The day is cool as it shouldn't be in March and the sky is as gray as Reyach's mood and his irises, but I know at least his frame of mind will change quickly the moment he'll be given my attention. Undiluted attention. And so I stop looking out of the window and turn to him.
He's reclining in the sofa and his fingers are flipping through the pages of a book somebody has left on the side table. He's not really interested in its words though. All in his bored moves hints he's just waiting for our conversation to start. To please him I grab my notebook and a pen and move over to my armchair, signaling I'm ready to capture his thoughts on paper. Such written words he likes.
I sit down and he closes the book abruptly, eager to share whatever crosses his mind right now. The first question is not about him though and I take care to apologize: “I crave your forgiveness, Reyach, and promise we will move all the focus on you after the first question.”
“We should really do it, treasure,” he nods and despite the term of endearment his old eyes remain cold.
“An you will. But now the first one: what is your author like?” I spoke softly enough to appease his impatience and although he pouts, he still gives me an answer: “Fair.”
I draw a breath but a wiggle of his fingers stops me. “I know, I know, you want to hear more. You are fair-minded for you let us all speak. You give each of us a chance to tell the story of our lives.”
“Yes, the tales are about you all, so I'm the bard and scribe to each and every one of you,” I confirm readily and give him a smile silently reassuring him we are just about to move the spotlight on him. “But the readers are more interested in you than in me, so let us give them a peek into your life, shall we?”
His face lights up with a raring smile. He's like a child about to get a new toy. And I hand over what he craves with: “Tell me something about your world, Reyach.”
“Oh, my world is one big fete. There is so much to be had in my world. And it's there just for my pleasure. It's so full of lights and merry-making and attention. The world is brimming with attention. One just needs to grab it.”
“That you do very well,” I must admit and he is delighted. All but bouncing up and down in excitement, he affirms: “I know, treasure.”
I refrain from shaking my head at his boasting and instead ask him: “What do you want the readers to know about you?” His bliss is infectious though and I can't help a smilet as I busy myself with writing his words down.
“That I'm the most beautiful cherished love boy they have ever seen.” Now, he didn't hesitate but for a moment. His self-confidence clearly dwells in a bottomless well. But he might be right. Slender and rather tall. Auburn flood of wavy hair cascading to his shoulder blades. A face worthy of a fallen angel.
Still with a look of appreciation of his beauty in my eyes I muse: “What is the one thing you are proud of?”
A riposte arrives in a split second: “My looks, isn't it obvious?” Yes, he is beautiful and knows it about himself. All too well. His fingers rake through the shiny curls of his locks and he shakes his head to make them undulate as if the tresses have a life on their own. And as if he needs to impress me. I quip: “I'm sure that whoever might have doubted it before the interview doesn't question it anymore.”
“Yes, my looks lend credence to whatever I say. My looks,” he smirks and genuine amusement creates small wrinkles around his eyes. But I won't tell him. He might consider stopping smiling altogether. Instead I nod solemnly. Yes, men tend to believe Reyach's words. Likely precisely for the reason he has just given. “What's the next question?” he prompts me, agog and barely concealing his fidget.
“What would you never share?” I ask and hover my pen over the paper. I don't have to wait for long. “If I had a choice, I wouldn't ever share attention of the... young masters,” he says.
“But you do,” I remind him and he retorts: “Yes, because I don't have a choice.”
This isn't a topic he would love to dwell on it seems and so I give his mind something else to mull over: “What is your most intense memory?”
Well, mull over wasn't exactly the appropriate expression as his answer comes as swift as an arrow. “The night when they picked me up.”
True, that one was rather intense and the dominant in me barely represses a chuckle. I overcome the smirk tugging at my lips and confirm: “Yes, that was a night to remember.”
“Full of pleasure... and pain,” he muses, reclining in the sofa, lost in a delightful memory. “I still don't know whether to love them or hate them for what they did to me.”
