Blood (Three Days of Oblenite #3) by Jean Lowe Carlson
Brilliant surgeon Aulen Gregoire discovers by an accident of fate that his blood causes patients to survive death. His ability to steal patients from death's clutches turns into obsession, and the blessing becomes a curse as his own vitality is ripped away, craving the bliss of saving lives like a drug. Unleashed like a howling creature, his vast addiction drags him down to the deadly blue lights of the city's most desperate, where Aulen becomes the Angelus of the Catacombs.
And before his need is through, it will cost him everything; his position, friends, family, and his life.
Be advised: The book contains scenes of male rape, sexual coercion
You can find Blood at:
ABOUT THE TRILOGY
A darkly romantic, gothic paranormal fantasy series, Three Days of Oblenite is rife with superstition, piety, and devious mysticism. The trilogy takes place in a dark, Parisian Victorian atmosphere, and involves three characters desperately cursed with the powers of a dead saint. With torturous undercurrents, their lives collide in lust, obsession, addiction, desperation, and death.
“Breath” follows a woman cursed to celibacy, unable to find love because her kiss kills, all but one night a year.
“Tears” involves a man cursed to feel bliss when he is whipped, and his religious conflict as he finds himself in a relationship with the man who brings him release.
While “Blood” features a surgeon cursed with healing blood, as he descends into a desperate underworld, addicted to working miracles.
A book spotlight for Tears
A book spotlight for Breath
Author Bio:
Jean Lowe Carlson writes epic fantasy fiction, dark supernatural romance, and dystopian fantasy. Her sensual, raw worlds remind one of Jacqueline Carey, Clive Barker’s Imajica, Anne Rice, and Robin Hobb.
Jean holds a doctorate in Naturopathic Medicine, and has a keen awareness of psychology and human behavior, using it to paint vivid and emotionally complex characters set amidst the broader scope of nations in turmoil or societies with riveting secrets. Not afraid of exploring all kinds of relationships, including LGBTQ and BDSM, her genre-bending novels are exciting, passionate, challenging, and lush.
For more on the author and her books check out these sites:
EXCERPT FROM BLOOD
They had finally crossed the park and were heading across
Rue Blounne in the Gypsun Quarter. Jessup took them left, and then down a broad
avenue strung with washlines and colorful clothing that fluttered like flags in
the light summer breeze. A dog barked, and a passel of wild
curl-haired children went rushing by, shrieking and
giggling. A stout grammère sweeping off her stoop yelled at them and shook her
fist heartily, and Aulen’s spirits soared. The Quarter was a-bustle with life
on this bright summer day, and his company was good and his tedium seemed far
away.
Aulen was trying, and he was doing better than he’d done in
weeks. Jessup was good company, and his light demeanor was rubbing off on Aulen.
Suddenly, Jessup turned left, and hustled into a little glass-fronted shop.
“Let’s make a quick stop.”
“Sure.”
Aulen ducked into the shop behind the younger man, and found
himself in a cozy little cigar-store as the bell-charm upon the door rang. The shop
was cramped with shelving filled with cigars and baskets of loose-leaf
tobaccos, smelling heavenly of herbal smokes of all sorts. Jessup seemed to
know the young man behind the glass counter, an affable Gypsun of perhaps his
late twenties, and greeted him cheerily.
“Freder!”
“Jess! Didn’t think to see you today!” The wiry, dark-eyed
fellow ducked out from behind the counter and embraced Jessup with a hearty slap
upon the back. Jessup gave a hearty slap back, then broke from the embrace to
make introductions.
“Aulen, this is Freder de Merque. Freder, this is Dotorre Aulen
Gregoire. He works with Krystof Fausten at Saint Sommes Hospital.”
“Enchanté.” Aulen clasped the man’s hand.
“Likewise!” Freder was cheery and bright, much like Jessup
himself, and Aulen could see how the two were fast friends.
“Aulen and I are headed down to the faire. Want to come?”
Jessup leaned against the glass case full of cigars and smoking implements.
“Ahh… Dieu de merde!” Freder looked stricken. “I’m supposed
to watch the shop today for grandpère.” He sucked his lower lip a moment, then seemed
to come to a decision. “Hold on a tic. Go ahead and pick something out if you
want, the both of you. I’ll be right back.”
Freder strode to a set of stairs off to the left that led to
upper apartments over the small family shop, and was soon gone out of sight. Jessup
was already perusing the shelves, picking up cigars and smelling them idly.
“You smoke, dotorre?”
Aulen shook his head, hands in his trouser-pockets, leaning
upon the glass case. “Not usually. I don’t tolerate substances well. One whiskey
leaves me reeling, and a whole cigar…” He smiled ruefully. “Better have a
bucket and a mop handy.”
