Hello and welcome to the lovely Melody Park’s WIPITUP Wednesday blog hop. As you’ve probably guessed I’m still rattling through ‘Good as Dead,’ and am about 3/4 of the way through (I think!) And what’s even better news, is that I have a new cover. Check this out:
Good As Dead
When he turned off the motorway, he had no idea how he resisted the urge to pull the car over and finish her there and then. The only sound in his head was her heart beat and it punched a tormenting hole in his empty chest with each fluid pulse. His eyes were now so dry, every time he blinked it was as someone had rubbed a sheet of sandpaper across them. His body was failing on every level, and it gone from being painful to downright excruciating. It hurt to grip the wheel, it hurt to keep his eyes on the road, it hurt to put his foot down on the accelerator, and just about anything else in between, yet still he carried on.
Following the river Meuse, he sped past miles upon miles of beautiful countryside, and whilst the fields were bare and the trees had lost their leaves, there was a charm that was wonderfully unique to France. Ornate ironwork, carved wooden signs, clay pottery, painted window boxes and pretty white shutters adored the country roads as he sped past. On an ordinary day it would have been breath-taking, alas, this was no ordinary day. As soon as the gates of the exquisite 19th century chateau came into view, he roared out his hunger. Not long now, he thought triumphantly, and there were tears of blood that he could not afford to lose, pouring down his face.
The chateau rested in 35 acres of perfectly manicured grounds and had been built in 1857. In summer the combination of scarlet roses, salvia and geraniums set amidst a backdrop of cone shaped conifer trees made for a truly stunning entrance. On happier days he had explored the private beach and wonderfully maintained Gothic chapel that was just a short walk away.
Today as his tires squealed past the gates and on to the gravelled drive, he had no time to admire the remarkable neo-gothic architecture, the magnificent white stone or the fluted pillars that sprung up in regular intervals in tall, imposing lines. The pretty turrets with their blue, cone-shaped hats had no more than a passing glance from him. There was only one thing on his mind. Destruction. He was going to take a life, and he was going to be brutal. The beast needed to be fed.
Staggering out of the car door, his head reeled with fatigue, and each step had to be forced forward with painful intent. The pounding in his head had become so loud, it felt like someone was crashing a pair of symbols together in there, but the noise would be gone soon. Reaching the back of the car, his hand grasped the trunk and though the co-ordination was not there to undo the catch, he managed to wrench it up with a last burst of adrenaline. He knew sustenance was a mere hairbreadth away, and his fangs were exploding out of his mouth in response.
He raised the lid of the trunk against a darkening skyline, and in the shades of red he saw, it looked rather pretty. It was nowhere near as attractive as the delicate little blonde that lay curled up asleep in it, though. With a heavy cry of hungry, both his arms snaked inside and coiled around her body, dragging her out. Wasting no more time, he wrenched a handful of her thick, blonde waves away from her head and sunk his straining fangs straight into her jugular.
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