Vampire irony by @eva_lefoy

 

Yes, vampires in the olden days were gloomy, lonely, and depressing characters. For the most part they lived alone in dark deserted castles and lurked in the shadows like a spider waiting for a fly. Often, the fly that landed was quickly dispatched (sometimes after much fondling!), which left them waiting once again. Or, the vampire got hounded by the local peasants-with-pitchforks committee and was forced into the light, which was not a good thing.

 

But today’s vampires are strong, sexy, and no longer lurking. They are out enjoying the night life, dressing fashionably and tossing around their considerable money. Basically it’s an update to the spider and the fly analogy. The prettier spider rules literature today but they’re still after that darn fly! Or, in some cases, a lover and a mate.

 

Since I tend to have a rather wacky brain, I tend to toss a little irony or humor into everything I write. In the case of Darkest Flowers, the vampire Ambrose IS the lonely, isolated spider waiting for the fly. But the catch is he’s a floral fanatic. He raises the best carnivorous plants around! There’s a bit of irony there, I think. Maybe I should nickname Ambrose “Gloomy with a twist.”

 

Happy Halloween month and may all your vampires and goblin be sexy!

Eva

 

DARKEST FLOWERS

 

Botanist Henri Muller will do almost anything for a flower—even brave a forest fire. Scarred and heartbroken, he journeys to a greenhouse run by a reclusive proprietor with a mysterious green thumb and a potent sexuality. Henri’s startled by their passionate encounter, but when he discovers the vampire’s bite soothes his tormented body and soul he longs to stay though the cure is deadly.

 

Ambrose is a shy monster with a lonely heart. Will Henri choose to become his mate or will he let Ambrose wilt and die like a neglected flower? With each passing day, Ambrose grows weaker…

 

 

 

The soft scratching sound almost didn’t reach him. But then he heard it again. Almost like footsteps. Very light ones.

He spun and saw a bare-chested man at the other end of the greenhouse, watering can in hand, bent over a container of raspberry colored orchids. The man’s smooth white skin glowed luminescent in the moonlight, outshining the large globe’s reflected rays. His long platinum hair hung loose, falling below his shoulders to rest on his hairless sculpted chest. He seemed…melancholy. Even his movements were slow and graceful, like one used to mourning. Henri held his breath, ashamed at having disturbed such a tender and private scene. He started to leave, but then the man’s silver-grey eyes focused on his. “Hello. I-I…” Rushing to his feet faster than the blood could reach his head, Henri swayed dizzily for a second and shut his eyes.

The man stood only a table away from him when he reopened them. He suppressed a shiver. How did he move that fast? I didn’t even hear him. This close, the man’s eyes reflected the moonlight and his skin appeared downy soft. He’s so beautiful.

“Welcome, my friend. Are you all right?”

The soft low voice had Henri fighting down a wave of lust. His cock hardened, begging for release from his pants. The stranger’s pale form seemed to vibrate, almost tremble, and Henri fought the urge to grab him and hold him still. Or had air-borne plant pheromones reached toxic levels in his brain and this was only a hallucination? Suddenly the air became heavier, pregnant with ripe reproductive ability. He forced himself to breathe. “I’m sorry for—” he waved a hand toward his equipment and swallowed, “invading your space.”

“Tsk. It is no intrusion. I’m glad you’re enjoying my private collection.” He smiled and trailed his graceful fingers over the leaf head of a Cobra Lily in a nearby waist-high container, then slowly stroked all the way down the stem. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Was it his imagination, or did the plant quiver under his gentle caress? More interesting, a matching tremor vibrated through him ending in his balls. The sensation hit Henri so strongly he tilted back his head and quietly moaned. Suddenly, the greenhouse seemed more than a mere nursery, but rather a hotbed of hidden lust and desire. He longed to be caressed as tenderly as a flower, wanted those light pink lips to kiss every inch of his body. Oh Lord, it’s probably the plant pheromones. He shifted from foot to foot to try and quell his desire. “It’s beautiful.” Just like you. “Um, are you Ambrose?”

“Yes. And you are?” Ambrose strolled slowly around the table, his lissome torso glowing faintly in the moonlight.

Henri’s gaze dropped lower and he mewled in surprise. Ambrose was completely naked.

 

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Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.

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Eva is graciously giving away TWO! digital copy’s of Darkest Flowers!