Blood Marks: A Sapphic Romantasy (Paperback)

A chance meeting between architect Greer Morrigan Dubhán and rising artist Freya Solasta ignites a dangerous passion as Freya discovers Greer's true nature as a Baobhan Sith—a Scottish vampire who feeds on blood and pleasure. When righteous zealot Agnes Lasair declares war on all supernatural beings, their forbidden love becomes the key to breaking an ancient curse that has twisted love into hunger for centuries. As Edinburgh burns and battle lines are drawn, Freya must harness her unique ability to see the hidden patterns connecting all beings, risking everything to prove that love freely given is more powerful than even the darkest hatred.

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Pages : 408
ISBN : 9614622000181
Weight : 388g
Dimensions : 127 x 23 x 203 mm

In the shadows of Edinburgh's ancient streets, architect Greer Morrigan Dubhán has survived for centuries as a Baobhan Sith—a Scottish vampire who feeds on blood and pleasure. When she encounters rising artist Freya Solasta, their attraction is immediate and dangerous, pulling them into a passionate affair that threatens to expose Greer's darkest secrets.
Freya possesses a rare gift—the ability to see the supernatural patterns that connect all beings—and soon discovers the truth behind Greer's immortality. Rather than fleeing, she's drawn deeper into Greer's world of eternal hunger and forbidden desires, willingly offering herself as sustenance and lover.
But their newfound happiness shatters when Agnes Lasair, a vengeful zealot transformed by righteous fire centuries ago, declares war on all supernatural beings. As Edinburgh erupts in violence and ancient sanctuaries fall, Freya realizes that the silver markings on Greer's skin aren't symbols of a curse but a forgotten language—one that might hold the key to their salvation.
With the help of Greer's former lover turned ally, Dior, and other supernatural beings awakening to their true purpose, Freya must unlock the power hidden within herself before Agnes's corrupting influence destroys everything they love. In a final confrontation on the same hill where their story began four centuries ago, they'll discover that love freely given is the most powerful magic of all—one that might transform not just themselves, but the very fabric of reality.
Blood Marks is a darkly sensual tale of immortal passion, ancient curses, and the extraordinary power of choosing love over fear, even when that choice demands the ultimate sacrifice.

- Forbidden love/star-crossed lovers
- Vampires
- Ancient curse
- Enemies to lovers
- Found family
- Redemption
- Fated soul bond
- Dark secrets
- Poly
- Slow burn
- Sacrifice for love

The gallery pulsed with an energy Greer Morrigan Dubhán had long ago learned to filter out. Laughter bounced off the pristine white walls, punctuated by the chime of champagne glasses and extravagant use of words like 'transcendent' and 'provocative.' Greer positioned herself near the entrance, her lean frame impeccably dressed in tailored black trousers and a crimson silk blouse. The whole scene was like the start of a clichéd sapphic romance, she thought wryly.
She touched her dark hair, swept up in a simple yet elegant style, which hinted at an effortless sophistication. This was her trademark armour—minimalist, intentional, and alluring.
She rarely attended events like this. Galleries were often too crowded, too noisy, too pretentious, and too full of inflated egos. But tonight marked three hundred and ninety-one years since the torture of her transformation. Since hatred turned love into hunger. The date always drew her out of seclusion, as if her cursed body sought to commemorate its own making. Plus, Thomas, the beautiful soul he was, had promised there would be a buffet, and she was a sucker for a tiny canapé. She took a sip of red wine, its aroma hinting at blackberry and oak, as her eyes scanned the room, observing but never lingering.
Until she walked in.
Greer's attention caught on a figure across the room who seemed to shimmer. The woman was petite, but her presence filled the space like the comforting aroma of fresh bacon rolls -- warm, inviting, and utterly irresistible. Her dress, a riot of colours that sang against the muted tones of the gallery, swirled around her ankles as she moved with a dancer's fluidity. Greer caught the glint of a silver pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat, and a delicate scent of sandalwood and paint clung to her. Chestnut hair, reminiscent of autumn leaves just before they fall, albeit less withered, framed a face alive with passion and a playful curiosity that made Greer smile.
Her heightened senses stirred. The air thickened, carrying a whisper of something warmer, more enticing. It wasn't just the woman's perfume -- though undeniably intoxicating -- but her energy, her vitality. Greer's heart raced, a rare and dangerous sign.
'Get it together,' she murmured, although she knew restraint may be nothing more than a memory tonight.
'Talking to yourself, Greer? The party must be a real thrill,' a voice interrupted from her left.
Greer turned, arching an eyebrow at the man who had sidled up next to her. Thomas, the gallery owner, moved with a grace that only their kind possessed. His expensive suit screamed wealth, and his perfectly practised smile held centuries of carefully maintained charm. Like her, he wore his humanity like a well-tailored mask, though they had an unspoken agreement never to acknowledge their shared nature in public.
'Just taking in the sights,' Greer replied, her tone cool. Her eyes flicked back to the woman, who was now examining a large abstract canvas, blissfully unaware of the scrutiny.
Thomas followed her focus, to one of the three artists whose work was on display, his smile widening. 'Ah, Freya Solasta. The art world's new darling, so they say. Quite the talent, isn't she?'
'Talented, indeed,' Greer murmured, though her focus wasn't on the art.
Thomas laughed. 'I wouldn't get any ideas, Greer. She's far too gentle for someone like you.'
Greer's jaw tightened. 'And what exactly is that supposed to mean?'
'Only that you have a reputation for being rather... intense.' He gave a vague wave of his hand.
Greer didn't bother to respond. Instead, she finished her wine and set the empty glass on a nearby table, her attention drawn back to Freya. She had centuries of practice in the art of discretion, but tonight, she felt uncharacteristically reckless.
When Freya finally moved, it was with a dancer's deliberation, her dress swaying with each step as she moved to another display. Greer found herself gravitating closer, staying just out of sight, yet close enough to savour every detail: the way Freya's fingers grazed her lips in thought, the subtle curve of her mouth as she explained the intention behind each piece to an inquisitive potential buyer.
It wasn't until Freya paused at a smaller painting in the corner of the room that Greer's resolve wavered. The artwork was a chaos of blues and greens, turbulent yet strangely soothing. It was a submission from another artist. Freya cocked her head, her expression softening, and Greer couldn't resist.