Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Lucille Moncrief and her story Nefarious Four: The Dirigible Airship Disaster!
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Lucille Moncrief, authoress of The Keystone Curse and the dark erotic paranormal romance series Nefarious, was clearly a stodgy old librarian in a past life. She loves poring over history books and binge-watching PBS’s Secrets Of series. With an avaricious penchant for all things steampunk, Lucille’s breakthrough series, Nefarious, is custom-illustrated with exploding dirigible airships. And unnecessary gears abound.
When Ms. Moncrief is not yelling at the kids to get off her lawn, you can find her staring out her window pretending to be pensive. She’s usually in a good mood and readily accepts follows and friend requests to her Facebook page.
To contact the authoress Moncrief, and for more information on upcoming and past releases, please visit her at the links below.
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Tired of written dreck and sparkly vampires? Sink your teeth into the Nefarious series and get a bigger bite out of fiction.
Described as “captivating,” and “hauntingly beautiful,” the Nefarious series is a sophisticated, enthralling, and well-written tale of intrigue and devious desires. Set in a lurid, southern gothic world, follow the undead Talcott Henderson as he engages in a battle of wits with his intended, Elyse Delafayette.
But wait, what’s this? Half-ling dhamphyrs armed with hawthorn stakes, a blood-witch coven torn apart by infighting, and a corpse-like, ancient vampire king with an agenda of his own?
Enhanced with custom illustrations, this fast-paced steampunk series will leave you on the edge of your seat and hungry for more. If you are sick and tired of wimpy vampires and the flood of terrible books on the romance market, grab your copy today of the Nefarious series and relearn what a true escape into fiction is all about.
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Her eyes shone in the darkness with fresh tears as she recounted such a horrific tale. I longed to lick them from her lashes. The scent of such pungent, lingering sorrow coursing throughout her veins had my talons stinging like hornets, and I painfully itched to suck her dry until she came-to on the other side of death in my cold arms, where nothing ever hurt but the insatiable bloodlust. As she wiped at her face with her sleeve, I readjusted the pillows, stood, and approached her.
“What became of the estate?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I never returned.”
Interesting. My mouth watered and burned.
“It sits there? Unoccupied?”
Sniffling like a dainty fool, she gave a small nod. Now I knew from whence we would reign, my tender bride and I.
With Lucius dead and The Quartermaine alone the sole focus of her hatred, I was free to do with her as I wished. I could leave her be, but no fun would be had by either party. I could drain her dry right then and there, but then she would be a perishable good. No, no—I would turn her like I’d initially planned. But I would remain as her sire, her king, her master. I threatened to cry blood-stained tears of joy.
The heat, the life rolled off her in delectable waves as I outstretched my arms. I expected her to recoil at my gesture, but surprise of all surprises, she fell against me like seismically shaken, crumbling bricks. She shook against my chest as her sorrowful tears soaked into my shirt. The perfume of it was like the sharp rays of the darkening moon—silvery, faintly sweet like almond milk. I carried her to the bed as my gums itched, my talons growing beneath the backs of her knees and entwining into her soft, fragrant hair.
I placed her onto the bed. She looked up at me, her eyes wide, beautifully sad. I felt myself harden, electrifying into a ravenous fiend. The vein in her neck pulsated as I loomed over her, transmogrifying into my full, devilish form. I traced the outline of that precious vein with the sharp edge of my talon, and again to my surprise and delight, her eyelids fluttered closed, she sighed, and by tilting her head, she exposed herself to me in such exquisite submission.
My fangs burst forth into sharp rapiers, and as she lay beneath me, prone and softly open, tear-stained, resigned, I merely stood still and drank in the draught of her; like tangy meringue, or a moist devil’s food cake, and leaned down to her carotid. I blew upon the sensitive flesh with ice-cold exhalation, tasting her shiver in the air, and my fingertips shook at this tender prey. I was the shark in the water, the hawk as it circled the terrified field mouse, the lone wolf as he prowled the edge of darkness, growling like the flames of hell. The points of my fangs touched the edge of her unbroken skin, but with the beat of her heart, I was at once repelled.
My stomach lurched in a somersault as worry tugged at me, and I leaned down again to take a bite of her. Another strong thump, and a pulsating forcefield hit me in the gut, pushing me away like I was the wrong end of a magnet. The back of my legs hit the hard edge of the window seat, and at their meeting, like a tuning fork hitting a dissonant bell, my worry turned to complete and utter panic.
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Lucille Moncrief, thank you for stopping by today!
Love & blessings to all! ❤