I followed the traitors to the river, even took a moment to wish my daughter well. And none were the wiser. Funny. I once believed those vampires were indestructible. I had to smother my laughter when Orrin told Leo I was merely an apparition.
Idiot! Soon I’ll be invincible.
The voices continue to warn me of Orrin, of the greatness of the very first vampire, but I already know how to defeat him. Orrin has many loved ones, many weaknesses. But I’m still a good student. I’m noting each word so I can recall every detail the voices provide. I already know of Orrin’s precious island, the utopia he hopes one day will absolve him of the sin that brought him into existence. And they told me of his mother, Ariel, the broken and discarded angel that refused to leave her son’s side despite the brutal rape, his demon heritage, and being abandoned by the God who created her.
God has a bigger plan for her, and for me.
No matter what the voices say, I know my daughter and the child she carries mean more to Orrin than the island or his dedicated mother. From afar I watched, debating whether to follow them into the putrid city. He carried her while she slept, and still he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Leo means everything to him—I know how that feels. She’ll be the death of Orrin, and then I’ll bury them both.
The voices demand more. They torment me with their cries for blood.
I need more…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandra R. Campbell lives along the tranquil waters of the Chesapeake Bay with her husband and weight challenged cat. She can trace her passion for the macabre back to reading Edgar Allen Poe as a child, with her pet crow, Big Fellow, by her side. She has since submerged herself in a wide range of dark literature. An avid thrill seeker, Sandra is always looking for her next big adrenaline rush, and when spelunking, diving and monster hunting fails to deliver, she turns to the creation of through-the-rabbit-hole worlds and sends her characters on their own adventures. Sandra is a member of Romance Writers of America, Maryland Writers' Association and the director of a MWA critique group. She is also the founder and co-author of fiction website Waterfrontwriters.com.
Twitter: @Dead_Sassy
Facebook: Butterfly Harvest
www.sandrarcampbell.com
www.waterfrontwriters.com
Seanna Raines is not happy. Her only wish is to escape the miserable, barely-functioning people she calls family. When Seanna is rescued, by a handsome man named Samuel, from an altercation with her alcoholic father, she believes her wish has come true. Just the scent of him has her head swimming in a beautiful fog. But after accepting several of his gifts, delicate black butterflies, her life irreversibly changes.
Seanna’s newfound dream becomes a nightmare as a plague of death falls upon her family and friends. With the body count rising, her collection of black butterflies grows. Increasingly vivid nightmares, and the color fading from her eyes, Seanna suspects the man of her dreams is the one destroying her life. Never sure if she is awake or dreaming, she struggles to find the truth and what Samuel has done to her.
Seanna Raines is on a journey of self-discovery. Only her search does not include college applications or finding a cool summer job. After killing Samuel Bolvayne, the ‘man’ she fears and loves, Seanna is not looking for who she is, but rather what she will become.
Without Samuel to guide her, Seanna is lost. To survive, she needs to find out what her transformation means: super strength, the ability to smell human emotions, and an ever-increasing need to devour human souls. Seanna travels to Samuel’s earthly homeland, along the coast of South Africa, in search of answers. Here, she encounters several of his failed experiments, who claim to know the truth. These abominations lead her into a sinister world of chaos and destruction, where the birthplace of evil is revealed.
THE HANDS OF TIME – ANTHOLOGY
ABANDONED – SHORT STORY
TREADING THE GRAVE ZONE – SHORT STORY
DEATH: THROUGH A CAT’S EYE – SHORT STORY
TWO WEEKS TO RITES – WEB SERIES
&
MORE…
The Dead Days Journal: Volume 1 Page 24
