Don’t believe in Vampires? They believe in you.
Title: Her Devoted Vampire
Author : Siobhan Muir
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Format: (print, ebook, or both) Ebook
Links to buy: Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Her-Devoted-Vampire-ebook/dp/B007BVNMDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1330357146&sr=8-1
All Romance Ebooks: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-herdevotedvampire-727991-139.html
Evernight Publishing: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/her-devoted-vampire-by-siobhan-muir/
Link to trailer: (if applicable)
Tell us the story behind the story. What inspired you to write this novel?
Ironically, it was my husband. He gave me some paranormal romance books for Christmas and I asked him why he didn’t read romance. He told me it was “bunk”, unrealistic drivel where every hero had anatomy way too large to be real and didn’t really act or think like “guys”. So I said, “Let me try to write one.” LOL Apparently, I convinced him that romance isn’t “bunk” anymore. I wrote it so he’d enjoy it but also so the vampires had a scientific reason behind their vampirism. My husband is a scientist and it appealed to his analytical nature. Now he happily reads my other stories, too. :)
Tell us about the book cover. How does it represent your book? How did you choose the artwork?
The cover artist who worked on my cover did a great job and the publisher let me have quite a bit of input on it. The guy on the front is meant to be Fredrick MacGregor, the protector and devotee of the Goddess, and he takes his detail very seriously, which is why he’s in front of Bridget Shanahan. She’s the redhead hiding behind him. But she doesn’t know she’s anything special, so she doesn’t want his protection at first. She learns different over time. :) The only thing I suggested they add to the handsome guy is the spreading tree tattoo on his chest in silver. That tattoo is important in the story. J
Bridget doesn't believe in vampires or werewolves, but that doesn't stop one from kidnapping her.
BRIDGET SHANAHAN’S life seems bleak and boring until she gets mugged and abducted from her favorite coffee shop by the sexiest man she’s ever met. Unfortunately, he’s a lunatic who believes he’s some kind of vampire savior surrounded by a security force of werewolves and he’s determined to keep her.
FREDRICK MACGREGOR has been having visions of this woman in danger for the last six months, a woman he must protect because she’s the Avatar of the Goddess. However, when he brings her home, she doesn’t believe he's a vampire or that she is the Avatar, and she definitely doesn't want to stay. But the sense of danger persists and he'll do anything to keep her safe, even if it means risking the loss of the only woman who makes his endless life bearable again.
Sample chapter 2
“Suck my dick, shithead!”
Black fury welled up inside Fredrick with the thought of this unwashed, ignorant thug holding the woman who smelled like pine forests in the sun. He still didn’t know her name, but she’d been the bright spot in the early evening hours since he rose. He woke with her face in his thoughts and a feeling of danger surrounding her. Now, danger had her by the throat, and his rage spread through his limbs, fueling his hunger.
He leaped at the man and saw the woman stiffen for a moment as the fool shoved a weapon into her side, then yanked it backwards through her flesh. Oh, he would pay for that! Fredrick grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her off the knife while reaching for the man’s throat. She dropped bonelessly to the concrete as Fredrick hauled the shouting man toward him, sinking his fangs into his neck.
The thug gasped, and his body froze rigid as Fredrick sucked all that hot, sweet blood out of his carotid artery. The man’s resistance waned as Fredrick dragged him down the alley then snapped his neck, dropping the corpse into a handy dumpster. Fredrick carefully wiped his mouth with his gloved hand and tore out of the alley to gather the woman into his arms, hoping no one had noticed her lying on the sidewalk. He didn’t think he could turn so many minds away from the incident.
Fortunately, no one had come out of the coffee shop in the few moments of the attack, and he was grateful the humans of Boston were too busy to see his woman bleeding to death.
My woman? Goddess, I hope so . . . if she survives.
A wide black stain spread over the left side of her jacket, and he scented the blood pumping out of her wound. He rolled her gently, snarling under his breath as he scrutinized the damage. Her whole side had been torn from her hip almost to her spine, the ragged flesh shifting with each breath. The sweet scent of her blood called to him
to feast, but the thug’s blood had sated his needs. He ignored the temptation.
Scanning the Boston street for passersby, Fredrick lifted her in his arms and strode along the street, projecting invisibility. He wasn’t really invisible; he merely projected a suggestion to any onlookers there was nothing of interest to see, and their gazes slid away. He passed three women chattering excitedly about a recent shopping
experience, and they didn’t even pause to look at him with his human burden.
