Emerald Chains

My new novel is underway. The anti-hero ‘Declan O’Ceallaigh’ takes an English woman captive in his rural, Irish home. He makes Christian Grey look like a Saint. A romance which will trigger a nine on the Richter scale! I have a publisher and a deadline! Just need the encouragement and motivation to keep going.


Erotic Vampire Tale

Sanguine Fervour   Love ValkyrieKerry

You’re welcome in! I’ve seen you….
In my dreams, as in life,
echoing the velvet onyx abyss of your soulless heart
and sweetly enshrouded with the eternal stench of history’s charm.

The doors, portcullis to my chamber, lay stark wide permitting pure precipitation to flood the ivory gateway in readiness for your empowering presence.

I recline as the embers cool….
The oak clock clangs breaking the deftly silence of my creamy satin nest.
The sound ceases filling my body with fear and anticipation.

Momentary ambivalence,
A desperate urge to fight the mesmeric stupor, to shut you out!
But my desire enforces paralysis and there with aching trepidation I lay.

Nubile and motionless the emerald flecks of my eyes meet your black stare,
Your gaze pierces me as you materialise from nothingness;
Tall, foreboding, pale with a mane of Earthly hair.

As you approach your cognitive grip tightens, our psyches coalesce!
I see your depravities; death displaces desire and torture is thrust upon idolaters.
Still, I want you! That is your power.

I surrender my life to you even as your deathly, ice lips caress mine.
Unable to overcome the sense of depravity triggered by that loathsome longing,
I hesitate, in an acknowledgement of reticence whilst gazing into your eyes.

Your stunning, seductive eyes stare into mine.
In deep swoon I am willed to relax, to fall into a waking reverie filled with a sense of peace, beset by your refuge.

Then, in a climactic instant your canines penetrate my chastity draining my life’s fluid and my world sinks into an obscure dusk…… Sweet sleep excludes the brilliant sun.

My only stirrings emanate from our minds merging.
Locked behind the bars of your malevolence I see victims cruelly slain,
solely for knowing you and you watch me gazing in.

An eternal parasite cursed; darkness, solitude and damnation.
An emptiness crying out for pity, the demon within judged for its deeds.
Fueling its anger and passions, driving a desire that may never be sated.

My soul builds a resistance to the disease and I implore you for a reprieve with no compassion my sanctuary is denied and once again you appear.
With a Tiger’s strength, I draw myself from that lust filled place of rest.

Stumbling, dazed and weak my feet tread stone villa floors.
Even in my escape I am drawn to you.
Your whispers tremor through me as I desert on my steel stead.

Your imploring tones willing my return, fighting with memories of the beloved you stole.
Now, just us alone in a crowded universe.
Hastily I travel through the mountain pass, mere shapes silhouetted in the dark.

My mind in turmoil and my body hungering for yours,
the cool night breeze pierces my skin, I lose control!

In a flash of metal and light my mortal flesh is broken like porcelain,
my skin ripped, my spirit weary bidding me to sleep through the trauma.
I feel you holding me like the lover you can never be, moving me, time passes…

You tend me with a callous cherishing,
Healing your prey to make it fit once again for the hunt!

And with gruesome degradation you feed me from your own veins,
and with grotesque wantonness I submit to your offering.

Overawed by the eroticism, aphrodisiac and sensuality,
your silent, false promise that you will shield me forever.
In that moment of bliss I give myself to you!

You make the pain stop! You satisfy your own thirst!

Frozen air sneaks through the derelict boards.
I wake in an abode that has haunted my dreams, slumped coldly on chilled steps.
The crimson warmth of days passed replaced by damp rot and somber shade.

Solitude perforates my empyrean blood. Loss of my kin has broken my fire,
A life once so learned, travelled and communal destroyed.

You are all I have, my vengeance quelled by an unnatural proclivity,
to be yours eternally, to be loved and subjugated equally,
but your heart does not beat!

I am here at your will, forced to choose as you wish,
punished with desolation and debility,
infected by your fluids, which dominate my clay.

Timorously I call your name and there, aloof at the window crevice,
you materialise as if there you had always been,
I beg for release from your enchantment, to forget this agonising cry from the depths of my being.
Your numb stare repudiates my appeal.

My choices are narrowed; annihilation or eternal perdition.
Everlasting surrender to your sovereignty,
lacerated through your necessary infidelity.

An assassin afflicted with immortality’s curse,
and yet with these apprehensions you still captivate me.
Unable to bear being abandoned in this weakened state I come to you.

I rise as you wish,
I stroke your dreadful shell succumbing to your carnality,
your claws clasp my soft curls and the kiss you offer blazes.

Gnarled nails trail my throat, easing the silken slip strings from my shoulders,
ivory points encircle my lips, cheeks, hair and throat.
The puncture stings, libidinous relief ebbing with each gulp.

