In the Spotlight: Raven McAllan

The Vampire's Breakfast 453x680

The Vampire’s Breakfast

When I started to write this, I knew it had to be short, sharp and have a sting, or a bite in the tail… and tale…

Has it? Only the reader can decide, but I do hope so.

(well I achieved the short bit… bit not bite, if nothing else. This is a wee flirt.)

The vampire’s breakfast was well overdue. There was just one thing to discover. Who was the vampire and who was the victim?

When Dorissa and Rafe got together, sparks flew and sex was always on the menu. This time though it went deeper. And became a game of dominance and a race to win.

Dorissa knew her life depended on Rafe—he didn’t. Could she show him how?

Rafe wanted Dorissa in every manner possible, except perhaps in the only way she could live. Would he agree to her terms?

In this game of life, could there be two winners, or would they both lose?

As dawn approached one of them knew that once the sun rose, nothing would be the same again.


“What do you mean it’s vampires at dawn?” Dorissa stroked the silk of her ball gown into place and looked up at the elegant man who stood next to her, with a loo mask dangling from his fingertips. “I thought it was a mere masked ball?”

He bent and kissed the nape of her neck. As ever his kisses made her scalp tighten.


“Not just that,” he said, as he trailed his fingers over the tiny hollow at the base of her chin. “It’s said at dawn we unmask and see who are vampires, and who are mere mortals. Then have breakfast.”

She snorted. Some ladies would do anything to get the cream of the ton to attend their extravaganzas. Little did they know. “Choose your feast and bite?”

He smiled.

“Something like that. Are you not a believer Dorissa?” The tiny nip he gave to her soft skin sent delicious tingles down her skin and into her cunt. So much emotion from a tiny touch. But what a touch. The hairs in her arms stood on end and miniscule droplets of perspiration began to gather on them.

She squeezed her thighs together to stop the steady trickle of her juices from sliding down her legs. Rafe was all too likely to lift her skirts, see the evidence of how he made her feel and taste it. Before flipping her over and taking her there and then. Sadly with this damned ball looming they didn’t have time.

“Shall I be a vampire, Dorissa? Bite you drink and your blood?” The gleam in his eyes made her ache to answer. But what would he think if she did?

Wait, just wait.

“Then,” Rafe continued, “turn you and make you mine forever in that other world? Would you like to be mine, all mine?” His voice deepened and became husky with something she couldn’t define. His rough tongue licked her sweat-slicked skin. “I want more, Dorissa. I want it all.”


Yes, it’s only a short wee excerpt, but it’s only a short wee tease.

However, I do hope it teased you enough to want to read more. if it did…well… here’s how you can…

Of course by the time you read this, it will be on Amazon and Bookstrand  as well… (I hope)

And to find out more about me…

Happy Reading,

Love R x

A multi-published, best selling author of erotic romance, Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband, in a house much too big for them—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.


Well what can I say?

I’m growing old disgracefully and loving it.

Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.

Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.

I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I’m often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I’m not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.

Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.

http:/ /        (my page)            (author page)


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