Jessup looked over his shoulder and grinned his very white
and very infectious smile. “So that’s why you only ever have half a pour when you
come to the bar! I wondered about that. But you can eat a whole bucket of
Marnet’s beignets and have no problems!”
Aulen patted his lean stomach. “Don’t know where it goes…”
At last, Jessup selected a cigar he liked from a tall
mahogany rack near the door, just as quick boots trumped down the stairs.
Dark-eyed Freder was elated, grinning wide, his smile every bit as infectious
as Jessup’s. He extended his arms as he jumped to the landing, like a tumbler
after a trick.
“Misseurs! Freder de Merque is at your disposal! Onward, to
tumbling and contorting beauties! Grab your cigars and let’s go!”
Jessup twirled his cigar with a grin and pocketed it inside
his black linen waistcoat, but Aulen simply pulled away from the glass case
with a rueful shake of his head.
But blithe Freder wouldn’t have it. “None for you?”
Aulen repeated his earlier admonishment. “I don’t tolerate
drink or smokes well. Really not at all.”
“Come, now!” Freder pushed, his dark eyes mischievous and
relentless. “We’re off to celebrate and see hot little acrobat-women! Here, try
this one. They’re very mild, and it has an herbal blend you’ll enjoy. Allons!”
And he was shoving it into the inner pocket of Aulen’s taupe
waistcoat with a feisty grin. And Aulen found he was grinning back, enjoying
the fun, swept up in the joyous enthusiasm of Jessup and his riotous comrade
“Alright! Alright! I give in!” Aulen held his hands up,
laughing now as Freder patted his cheeks in a quick
rolletunde, then turned and whisked something from behind the glass cigar-case.
Freder held up a pewter flask and sloshed it teasingly, his
dark eyes alight with mischief. “For later!”
“You sneaky devil.” Jessup accosted Freder and wrenched it
away, unscrewing the cap and sniffing, then took a swig. “Dark’s tits!” Jessup
coughed, and his eyes were watering, but he was grinning. “What the Dieu de
merde is that?” He threw the flask back to Freder.
Freder gave a cheeky wink as he caught it. “Homemade apricot
brandy. Theoretically. Dotorre?”
Aulen started to protest with a shake of his head.
“Come on…!”
Freder tossed him the narrow pewter flask, and Aulen caught
it. The day was fine, and he was out, and they were off to see blithe entertainment.
Aulen’s worries and fears had been banished to the back of his mind, and he
felt decades younger and lighter of heart than he had been in months. He
thought briefly of Christianne, and how much she would smile to see her husband
returned home after a day of revelry and distraction from his woes. Oh, how
Christianne would smile for him.
“What the hell.” Aulen grinned and unscrewed the flask’s
cap. He took a swig, then coughed like Jessup had, his eyes burning like fire
along with his poor throat, and indeed, his entire mouth. His belly seared like
flame. Aulen threw the pewter flask back, still coughing into his
rolled-up shirtsleeve.
“Merde!” Aulen managed to croak out, and Freder laughed
heartily.
“That’s the spirit!” Freder reached around the glass case
once more, and tossed a second pewter flask to Aulen. “Keep that one for me,
huh? Jessup drinks shit too fast…” He winked.
“You ballsy baiseur!”
Jessup laughed and launched himself at Freder, and they
wrestled a moment like young men do. But Freder was stronger, both broader in shoulder
and stouter than Jessup, and managed to retain control of the first flask,
shoving Jessup off and running for the front door of the shop. Jessup followed
briskly, and Aulen whisked forward, making the door-charm tinkle against the
glass as they whisked out of the dim shop and into the sunny, sweat-thick
street.
Aulen’s head buzzed nicely even from his sip of the alcohol.
The day was muggy and bright, cicadas chorusing for them in the trees as the laughter
of the two younger men made heads turn all the way down the laundry-choked
street. Dark-eyed women admired Aulen from windows and stoops as he turned. He
felt himself flush, rifling a hand through his auburn hair, not used to being
attended to in such a way by anyone but Christianne.
But the day was fine and the company was good, and Aulen’s
worries were pushed aside. Aulen thought again of Christianne, of how she would
smile for him when he came home rested from a day of distraction and in a good
mood. He picked up his boots and whisked off down the avenue behind Freder de
Merque and Jessup Rohalle, deeper into the Gypsun Quarter in the full sun of
the afternoon.
The Common Centrale was one of the largest squares in the
city of Julis, its four-block expanse of grey pavingstones adorned with not one
but four massive white-marble fountains along its sprawling length. The hub of
the Gypsun Quarter, the Common Centrale was normally choked with booths and
stalls as a daily open-air market. Flanked by outdoor cafes all along its
perimeter, the Common was a place to see and be seen, a place where even
nobility from the highest classes of Julis came to take distraction. A site of
interest for tourists, the Common was a fixture of the city, and also the
starting and ending-point for the annual Rollows parade.
