Tales of the Demimonde

Tales of the Demimonde

  By Ash Krafton

   

  Cover art and interior design by Red Fist Fiction

  Copyright 2015 Ash Krafton

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information, visit:

  www.ashkrafton.com

   

  Tales of the Demimonde is a collection of short works based on the urban fantasy trilogy, The Books of The Demimonde. Follow the saga of Sophie Galen, who is saving the world, one damned person at a time. The advice columnist-turned-oracle must save her Demivampire lover from the fate that threatens each of his race: evolution and the destruction of his soul. Learn more about the Demimonde when you read BLEEDING HEARTS, BLOOD RUSH, and WOLF’S BANE by Ash Krafton.

   

  Foreword

   

  Finishing a series is a mixed blessing.

  On one hand, a story comes full circle. Like a cycle of the moon, the story waxes and wanes to its end. Questions are answered. Battles are won. Happy endings are finally within reach.

  The Demimonde trilogy is now complete: BLEEDING HEARTS, BLOOD RUSH, and WOLF’S BANE. While I’m satisfied—as both reader and writer—with the course of the story, another part of me is still longing for more.

  I think I shall always be thinking about these stories, not only because they make up such a large part of my heart and soul, but also because there are so many untread paths, so many story aspects to explore.

  This book, TALES OF THE DEMIMONDE, is a collection of short stories and articles based on the Demimonde trilogy. You’ll find insight into the world of the Deimvampire as well as never-before-released original fiction, such as the lyrics to Ocean’s Daughter, as performed by Turn of the Wheel.

  Most of all, you’ll find a very large piece of my heart, because above all things, these stories are tales of the heart—stories of devotion, of loyalty, and of the willingness to fight for the ones we love.

  Happy reading, and live long.

   

  Cheers,

  Ash

   

  BLEEDING HEARTS: Rise of the Demivampire

   

  Long before I started writing, I was a reader. I loved all things fantasy—the epic fantasy of Tolkien's Silmarillion, the dark fantasy of Elric, the sword and sorcery of Dragon Lance, the magic realism and heroism of Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar.

  Vampires didn't figure too prominently—I had Lost Boys on VHS and a worn-out paperback of Dracula but that was pretty much it. I’d read “Interview With a Vampire”, but it was for a class assignment—not for fun. Vampires were generally topics of horror, not fantasy.

  One day I stumbled across an urban fantasy about a zombie raiser named Anita Blake and, well, the rest is book-bingeing history.

  Vampires were no longer the subject of horror; their powers, always seductive for the purpose of obtaining prey, now offered a benefit to humans—they became a source of fantasy and forbidden desire. The vampire's kiss now held so much more than death.

  When writing BLEEDING HEARTS: BOOK ONE OF THE DEMIMONDE, I became submerged in the world I created. I knew my characters. I knew what they went through. I knew their strengths and their quirks and even bought a present once for my MC because I knew Sophie would love it. (My husband just rolled his eyes.)

  I would often lie awake at night, imagining my creations, speaking with them, walking with them, getting up close and personal with them. (Especially with Marek. *wink*) One thing I knew for sure—he couldn't be vampire.

  For one thing, vampires are cold, or at least room temperature, unless they feed. I couldn't imagine smooching someone who felt like a piece of furniture. I'm always cold. My grammy used to say we were dead and too dumb to fall over.

  One of my husband's many charms is that he runs hot (hmmm. Werewolf, maybe?) so needless to say I do a lot of cuddling up to stay warm. He's very accommodating. =)

  For me, love isn't just the heat of passion—it's the warmth of comfort, that penetrating sense of intimate connection. I'm blessed to have that kind of love with my husband. I can't imagine anything less for my heroine. I just care about her too much.

  That's what led me to explore the world of the Demivampire. Up until I began writing Bleeding Hearts, my only example had been Blade. As kick-ass cool as Blade may be, he just wasn't what I was looking for in a demivamp.