Personally I don't think the events of that night give him a reason to hate just anybody and so I steer the conversation to positive emotions and deliberately skip the negative ones. “Speaking of love: who or what is the greatest love of your life?”
A nice attempt but he is in condition today. “Me. Should I be ashamed?”
“I don't judge you, Reyach,” I offer softly and he grins. “I know. I should have added you are so non-judgmental.”
I tip my head in recognition of his half playful praise and coax him: “Perhaps you could tell the readers about your best ever kiss.” That might give him a reason to speak about somebody else but himself for a moment. He's not that skilled to kiss himself on his own. Or so I hope.
“Kisses. Kisses are all the same, don't you know it? I can't be without them but... they are just all the same to me. Like air you breathe. You need it so much but do not stop every now and then to ponder its qualities, do you?”
“Nay, I don't,” I must agree. “But isn't there one caress you would remember better?” I try to prompt his memory but he only grins from ear to ear. “Always the last one, treasure.”
At least he doesn't lie to me. I must give him that. A wisp of his hair managed to sneak out of place and he blinks to protect his eyes. I lean forward and tuck the disobedient lock behind his ear. A spoiled child he is but that blink of his... was innocent. He allows for the little intimacy readily, nuzzling into my hand. Always prepared to receive more touches and affection, that he is.
“Where can the readers meet you again?” I bring our talk to the end, withdrawing from the touch too, and like a good boy he answers promptly: “In Blue Poppy Fields. Go and tell them everything about the book,” he all but prods me and this time I have to snicker: “Not everything, Reyach. We want them to read it on their own, don't we?”
“That we do, treasure. That we do,” he agrees and for a moment his old eyes gain a sparkle of youth. Excitement has such power. “But do give them a snippet from the night when young masters picked me up, will you?”
“Certes. Just let me find it,” I say but he's too impatient to wait and recites by heart:
Defiant and cold, he quivered by the saintly devotion, waiting, waiting and praying. Chanting for the old gods to prithee, prithee, prithee make this work. They did and the brougham pulled to a halt so close to him that he could see the vapor rising from the horses' mouths and flanks. His eyes darted to its coachman. Gods, was he beautiful. So masculine, so regal, so unlike any coachman should be. But he didn't have time to ponder the apparition of beauty at the saintly devotion. The door without a monogram opened for a breath and a silken voice murmured in amusement: “A lost kitten? What if I offer you some cream and warm bed tonight, hm?”
It seemed the gods favored him after all. The voice... the voice didn't belong to an old man. The one inside was young and if he was half as gorgeous as his voice suggested, then there was a chance for a very pleasurable six months or so for both of them. “I will purr for you very much, Sir,” Comadreja smiled shyly and dropped his old eyes, so that the other one wouldn't see how cold they were. Not that his victim could actually see anything but his frame in the dim, insufficient light but he had to practice. He always had to practice to be perfect.
Did the little peek into our world capture your attention? Would you like to know why Reyach is called Comadreja in this excerpt? You can find the answer out in In Blue Poppy Fields
. The book is currently available at Amazon
It can be read without being familiar with other books in the Guardian Demon Series but you now have an opportunity to win one of the twelve copies of Trails of Love I Crawl Part 1 that opens the beguiling world of this series. Participation is easy enough for anybody over the age of eighteen. The more you help others find me and Guardian Demon Series books, the more chances to win you will have.
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I almost forgot: if you would like to learn more about our world and enjoy more character interviews and articles about vampires, you can follow the posts of In Blue Poppy Fields book release tour. Its schedule is posted here
With this I hand over Thianna's blog back to her. It has been my pleasure to be your guest, Thianna. Thank you for having me over today.
Thanks, Ciaran! It was wonderful to get to know Reyach. Thank you so much for introducing him and your other amazing characters to us. His narcissism is rather endearing, but don't tell him I said so;)
I encourage you to enter Ciaran's giveaway and check out the Guardian Demon series.