The Eye of the Beholder
Release Date: April 29, 2015
Publisher: Wilde City Press
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Length: 103,000 words
Vince Voss is obsessed with physical beauty. Influenced by his aunt, with whom he runs a modeling business, he has become unfeeling and cruel. Vince’s mother, who was a witch in life, returns to show him a better way to live. She casts a spell to take away his good looks and he finds himself challenged with searching for someone to love him, without the use of physical attraction.
Vince eventually meets a lonely male vampire, Peter, and despite his reluctance to get involved with him, he decides to use Peter to help him lift the spell. Little does he that at first, Peter is using him too, and he finally realizes what’s really important when he falls for Peter along the way.
When Vince opened his eyes again, it was daylight, and he immediately knew something was wrong. Peter was still with him, his body molded to Vince’s and his arm tight around Vince’s waist. Vince was lying with his back to the window, and the sun shone through the open curtains at an angle. He forced his brain to work, to figure out what the problem was. Peter! Fuck! Why is he still here?
Vince pulled his head back and looked at Peter’s face. He appeared completely serene, his eyes closed, the lids a faint shade of purple.
There was no response, and when Vince rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s back, he didn’t stir. He was asleep, and if Vince moved away from him, the sun would land on his icy skin and burn him.
“Oh God,” Vince groaned. The only thing he could think of to do was to push Peter backward, keeping Peter’s body pinned to his own, until he was able to slide the vampire off the bed onto the floor. The sun wouldn’t reach him there, and Vince could get up and close the curtains. He had no idea if fabric was enough to keep the sun’s rays from burning a vampire—they’d never talked about it in detail.
Vince tried to move and immediately discovered a problem. Peter was a dead weight, stiff and immovable, literally like a corpse in an advanced stage of rigor mortis. Peter’s arm around Vince’s waist prevented Vince from pulling back, and Peter was too heavy and rigid to slide across the soft mattress without Vince at least sitting up.
Vince tried again and managed to shuffle Peter backward an inch or so, but then he realized all he’d succeeded in doing was bringing Peter’s arm into the direct line of the sun. Several things happened at once. Vince heard a sizzling sound, similar to bacon frying, and he smelled burning. It was a hideous odor, which he knew was Peter’s flesh. Peter’s eyes opened, wide and red, and his mouth gaped to let out an ear-splitting scream. He shot away from Vince in a second and flew backward off the bed until he smashed into the wall and dropped to the floor. A small area of plaster crumbled and fell down with him. Vince saw a blur as Peter exploded out of the room, and then the sound of several crashes came from the direction of the living room. The screams didn’t stop—if anything they grew louder and more agonized. Vince threw himself off the bed and rushed into the other room. The living room curtains were closed and the window faced west, out of the direct sun.
Vince watched in horror as Peter catapulted from one side of the room to the other, crashing into the walls and cracking the plaster, smashing the coffee table to smithereens as he tripped over it. It seemed to go on and on, but in reality it must have been less than a minute, before Peter collapsed on the rug, shaking his arm. Smoke rose from his forearm, and Vince looked at the charred flesh, red and black, wet-looking and obviously excruciatingly painful. The rest of Peter’s body was so pale, it almost appeared translucent, and his lips were blue.
“God, Peter,” Vince groaned and dropped to his knees. “What can I do? How can I help you?”
Louise Lyons comes from a family of writers. Her mother has a number of poems published in poetry anthologies, her aunt wrote poems for the church, and her grandmother sparked her inspiration with tales of fantasy. Louise first ventured into writing short stories at the grand old age of eight, mostly about little girls and ponies. She branched into romance in her teens, and MM romance a few years later, but none of her work saw the light of day until she discovered FanFiction in her late twenties.
Posting stories based on some of her favorite movies, provoked a surprisingly positive response from readers. This gave Louise the confidence to submit some of her work to publishers, and made her take her writing “hobby” more seriously.
Louise lives in the UK, about an hour north of London, with a mad Dobermann, and a collection of tropical fish and tarantulas. She works in the insurance industry by day, and spends every spare minute writing. She is a keen horse-rider, and loves to run long-distance. Some of her best writing inspiration comes to her, when her feet are pounding the open road. She often races into the house afterward, and grabs pen and paper to make notes.
Louise has always been a bit of a tomboy, and one of her other great loves is cars and motorcycles. Her car and bike are her pride and joy, and she loves to exhibit the car at shows, and take off for long days out on the bike, with no one for company but herself.