  I wanted to explore the science, the myth, the reasoning behind being demivamp. What made them different than vampires? What was their greatest fear, their greatest weakness, their greatest hope? I realized I was in a very fortunate position—I was a writer, after all, and I could tell their story to satisfy my own curiosity.

  In Bleeding Hearts, Sophie falls for the mysterious Marek, a demivampire. Powerful on the outside, she works her way to the essence of his being, discovering his wants, his needs, his fears. He's very much alive (and very warm.) Marek is just what Sophie needs –unlike a vampire who, in the story, is cold, dead, and beyond redemption.

  That's another reason why Marek couldn't be vampire. Bleeding Hearts isn't just an urban fantasy world with paranormal creatures—it's a story about love and, more importantly, redemption. The heroine has a special gift that can keep a demivampire from becoming damned…and the vampires hate her just a little bit.

  A demivampire is a creature with a soul-in-progress. Vampires, on the other hand, are pretty much beyond help.

  That's why I knew, when I was writing this story, that vampires just weren't going to cut it. My demivamps give a new facet to vampire lore, opening an entire realm of possibilities. I love the dynamics of Evolution (the term for the demivamp's journey toward vampire) and I have so much fun exploring the spiritual nuances.

  And, of course, demivamps provide warm heroes for the snuggling, even if it *is* imaginary. That keeps the reader in me very happy.

  If you're a happy vamper* tell us—what is it about vampires that seduced you and drew you into their world?

  (*my term for a vampire aficionado…my husband thinks it's too lame to catch on but I think he's always been too quick to judge…)

   

  Scent of Hope

  Prelude to Bleeding Hearts (Demimonde #1)

   

  Marek Thurzo stood motionless on the steps of the National Bank Building, his expression as blank as the steel-grey sky. Around him flowed the pulses of the city street—the traffic chasing through the canyons of downtown, the masses of people buzzing along sidewalks—yet he stood alone, separate, apart, and noticed none of it.

  Ordinary. He'd ceased taking notice of this ordinary world. He'd become used to the loss of color, of life, of sound. Everything had become monochromatic, but the greyness was more than an evening fog or a lifeless expanse of concrete city. It was a mist that soaked him through and kept him from feeling anything.

  Not that it was a bad thing. Nearly two centuries of a desperate existence had accumulated more hard memories than good. The mercies of death, no matter how tenderly administered, were better off forgotten. And who was he if not an ambassador of death, bound for final death itself?

  Marek snapped his collar up against the bite of cold and turned into the November wind. The numbing sting helped him hide deeper within himself and he crossed the sidewalk, reaching into his pocket for his car keys.

  It was then that a tiny tendril of something sweet, almost tangy, caught his attention. It wasn't a scent, exactly, or a taste. It was a mental brush that grazed the edge of his periphery. After decades of grey isolation, the small sensation was enou
gh to turn his head and capture his full attention.

  Closing his eyes, he exhaled and spread out his power, a stealthy essence that evaluated each source of energy. The city streets teemed with life, a low-level hum he largely ignored. People consumed with their problems, their responsibilities, their trivialities. The only thing separating them from the buildings and the steel was that pulse, that unmistakable surge of blood that bounced through their bodies.

  His needs were well-satisfied at the moment. The simple throbs of heartbeats weren't enough to distract him now.

  Marek caught the tail end of the fleeting sensation somewhere north and swung his full attention on it. Pursued it. Strode through the grey columned city as if it were an empty field of monuments to a forgotten god and reached out his power toward that fluttering ribbon of brightness. Cobalt blue, it was, edged with gold brilliance, every bit a summer day on a breeze. Refreshing.

  Odd, in fact. He drew his brows and narrowed his eyes. None of his kind had power signatures like this.