Fredrick reached his black Aston Martin Vanquish S and clicked open the doors. Grimacing at the mess, he laid her gently in the passenger seat and tried to ignore the destruction of the leather from her blood. He leapt over the car and slid behind the wheel, starting the ignition with a deft flick of the wrist.
Oh, Goddess, please let her hold on until we get home!
He probably should take her to the emergency room, but something held him back and raised his possessive instincts. One human too many had touched this woman. He’d be damned if he let some ignorant hack take her away from him.
He slammed the accelerator to the floor as he sensed her body sliding toward death in each second, her heat dissipating in the air of the cabin. If they could make it his home in Gloucester in less than twenty five minutes, he’d have a chance at saving her. He flipped open his cell and dialed home, waiting impatiently for Szilvia to pick
“Come on, come on, pick up the damn phone!” He jerked the wheel, and the car skidded onto Massasoit Road off Highway 133.
“MacGregor Residence,” Szilvia’s voice answered pleasantly.
“Szilvia, get clean water, biodegradable thread, sterilized needles, and lots of clean cloths ready in the infirmary.”
“What did you do, Fredrick?” Her voice dripped with acid. He’d been known to make a few mistakes in the past.
“I’ll tell you later. I’m already at Samoset and coming in. Be ready.”
He hung up and concentrated on the dark road that wound to his driveway and the elegant wrought iron gate stretched across it. The gate swung open, and he zoomed through, checking on the unconscious woman beside him. She was still alive. He sensed her heartbeat like the bass thump of a warped techno song, but it was slowing.
“Hold on. Just hold on a little longer,” he whispered.
His old brownstone stood on the Little River, not quite the last house on the road, but it had sufficient grounds to let him live in peace. He skidded to a stop in the horseshoe-shaped drive and shot out the door, leaving it open as he slid over the hood. The passenger door almost ripped off its hinges when he jerked it open, but he cut back his strength before he destroyed his car.
She moaned softly when he touched her, and his gut clenched.
“Easy, almost there,” he whispered as he cradled her against his chest.
The scents of fresh blood and autumn forest assaulted his nose, but there was less blood on his seat then he expected. The information barely scratched the surface of his awareness as he strode to the side door of the mansion. He slammed through, chastising himself for enjoying the scent of the victim in his arms as he carried her into the infirmary.
But, damn, she smelled good!
Szilvia, Cynthia, and Matt awaited him with all the things he’d requested. Szilvia’s disgusted expression soured when she caught sight of his burden, but the other two only looked curious.
Fredrick laid the woman out gently on the table and began to remove her coat. Each time his hands brushed against her skin, he had to still a shiver. Why was she so electric? Matt distracted him when he inhaled deeply through his nose.
“Where did you find her? She smells wonderful!” He tugged on the sleeves of her jacket.
“Boston.” Fredrick ignored the spike of possessiveness in his voice.
Matt’s hands faltered, and the women froze, startled.
“You went to Boston tonight?” Szilvia asked. “Whatever for?”
Fredrick gritted his teeth against his assistant’s disdain and shifted his stance to remove the delicious woman’s boots.
“You had to go to Boston to get a good meal and sex? You couldn’t simply find it here in Gloucester?”
“Well, they say some of the best sea food is in Boston.” Cynthia’s lips curled with amusement as she prepared the antiseptic and needles.
Szilvia gave Cynthia an icy stare, but when the black-haired woman didn’t react, she turned back to Fredrick. “I’m not helping you with a She-Meal.”
Matt whistled appreciatively, jerking Fredrick’s gaze up the woman’s body. Matt had opened her shirt. Her breasts pressed against the lycra fabric of her bra hard enough to show her nipples. Rounded like ripe grapefruit, he imagined their taut sweetness pressing against his tongue, and his body responded to his thoughts.
Think of something else!
His mind helpfully served up an image of her glorious breasts in the finest, softest Hungarian lace, perhaps blood red, which would complement her skin.
He estimated the enticing mounds to be cup size D, and while he appreciated them, he did not appreciate Matt’s delighted perusal.
“Roll her onto her right side,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to think about moving furniture or mowing the extensive lawns outside his home. Anything to keep from ripping Matt’s throat out.
“She’s been cut beneath the ribs. It’s deep. We have to get the blood stopped before she dies.”
“What’s so important about this She-Meal?” Szilvia flipped her white-blonde braid behind her shoulder and crooked one hand on her hip. “There are plenty of them in Gloucester. She doesn’t look that different from the rest of the Ameri-trash around here.”
