Taste of Blood (Cord & Asher book 1)

 

1  Cord

THE STEADY THRUM of the bass melds with the heartbeat of a hundred souls, all vying for a connection. Any other time I’d relish the press of willing bodies, choosing one–or several–to while away the night, but I’m not here for enjoyment. My intel pointed me to this club on this night because the one I seek is a creature of habit. Don’t these guys ever learn?

I scan the heaving bodies on the dance floor again, extending my senses for him as I down the drink in my hand and set the glass on the bar. The buzz, while minor, takes the edge off the fact that I haven’t fed tonight. It’s a bad habit I’ve been warned about more than once, but I find I hunt more effectively when I’m hungry.

“Wanna dance?”

I stare at the woman who appears in front of me, downshifting out of my head. She’s on the thin side, with a shock of bright red hair and a skirt that barely covers her ass. I suppose some might call her pretty. Too bad for her I’m not wired that way.

“No thanks.”

“You’ve got the most amazing eyes. I’ve always loved blue eyes with black hair.”

Seeing she isn’t going to take no for an answer, I brush past her without bothering to acknowledge the compliment. Not like I haven’t heard it before. I plunge into the herd on the dance floor, scanning the faces around me until I spot the one I’m looking for. He’s holed up in one of the dimly-lit booths that rim the perimeter of the club, holding court with three vacant-eyed young women who he’s no doubt plied with enough drugs and alcohol to erase any misgivings they might have for the danger he poses to them. I push my way through the crowd and stop in front of his table, waiting for his attention.

“Can I help you?” he asks in a posh British accent, his dark eyes regarding me lazily.

“Scoot over, let him in,” one of the women giggles.

Another one, who was busy sucking his face, glances up at me and grins. “Yeah, Tony, he’s cute.”

When he realizes I’m not leaving, Tony, as he’s calling himself, pushes her away from him and sits forward. “Seriously, piss off.”

I lean over, placing my hands on the table in front of him, and grin, though there’s nothing pleasant about my expression. “Sorry, Tony, but I can’t do that. In fact, this will go a lot easier if you just come with me.”

“I told you, piss off.”

“That’s not going to happen. I really don’t want to make a scene here, but don’t mistake that for me not giving a damn. I’ll even give you a chance to say good night to your lady friends, but you are coming with me. Now.”

To emphasize my meaning, I throw a little will behind my command. His eyes widen for a second, then narrow as the truth begins to dawn on him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You can plead your case to Dante. Now let’s go.”

The woman who was sucking his face grabs his arm and pulls him closer. I’d wager she isn’t even legal in here. “Are you in trouble, Tony?”

He smiles at her and pats the hand around his arm. “It’s nothing, love. I’ll be back before you know it.” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a few bills, tossing them on the table. “Buy yourselves another round.”

He stands up and buttons his jacket before offering me a grim smile. “Let’s go, then.”

To be honest, I didn’t think he’d come this easily. The file I have on him mentioned he was a repeat offender and had even escaped custody twice. I’m determined this isn’t going to be a third time.

When he steps around the table, I grab his arm and pull it behind his back. “What the hell?” he protests. “I said I was coming.”

“Just want to make sure you don’t change your mind.”

I push him forward, leading him around the dance floor toward the exit. There’s a bottleneck as we approach the bar that forces us to slow, and he turns back to me. “I’ve got money. I can set you up–”

“Not interested.”

“Come on, there has to be something you want.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I want to get out of here. Now walk.”

I don’t trust this fucker any farther than I can throw him, but the crowded conditions in the club make it impossible to restrain him right now. First rule of the Clan: don’t attract attention. That’s why Tony–aka, William Devine–is in his current predicament. He’s left a trail of clues behind in his debauchery, and while an occasional slip up can be tolerated, he demonstrated a complete lack of control in his interactions with humans. All it takes is for one open-minded detective to put the pieces together, and our entire existence would be exposed. Luckily, the man I work for has an army of fixers who can erase transgressions, but that doesn’t mean he forgives them. Devine is costing him money, and Dante hates losing money.

As soon as we’re out the door, I pull a pair of charmed zip-tie cuffs out of my pocket and slip them around his wrists. I’m not taking any chances with this one. I push him down the street past the line of people waiting to get into the club.

“This is totally unnecessary,” he grumbles.

I clamp down on my response and lead him toward the black Chevelle coupe parked at the curb, opening the door and shoving him inside.

“Nice ride,” he says as I slam the door and walk around to get in.

I shove the key in the ignition and start the car, taking a moment as I always do to appreciate the low-pitched rumble of the engine as it purrs to life.