  Calling up deeper instincts, the hunter within took over and Marek slid into predator mode. It was all too easy to be suspicious of an unknown power in his city, where he knew every corner, every street, every shadow. Slipping into a side alley, he scaled a building, finding finger holds and ledges no ordinary man could find. Free from the prying eyes of humanity, he used his speed to his advantage, sprinting across the rooftops. He became a shadow on the wind.

  The distances between building were little more than gaps. He sailed, silently, pursuing the strange glimmer. And just as he almost had it, it was gone. The trail went completely cold near City Hall.

  He clung to the railing, leaning out as far as his tall frame would allow, eyes sweeping the streets. Once more he spread out his power, thinner and thinner, to the very limits of his strength. It was to no avail. The light, that sweet tickle along the edge of his awareness, was gone.

  Marek frowned and drew back from the edge of the train station roof, watching the dots of humanity and streaks of reds lights and traffic flow on through the streets. They were all oblivious to his overwhelming loss. Just as well. Those who deserved eternal punishment could not rightfully complain. It was just that...for a moment—maybe—

  He drew a heavy sigh and crossed to the back section of the roof, dropping down to the empty alley way. His car was still parked near his office on Tenth Street and, in his sullen disappointment, he didn't feel like walking. Walking to the curb, he surveyed the nearby taxis. Finding an empty cab, he sent out a mental nudge to the driver, who darted to the curb where he stood.

  Exhausting, this business of chasing hope. It was a race he'd never win.

  He slipped into the cab, wordlessly compelling the driver toward his destination. Hunching in the back seat, he stared out the window.

  Suddenly, that sensation bloomed again, unfurling like a silken sheet in the wind. Marek sat forward. There. On the corner. He compelled the driver to slow down and scanned the crowd along the curb. A frail, silver-haired woman spied the taxi, relief flooding her expression.

  But the energy didn't come from her. It came from the slender brunette behind her who waved a hand.

  Here is sufficient. Marek sent the thought directly to the man's consciousness. Pulling a twenty out of his pocket, he tapped the driver's shoulder. The driver took the money without looking and pulled over near the women. The brunette pulled open the door, looking back at the woman and cautioning her wait on the curb.

  He got out of the car, his sudden appearance startling the brunette and making her stammer. He stretched to his full height and peered down at her dark eyes, her lush mouth.

  He wanted to laugh. This? This human was the glimmer of cobalt and gold?

  Here, so close, it was no longer a tickle—it was a warmth that filled him like sunlight in an open field. It was color and the sound of rushing wind, the scents of wood smoke and apples and brittle autumn leaves. It was bounty and purity. He breathed her in, leaned closer. He wanted more.

  She hopped up on the curb, alarmed, no doubt, by his intense scrutiny.

  "Allow me," he said smoothly. Her anxiety was palpable and he used a small compulsion to dampen it. Her relief showed, a smoothing of her creased brow.

  Holding out his hand, he steadied the older woman, gently settling her in the car. She smiled her gratitude and called him dear. He issued his silent instructions, making sure the driver would help her out at her destination before releasing him to drive away.

  "Thanks. She needed the help." The young woman's voice was music and he turned to her, hungry for the sound. The bright colors were receding, fading like stars at dawn. She became as ordinary as every human streaming around them.

  She could never be ordinary. He knew in that moment he would go to the end of the earth for her. "It was my pleasure."

  She smiled suddenly, a wide grin that took him breath like a blow to the chest. "Glad to finally find someone else who isn't afraid to be a good person."

  A good person? What a staggering pronouncement. No one had ever called him that before. Marek was at a loss for a reply. He'd never felt quite so off-balanced before.

  Who was this woman?

  "Well." She glanced around and then waved, a flutter of fingers. "Thanks again."

  She turned and hurried away. She didn't look back.

  No matter. Her scent lingered, its essence locked in and memorized. Only one word could describe that fleeting sensation.

  Hope.

  There was a reason to hope. That woman was not ordinary at all.