Matt’s exclamation summed up their collective reactions. She definitely had a wound, but it was only a rough pink scar as if it had happened a month ago rather than hours. She healed like one of the Elder Races! Who was this woman? His vision hadn’t warned him about her abilities, only that she was in danger. What was she?
“Who is she?” Cynthia echoed his internal question, her brown-gold eyes glowing in the light. “She’s not a werewolf. At least, she doesn’t smell like one.”
Cynthia was the Luna, the alpha female of the Gloucester pack, and she was head of Fredrick’s security. He trusted her nose over anyone else’s.
“She’s not a vampire, either,” Fredrick said quietly. “I don’t know what she is, but my vision wasn’t wrong to go after her.”
“You had a vision about her?” Szilvia asked in a horrified voice as she looked at their patient.
Szilvia held the position of Fredrick’s second in command. She oversaw all of his many financial interests, and her expertise in management showed with profitable results. However, he’d noticed her attachment to him had grown, and her disdain for his “She-Meals”, as she called them, bordered on palpable. She’d once admitted her love for him, but his own feelings never mirrored hers despite their decades of association.
“So this is why you went tearing out of here earlier,” Matt said as he eyed their patient. “I can see why. If she’s not a werewolf or vampire, and she’s definitely not human, what is she?”
“Maybe she’s Fae,” Szilvia said, her voice surprisingly mild.
“No, she doesn’t smell Fae.” Cynthia sponged the dried blood off the woman’s side. “In fact, she doesn’t smell like anything, not even like the humans.”
“Whatever she is, let’s get her cleaned up and into a bed,” Fredrick said. Too bad it isn’t into mine. “We’ll figure out what she is when she wakes up.”
He slowly dragged the soft towel over her side, pretending not to notice when his fingers extended beyond the fabric. One brush of her skin reenergized his erection, and he had to take his hand away before the others noticed. Cynthia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as she examined the wound track. The woman’s regenerative qualities
turned the scar into nothing but a thin white line running from just above her left hip almost to her spine.
“Wow.” Cynthia met Fredrick’s amazed gaze. “Think she’ll wake soon?”
Fredrick shook his head. She seemed to be breathing well enough, but there were no signs she was coming around. He worried she might have retreated too far to come back to a damaged body. But if she could heal this quickly and this well, why would she need to retreat?
“What’s her name?” Matt asked as he frowned down at their female conundrum.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Szilvia’s acidic voice had returned. “You just rescue a bleeding She-Meal, bring her here, and you don’t know her name?”
“I didn’t have time to ask,” he told her quietly, ignoring her taunting. He’d learn the woman’s name. He had plenty of time now that she’d arrived.
“Check her wallet. I’m sure she has some sort of identification on her. They generally do these days.” Cynthia handed Fredrick the ruined coat.
Why didn’t I think of that? He hid his chagrin by searching through its pockets.
He pulled out the book, now ruined by all the blood, and tossed it aside. It hit the floor with a wet thud. More searching revealed a black cell phone with a cracked LCD screen, ChapStick, a set of keys without a car key, a pocketknife, and simple nylon wallet. He snatched the wallet and opened it to the ID carrier, ignoring the tremor in his hands.
The name printed in bold black letters at the top of the card read, “Bridget Shanahan.” Satisfaction rolled through him. Hello, Bridget.
Where can readers find out more about you and your work?
I love talking to readers. You can find me on Twitter (http://twitter.com/#!/SiobhanMuir , on Facebook (http://facebook.com/Official.Siobhan.Muir), on Google Plus (Siobhan Muir), and you can always find out what’s going on with me on my website (http://siobhanmuir.com). I’m also now on Goodreads, though I haven’t updated my author page yet.
About the author:
Siobhan Muir lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, with her husband, two daughters, and a vegetarian cat she swears is a shapeshifter, though he's never shifted when she can see him. When not writing, she's dreaming about the heroes and heroines who make up her world. An avid reader of science fiction/fantasy, her husband gave her a paranormal romance for Christmas one year, and she was hooked for good. Who knew they combined sci-fi with romance? J She’s been writing stories and entertaining friends and family with her writing since she was a kid. She completed her first fan fiction novel at the age of 13. No, it will never see the light of day.
Siobhan believes in happily ever after, redemption, and communication, all of which you will find in her paranormal romance stories.
Siobhan’s recent release, Her Devoted Vampire, is from Evernight Publishing, and she has an upcoming release from Siren Publishing in May 2012.