Shadows of Falling Night

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Then you really ought to show it!

Shout ‘Hurray!’

“This fascination with vampires…” the young Frenchman said as she finished the song and collapsed backward onto the sofa.

“Tsk, Henri,” Adrienne Brézé said. “Not vampires. Vampires are a myth. We Shadowspawn are the source of the myth, and of many others.”

Henri grinned. “Then my innocent and merely human self has fallen into the hands of beings out of legend, who are inflicting upon me an evening of superb food, drink and intriguingly varied sexual intercourse as a prelude to their more sinister plans?”

“Exactly! We are loup-garou, sorcerers, oni, ghūl…Nearly all of the wicked ones, in fact. We aren’t really supernatural, of course, though we thought so until a few generations ago. In practice that makes little difference.”

“Ah, merci, Monica,” the man went on. “Champagne? Excellent. And is Monica another…Shadowspawn, is that the word?”

Monica Darton was wearing a charming smile, a set of faint but fresh red whip-marks on her back and buttocks, and a sheen of sweat from her recent efforts as she handed around the flutes of champagne, a pleasant follow-up to the hot, damp jasmine-scented towels she’d distributed a moment ago. She was still panting a little too. Adrienne took her glass and cast an appreciative glance at the results.

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