  He didn't bother with another taxi. This time, he struck off for Tenth Street on foot, distantly aware of the tinge of color that slowly bled back into his surroundings. Her face danced before him, an afterimage burned into his mind.

  He knew he'd see her again. After a lifetime of searching, he wouldn't let a hope like this slip away.

   

  BLEEDING HEARTS: The Dynamics of Love

   

  Excerpt from BLEEDING HEARTS (Demimonde #1)

  Marek rose from his seat, captured my hand, and drew me along with him. I realized he was leading me down to the dance floor.

  The look simmering in his eyes made me forget how much I loathed dancing. That look held me, his hands held me, his arms held me. We didn’t dance. It had become much more intimate. He pulled me up against him and we swayed to a rhythm he picked, slower than the one that played. People bounced and twisted around us but we were alone, separate.

  Marek stretched out his power. He sent a stream of pleasure through me, tickling my insides and brushing against soft secret places. It started a slow fire within, one I wanted him to quench only after the fire had burned everything else away.

  Whatever allowed me to feel his power, I let it have its head. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I submerged myself in what he felt, now so much more than mere impression. Pleasure mingled with other emotions. Possession. Desire. Need.

  Not just the need to have me, the need to have his urges met by mine. A desperate need cried out from deep within his soul. He needed me to help him find salvation.

  It called to something inside me. It made me reach out to him instinctively, to stretch out my awareness like fingers caressing his depths. I drew his needs to me, filtered them through my own essence, and returned them to him, satisfied.

  My eyes closed, my mind inundated by swimming emotion, I whispered. “I promise.”

  I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, eyes bright like sunlight on grass. His lips parted rapturously and he ran his tongue back and forth between his sharpened canines.

  “Would you call my desire, here, Sophie?” His voice was husky, as if words were difficult to form. “Gods, you can feel me, my power. You know what I am. Do you mean to tease me?”

  I stretched up against him, lacing my fingers behind his neck and drawing him down to my face. My skin tingled from the memory of the strange feelings I’d just experienced. “I know what you are, Mare
k, and it doesn’t matter. Who you are, whatever world you come from, it doesn’t matter. I want you.”

  He seemed stunned, even as he wrapped his arms tighter around me. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Maybe but I do know what I’m feeling. Let me be your sunlight. I’ll show you what love and hope truly mean. You’ll never be lost in the dark again.”

  His power quickened, thinning out into a triumphant ribbon that surged up into his eyes. They burned with a violent emerald fire and I laughed with delight.

  Marek shuddered and pulled me tighter.

  “Mine,” he growled. “You will be mine.”

  “Mmm,” I said, and slipped my arms up around his neck. “Just shut up and dance.”

   

  What is it that attracts us to another person? I mean, how would you describe the dynamics of a love relationship?

  Is it a physical force—fed by sight and touch—that draws us closer? Or is it mental, emotional—intangible but substantial enough to feel solid and real?

  In Bleeding Hearts, Sophie and Marek are drawn together by many forces. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's of the tall, dark, and handsome variety. However, we see that for Sophie, love is 99% mental—although she'd argue that there's nothing wrong with altering the percentages to get a little more physical in.

  Writing Sophie was no easy task—especially because she's an empath on the verge of manifestation. Her lover is Demivampire, capable of expressing his power like a pheromone. She's very susceptible to it and that "other sense" is partly responsible for their mutual attraction.

  In writing this story I had to explore what it must be like to be an empath in love. Most of my "empathy" exposure was from Star Trek: The Next Generation. No knocks against Deanna Troy (especially because she rocked those catsuits) but she just wasn't what I had in mind for Sophie.

  Sophie is vulnerable, shy, lacking in confidence and social ease. Her emotions often got the best of her. Meeting Marek, however, gives her some power of her own—the power to own her emotions, to find strength and courage as a woman. She finds out she's stronger than she ever believed. It's a journey made possible by the love she finds with Marek.