“I can see you in this,” Devine says as I pull away from the curb. “You’ve got that whole black leather bad ass look going. How’s that working out for you? Get much pussy?”

“Shut up.”

He shrugs. “Okay, then. How about dick?”

I ignore him and swing around the block, heading deeper into the city. Ordinarily Dante would have me bring offenders to the warehouse by the docks, but he’s entertaining tonight, some big shots from one of the European Guilds, and he wants to make an example of Devine. Show them how we deal with offenders in New York. I don’t much care where I take the loser as long as I get paid.

“I can get you three more just like the girls at the club. Or you can have them. I’m generous.”

I glance at him. “Are you generous when you drain their blood and leave them in the alley?”

He shrugs. “Okay, maybe I went too far once.”

“Once? Try three times since the last time you were brought in. Guys like you never learn.”

“Okay, okay. I can change. Just give me another chance.”

I go back to ignoring him.

“It’s not easy,” he continues. “I had a rough childhood. And well, I have…appetites, you know?”

I cut through the park and continue ignoring him, wondering how someone like him was even accepted into the Clan. There’s a rigorous vetting process we’re all supposed to go through to make sure there are no aberrant personality types wielding the kind of power we’re gifted with after our transition. I’ll admit in my younger days I was a bit of a loose cannon, pushing the rules and giving my sponsor no end of headaches, but then I met Dante and he straightened me out.

Sure, I could probably go out on my own now, live the kind of upscale life a lot of my brethren do, but I like the structure. Plus I’m not talented enough on my own to make the kind of money I need to live up to my current standards. I’m not rolling in it, but I make a good living. Have a nice apartment, a sweet ride, and cash to indulge in a few luxuries. It’s enough for me. There are those–well, one in particular–who say I’m wasting my gifts, but I pushed that voice out of my life a long time ago.

When I approach the East Side building where Dante lives, I can see there are no parking spaces along the curb. They have a valet, but no pimply-faced kid is going to touch my baby. I head up the block to the intersection and make a U-turn, finding a slot across the street.

Devine glances up at the building when I yank him out of the car. “So I’m not dying tonight?”

“What gives you that idea? You can die in a penthouse just as easily as a dockyard.”

I shove him in front of me as we cross the street and approach the building. “Behave yourself,” I mutter to him. I know the doorman from all the times I’ve been here, and he waves me inside without so much as a second glance.

“Last chance to take me up on my offer,” Devine says. I’d laugh if I wasn’t already sick of him.

I punch in the code for the penthouse in the elevator and watch the floors whip by. The door opens into the foyer of a luxurious apartment. Two somber-faced guards are stationed on either side of the door. “Where is he?” I ask them, and the taller one, Roland, nods toward the room to the right, where soft jazz and deep voices filter through the door.

Most people who live in penthouses in this city do so for the view, and while I’m sure there’s a great one beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, heavy draperies hang in front of them, blocking off any hint of the outside world. In all the times I’ve been up here, be that day or night, I’ve never seen those curtains open. Instead, three crystal chandeliers light the room, their sparkling ambiance dulled by the heavy fabric and wine-red damask wallpaper.

Someone once told me Dante was originally from a fifteenth century Tuscan family, and judging by his décor, he has separation anxiety about leaving that world behind. The place is a shrine to his homeland. Gilt-framed oil paintings that I’m sure were painted by artists Dante had personally known litter the walls, and every carved, polished surface is covered with sculptures, vases, and books. The furniture, while large and comfortable, is upholstered in the kind of rich velvet and chenille you’d see in some baroque Italian villa.

There are six men in the room besides the host–Gio, Dante’s second, and five men I don’t recognize. Their smart-cut suits indicate they’re the Europeans Dante told me about. Dante himself lounges in his favorite chair, a snifter of what I assume is brandy draped in his elegant hand. He’s a tall man, with dark piercing eyes and a casual air about him that defies his utter ruthlessness. He can transition from the generous lord of the manor to a roughneck mobster in the blink of an eye. Tonight he’s showing his cultured side, and I wonder if the Europeans in the room are even aware of what a murderous bastard he can be. Luckily I have never given him cause to unleash that monster on me, but I’ve seen what he does to people who defy him or the rules.

Tonight, however, his face lights up when he sees me. “Cord. Good of you to come.”

Like he wasn’t expecting me. “Dante.” I push my prisoner in front of me. “As requested.”

Dante sets the glass aside and pushes his imposing frame up from the chair, striding across the room to stand before us. I know Devine has been brought in to him before, but judging by his reaction now, he has never seen this side of the man. Maybe that’s why he appears more relaxed than he should. He obviously doesn’t catch the sadistic gleam in Dante’s eyes, nor understand how mercurial Dante’s moods can be.

