Valedor
by
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Furtively they walked entirely around the newly-occupied house, seeing no sign of anyone. The front door, half-hidden by the shadows of the small porch, seemed like a good place to start. On principle, Steven tried the door, and they both stared in surprise as the knob turned easily beneath his gloved hand. The two exchanged a glance, and Steve stepped through the door, clicking on a flashlight. Jeremy followed, with reluctance and his own small flashlight, keeping his doubts to himself. Jeremy poked his flashlight beam around a living room complete with fireplace, plants and books. "Hey, lookit this," came Steven’s quiet whisper. Jeremy make his way over to stand just behind his friend. A year younger but four inches taller, Jeremy looked over Steve’s shoulder at a beautiful and deadly thing of gleaming steel and polished wood: an old and well-cared-for Japanese katana sword. Knowing Jeremy’s fascination with swords, Steven handed it over to his breathless friend, and moved to check out the T.V. and stereo system he wouldn’t be taking. Jeremy inspected the sword as best he could in the poor light. Full tang, he noted with approval; triple rivets, the handle looked like mahogany. It had obviously been crafted by a master, although Jeremy could find no maker’s mark on it. He squinted closer in the dim light of the flash. Inscribed on the blade in clean script was the word Valedor. Wasn’t that the name on the mailbox out front? "Be careful with that." Both boys startled at the calm, cultured voice in the quiet dark. When the light suddenly came on, Jeremy nearly dropped the sword, but Steven kept his cool. The speaker was a young man, probably around thirty-five, shorter even than Steven, with wavy dark hair reaching his shoulders. He leaned comfortably against the far doorframe, slim and elegant in dark slacks and a green silk shirt. Stockingfooted, he carried nothing more threatening than a paperback book, yet no sign of concern showed on his handsome features. He didn’t wait for a reply, but continued in mild reproach: "You might at least take your shoes off. You’re tracking mud on my floor."
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About the Book
Valedor
watched his father burned to death by superstitious villagers.
Nick narrowly escaped the same fate himself, for he, too, is a vampire.
More than a thousand years later, Nick Valedor
enjoys a peaceful life as an artist in upstate New York,
supplementing his surreptitious diet of deer blood
with an occasional mugger or rapist.
His peace is shattered when his companion,
a Great Horned Owl with a talent for mischief,
unintentionally introduces him to
Kadi Dexter, a self-reliant veterinarian with a temper.
For centuries Nick has endured self-imposed isolation
rather than risk being honest in a relationship;
but Kadi seems able to accept him for who and what he is,
and the lure of that acceptance is more than Nick can resist.
Suddenly faced with creatures she never dreamed existed,
Kadi reluctantly allies herself with
the disturbingly handsome--and disarmingly ethical--
Nick against those who would destroy him,
less afraid of vampires than she is of her own heart.
About the Author
Director of the art department at a printing firm in central New York, Donna Fritz is also a wildlife illustrator, calligrapher and licensed falconer. She and Julian share a log cabin with two dogs and a ferret. The raptors, cat, horse and little red antique Jeep stay outside. (Well, mostly.)