QSFer Liv Rancourt has a new MM paranormal historical romance out: The Pirate’s Vampire.
Can a pirate whose life is the sea and a vampire who cannot cross water ever find a way to be together?
Clifton lives for his ship, his crew, and the ocean, and there’s not much that frightens him. Except possibly a certain vampire. After their too-brief rendezvous, he leaves New Orleans for a short trip that he manages to extend for some six months.
Life on Le Rêve is easier than facing what he feels for the Dáire Malone.
As the one who was left behind, Malone imagines all sorts of reasons for Clifton’s desertion. To distract himself, he looks for ways to destroy the evil book that was a relic of their previous adventure. The book is impervious to his efforts, though its power is tempting.
When Clifton runs out of excuses, he returns to New Orleans and the men discover their feelings are true. This time, though, their interlude is ended by something more dire than Clifton’s fears. Clifton has crossed the wrong man, and to save him, Malone must do the one thing he cannot.
He must board Le Rêve and follow his lover, no matter what the cost.
Get It At Amazon | Universal Buy Link
Excerpt
In the break between dances, there was time to take a glass of champagne from one of the waiters circulating through the crowd. Dorothea joined me, already holding a glass. “You should have found someone to dance with,” she murmured, her voice pitched low so only I could hear.
A pair of young women drifted past us, their gowns of silver and blue cut low to show off their decolletage and their lovely white throats. I smiled and nodded, but it was a vacant smile, a perfunctory nod. One murmured something to her friend, hiding behind a lace fan, and both women laughed. I could have eavesdropped if I’d cared to.
I did not.
“When have you ever seen me dance?” I asked Dorothea instead.
She tapped me on the arm with her fan. “Don’t be stubborn. There are any number of willing young women for you to choose from. Young men, too.”
Libbie came toward us in a swirl of diaphanous muslin. Her blond curls tumbled from the crown of her head, framing her face, and she’d left her attendants behind. “She’s right, you know, but for now, you can dance with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, Libbie took hold of my arm and dragged me toward the dance floor. To hesitate would have drawn attention, the only thing I liked less than dancing. The young man on the pianoforte had been joined by others, including two violins, a viola, and a piccolo, and the band began a quadrille. Libbie curtsied, I bowed, and, hand in hand, we began the formation. “He’s watching,” Libbie said, startling me out of the rhythm of the steps.
“So?” I met Libbie’s saucy grin with a raised brow. The quadrille is a vigorous dance, one where partners change every few measures. The steps are quick, and while I did my best to attend to the other dancers, I couldn’t help but notice the military man who’d danced with Dorothea.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with light hair and clear blue eyes, he stood at the edge of the dance floor, his gaze a weight I couldn’t help but notice. Yes, he had the kind of body I appreciated. The dancers changed partners and I clasped hands with Libbie again.
“You should ask him to dance.”
Without responding, I surveyed the dance floor. At least two couples were both men, and three or four were both women. In this raucous crowd, no one much cared who danced with whom.
Or who slept with whom, for that matter.
“When was the last time you fed?” Libbie’s sharp question bothered me, but fortunately, we were swept apart before I would have to answer.
I found myself arm in arm with an older woman, one who smelled of liniment underneath an eye-watering mix of lilac and bergamot. She had a predatory smile and wooden teeth, and I was glad when we were required to move on to different partners.
The dance felt endless, and at those moments when I returned to Libbie, she forbore asking me any more questions. Her smile needled me, though, clearly trying to dare me into doing something.
Something? Something more than the mouthful of blood I took whenever the need grew severe?
Oh yes. Libbie challenged me to do that thing I’d had so far resisted. For six months.
Because while it made me feel like a lovelorn youth, I couldn’t shake the memory of Thomas Clifton, the pirate who haunted me as surely as the crowd of spirits who dogged my every step. We’d shared but a handful of nights, but every moment was carved onto my soul.
Then Thomas had gone to sea, the one place I could not go.
Vampires cannot cross water, and even if we could, I wasn’t prepared to throw everything over for another man. I’d done that once before, with fairly horrible consequences.
There had been no one since Clifton’s ship, Le Rêve, had sailed down the Mississippi toward the Gulf. Despite myself, I walked the levee road most nights, hoping to see that familiar set of sails.
So far, I had not.
Author Bio
Liv Rancourt is a multi-published author of m/m romance. Because love is love, even with fangs.
Liv is a huge fan of paranormal romance and urban fantasy and loves history just as much, so her stories feature vampires or magic or they’re set in the past…or all of the above. She also co-authors two m/m paranormal romance series with Irene Preston. Their partnership works because Liv is good at blowing things up and Irene is good at explaining why.
When Liv isn’t writing she takes care of tiny premature babies in the NICU. Her husband is a soul of patience, her kids are her pride and joy, and her dog Burnsie is endlessly entertaining.
| Author Website | https://livrancourt.com/ |
|---|---|
| Author Bluesky | https://bsky.app/profile/livrancourt.bsky.social |
| Author Facebook | https://www.facebook.com/liv.rancourt |
| Author Other Social Media | https://www.threads.net/@livrancourt |