Please communicate with her online and join her mailing list at:
www.QuinnLangston.com
www.FaceBook.com/Quinn.Langston
www.twitter.com/Quinn_Langston
Look for these titles in audio and print in 2015 at:
www.audiorealms.com
www.samhainpublishing.com
Look for these titles by Quinn Langston
Now Available:
Vampire Extraordinaire
A Clockwork Army
Coming Soon:
A Clockwork Requiem
An army of automatons—controlled by a vampire!
A Clockwork Army
© 2014 Quinn Langston
Colonel Julian Hawthorne has set in motion a maniacal plan to rule the world with a clockwork army of human automatons. And as a vampire, he has the wealth and all the time in the world to achieve his mad goal.
Lord Sebastian Hawthorne is equally determined to stop his brother in his tracks. Sebastian has never forgiven Julian for making him a vampire. But unlike Julian, Sebastian sees humans as more than cattle to be dominated…and bled dry. With the help of Theodosia Ambrose, clockwork expert, he vows to thwart his brother’s plans at any cost. Even his own immortal life.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Clockwork Army:
The sharp scent of coal mingled with the frigid air and hung heavy in the London drizzle. Even for a vampire the thick smog made it difficult to navigate the streets swiftly. Normally Julian Hawthorne felt lighter than the dirigibles that floated above seeking higher, cleaner skies. But tonight, shadows shifted with the smoke and steam. There were no deep crevasses of darkness to slip into.
He snapped free the mouthpiece of his breathing apparatus and anxiously licked his lips. Fumes from the ever-present, noxious vapors were not dangerous to the undead, so no need for any pretense of a device that facilitates breathing. The contraption was simply to keep his acute senses from being assaulted at every breath. When on the hunt he relished the overpowering primal smell penetrating the soup of the atmosphere.
Julian slipped his exoskeleton face mask apparatus into his pocket and poised himself deeper within the alley, away from the gaslights of the street. Now to wait. Prostitutes were so easy. They would be the only ones out on a night like this. Them and the nefarious…such as himself. No one ever missed them when they were gone. Even their blood tasted more of death and decay than the purity of fresh plasma, pumping like a robust fountain from a healthy human heart.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The soles of her shoes slapped the wet cobblestones. She stopped, hitched her skirt up, hands on her hips. “Oy! You there. Looking for some company?” she called, then coughed into her grimy handkerchief. As she pulled it away, Julian noted the dirty fabric was speckled with blood. “I’ve got a buttered bun ’ere. How’s about a go?”
She reeked of stale sex and sticky contamination. Intoxicating. Her scent penetrated the tight alley corridor and exhilarated him. Fresh blood. His thick fangs burst through his gums. The vampire Julian growled. His shape detached itself from the shadows and leapt forward. In polite Victorian drawing rooms of high society he was considered a gentleman. In reality, he liked the filth of bawd-houses, lusheries and especially the drinking den for criminals, the flash houses.
He could taste the consumption in her veins, the dirt on her skin. It was the difference between fine wine and home brewed beer. He loved slum kills even more. The taste of disease made him feel that much more powerful. Invincible. He was strong and clever and cunning. Between his mind and immortal body he would bring great machinations to fruition. He bit her deeper at the thought, crushing his fangs through to her vertebrae, ripping a great raw gash of flesh away, frenzied as he felt her life force flicker and depart.
She gasped and withered, drooping in his clutches. Completely drained, her body fell to the muck like a dry corn husk. There would be no incriminating fang marks, just a gaping wound from a satisfied customer. Julian’s eyes shifted furtively, searching the shadows. No one saw. Not that it mattered. No one would care. The police would shrug at the crime.
He tapped his breast pocket, confirming the notebook was still there. He stepped over her body and snapped his breathing apparatus back into place to conceal his face. His fangs were not yet retracted and he liked the enhanced smell the blood achieved within the mask. Musky and primal. For him it was like the scent of after-sex. Of mingling orgasms. Of sweat and fear. Of power.
This one had only been for his feeding pleasure and the lust of the blood. The next one would have to be chosen more carefully to suit his plans. The next one could not die.
eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
A Clockwork Victim
Copyright © 2014 by Quinn Langston
ISBN: 978-1-61922-595-4
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2014
www.samhainpublishing.com
A Clockwork Victim Page 12