But today, the Common was choked to the hilt with the
traveling faire. Massive tents towered over the neighboring four- and
five-story brick and stone buildings of the Quarter. Hawkers crowded close,
crying their wares with the same blithe and raucous enthusiasm of Rollows-eve,
many of them in their Rollows-masques. The square was packed with revelers
gawking at faire-entertainers mingling between the booths and tents. The
fountains were barely visible through the melee and a riot of colorful silk and
high-arching canvas soared over it all.
The traveling faire was the height of artistic mastery and
phantasma. As Aulen pushed his way through the crowd after Jessup and Freder, they
passed tumblers and acrobats, contortionists and sword-swallowers, fire-jugglers
and snake-singers, dancing dogs and a rabbit race. And just when Aulen thought
it couldn’t get any more magnificent or bizarre, they stepped aside hastily for
a parade of white chargers ridden by lovely dark-haired women, aiming for the central-most
of the six massive pavilions.
“Ah, baise-moi!”
Freder mock-swooned as the women rode by in their black
corsets and dripping black lace. Their costumes sported little else to cover
their muscular thighs and black riding-boots, not to mention their décolletage.
All of them had dark curls piled high into luxurious cascades over back masques
full of cormorant and peacock feathers. Blue and green and silver beadwork
edged their corsets, dripping from the lace and accentuating their sinuous
undulations as they rode their strong chargers.
“Ma bien-aimée!” Freder stepped to the stirrup of a
particularly buxom and healthy woman, pacing at the side of her horse to kiss
her boot. She laughed heartily and set her black riding-boot to his chest, pushing
Freder off with a twinkle in her eye and a wink as she guided
her white stallion on. But she reined it in suddenly and
made it rear, then did a perfect leap in place, her dark eyes flashing to
Freder from behind her feather-masque to make sure he appreciated her efforts on
his behalf.
Freder swooned backwards into Jessup’s arms, making a show
of it.
The woman upon the charger laughed, and the crowd clapped
and cheered.
Freder bowed as if he were flourishing a high-topped hat.
There was a ripple of laughter as the crowd dispersed, either
following the horses on towards the pavilion where they would be performing, or
heading off towards other entertainment in the packed square. Freder laughed
his way over to a caramel-nut seller and bought them each a bag of pacanne,
then whisked out his pewter flask. They all shared a round of liquor to
Freder’s admonishment of, “Drink, dotorre, drink!”
“Over there!” Freder pointed, and Aulen glanced through the
crowd towards the sound of drums and chimes and a reedy flute. But Freder and
Jessup were already pushing their way through, and Aulen followed, his head
reeling nicely.
Aulen made a mental note to wait a while before his next
swig.
The day was too bright and too much fun to be ruining his
blithe time with drink.
Aulen found the rakish Gypsun duo gawking at the edge of a
set of red and purple rugs from Perthe, laid down over the cobbles. Occupied by
a small band of musicians at the rear, a trio of dancing women paced the front
of the rugs. The women were striking and half-nude, their garments little more than gossamer veils about the hips and
something to cover their breasts, with lavish jewelry and semi-precious metals dripping
over everything else. Their long, straight black hair was unbound, and they
danced with colorful veils of featherweight silk. Winding and weaving through
each other, the talented women accented the music with hips, ribcage, arms,
wrists, and even head motions.
It was erotic, and Aulen found himself blushing at the edge
of the sinuous spectacle, his heart racing from drink. Freder had dropped to his
knees, his hands in a prayer of adoration before the women. One of them laughed
as she danced, her dark eyes merry at his antics. Jessup put a hand to his friend’s shoulder and hauled him up with a
laugh, but sincere apologies to the dancers. But one lithe creature danced close
to Aulen and wrapped him in her purple veil. She pulled him close and ran her
smooth, full lips over his jaw before pulling away, her dark eyes daring him to
do more.
Aulen gaped, his head spinning.
“Dotorre Aulen Gregoire, seducer extraordinaire!”
Aulen vaguely registered Freder at his side, slapping his
back heartily and rattling him by the shoulders. The lithe, dark-eyed dancer
gazed over her shoulder at Aulen as she went. Sultry, she sashayed back towards
the band as the tempo changed into something more brisk with pops and slaps of
percussion.
Aulen’s blood raged, watching her go
A flask was pressed into his hands.
Aulen had a long drink, wiping his mouth on his forearm.
He tried to hand the flask back, but it was pressed to his
hands again. Aulen took another drink. Someone hauled him backwards with a brisk
laugh, and they were off through the crowd again.
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