Sunday, September 11, 2016

Vespers by Irene Preston & Liv Rancourt - Promo Post & Giveaway

By Irene Preston & Liv Rancourt
Release Date: September 13, 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9968099-3-1
Thaddeus Dupont has had over eighty years to forget…
The vampire spends his nights chanting the Liturgy of the Hours and ruthlessly disciplines those unnatural urges he’s vowed never again to indulge. He is at the command of the White Monks, who summon him at will to destroy demons. In return, the monks provide for his sustenance and promise the return of his immortal soul.
Sarasija Mishra’s most compelling job qualification might be his type O blood…
The 22-year-old college grad just moved across the country to work for some recluse he can’t even find on the internet. Sounds sketchy, but the salary is awesome and he can’t afford to be picky.  On arrival he discovers a few details his contract neglected to mention, like the alligator-infested swamp, the demon attacks, and the nature of his employer’s “special diet”. A smart guy would leave, but after one look into Dupont’s mesmerizing eyes, Sarasija can’t seem to walk away. Too bad his boss expected “Sara” to be a girl.
Falling in love is hard at any age…
The vampire can’t fight his hungers forever, especially since Sara’s brought him light, laughter and a very masculine heat. After yielding to temptation, Thaddeus must make a choice.  Killing demons may save his soul, but keeping the faith will cost him his heart.
Vespers is a complete novel with no cliffhanger. It can be enjoyed as a standalone or read as the first book in the Hours of the Night series.
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Thaddeus Dupont is having a Skype conversation with his superior, Brother George…

