In late October I celebrated all that is vampire at “A Day of Mystical Blood Lust” in Lexington, KY where authors of all things vampire gathered to speak about their books and vampire-related subject of choice. There I met two fantastic authors, David Nelson Bradsher, author of Vampire Sonnets and C.J. Ellisson, author of Vampire Vacation.
Vampire Vacation is a little bit True Blood, a pinch of Agatha Christie and a smidgen of Dracula. By that I mean, Ellisson weaves an erotic supernatural mystery that takes place at an inn where vampires vacation to unlock their innermost-not-so-PG13 desires.
As the author cautions on her website: “Beware, the book is not Twilight and it is not intended for the under 18 crowd.”
Learn a little more:
Meet Vivian. She’s a 580-year-old vampire who exudes sex, has a talent for drama, and is passionate about two things: her human husband, Rafe, and their resort for the undead. Her ability to project physical illusions has created the perfect vacation spot—a dark, isolated Alaskan hideaway where visitors can have their wildest fantasies come true.
Vivian knows the best performance requires perfect timing, but the powerful vamp is put to the test when she discovers a corpse in a locked guest room minutes before the next arrivals. Always cool-headed, Rafe hides the body, convinced that he and Vivian can find the culprit without disturbing their guests.
Juggling the increasingly outrageous demands of their customers while tracking a killer isn’t easy. Will their poking and prodding give them the answers they need, or will it uncover secrets that Vivian would kill to protect?
Bradsher’s Vampire Sonnets tell the tale of Tristan Grey, a 19th Century Londoner who is seduced and turned by Lady Nina, leader of the Chelsea Clan. Things aren’t always what they seem through the eyes of this fledgling immortal. As you might guess from the title, this supernatural story is written in more than 200 Shakespearean sonnets written in iambic pentameter.
Here’s a taste:
An ancient knowledge showed in Nina’s eyes.
They glowed with fealty to inhuman ways
that I, a darkling, had to improvise
in order to attract her rarest praise.
She spoke of dealing death, of raping lives;
(each rape would yield the blood that we required).
She said, “The one who kills to feed survives,
and I provide the means for those I’ve sired.
Misfortune trolls the night (with death) to end
whomever dares to tread our measured path,
so be the hunter now—no foe or friend
must slip the application of your wrath.
Our coven’s creed is, ‘Kill! Compassion’s dead.
When London quivers…paint Her bloody red.;