Lycan – The Father Beckett Vampire Trilogy Pt. 2

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More from the vampires, Father Beckett and Dr.Lane Dearing

Acceptance didn’t sit well with ex-Catholic priest Beckett. And being a vampire wasn’t going to come easy. Struggling with his new life he finds himself helping another whose life has been dramatically changed. Jude Mason is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; but Beckett and the elegant vampire Lane Dearing believe that there is more to it. Much more.

Their efforts to understand and help the man are hampered by unfinished business. In the tiny monastery in Greece, where they believed they had ended the killing spree of ruthless and savage vampires, one has survived. They must return to finish what began years previously with the death of the beautiful newly turned vampire, Katerini.

In Greece, there is as much to lose as to be won and with the stakes high someone has to pay the price.


Here’s a sample…

Even a man who is pure in heart
And says his prayers by night
Can become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms
And the moon is full and  bright.
Anonymous. (The Wolf Man)

PROLOGUE

It was getting dark and the typical drizzle threatened to intensify. Jude Mason lay shivering at the edge of a pine forest, naked and unaware that he was being watched.

Blood had congealed on his face and chest. He put his hand to his face and felt the growth of course hair that had appeared on his cheekbones. There was an alien feeling in his mouth, almost as if his teeth didn’t fit. He ran his tongue across his slavering jaws and winced as the sharp points and elongated canines drew blood. He tasted the coppery tang of raw flesh and spat onto the forest floor.

The girl stood behind a tree. She knew only too well what was happening to him. She’d seen it before. Her brother Abram had suffered the same way up until the day he had died. The day he had been killed when the family were no longer able to protect him or those around him.

The man was in obvious pain as he thrashed around in the bracken and the howl into the night chilled her soul. The man tilted his head back and sniffed the air; his nostrils twitched as he detected her scent and he leaped to his feet. She stepped out from behind the tree, arm outstretched, reaching out to him. His instincts were confused, her scent had fired something in him that his rational mind sought to obliterate and he felt the saliva pooling in his mouth yet his eyes were locked into hers. She was beautiful, a silky curtain of ebony hair and eyes to match, olive skinned with high cheekbones that gave her a haunting look, ethereal and yet earthy. Her entire appearance reflected her Romany origins.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I understand. I know your pain. Please let me help you.”

He stood motionless, suddenly aware of his nakedness.

She moved forwards unafraid. “Here,” she said, holding out her shawl to him. “It’s the best I can do for now. Come with me, I’ll find you some clothes. I’m Sabine Wood, my family are staying close by.”

He looked at her, puzzled by her reaction to his appearance, wanting to respond but all too aware of the blood on him. He turned away from her and ran through the forest. She watched him; even the loping gait was familiar. It was Abram all over again. She crossed herself and said a silent prayer for the good looking man with the dreadlocks who was on the same thorny path that had taken her beloved younger brother from her.

She could hear him crashing through the forest and the alarm of the wildlife as it scurried away from the beast that raged through the undergrowth. In the distance she heard the howl as clouds scudded away revealing the silver orb that had precipitated the transition from man to beast. She took comfort from the fact that there was only one more night left for the moon to remain full, one more night for him to suffer before he would be able to rest. She would search for him, seek him out and try and help him. For crazy as it was, in that brief moment when he had stared into her eyes and her soul, she knew that her fate was inextricably linked to his. For good or ill.

She drew her woollen shawl about her shoulders in an effort to dispel the chill that had settled on her, owing nothing to the rain. She wondered if she would ever feel warm again. She knew her father would have nothing to do with it, the memories of Abram were still raw with him and he wouldn’t be willing to reopen the old wounds that had aged him an eternity and robbed him of the smile that had always been a part of him, now long gone. Whatever she could do for the man, she would do alone.

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