“Pardon me, Brother. What did you say about Nohea?”
His thin lips tightened further, and beads of sweat glistened along the edge of his tonsure. “I said, she missed this morning’s meeting. Have you heard from her?”
The White Monks provided for Nohea too, my human presence during daylight hours. “She was supposed to be here last evening.”
“Supposed to but wasn’t?” His unpleasant tone turned caustic. “Sounds like your manager needs a lesson in discipline.”
I spoke carefully, sorting through the possibilities, tamping down a moment of regret for sending Sara away. My motivation was too suspect to examine closely. “Nohea organized the transition to my new assistant.”
“Yes. We received her contract.” Sara’s name must have fooled Brother George, too.
His contract.”
“His?” Emotions flashed across his face. Surprise. Concern. Glee.
“His.” My confirmation caused his smile to broaden, an expression so exceptional on his wizened features, I choked on my dismay. “I sent him away.”
“Oh no, Brother Thaddeus. You cannot. The contract has been signed.”
The implication in his words rolled over me, hardening my dismay into the walls of a trap. “Then I shall retrieve him.” As if that glorious young man was a wallet or a set of keys whose worth was best proven by his absence.
Brother George had been waiting twenty years for me to slip, and from his barely suppressed smirk, he had me. “Perhaps Nohea can assist you.” His head gave a portentous tilt, as if the motion could tighten the trap around me. “You have seen her?”
“Mmm.” Some residual humanity kept me from giving him a direct answer. All my lifetimes had taught me not to share secrets with someone so désagréable.
“Well.” Brother George crossed his arms, gloating at me from under his bushy brows. “You have a new assignment, so I’ll need both you and Nohea to meet with me as soon as possible.”
I nodded, my palms open. “Of course, Brother.” Assignments were best given in person, in places where information could not be overheard.
“Notify me when you get to town, and I’ll tell you where and when.”
My jaw tightened at his high-handed tone, though anticipation beat in time with my pulse. It had been two years since my last assignment. Two years since leaving the river. And now Sara arrived, Nohea proved undependable, and I had an assignment.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said. “God’s peace be with you, Brother.”
“God’s peace.” He reached forward to close the connection as soon as the words left his mouth. Brother George made it very clear I was as much a trial to him as he was to me. I tapped my iPad screen, sending it to sleep, though I did not move right away.
I lost myself in the swamp music. My previous assistant had left a week ago, and now my most pressing concern was for sustenance. Feeding from Sara would have begged disaster. Fear of the possibility had racked me all night, though the twin desires, hunger and lust, had come close to winning through.
My resolve had held, and now I had to move on. A quick search of the house should tell me whether Nohea had been present. I rose, headed for the door, heard a sound.
Footsteps. On the stairs.
Inhaling, I caught the faintest hint of honey.
Mon Dieu, j’ai faim. So hungry.
For one moment, I lost control, a very human lapse, where I want became the only thing. When I regained myself, I had bent Sara over the banister, his hands scrabbling at my shirt. I shifted away, and his hands flew out, as if he might overbalance. I caught one wrist, his flesh warm, his pulse thudding under my thumb.
“What. The actual. Fuck.” He jerked his hand away, then blinked, slowly, rubbing the place I’d touched with trembling fingers. “I wasn’t, um”—he paused to clear his throat—“sure you were still here.”
Je m’excuse,” I murmured, breathless. I took another step. “Come. We’ll eat.” Brushing past him, I headed down the stairs. He stayed still, clasping his wrist, the heat of his gaze following me. “Come.” I paused on the steep stairs. “We’ll talk.”
Shit. Shit. What was that all about? Sara clung to the polished banister as he followed Dupont’s implacable form down the stairs, trying not to wind up in a heap at the bottom. The stairs were steep enough to be tricky already, never mind he was still shaking like a leaf. We’ll talk, Dupont had said. And walked away, cool as you please, as if nothing had happened.
We’ll talk? Or had he said eat? Not relevant. Because, okay, maybe he shouldn’t have surprised the guy. Dupont obviously had expected to be alone in the house, but that didn’t excuse… What? The details were fuzzy.
He had been downstairs, getting antsier and antsier about confronting Dupont and second-guessing his decision to send Bren back to Pinky’s alone. When the noises overhead started, he had kicked himself. Duh. Dupont worked nights, so maybe he hadn’t bugged out, maybe he had just been asleep most of the day. After a while, when Dupont showed no inclination to come down, Sara had lost patience. He’d climbed up to the master suite or secret hideaway or wherever. And, jeez, was the guy some kind of miser, or just super conscientious about his energy usage? Again with the lack of lights. The narrow landing at the top of the stairs was dark, and the shifting shadows in the close quarters gave Sara the willies, not to mention second thoughts about invading his employer’s privacy.
Suddenly, Dupont had been there, way too close, pressing their bodies together way too intimately. Or had he? Had Sara just imagined that part? Because the next thing he knew, he was falling. He would have fallen, except Dupont’s fingers had wrapped around his wrist and hauled him to safety with no more apparent effort than if he were a child. Safe.
He didn’t feel very safe, though. His heart was pounding hard enough the gators could probably hear it out in the swamp. He hit the bottom step and then level floor with relief. Dupont turned left, away from the kitchen. Talk, then, not eat. Why had he heard eat?
Focus. Breathe. They’d startled each other on the landing, that was all. And Dupont had kept him from falling. Awesome. Not the impression he needed to make. He wanted Dupont to see him as professional and competent, not the body he almost had to clean up from the bottom of the stairs.
He took a deep breath as he followed Dupont into the front room. His boss wore another set of shapeless, baggy clothes. Tech geek, Sara had thought earlier. But Dupont stood maybe six feet tall and Sara only a couple of inches shorter. The strength to catch a grown man out of the air didn’t come from sitting in front of a computer all day. And the way the body under the loose clothes had felt…
Keep it professional. He smoothed his damp palms down his side. And stop zoning out. He didn’t usually have trouble focusing. Maybe he needed some vitamins or something. Or maybe he was just stressed.
For my review of Vespers click here
About the Authors
About Irene Preston
Irene Preston has to write romances, after all she is living one.  As a starving college student, she met her dream man who whisked her away on a romantic honeymoon across Europe.  Today they live in the beautiful hill country outside of Austin, Texas where Dream Man is still working hard to make sure she never has to take off her rose-colored glasses.
Where to find Irene
About Liv Rancourt
I write romance: m/f, m/m, and v/h, where the h is for human and the v is for vampire … or sometimes demon … I lean more towards funny than angst. When I’m not writing I take care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on whether I’m at home or at work. My husband is a soul of patience, my dog’s cuteness is legendary, and we share the homestead with three ferrets. Who steal things. Because they’re brats.
Where to find Liv
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A Rafflecopter Giveaway
For my review of Vespers click here

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