Bio:
When she isn't visiting the worlds of
immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic
endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and sewing
plushies for friends. She can't handle coffee unless there's enough cream and
sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never
forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop
role-play games, and can spend hours watching Futurama, Claymore or Buffy the Vampire Slayer while she
writes or draws.
Brantwijn has published three full-length
erotic novels: Lotus Petals, Goblin Fires, and His Cemetery Doll. In addition to these, Brantwijn has had several other stories published by Breathless
Press, including contributions to the 2013
Crimson Anthology and 2014 Ravaged
Anthology. She's also had a short
story published in the Cleiss Press Big
Book of Orgasm and the anthology Coming
Together Through The Storm. She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon, and loves to see reader comments on her
work. Her short stories and audio readings occasionally pop up at Foreplay and Fangs, her blog at http://brantwijn.blogspot.com.
Short
Blurb:
Aijyn, human slave to a ruthless vampire Lord,
would never dare do anything to incur his wrath. Then, she fell in love... with
his bride.
Longer
Blurb:
Rhiannon Donovan, daughter to the vampire Queen, would rather die
than be made a bride to a demon Lord. Aijyn, courtesan to the undead Daimyo of
Kansai, can think of nothing more horrifying than his promise of eternal
life. In the halls of the Blood Lotus
Temple, the two women struggle against the chains of their fate, and find a
solace in each other that could
mean freedom for them both... or might cost each of them their lives.
Excerpt
"Rhiannon-sama," she began again, well
aware she might be broaching a subject Rhiannon would easily wish to avoid,
even to the point of sending her attendant violently away.
"Hm?" the vampire murmured.
"Your bodyguard...she likes to see you in
pain."
Rhiannon waited a long time before she answered.
"Perhaps I like
pain, mortal."
Aijyn did not argue...but she had seen the
expression on Rhiannon’s face when Sölva had tormented her.
"You must hide the scars from the
daimyo," she chided gently. "And you cannot allow her to leave any
more marks on you, if you do not wish to anger him."
"And if I do
wish to anger him?"
"Do not be petulant," Aijyn scolded.
"Does he believe his bride will be untouched?
That his kin-born bastard bride will
not have experienced acts of the flesh? I am over half a century a living
birth-child. Does he realize how most kin-born are meant to earn their keep in
demon houses?"
"He expects you will be untouched for
him," Aijyn said. "Whatever has gone before, now you are his. And
Gohachiro is not a man to share his treasures."
"Doesn’t he like to use pain?" Rhiannon
asked. She rolled over under Aijyn’s hands, lying on her side and reaching out
to touch the scar she herself had left on the courtesan’s wrist. At the light
caress of her finger, a delicious tingle of pleasure ignited under the skin,
making Aijyn shiver as the vampire had a moment ago.
Rhiannon pulled Aijyn closer, and lowered herself
over the wound to kiss it a second time. The warm arousal intensified, and
Aijyn caught her breath as her body awoke to the sensation, nipples stiffening
under the soft silk of her kimono.
"Here," Rhiannon whispered, reaching up
to brush the dark strands of hair from Aijyn’s shoulder, revealing the tiny,
neat scars of bites past. Scars that would never heal the way the vampire’s
did, white little lines and half-moons, memories of Gohachiro’s affections.
"Doesn’t he give you pain…" Rhiannon
said, following their contours with light but deliberate pressure.
"…so he may turn it into pleasure?"
"Rhiannon-sama…" Aijyn murmured vaguely.
One hand had dropped into her lap; the other rested on the vampire’s warm, lean
arm. Strange awareness filled her: the touch stirred up the first bloom of
eagerness in her loins and the pit of her belly.
"Pain is what we are, courtesan. Pain, hunger,
pleasure, death. We are the undead. I am just over half a century old, more
than twice your age, and I have been Sölva’s for longer than you have been
alive. There are scars you will never see, all over my body: the marks of her
fangs, of her whip, the cut of her blade, the pierce of steel needles. And
every one of them sings when she
touches me, screams when she hurts
me...and it is ecstasy."
"Rhiannon-sama…"
Aijyn realized with some dread she had made a
mistake. The vampire’s touch brushed against her, terribly light, terribly
fleeting, but her voice...soft, beautiful, rich, like strong liquor.
Rhiannon’s hand came to rest on the back of Aijyn’s
neck. She gently pulled the courtesan closer, resting forehead-to-forehead and
searching deep into Aijyn’s wide, dark eyes.
"You do this for him, too?" she
whispered. "You...perform anma for him? You touch his body with such
delicate affection?"
"Yes," Aijyn whispered.
"And does it make him want to fuck?"
Before she could think better of it, Aijyn lifted
up a hand and slapped her.
The strike was not a hard one. At least, to Rhiannon
it would not have been hard. Aijyn’s palm stung as though she had struck it
against solid rock, and she quickly pressed it in her other hand, hissing with
pain.
Rhiannon did not strike back. She remained
perfectly still, her expression unchanging. After a moment, once Aijyn had
collected herself, the vampire leaned closer and pressed her mouth against
Aijyn’s own.
"It makes me
want to fuck," she said. Then she stood, one smooth, languid motion,
and retreated to her coffin to at last submit to her daytime sleep.
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