Because of the Werewolf

Hi Ink Drinkers,

I took a break from posting because it felt strange to post with so much conflict in Russia/Ukraine, but since this site is hosting contests, such as the one requesting werewolf love stories, I figured it was okay to start posting again.  I plan to post every Tuesday and Thursday again, so today I posted chapter eight of 'The Blood that Flows'. Hilariously, I was offered a publishing deal for it by someone who was rapidly looking for werewolf fiction and thought that my story must be that too.  No.  It's vampire fiction and it's more intriguing than titillating.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Here's the synopsis in case you haven't already started reading it!

My sister lives her life looking through rose-colored glasses. It comes from looking at the world through blood... a vampire's gaze. It's a world where everyone wants to drink her blood like she's wine. How much can she give before she flows over? And how many people do I have to kill to make it stop?

And here's an excerpt:

    My sister lay motionless on the bed with a glassy look in her eyes. Actually, she hadn’t looked sharp since before she became a vamp, but this expression was more vacant than usual. Her dark hair curled around her white face and she stared off into space like she hardly noticed my arrival.

    I closed the window, locked it, and drew the curtains. Then I went into the bathroom attached to her room and got a bandage to stop her bleeding. Vampire blood didn’t clot at all compared to human blood. After all, a vampire was only two steps from being a corpse. It would take ages for her cuts to close. As I wrapped her wounds, she yanked the blanket out from under her and pulled it over her chest. If she was cold, he must have drunk quite a bit.

    I  shuddered. What had London done to her body and for what? It would take her over a year to close up, even after she stitched herself shut. Sometimes I thought vampires were more like Frankenstein’s monster than Dracula.

    I whispered quietly, “How much has he drunk? A cup? A liter?”

    Silence.

    “Two liters?”

     She averted her eyes.

I also have a really great trailer for it made if you look for it.  Have a great day, you wonderful readers and writers!

Stephanie Van Orman

Novelist (or something like that)