Dante glances behind Devine to me. “Have you fed tonight?”

I hate that he knows me well enough to recognize that I have a tendency to ignore my own needs when I’m on a hunt. “No,” I reply sheepishly.

“Go find Bernard. He’ll take care of you and see that you’re paid.”

With that I recognize I’m dismissed. I give one final glance at Devine, figuring this is the last time his name will cross my hit list, and make my way across the hall to the expansive kitchen where Bernard holds court. It might seem like overkill to have such a well-equipped kitchen in the home of someone who doesn’t need to eat, but Dante does entertain human guests in his home, holding lavish dinner parties to shmooze the wealthy movers and shakers of society to do his bidding.

Bernard is buried in a pile of paperwork that I recognize as the household accounts when I walk in. Having been transitioned when he was past middle-age after serving Dante for years as a human, the majordomo looks older than most of our kind. He always has a kind word for me when I visit.

“Let me guess,” he says when he sees me. “Didn’t feed again?”

“How can you tell?”

“You get this gaunt look about you.” He rises and crosses to the industrial-sized refrigerator and pulls out a bag of blood, handing it to me along with a thick envelope that I know contains my fee. I stuff the cash in my pocket and bite the plug off the bag, guzzling the contents. It’s not the same as live, but it will do in a pinch.

“You shouldn’t starve yourself,” the old man scolds. “It’s dangerous for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” I grin.

“Yours is a deadly job. There are a lot of…temptations.”

I think about Devine and shrug. “Don’t worry. I know my boundaries.”

“I’m sure you do. But if you ever got injured…well…”

“I know. I’m careful. And I’ll try to do better.”

“You always say that, Cord. You don’t take care of yourself.”

I want to argue with him, but I know he’s right. I often let things go until I have no choice but to deal with them, even with something as important as feeding.

“I better run. It’s getting late and I’m sure Dante doesn’t want you wasting your time on me.”

The old man snorts. “I’ll waste my time however I see fit.”

If it was anyone else saying that, I would laugh, but I know Bernard is the true power behind Dante’s kingdom. The fact is, he knows where all the bodies are buried.

I say my goodbyes and make my way out of the penthouse. As I cross the street and reach for the door of my car, a shiver runs down my spine as a familiar voice calls out my name.

“Cord?”

I turn and meet the emerald-eyed gaze I swore I’d never want to see again.

TASTE OF BLOOD is available for ebook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited HERE

Trigger Warnings. This book is a dark dual POV romance suitable for readers 18+. Please mind the following triggers: M/M relationships, loads of filthy spice, occasional casual sex, talk dirty to me, erotic bondage, edging, kidnapping, blood play, unhinged violence, decapitation, torture.

 

The Cruelty of Thorns

 

CHAPTER 1

JULIANUS

Windows to the soul

I DREAMED OF blood and death.

Wasn’t the first time; definitely wouldn’t be the last. That I could dream at all was a constant wonder to me.

The hunger was there when I awoke, sharp and insistent, but something felt different tonight. Like Fate was toying with the carefully woven threads of a routine I had spent centuries establishing.

Perhaps I had grown too comfortable.

Perhaps it was time to move on.

I resented that thought. I had come to like it here. A city small enough to remind me of my youth; large enough to absorb my unnatural habits. Such places were becoming increasingly difficult to find in the world, and I didn’t relish the thought of searching for another.

Perhaps it was merely hunger, after all.

I dressed in my favorite charcoal gray suit and made my way out into the crisp autumn evening. A new distraction was what I needed, something to tempt my cock and slake this cursed thirst. With school back in session at the college, the streets were like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I wound my way leisurely through the herd, sampling sights and scents for one worthy of my attention.

Young succulent flesh.

Eager open minds.

Blinded by their own invincibility.

I didn’t know what drew me to the bar, or why I looked in the window when I got there, but the jolt I received when I met those eyes shook me to my core.

It couldn’t be. Not now. After all these years…

CHAPTER 2

MYRA

A chance encounter

I HATED GOING out, but I knew if I was going to fit in at Whitfield College I’d have to make some sacrifices. The bar wasn’t too crowded for a Friday night, but with my anxiety, anything more than a handful of people was too much. The only thing I had going for me was the group I was with. The girls were all prettier than me, thus deflecting any attention from the male clientele.

Not that I was ugly; I just wasn’t what you would consider beautiful. Average height, straight brown hair that I wore like a security blanket close to my face, hazel eyes, and a bit too skinny in all the places most women had curves. I had come to terms with my lot in life long ago; it was just as well, as I wasn’t interested in the things most girls my age were–clothes, shoes, the latest media heart throb, or especially real life men. I’d had one relationship in my nineteen years and it had ended tragically enough to cause me to swear off a repeat. Now I got my romance from the books I read and the stories I wrote.

