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About the Book
A time-travel vampire romance.
Grace has a terminal brain tumour and will die in the next few months. Roman has an addiction to blood, and could possibly live forever.
Grace is twenty-seven years old. When they meet in the twelfth century Roman is several hundred years old.
And Grace has another problem - she's from his future and neither of them believe it.
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Keep reading for an excerpt:
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know I was in the little bed in the cottage. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know I was alone. I knew what he was. All the pieces of the puzzle that was Roman fell into place and I accepted it with ease, surprised at how little fear I felt.
When I stretched, my bruised muscles protested. My throat was sore from Godfrey’s near strangulation, my stomach was tender from his punch, and my head ached, but I’d never felt so good, so absolutely at peace.
It was still daylight and I speculated on how long I’d slept. Although time appeared immaterial here, I missed the comfort and predictability of my watch. My life had been so bound by time I found it difficult to let go of the inexorable motion of the minute hand. It seemed important to know the hour, yet knowing the time was the least of my worries.
The knowledge echoed in my mind, lying in wait to ambush me when I tried to think about something else, catching me unawares. I analysed my conclusion, probing it for weak spots; he was incredibly fast – check; unnaturally pale – check; stronger than any human had a right to be – check. And he drank blood.
My hand strayed to my left breast. I gingerly touched the twin holes his teeth had made in my fragile skin. To my surprise they were partly healed. I craned my neck to look, pushing down the scratchy blanket. Yup – if I didn’t know better I would have thought they’d been made a few days ago. I wished I had a mirror because straining hurt my neck. It also made me cross-eyed.
I thought some more.
He was incredibly handsome, and the attraction was far more than just good looks. Wasn’t that supposed to be one of the signs of a vampire? Perhaps that was why there weren’t any mirrors in the cottage, because of the reflections. I put a tentative tick in another box.
I hadn’t seen him eat or drink anything, except me. And he had a sort of ‘alien-ness’, an other-worldliness about him. They both did. If Roman was a vampire, then Viktor had to be one, too. Then there was all that talk about ‘their kind’ and ‘humans’, and the mention of living for centuries. Weren’t vampires supposed to be immortal?