BLOOD PROPHECY is a 65,000 word Paranormal Romance in which fate grants a young woman the gift of love with one hand and casts her into a maelstrom of government conspiracies and vampire politics with the other.
Seventeen-year-old Akasha Hope is being followed on her nightly ventures out of the orphanage. She wonders if it is the uniformed men who murdered her parents, or if somebody knows she beat a man to death two years ago with her government-engineered super-human strength. She never guessed that it was a vampire who watched her, and not just any vampire. He is Silas McNaught, Lord of her home city of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. His psychic powers are among the strongest of his kind and Akasha has been in his visions for centuries. To find out what part she plays in his destiny, he plans to adopt her.
Akasha’s world is overhauled like a performance engine when she is adopted four months before her eighteenth birthday. Mr. McNaught is the antithesis of her last mentor, a coarse mechanic who was arrested for running a chop shop. She is suspicious of Silas’s motives and perplexed at his odd hours. Gradually, he wins her over with his generosity and support of her dreams of college and opening an automotive business. If only she could fight her growing attraction to him and dispel his curiosity about her painful past.
Despite her foul language and oil-stained clothes, Silas falls in love with Akasha. His actions reach the ears of his vindictive ex lover who leads a vampire cult. She reports him to the U.N. of the vampire world in a scheme to topple his power base. On top of that, Akasha and Silas discover that she is the daughter of a Vietnam experiment gone awry, and government assassins are looking for her. Together, they hope to be strong enough to combat this double threat.
I am a member of the Idaho Writer’s league and have an Associate’s degree in Automotive Technology. The complete manuscript is available upon request.
Thank you for your time.
Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. October: 1999
Akasha bolted behind a fir tree at the sight of the approaching police cruiser. She held her breath as it drew near. Her slight form pressed against the rough bark. ‘Last thing I need is to be busted after curfew.
The car crawled by, resembling a predatory insect. She extracted her mass of curly black hair from the tree branches and headed for the cemetery, relieved at her success. She hated being caught right when she snuck out the orphanage window. She hoped her friend had gotten out and was able to meet her. Akasha’s thoughts on the matter weren’t entirely unselfish. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.
She’d met Xochitl, (pronounced So-she, though Akasha had no idea how you’d get that out of such a f***** up combination of letters) at the orphanage. Her mother died and no one knew what to do with her. Xochitl was fascinating, with her carefree personality, Goth clothes, and talk of her metal band. Akasha enjoyed having her as a companion on her nightly walks. Unfortunately, it ended when an obnoxious bible-thumping couple adopted Xochitl a week ago. Akasha could see the zealot’s pyre burning in their eyes and her heart went out to her new friend. The only good to come out of it was that Xochitl was transferred to Akasha’s school. They agreed to meet in the cemetery tonight.
Akasha scanned her surroundings for the slightest movement; ears pricked for the tiniest hint of footsteps approaching. All was quiet. She straightened her shoulders defiantly and flipped a few shadows the bird.
Akasha sensed that she was being followed these last few weeks. A lot of people were looking for her. Neither of the possibilities boded well. There was only one question: Was it the uniformed men who murdered her parents, or did someone find out that she killed a man years ago? Why now? I’ve been fine here for two years and now that I’m almost eighteen, this shit’s gotta happen? She pulled her knife out, reassured by the feel of cold steel in her palm. Though it would be safer if she’d forego her nightly walks, Akasha couldn’t bear the thought of staying in that shitty orphanage a second longer than she had to. If that meant facing whatever was stalking her, so be it. She’d killed to defend herself before, she could do it again. Or, at least make somebody hurt.
Her boots made no sound on the cracked sidewalk as she padded down Government Way. The canopy of maples above turned the street into a dark tunnel at night.
Once inside the cemetery, she looked up and was overcome by the beauty of the full moon, framed by a swirl of silver clouds and twinkling stars in the cerulean sky. When she reached the marble angel monument she dug her cigarettes out of her biker jacket. If only my parents could have had a monument like this.