Hell yes thank you for putting your KC fic back up. I'm sooooo curious about the book. I know you are pretty tight lipped but can we get something? A summary? A quote? A chapter?
Glad you like and it and you’re a fan
Here is an excerpt for you from the prologue:
The crowd of chattering voices at each table, softened to a dull murmur as the curtain to the stage slowly rose, revealing the orchestra. The night’s entertainment would be no different than usual- drinking, talk of politics and dancing. Connor taking his private feeding from Lydia before cigars, brandy and the hunt for the information he needed.
   “There is a house in New Orleans. They call it the Rising Sun…” the voice of that night’s entertainment poured out over the crowd slow as molasses, with a kind of southern charm he hadn’t heard since Connor had left the American south years ago.
   Removing her white gloves, his date leaned forward, cigarette in hand, prompting him for a light. Obliging, somewhat begrudgingly, despising that he was forced into such trivial formalities, Connor glanced over her shoulder and that was when it happened.  He saw her and the whole world came crashing into some invisible force, lurching them all forward at the speed of light only to run head long into steel and ice.
   In a green satin dress that dipped well below her collarbone and clung to her frame, he recognized those hands, that neck and her mouth before Llina even continued, “And it’s been the ruin of many a poor girl, and me, oh God, I’m one.”
Blond curls sat heavy on bare shoulders, red lips hovering centimeters above the metallic microphone she cradled in her hands, “My father was a gamblin’ man, his fortune, taken away. If I had only listened to what my momma said, I’d be at home today….”
Blue eyes of an all too familiar adversary peered past the stage lights into the crowd. It was the face that had too many names to curse at once: Hannah, Christine, Nataline, Interloper, Devil, Misery, etc. and the first, the one he’d never forget no matter how desperately he would try. It was her that lead him straight into hell, loss and eventually back to Nataline.
“But being so young and a foolish girl, I let a gambler lead me astray.”
   "Lyanna," he whispered, prayed and spat all at once. One look at her in that green dress and the ghost of almost five centuries past, called him back, singing the tale of a lifetime not too far gone, which he tried to forget. Connor felt as though he were being choked by the Louisiana summer heat all over again. There were so many unpleasant things- memories flooding him at once.
   “Impossible…” what he was seeing simply couldn’t be. She was dead. Nataline was buried six feet under southern soil, in St. Louis Cemetery with her child.
“You see my sweetheart is a drunkard, Lord. Drinks down in New Orleans.”
She was the last one… echoed in Connor’s mind, an accusation levied against nature, time and any concrete sense of reality he had retained after a 1000 years of life. The last hunter, the final bane of his existence and the thing that drew him back to the sickly southern states time and time again.
A strange, horrid and annoyingly familiar feeling of hatred and nostalgia flooded him. The Chinese had a word for it, they called it Yuanfen: a predetermination of a relationship beyond one’s control. The Portuguese called it Saudade: the longing for someone that you lost- a vague and constant remembrance of something that cannot be.
   “Now the only thing that man needs is a suitcase and a trunk. And the only time he’s satisfied lord, is when he’s drunk.”
The sound of her voice was smooth as well prepped and aged scotch but sharp as a razor blade in its accuracy in accusation. If he was naïve or superstitious, Connor would have called it fate but a thousand years of ten lifetimes had cured him of such silly notions. It wasn’t fate, destiny, or any other mysterious barrier of joy, but more the reaper of misfortune- his Maker, he had to thank.
   “Somebody go get my baby sister….”