Bitten by Evil

A modern, romantic version of the 19th century classic Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, Bitten by Evil portrays the love of a San Francisco therapist for a talented but tortured artist. The novel is set on the streets of North Beach in San Francisco.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

A brilliant brass-trimmed chandelier illuminated the cathedral-like mansion of Thomas Lester Vaughn III. The glorious light of the chandelier revealed the splendor of Vaughn's elegant home, a vast expanse of priceless art and lavish furniture. Everything about the stunning home was enchanting, a vision of luxury and sophistication. Despite the home's majestic appeal, however, eight-year-old Derrick Vaughn sat quietly under his father's handcrafted writing table. His head hung low to the floor, and strands of his sandy-brown hair veiled his tender face. As Derrick stared vacantly at the plush carpet, his sapphire-blue eyes glazed with tears, and his thin shoulders slumped wearily under his soft, white shirt. Alone in the quiet stillness of the room, Derrick reflected the lifelessness around him, resting his hands in his lap and barely breathing. Abruptly, the chimes of the mahogany grandfather clock rang out the late hour of eleven and awoke Derrick from his sorrow to discover an ominous shadow drifting across the room before him. As the haunting shadow made its way to the foot of the crescent banister, Derrick's stomach clenched with tension, and his palms perspired. He peered out from under the giant table. With his vision strained by the glowing light of the chandelier, Derrick witnessed his father standing at the pinnacle of the elaborate staircase. Thomas gazed over the grandeur of his fortune with arrogance, lightly stroking the collar of his beautiful coffee-brown shirt. Derrick retreated under the table and turned his tender face to avoid the hideous image of his father, but the presence of Thomas Lester Vaughn III was too awful to ignore. Thomas's hair was nearly shoulder-length, tangled, and black as a crow. The dark circles around his eyes and the gaunt lines of his cheekbones cast an eerie shadow over his villainous face. His bloodshot eyes emanated a cold glare of conceipt that disappeared under his eyelids as he rolled his head back to drink from the crystal glass in his hand. Lowering the glass, Thomas appeared more alive. He stretched his massive frame to the sky with a thrust of his chest and a stroke of his mangy hair. Gorgeous patterns of angels covered the soaring walls before Thomas and dignified his grand entrance as he sauntered down the stairwell and stepped onto the splendid hardwood flooring of the foyer. Strolling into the living room with his chin lifted pompously in the air, Thomas stared into the towering Louis XIV mirror. Then, without a flinch, he set his glass on the edge of the grand piano, proudly turned, and summoned his wife. "Jena, where are you?" Jena entered the silent foyer, wearing only a pair of worn blue jeans and a simple T-shirt. Brushing her silky blond hair to the side, Jena unveiled her innocent face. "Yes, Thomas?" "You know what I'm tired of, Jena?" Thomas spoke with a brusque tone, moving aggressively toward her with his index finger extended. "You never do what I tell you to do." "Oh, Thomas," Jena reprimanded sternly, standing perfectly still. "Please don't do this tonight." "I asked you three times yesterday to refill my bar, didn't I? And you couldn't even handle that, could you?" "Please, Thomas, it's late. I don't want Derrick to see you like this." "Like what?" Thomas interrupted, pulling his shoulders back and lifting his palms in the air. "Immensely successful."

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