“What are you drinking?” my roommate, Kristin shouted above the music.

“Just a Coke.”

“Come on, Myra, it’s Friday night. At least have a beer.”

I made a face. “I hate beer.”

“Then a glass of wine. Look, I’m ordering us both one.” She motioned to the server who was headed for their table.

I sighed; this was exactly why I hated going out. “Aren’t we too young to drink?”

“Drinking age is eighteen here for beer and wine,” Kristin informed me. “Why do you think there are so many bars near the campus?”

I hadn’t really paid attention. I knew there were two bookstores and a small independent coffee shop with ample plugins for laptops within walking distance of the school. I would much rather have gone there tonight. I had a paper due on the theme of realism vs romanticism in nineteenth century literature and would like to have gotten a start on writing it before Kristin dragged me out to “blow off some steam” with a few friends.

I liked Kristin well enough as a roommate. She wasn’t too loud and seemed to be serious about her coursework during the week, but she was a year ahead of me and therefore had a lot of friends at the school, both male and female, something I doubted I’d have regardless of how long I was there. Just thinking about that brought up my mother’s voice in my head. Myra, you need to get out and meet people.

The drinks arrived and Kristin pushed the glass of wine in front of me with an arched brow that dared me not to drink it. I took a sip, hid my distaste, and shifted my attention to the front windows where a steady stream of people, most of them young and probably students, drifted by. The girls at the table were chattering on about some show they were watching on Netflix, their conversation blending into the white noise of the room.

And that’s when I saw him.

He was standing on the sidewalk outside; tall and pale, with cheekbones like cut glass and a tail of long brown hair that shimmered in the soft glow of the old-fashioned streetlights that dotted the area. An air of aloofness set him apart from the tide; that and the fact that unlike the casually-dressed students, he wore a well-cut dark suit that showed off a lean physique.

When he turned and faced the window, I felt my breath hitch. He had the most arresting eyes I had ever seen, and they were staring straight at me. How he could see into the dimly-lit bar I couldn’t say, but I was sure he had caught me watching him. As if to confirm this, his full lips curled up in a slow smirk. I felt my skin flush and tore my eyes away, feigning interest in the conversation at the table. Still, I couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of my eye as he entered the bar and made his way toward the back with a sideways glance in my direction.

I picked up my glass and took a healthy swallow, nearly gagging on the alcohol as I watched him approach the far end of the bar and lean over to say something to the bartender. He was even more impressive from this vantage point, and as much as I might have feigned no interest in men, I found myself thinking he was the most beautiful one I had ever seen.

Two of the girls from our table were just coming out of the restroom and passed by where he was standing. The tall one, Lisa, was a beauty with long black hair, almond-shaped green eyes, and a body that most men would kill for. The man turned as she walked by and watched her with an almost hungry interest in his gaze, and something about that look stirred an uneasy jealousy in me. Fool, I scolded myself. As if someone like him would be interested in you.

The man stood with his back to the bar for several minutes, looking over the room without ordering a drink, then walked slowly back outside, where he disappeared into the night. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or not, and once again I was cross with myself for even entertaining those kinds of thoughts.

“Just another pretty face,” I murmured under my breath.

Kristin looked over at her. “Did you say something?”

“No. Talking to myself.”

My roommate’s eyes dropped to my almost-full glass of wine with a frown. “Are you going to drink that?”

“Probably not.” She reached over and grabbed the glass, pouring the remaining wine into her own. “By all means, help yourself.”

Kristin ignored the barb and looked around the table. “Everyone else ready for another round?” When she got an enthusiastic yes, she motioned to the server. I noticed with satisfaction that this time she ordered a Coke for me.

When the drinks arrived, I tried to join in the conversation, but my mind kept going back to the mysterious man in the suit. I had never had that kind of reaction to a man before, and it bothered me. While I may have considered myself a romantic at heart, that was mostly in literature. I had never carried those flights of fancy into real life, but I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to him. I could still see his face and feel the effect of those eyes when they met mine. Who was he, and why had he come into the bar tonight only to leave a few minutes later? I had no answers, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t stop him from populating my thoughts.

THE CRUELTY OF THORNS is available for ebook and paperback HERE 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: This book contains content recommended for those 18+, to include:

BDSM, MF and MM sex, polyamorous sex, sexual assault, nonconsensual sex, murder, torture, blood play, and suicide (off-page)

SKINNED: A Descent Into Obsession

 

The  Hook

 Dana knew he was trouble the minute she laid eyes on him. A little voice inside her head said don’t go there, but whoever listens to that voice?

