The Ancient

by Kathy Griffith

Alasdair Connery has seen a lot in ten thousand years.
He’s the first of his kind; the father of all nightwalkers. Together with his trusted assistant Edgar, he trolls for victims to feed from at his time of blood lust. When he’s invited to a wedding, he meets his perfect choices—a married couple. Bruce and Jules have their own sets of insecurities and secrets. She hides a wealth of insecurities under a shield of bravado, and Bruce? He hides the fact that he can’t stop thinking about the love of his life—his college flame Dr. Jeffrey Bayfield. With Alasdair’s powers of seduction working a little too well, he finds that both of them are growing somewhat dependent on him.
Growing increasingly annoyed at their emotional baggage, some of which he is responsible for, he’s willing to put up with their games for a short time, but something has to happen before his blood fever is over for another fifty years and he has to go back to donors once again, unable to kill humans for their red gift. He rather likes the killing part.
And what is he going to do about Edgar’s own growing feelings for him?

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Publisher: Independently Published
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Character Identities: Bisexual
Excerpt:

“Will wonders never cease, Jules, he showed up after all.” He turned to her, smiling, waiting for her reaction.
“Oh man, Dane and Shelley missed him, they‘ll be so bummed,” Jules said. “I knew they shouldn’t have left early.” She craned her neck for a closer look as the greeter announced him.
“Mr. Alasdair Connery.”
He stood at the patio entrance, drawing attention to himself without seeming to realize it. He was young, surprisingly so, appearing to be in his late twenties. His dark glittering Asian eyes scanned the crowd, seeming to suffer the greetings of his fellow employees with gentle good humor. As a sign of respect to the newly wedded couple, he wore a short tuxedo jacket, shirt, and tie, but instead of trousers, he wore a soft cashmere kilt in a dark blue and black plaid tartan wrapped around his lower body, seeming to embrace every curve. Soft soled leather shoes covered his feet and dark hose his lower legs.

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He was short of stature, barely five feet four inches, but his arms were long and his shoulders powerful, as if he were used to manual labor. He carried himself like a man a full foot taller. His ebony hair was so black it had a purple cast to it, and he wore it swept straight back from his high forehead, wrapped up in a thick braid that reached down the entire length of his back to the curve of his buttocks and tied with a red silk cord. His face, dusted with the lightest of dark stubble, was a pale mocha, like café au lait heavy on the milk, and he wore his high sculptured cheekbones and slim, aristocratic nose like a badge of honor. His small smile showed sensuous, molded lips.
“OMG, super schwing, he doesn’t look like the typical Scotsman, does he?” Jules said, grabbing Bruce‘s arm. “But he’s still pretty hot.” Bruce wiggled his eyebrows at her, and then chuckled.

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Reviews:Brown Penny on Amazon wrote:

A rush of blood, to all the right places … Kathy Griffith’s ANCIENT is a mesmerizing journey into the realm of vampire and human interface. The story is complex, yet it unravels with grace and with a kind of sexy inevitability that held me spellbound.

You will meet Alasdair, the Ancient, the nightwalker. And you will not forget those whose lives he touches, almost as memorable and just as nicely crafted: the lovers Jeffrey and Bruce, the special friend Edgar, the curiously vulnerable and sympathetic Jules …

The story is intricate and well woven, leading to a climax and dénouement that I will not spoil, but I will say that I look forward to another journey into Griffith’s remarkable universe.

A well-crafted tale of vampire and human lust, longing, and love


About the Author

I'm a liberal Democrat pagan living in the great state of Colorado--slipping into cronehood with my husband of 46 years. I write paranormal romances about sexy, seductive vampires--and when I'm not writing about them, I'm thinking about them.


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