The
Genesis
Blood of Ages, Book One
K. L. Kerr
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Penrefe
Publications
ISBN: 0955984556
ASIN: B00999FXZ0
Number of pages: 314
Word Count: 100,000
Cover Artist: K. L. Kerr
Book Description:
The vampires of Dayson
city are preparing for war. Having lived in constant fear of the
Archway Corporation for decades, desperation has forced them into
action. Their solution is to bring the First vampire, Alistair, back
from the dead, a warrior famed for eradicating entire armies in the
name of his kind.
For fledgling vampire
Catrina Malinka, the fabled return of some unknown deity falls low on
her list of concerns. Between fending off strangers trying to kill
her in her dreams and trying to rein in an uncontrollable power that
no one else even understands let alone shares, Catrina is forced to
fight her assumed role in the war against Archway, which threatens to
send her down a path she doesn’t want to travel.
The first book in The
Blood of Ages series, “The Genesis” is an urban fantasy about the
inescapable nature of Fate and the corruption of power.
Excerpt: The First Feed
Excerpt: The First Feed
Catrina
paid little notice to where they were headed, since she was too
enrapt in the swirl of streetlights sweeping by the window to listen
in on Fox and Rose’s conversation. Her attention broke occasionally
when Rose laughed, which she did often. If Fox were the lion, as
she’d imagined on their first meeting, that made Rose the hyena.
The
nights in Dayson were never truly dark, and the days—which she
would only ever be able to recall from memory from now on—were
never bright. Skies in varying shades of grey were all that
overlooked their fair city, and any break in infinite varieties of
rain constituted good weather. Even so, her new eyes could make out
the crescent moon floating amongst an ocean of stars as Rose parked
the car outside a bar that looked like countless other rundown brick
buildings scattered in amongst those made of concrete.
The
music pulsed harsh and raw through the open doors, thunderous beats
to dance to for those gathered inside the low-ceilinged, dark rooms.
Rose left them at the entrance, quickly swallowed up by the mass of
bodies.
Catrina
followed Fox into the smoky room and was hit by a smell so fierce
that it threatened to floor her. Beyond that of sweaty bodies laced
with grime and grease from their days of hard labours, the
unmistakable scent of blood rose in the air. So much stronger than
what she’d sensed from Maria, and in such a tightly packed space,
it came inescapably with every breath, like honey-sweet liquid iron
sliding down her throat.
The
people were all oblivious. No, not all of them. A few stood out,
their movements fluid, more calculated. As they slipped through the
mass, she noticed the path being created by people was wide enough
for them both. The hunger sent sudden, urgent impulses that left her
fingers twitching. She barely managed to keep at Fox’s back on the
way to the bar, as a mist descended across her vision. So many people
and so much blood pumping through frail bodies that seemed barely
able to hold it in. Her head ached with the deafening sound of a
hundred hearts thumping in time with the pounding bass.
In
a far corner, Fox introduced her to a man, his clothes were the same
colour as his raven hair, half-blended into the shadows. He didn’t
need a name. Fox simply referred to him as “the Moderator.” The
Moderator regarded her with hazel eyes too small for his face, tiny
glinting gems set in alabaster skin, which snatched her, and the
hunger’s, interest from the room’s other occupants. He offered
her a hand as though proposing they dance. When she turned to Fox for
an answer, he just nodded and left them. With butterflies in her
stomach, she accepted the Moderator’s thin hand and let him guide
the way.
“This
is your first time feeding?” he asked in a soft voice, whispering
in her ear to be heard over the music. Painful in its simplicity, the
question left her insides churning. She just about managed a nod.
“The hunger will torment you until you give it what it needs.”
When she winced, he gripped her hand tighter; the pressure alleviated
some of the pain. While not an especially attractive man, the
Moderator’s presence was all-consuming, and his iron grip and
piercing eyes ensured attention stayed on him, before the hunger
could release her into the pack of waiting bodies. “I understand
your pain, child, but the hunger must be appeased. Despite what you
may think, you are not the one in control anymore. The hunger is its
own master and you its slave. You will succumb to it when it craves
its fill, or else you will both perish. Succumb often, and in careful
doses, and given enough time, you will be able to control it
completely.”
“And
until then…?”
A
jester’s smile stretched across the Moderator’s face. “Until
then, you will feed like the rest of us.”
As
they reached the edge of the crowd, her guide gestured to a man
swaying out of time with the music, pupils dilated like saucers and
mouth open wide. So this shaggy-haired stallion riding what appeared
to be a permanent high would take her vampiric virginity. And while
the hunger urged her forwards at the very thought, she saw reason to
pause and tightened her grip on the Moderator’s hand.
“Don’t
be afraid,” he said. “The hunger will show the way. And do not
concern yourself with our friend’s wellbeing. Observe the skin.”
He gestured the man’s shoulder, where she saw scant silver lines
tracing all the way up his neck. The thin vest fitted to his shapely,
muscled form proudly displayed the scars. “He is a donor. You will
find many of their kind in places such as these. I can assure you, he
is more than willing.”
When
the Moderator released her, the hunger led on. For the next minute,
she was no longer Catrina Malinka. She was the hunger. She may have
forced the man easily twice her size up against the wall, leaning
into him and savouring the musky scent rising from perspiring flesh.
If he struggled or resisted, she couldn’t remember. He may have
moaned as her fangs sliced through her gums and into the vein. As
blood gushed like liquid fire, she too may have moaned, closing her
eyes and letting the moment consume her.
New
thoughts overwhelmed her sense of reason with each mouthful of blood
pumping out of the fissure in his neck, as though for an instant she
saw the world through this man’s eyes; the image of their naked
bodies tangled together on an unmade bed in what she could only
assume was this man’s shoebox of an apartment flashed across her
vision.
Spurred,
it seemed, by the same thought, he slid a hand up her back, trying to
force her closer. But despite his urgency, he had all the strength of
tissue paper when put against her. While she revelled in his
weakness, the hunger subsided into anger the likes of which she’d
never known.
Her
dark eyes flashed open and fingers slipped around his shoulder,
feeling the top of his spine underneath the thin stretch of skin. One
quick twist, and he would be dead. Before she could get her fingers
around his neck, strong hands pulled her away, which severed both the
lustful thoughts and the absolute desire to destroy him.
The
man struggled to breathe as he ran shaking fingers over his neck, but
a lazy smile curled his lips nonetheless.
“Our
saliva heals the wounds,” the Moderator said as she stared at her
first “victim” lurching back into the throng of bodies. “The
scarring only occurs from continuously providing donor services, or
in cases where the human has been attacked. Here, the donors are safe
and aware of what happens to them. Feeding out there—” He
gestured to the bar’s entrance. “Is difficult and delicate when
you choose not to kill. There will be certain situations where your
actions can be more easily dismissed if you choose to feed on someone
who does not know what you are.” Such sobering words set her eyes
back on the Moderator, who regarded her cautiously, concern
stretching lines on his face. “Tell me truthfully,” he said. “How
did it feel?”
Without
a second thought, she replied, “I wanted to kill him.”
About
the Author:
Born
and raised close to North York Moors, initial setting of American
Werewolf in London,
one might be excused for thinking K. L. Kerr's interests might lie
with those furry beasts. But she has always preferred monsters of the
fanged variety, having written the very first draft of her novel, The
Genesis, aged
sixteen.
When
not writing, Kerr can be found playing the MMORPG, World of Warcraft,
or listening to music from video game soundtracks. She still lives in
the North of England, close to The Moors (keeping to the roads,
naturally), with two cats who--like all cats--think they're people.
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