Fact Thursday - One Knight Stand - What if a human bites a vampire? #action #vampire #romance
Blaxton de Ferrer once belonged to an order of crusader Kingts known as the Knights Defenders.
The Knights Defender betrayed Blaxton, stole his soul and turned him vampire.
Blaxton's been alone so long, his emtions have faded into distant memories.
In the twentyfirst century, archavists keep dissappearing from his childhood home.
Overweight and Feisty, Harriet Mortlake is the new archavist, but danger swirls around her.
When Harriet and Blaxton are trapped in a castle full of vampires, she's the one that does the biting.
This is a book has a past.
First Loose id published it under the name Knight's Vampire.
It got lost on Amazon since there's a famous animee serises called Vampire Knights.
When the rights reverted to me, I retitled it One Knight Stand.
I tried to do my own cover. Big mistake. This one is far better.
So what's it about?
Here's the latest blurb
Danger swirls around Whitborough Castle. Two archivists are missing, presumed dead. Feisty, overweight, and job obsessed, Harriet Mortlake determined she won’t be next.
Betrayed by the Knights he trusted, Blaxton de Ferrers has been alone for centuries. The mystery of the missing archivists draws him back to his childhood home.
Harriet discovers the ghosts that haunt the building aren’t all dead. Can Blaxton save his modern-day damsel in distress, or will she vanish like the previous archivists?
Check out this hot contemporary romance today.
“How dare you embarrass me like that?” Harriet Mortlake planted her hands on her hips and glowered at the man she’d cornered outside the cafe. Her normal iceberg cool deserted her, and she wanted to slap the condescending smile off his face. Around this stranger, she felt as though lightning bolts flashed from her eyes.
“It’s a temple, not a chapel,” he insisted.
Stubborn. Damn. Male. She’d been showing the big guns from the Castles’ Management Trust around the building. They’d already made it clear they thought her too young for the archivist’s role. This know-it-all had infuriated her when he sounded off in the chapel. Now he antagonized her all over again.
“As if!” Harriet snorted. “No way would medieval Christians build a pagan temple on their grounds. Superstitious locals would have accused them of devil worship. They burned heretics at the stake, remember?”
Despite Mr. Condescending’s interference, she’d impressed the big bosses—she thought. Now the sexiest male, ever, clung to his ridiculous belief the chapel had been a pagan temple.
He flashed her a smile which would have lit up the underground chapel where he’d embarrassed her earlier. He should keep his mouth shut and let her admire his looks. Everything about him radiated sex appeal. Looking at him almost made her anger evaporate, but he gave her the know-it-all look that made her bristle.
“You need to get your facts right,” he told her, determined to have the last word.
Stupid, arrogant male. She couldn’t decide whether to show him her diplomas and degrees or kick his shins. She’d reined in her temper while the higher-ups carried out their inspection. Now they’d left, she felt free to vent her rage. Hands still on her hips, she tapped her foot at him.
“Lost for words without an audience? Or don’t you have any facts to back up your cock-and-bull story? Put up or shut up, Mister. Tell me why you think it’s a temple.”
Mr. Condescending sat outside the castle’s tearoom as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His interference when she’d shown the bigwigs into the chapel could have cost her the job she loved. Whitborough Castle’s extensive records needed cataloging, and Harriet couldn’t wait to get her hands on them.
She considered herself fortunate to work here. Only sometimes, she got a someone’s watching me feeling. The last two archivists had vanished, and the police were “looking into it”—whatever that meant. Her fellow professionals viewed the post as a poisoned chalice.
Harriet knew an opportunity when she saw it, and she’d grabbed it with both hands. Everything should be perfect, but it wasn’t. From day one—a scant four weeks ago—she’d felt as if the castle’s ghosts studied her as much as she studied the castle’s records. Paranoid or what?
After an early start, she’d met the bigwigs from Castles’ Management Trust for the first time today. Things had been going well, she’d hoped. Okay, the woman with the mean mouth kept harping on about Harriet’s inexperience. Her “How old are you again, dear?” had grated on Harriet’s nerves.
The woman’s doubts had spread. Another director asked, “Are sure of your facts?” The chairman had looked her up and down, “You seem so young to know so much.”
By the time they reached the chapel, her in-depth knowledge had won everyone over. Her degree in library science made her more than suitable for the post. Once she started work at the castle, the general manager had told her she’d been the only applicant. She loved her job, and no one could fault her work ethic. A mischievous part of her had wanted to stick her tongue out at the head office guys and yell, Beggars can’t be choosers.
That’s when Mr. Condescending had wandered over and stuck his oar in. Teeth gritted, Harriet had thanked him for his interest and told him he was mistaken. If she hadn’t handled him right, the suits would have had the perfect excuse to fire her.
Intimidating and confident, Mr. Condescending made her think of the Norman conquerors who’d built the clifftop castle overlooking the sea. He towered over her all muscle, sex, and sin. His stubborn assertion the chapel had been a temple made her want to bang her head against the wall. Or even better, bang his down on the table. Not that violence ever solved anything, and she’d have needed to apologize afterward. Saying sorry to Mr. Condescending would have been like chewing wasps.
Walk away and forget him. Be glad you still have a job.
About Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie reads everything and anything, from literary fiction to sizzling romance. Her earliest memory is going to the library with her mother. She can’t have been more than two at the time. Reading, especially when a book’s hot and explicit, is more than a guilty pleasure. It’s an obsession.
Kryssie loves to visit historic sites, from Hadrian’s wall to Regency Bath. The first book she fell in love with was Georgette Heyer’s The Unkown Ajax. After that, she devoured every regency book she could. After a while, they went out of fashion, but part of Kryssie’s psyche lives in in in Regency London. She longs to dance quadrilles and flirt behind fans. Of course, Kryssie’s heroines do far more than flirt.
Kryssie lives in Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast –about thirty miles from Whitby, where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. She enjoys gardening, travel, and socializing with her author friends. You’d be surprised how many erotic romance authors live in the North of England.
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