And as we have promised, today we are debuting our brand new gothic-erotica series, Blackstone Hall. So what is our new series about? Well, if you like vampires, werewolves and all things that go bump in the night (g) you will definitely enjoy visiting Blackstone Hall, where magic and dark eroticism abound!
Pull the shades, turn down the lights, and cozy up…
Author: Eden Myles
Series: Blackstone Hall
Welcome to Blackstone Hall, an alternate dimension where your greatest fears and darkest passions become reality…
Half-gypsy Marie Belmont is summoned by Lord Rothschild to Blackstone Hall to help investigate a rash of gruesome deaths. The villagers and members of Rothschild’s court believe a Vargr is committing the killings–a rabid werewolf with a taste for blood and a human mind for murder. But once there, she encounters Simon Devereux, Rothschild’s Captain of the Guard, a man with moon-silver eyes and a dark past as an ex-soldier and mercenary.
Soon Marie finds herself the target of the Vargr’s lunatic wrath, but by turning to Devereux for protection, is she embracing a brave soldier with buried secrets or a man hiding the beast within?
As we passed a dense forest of fine, old oaks on our way to Blackstone Hall, I leaned out the window of our coach and noticed that many of the trees were tall and proud, with strong limbs, good for climbing.
My father, seated on the cushioned bench beside me, said, “Marie. You mustn’t.”
“Mustn’t what, Father?” I asked innocently, biting back a grin. I didn’t turn to look at him, lest he see my secret smile.
“Climb trees or do anything which might be construed as unladylike.” He took my hand and squeezed. “You’re almost twenty years old, girl. I’m counting on you to be on your best court behavior.”
The coach jostled along the uneven road, throwing us back against the braces, but my father’s coach was so luxurious that the padded velvet seats made the ride—almost seven hours thus far—more than bearable.
“We shall be there shortly, my dear,” Father said as if concerned I might be losing patience.
I wasn’t. I more than enjoyed watching the landscape drifting by, the deep, old forests—it was so different than the colder, craggier Northlands where our estate resided. There the trees grew short and farther apart, the people were brutish and covered year-round in animal furs, and the horses shaggy. There were mountain orcs that were a constant threat to my father’s people, but I hadn’t seen such creatures here. I wondered if there were Fae in these forests. “No more than an hour yet,” he added.
“Yes, Father.” Once more, I leaned out the window of the coach, seeking out both the familiar and unfamiliar in this strange land.
Where we lived, in the lands several hundred ticks to the north, the squatty pines shivered in the heavy snows. The people were fair-haired and blue-eyed like my father (except for the gypsies who regularly passed through) and there were still a few remaining ice dragons slumbering deep within cairns in the earth. On a cold morning one could stand on a balcony and spot their breath pluming up through small cracks in the earth.
But I’d heard that Lord Elric Rothschild’s lands were warmer, the oaks and elms soaring and rotund, spreading their lush green boughs to the heavens like supplicating hands. I’d heard there were dwarves and tall, slender people of a swarthier complexion here. Food was bountiful, war scarce, and the people more congenial and trustworthy. Stone dragons still occasionally circled the skies. It was a pretty land, green and fecund, with autumn bleeding through the trees in vibrant shades of yellow and fiery orange, though we had not encountered many villagers along the way so I could not yet ascertain the friendliness of the local inhabitants.
I did not blame the villagers for hiding. Though beautiful, it was said these were perilous lands, dangerous for those on foot, particularly now, with the evil of a corrupt Vargr on the loose—a werewolf who kills for its own pleasure…