How I Designed My New Breed of BiterLong before there was the Vampire Diaries and Twilight the novel and movie vampires I'd experienced had me asking a couple of questions. First every notice that so many of the vampires in novels and movies have less than acceptable table manners? As someone raised by a mother who gently, but firmly, expected good manners when dining, these literary and cinematic vampires behavior bothered me. Why did they make such a mess when eating? They wasted entirely too much of the blood they need to consume. No wonder their snacking routing had them drinking and usually killing their dinner, leaving bodies everywhere for Van Helsing types to find. Second I noticed these vampires, were dead, cold, emotionless things that slept in coffins. Not very romantic, all this made me start thinking.
What if instead of the normal vampire persona, these drinkers of blood were nothing more than another race of people. What if like the Maasai tribe in Africa who drank milk mixed with the blood of a cow for its possible health benefits this race did something similar? Only for them over the centuries it became a necessary not a choice. What if by doing this it changed their DNA like certain breeds of animals, who after years of having tails or dew claws docked it became ingrained to normally develop that way. And my Tarczal vampires were born.
Since Tarczals are just another race of human they have all, or most, of normal human traits. My Tarczals, my new breed of biter, live, love, give birth, eat and do many more “human” things. But wait, they'd also needed to be special. So I gave them night vision, immunity to disease, and a normal lifespan of 1,500 years, with the aging process slowing down around the age of twenty-five.
I finally had a vampire I could live and love with, and the plot bunnies starting dropping off ideas like Easter eggs, and characters began whispering in my ears all their intimate information.
My first Tarczal book, "The Tarczal Alliance" came out in January 2011; I hope to have the next book, "The Archway" finished soon and out. All together my plan is to complete at least eight books in this series.
To win a copy of my book The Tarczal Alliance answer this question: What do you like or dislike about vampires in the media?
Blurb: The Tarczal Alliance
Logan Kincaid was trying to find the spy in his company when she walked in, - long blond hair, longer legs, and intelligent green eyes – damn, all his weaknesses rolled into one. He’d lived for 445 yrs. believing the Blood Witches and T’yhiéls of his vampiric childhood were nothing but myths until one walked into his life and all hell broke loose.
“You disagree the painting is showy?” He turned the subject back to the painting, and with practiced ease, he returned what he surmised was a compliment from the flush blooming on her cheeks. He indulged himself by allowing his gaze to rake over her. A whine like a mosquito’s settled in his ears.
“The artist captured Kandinsky’s style completely,” she sputtered. Logan didn’t give a damn about the painting or the artist. He wondered if the large, dark purple sweater that hung mid-thigh on her was an attempt to hide her body. If that was her goal, the tight black stretch pants, and thigh-high ebony suede boots were a poor choice. Any movement pulled the sweater tight like a second skin over her compact, lithe body.
“Absolutely. He copied a style. You wouldn’t have, Ms?” She fidgeted, and the movement caused the sweater to pull snug over her breasts making them stand out like ripened fruit and accented her flat stomach. Nice. Bet that stomach quivers when a tongue is run over it. Wonder what she’d do with a tongue in her belly button? She’s probably a giggler. He licked his lips. And a squirmer. It was apparent she had no idea what she did to him. He didn’t mind. Several parts of his anatomy were already stirring in response. Her front equaled the heart-shaped derriere he’d seen earlier while she browsed the competition.
“Weston. Allyson Weston. How did you know I paint?” The tiny frown across her brow made him want to laugh. So this was the estranged wife of his latest hire, Michael Weston. During the job interview Michael had constantly moaned and bitched about his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Guess Michael didn’t grasp he’d let go of an extraordinary woman. Logan let his gaze travel down to her legs, dancer’s legs, long and well-defined. Legs any man would enjoy wrapped around him.
Smoothly, Logan reached down, slipping his hand under hers bringing both up to eye level. “You have paint under your nails.” His thumb brushed the skin of her knuckles.
Quickly, she withdrew her hand from his. Next, she folded her arms across her mid-section, lifting the orbs and tucking her hands safely under her arms.
Logan’s smile widened. “Do you have family in town?” His attention wandered back to the boots she wore. The way they encased her legs from toe to over the knee were a wonderful enticement and his imagination flared to a deliciously wicked conclusion when she interrupted his assessment of her intriguing appendages by blurting out. “An STB.”
How fresh, honest, and naive she was. Logan bit back a chuckle. Heroes and bartenders: everyone trusted them, confiding intimate details of their lives they’d never reveal to anyone else, an interesting quirk of human nature. He arched an eyebrow in query, and she clarified. “Soon-to-be-ex-husband.”
He stopped himself before he could lick his lips. At the same time the essence of her blood rose from beneath her skin to mingle with the pungent leather of her boots. He inhaled more deeply, drawing it inside him, and swirled his tongue in his mouth to better experience the bouquet. Sweet, delicate, and exotic. Fit for the gods. He stopped his feeder teeth from slipping into place. A taste of her blood would never be enough, and an ocean too little for a man to quench his thirst. Stunned, he wondered where that thought come from, while trying to wish away the growing arousal in his groin. The whirr in his ears grew a little louder.
Buy info: www.whispershome.com & Amazon.com