My senses heighten, I energise and in a moment of clarity I draw from you,
night escapes leaving the scarlet sun dawning slowly.
Before the last trickle of humanity evades me, I break away….Away from eons of emotional emptiness,
I throw myself at the mercy of the burning sun.
Exquisite scorching relieves me of mortality and immortality,
you howl, you love, we should have been one.
With regret for what could have been I return to dust………


Phantom of the Opera; Who Really Would Choose the Raoul?

The Phantom of the Opera

Good Dungeon Halloween Fans!

I was reading an article recently that suggested any adjusted woman would, undoubtedly choose the Vicomte De Chagny over the Phantom. The writer’s argument assumed that women would prefer the security of a sane, wealthy man over the complex, darkness of Erik’s disposition. I beg to differ! Nice men come last, and that is a fact played out time and time again in society. As Arnold Rimmer says in Red Dwarf, ‘the world loves a bastard,’ and to an extent this is true.

Yes, Erik has a severely corrupted psych, he was rejected by his mother, forced into the circus and moved to the theatre thanks to the kindness of Madame Giry, who sees beyond appearance. Human response to his image drives him into the underworld, into the shadows beyond sight. Here, beneath the opera house, he develops a divine understanding of music. He develops skills in architecture, developing the labyrinth that serves as his purgatory and then he hears Christine.

Christine’s singing is, to begin with, a little rough about the edges. The Phantom, in between writing his own operas, trains the ingénue so that her voice reaches a high standard. This is not enough for Erik, he wants to see his protégée centre stage and in collusion with Madame Giry sabotages auditions, so that Christine is thrust into the limelight.

Only when reinvented and in the spotlight does Christine attract the attentions of the shallow Raoul, who patronizes the theatre and its new owners. Christine is haunted by her own father’s death, the phantom offers her a heavenly respite from grief. She is flattered by Raoul’s bland attentions, but accompanies Erik back to the darkness of his underworld.

Prior to Raoul’s arrival, a certain equilibrium existed. Christine accepted the phantom’s attentions quite willingly. Erik is clearly quite obsessed with her, largely because he is lonely and denied human contact. The obsession takes a seriously unhealthy, but remarkably passionate turn, when Erik’s hold over Christine is threatened. This is when his dark side emerges; his vindictive and cruel side. But, Christine was never in danger. Erik holds Raoul solely responsible for her infidelity.

Christine is, without a doubt, attracted to the Phantom. ‘Past the Point of No Return’ demonstrates this and blows any doubts away. It is one of the most sexual, passionate performances in musical theatre. Ultimately, Christine chooses Raoul, or at least his money and promise of a normal life.

Yet, it is the phantom who resonates with the audience, his complex mixture of emotions; lust, desire, jealousy, sadness, loneliness and abandonment. He is the damaged bad lad, intellectually and creatively Raoul’s superior. The duets between Raoul and Christine are soft and focus on building a normal life. Conversely, duets with Erik are impassioned and burning, reflecting desires unfulfilled, forbidden love and the ever present hint of danger. This is what women want; terrifying dangerous passion that sears and burns deep within.

So, would I choose Raoul over Erik? No way! He would bore me to tears within minutes. Oh and in case your wondering Erik and Christine certainly consummated their dalliance. Without a doubt.

Excerpt from Untitled Vampire Novel


Anna awoke to a tightness in her wrists. Her sore arms were wrenched above her head and she found herself shackled to her bed. The cuffs were clasped with an unnecessary and painful tightness that bit into her scars. She resided in one of the smaller rooms in Rob’s mansion, plush in furnishings, but still a prison. Her captor sat in a padded chair looking out of the tiny, barred window at the gardeners who carefully tended to his lawn below. Colourful flora decorated the borders and bushes were cut into shapes that resembled the statues of classical art. Anna’s whole body thrummed with the woeful pulse of frailty and death her agony was as beautiful to Rob as the gardens below. Her shift hung off of her emaciated form and Anna’s soul ached for release.

‘You betrayed me,’ the monster muttered in hushed, but harsh tones. Anna shifted upwards against her shackles using the head board for stability. Rob scraped his fingers along the arm of the chair, ‘twice now you have betrayed me.’ Anna no longer felt fear, just anger and sadness at her lost life,
‘Betrayed you!’ She retorted with a spirited gust of energy, ‘I don’t want this. I don’t want to die.’ Rob swung the chair around with one powerful movement of his body,
‘You chose this,’ he roared.
‘No, I chose you before I knew what you were,’ angry courage rose in her throat, ‘now you disgust me.’ His vacant stare enraged her, ‘Do you hear me? You disgust me!’ The creature smirked at his prey. Most offerings served their masters until death, this one had been troublesome and she would be punished for it.

My Man: Declan Kelly

Good Morrow Halloween Fans,


I would like, if I may, to introduce you to my man Mr Declan Kelly. Declan likes all thing fishing and farming, machinery and he is partial to duck eggs and dilisk. Oh, and ladies, did I mention he is pure old fashioned Irish?? Here he is in a nice Irish pub and, us together. Pure Mills & Boons Irish style! Very rough around the edges!newsstorykerrydeclanwedding