Darkness Rising

Antoine harbors a secret. Born a gargoyle shifter in Paris, he
wants nothing more than to cultivate his art. His hard work
pays off the night he completes his greatest sculpture. But the
excitement of his accomplishment doesn’t last.

He’s drawn the eye of the wrong group—a coven of
vampires. Antoine wakes into darkness, changed. Shattered.

His dream of becoming a renowned sculptor is destroyed.

One question remains—how will he ever survive an eternity
of darkness alone?

Darkness Rising is an introduction to the Chateau Seductions series.
Antoine tells his tale, which continues in the series with
Dark Velvet. Dark Velvet is written from Savannah’s
perspective as a newcomer to an art colony who is intrigued
by the proprietor.

Paris, Late 1800s

AT LAST, the sculpture was complete. Antoine studied the
finished marble piece of a nude woman reclining with a
grotesque figure crouched beside her. Beauty and
monstrosity together, the contrast was exactly what he’d
aimed to achieve. Others would view it as art, but he and his
kind would see it as symbolic of their dual nature.

He examined the artwork with a critical eye one last time
before cleaning up his work area in the salon. He’d applied
many last touches over several days, but now he was confi‐
dent it was finished. Tomorrow, he’d scrutinize it one last
time before presenting it to his instructor, Rodin, and his
colleagues for critique.

He strolled up the winding, cobblestone streets to reach his
tiny studio on the other side of the hill in Montmartre.

Moving here was the right decision; it had a bohemian mindset, attracting artists, writers, and poets. Perhaps he’d stop
for a celebratory drink.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be perched on Notre
Dame with the rest of your hideous lot?”

As Antoine spun to face the male speaking, icy shivers raced
up his spine. Whoever it was knew his true nature.

The scent of the undead hit his sensitive nostrils with an
unwelcome sting. Even in human form, he’d recognize the
unique odor of those who feasted on human blood. His kind had fought against them for centuries, before they’d established a truce.

Swishing sounds surrounded him followed by dull thuds of
creatures landing on the pavement around him. Over a half a dozen vampires faced him with exposed fangs and red eyes
flashing with venom. He was vastly outnumbered.

Mérde.

Their attack was instantaneous. Too quick for him to shift
into his stronger gargoyle form. He fought back, bracing his
arms against the attackers, but his human body left him at a
great disadvantage. It allowed him to blend in with the world
of men, especially the art world he so admired, but without
his full strength.

Hands threw aside the arm he’d used to shield himself, and a
female sank her sharp fangs into his neck. Without his
tougher gargoyle hide, they pierced his soft flesh without
resistance. Sharp bolts of pain rushed to the site where she’d
punctured him.

“No,” he roared and threw the vampire off of him with a rush
of adrenaline, but a male vampire immediately sank down on
him, puncturing the other side of his neck.

Antoine fought them with all his strength, but they pinned him to the ground and held down his limbs. They penetrated his flesh at various points over his body—neck, chest, upper thighs—
covering him like insatiable, bloodthirsty bats sucking out
his life force. The female was back, laughing, before
clamping on his neck again.

“Get off me,” he cried, lashing against the attack, but it was
futile. “Monsters!”