unharmed. My vibration soared, readying for combat.
As d’Alembert attempted another cowardly disappearing act, rage lifted me into the air. We collided in a crackling clash of psychic energies, animal snarls and gnashing fangs. Surprise was on my side. I fired the first shot, a laser blue halo encircling his head. In a deadly embrace, we struggled. His talon-like fingernails ripped my shirt. Blood oozed from the wounds.
I buried my fangs below his ear. His scream of rage and pain must have rattled windows from Orange Street to White Point Garden. Vengeance polluted his blood, yet I reveled in the feral taste—and the tang of his fear. We crashed into the treetops. Silver and blue sparks ignited along a deadly line in the thick mist and dirty gray moss. He grabbed for my throat, but I battered his head against an oak. His essence flowed into me, his struggles weakening.
A pained groan snapped me free of bloodlust. Avery stumbled around the corner of the house. In warfare, a second’s lapse of attention can cost your life.
The enemy struck with a silent challenge and ripped free of my kiss. Kill me or rescue your thrall? The choice is yours.
If I don’t destroy you, sooner or later, the Cheval de Bataille will. I threatened.
About the Author
After 14 years in Texas, I returned home to my roots. I count seven published novels, four of which are available from Audible.com in audio. For many years, I bred, trained and showed the magnificent Andalusian horses. I have a poster that says, “This horse will change your life.” It’s true! I’ve seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer. I’ve won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers’ Magnolia Award and the SARA Merritt. I have two wonderful sons.