The Sin Eater's Prince - Keta Diablo

by Keta Diablo
(Midwest)

COMING DECEMBER 30th FROM RAVENOUS ROMANCE:

An innate sense of curiosity drew Owen to the hearth, and specifically to the nearby wooden crate. Shortly after his father passed, he’d relegated the man’s meager possessions and his collection of cherished books to the trunk and hadn’t looked at the contents since. If memory served him, he’d find not only several volumes on Welsh history, but another on legend and lore of Wales.

He removed the lid from the crate and sorted through the books until he found what he searched for, Demons and Other Mystical Creatures of Wales. Thumbing through the pages quickly, he found the chapter entitled Lords of the Underworld: Vampyres.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and scanned the page, his eyes settling on a passage in the middle: The vampyre is the most dreaded and feared creature of the supernatural world. He’s not only obtained immortality, but has the ability to alter his appearance, fly through the night sky, and traverse the ground under the guise of the wolf or a wisp of smoke. After seducing his victims through hypnotic measures or mind control, the vampyre will drain them of their blood thereby bolstering his strength and power. A vampyre might possess beauty beyond one’s imagination or be hideously marked.

Owen’s heart launched into a triple beat and a fine bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. The mouth is thought to be the way the soul leaves the body, and also the way evil spirits are allowed to enter. If one has slain a vampyre in Wales, it is advised the mouth be stuffed with a consecrated object or stitched shut and sprinkled with holy water.

Owen turned the page with an acute sense of trepidation and read his third and final passage: Spiritual vampyres draw the life energy from their victims and at times, their very souls. This species of vampyre does not merely feed on blood but the victim’s essence in order to survive.

He slammed the book shut, tossed it back into the crate and replaced the lid. Then he rose and paced the cottage, the words from the tome tumbling through his head. He didn’t need to read the passages to know Maddock was a vampire; the man had admitted it. What he wouldn’t give to have known Andras before he arrived in Pembrokeshire. Had he always possessed such unearthly beauty or had he accrued it since Traherne turned him?

And what species of long tooth was Traherne? Had he not only fed on Andras’s blood, but sucked the very soul from the man? Andras, soulless? Nay, it could not be. He’d witnessed innumerable acts of compassion from the man while ministering to the sick, watched his eyes flood with empathy when they passed into the other world.

His intestines wound their way into a reef knot. Had Maddock played him false with his words of coveting him from afar and holding a place for him in his heart? Were those the words of a demon possessed of hypnotic capabilities or the words of a man who cared deeply?

The questions festered and churned until Owen knew only one thing: Maddock was a very dark and very beautiful vampire.

He plucked his fiddle from the case and bolted outside, the questions rattling his brain until he could no longer think. Settling into a rocking chair on the stoop, he drew a deep breath and gazed at the cloud-hung peaks of the mountains in the distance.

Hopelessness cloaked him. He had little in the way of earthly possessions—his goats, a roof over his head and his fiddle—tangible objects that could be taken away in the blink of an eye. But the two things he possessed that no one could ever take from him were his good name and his love of the song.