Description of Series:The Unholy Trinity Chronicles surround surrounds seven demons that are created during a time in their life that they need revenge above all other things. Book One is The Unforgiven The Crave, based in the state of Louisiana, it surrounds the demon of rampart, known as Dean Cathal and his struggle with a Southern temptress that holds the secrets of his past and the key to his future within her dreams. There is love, lose, a lot of action and mystery involved along with time travel that will consume you within the tangled web of deception these demons weave
The Unforgiven: The Crave's description: In times of Chaos a choice has to be made, not all of which are made for the greater good . . . rather revenge. Dean Cathal, not an ordinary man, A Diavol Strigoi , a creation of desperation living thousands of lifetimes. Wreaking havoc across the world. When his destruction reaches St. Louis he's stopped dead in his tracks by a pair of fierce green eyes. The same eyes that capture him once again in New Orleans which belong to a southern girl who is trapped in the realm of dreams. He wants her... he has to have her.. but she belongs to another, Mica Navarre. Every touch, every kiss drives him faster towards destruction. Will Dean prevail? And end up with his obsession, turning her toward the dark. Or will she chose human love? and leave a heartless creature in despair to become the ultimate evil.
A few moments pass, and the only thing left is silence. Dean stands in the middle of the carnage breathing deeply, he retracts his fangs and the blackness withdraws into his pupils. He is saturated in blood. He takes off his jacket and throws it at the ravaged officers.
“Shit, I loved that jacket! ...Stupid pigs had to go and ruin it,” He lets out a sigh, and starts walking towards the plantation. A drop of blood drips from his cheek to his lips. He runs his tongue over his lip and lets the burst of its salty sweetness explode in his mouth. He craves more, the perfect time to hunt.
He is already in a killing frenzy, why not take out his main target while he’s at it? He runs, now. A reawakened intent, a purpose driving him faster and faster. The guests are asleep, now. A single hall light throws a dusty yellow glow through the front windows. No light from her bedroom. So he leaps to the tree outside her room, as quiet and graceful as a breath of wind, then again to the roof and swings into her bedroom. He comes out of his crouched position and walks to the side of her bed. He is willing himself not to take a single breath or admire her beauty. He takes his hand and moves her head to the right. As he is doing this he feels the silky texture of her porcelain-like skin, and a shudder runs through his body. He lifts his head up and his fangs emerge. His heartbeat quickens, and he is forced to take the unwanted breath.
He looks down and brushes her cheek, and then he moves his hand slowly downward onto her throat. He traces her veins with his fingertip. As he does this a small gasp escapes her lips. He lowers himself to one knee and continues to trace his fingers down her arm. She slowly rolls toward him, still unconscious. He holds her hand palm up in his, while his other hand traces all of her fingers and every line on her palm.
Finally he can stand no more and with fangs still elongated he ever so gently moves her palm to his mouth