It was Thanksgiving and Robbie was laying on the guilt trip hard and heavy. “Come on, Mom, he’s just a guy Jason and I know. He doesn’t have any family here and I couldn’t let him be alone on Thanksgiving. You know you always have enough food for an army.”

Robbie had been bringing home strays ever since Dana could remember; first dogs and cats, then every hard-luck waif with an empty stomach and a good story. They had camped on her couch and raided her cupboards, and some–but not many–even thanked her for her trouble.

“It’s not that there isn’t enough food for him,” she told him, knowing she would lose. “I only thought it would be nice to have a day with just family.”

She glanced at Jen and Jason with a smile; well, almost family. Jen and her twin brother Jason had been best friends with Robbie since the first grade. The three of them had grown up together, so it was only natural that Jen would be the first girl Robbie ever asked out. Now the three of them had been living together for a year, since Robbie had graduated from college, leaving Dana alone for the first time in twenty-three years. Nearly a quarter of a century. She tried not to think about that, just as she tried not to think about how Robbie’s father had left her five years before for a woman half her age. He said it was because she was “too old-fashioned.” The way Dana saw it, he was just pissed because he could never bring her to orgasm. Of course, that was because, as he put it, she was frigid.

The roar of a motorcycle interrupted her thoughts. She looked at Robbie as if to say, “a motorcycle?” He shrugged and offered that boyish grin he knew would melt her heart. Just like his father.

“That must be him.”

Dana glanced out the window as a tall, lanky man climbed off the bike and removed his sunglasses, tossing a mane of long, jet-black hair away from his face. He looked up, scanning the house, his dark eyes finding hers through the window, and Dana felt something inside clench. He looked…dangerous.

She couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his firm thighs in those tight black jeans. Like a second skin, they hugged every muscle and bulge. Without realizing it, her tongue flicked out across her lower lip, a quiver sweeping through her. Her gaze drifted up to his face as his lips curled in a feral grin. He’d caught her.

Dana jerked away from the window, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment and something she’d rather not name. What was she thinking? This was her son’s friend.

Robbie opened the door and beckoned the man inside. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“Nope, not at all.” His voice was somehow soft and deep at the same time. He stepped into the house, tall, lithe frame seeming to overwhelm the space. Shrugged off the leather jacket, revealing a hard, well-defined chest through the skin-tight T-shirt. “It was right where you said it’d be.”

Dana headed for the kitchen, pretending to be busy, to avoid his eyes, but Robbie had dragged the man over to her, introducing them. “This is my mom, Dana. Mom, this is Sloan.”

She turned, looking at him, at the twinkle in his eyes that she knew was just for her. The twinkle that said, “I saw you.”

“I hope this is okay.”

She blinked, realizing he was talking about dinner, and nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice.

“Mom’s used to me bringing people home,” Robbie assured him. “Our house was always the neighborhood hangout.”

He nodded, his eyes holding hers. “Well, then, I guess she is used to it.”

Dana was suddenly burning up. She could feel those dark eyes wandering over her–touching her. Found herself wishing she had worn something other than the faded jeans and favorite old sweater. Wanting to feel his strong, supple fingers roaming over her naked flesh. Feel him pulsing inside her.

What the hell was the matter with her?

Robbie was offering Sloan something to drink, the two of them moving past her into the kitchen. Jen approached Dana, laying her hand on her arm, shocking her back to reality. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure. I, ah…better go check on the turkey.”

The kitchen was too small for the three of them. Robbie had poured everyone a glass of wine and carried the hors d’oeuvres out to the livingroom, grabbing the first for himself. Jen warned him about filling up before dinner, and he teased her about nagging him. Dana ignored their familiar banter as she busied herself in the kitchen, trying to focus on the meal. To bury her head in the oven and forget about the dark-haired stranger her son had invited into her home.

“Need any help?”

She sucked in a breath as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was right behind her, his clean man-scent filling her head, overwhelming that of the turkey and the pies. Making her knees feel weak. Go away, she wanted to say. How was she ever going to get through this?

“No, that’s okay,” she heard herself say without turning around, unwilling to look into those eyes again. Unwilling to show him the effect he was having on her. Certain that he already knew. That he had known the minute he stepped off that bike.

Dana tried to lift the turkey from the oven for basting and lost her grip. The pan slipped, some of the juice spilling onto her hand, burning it. She gasped, instinctively pulling away, but Sloan was already there, reaching around her to grab the falling pan and set it on the counter.

Robbie, Jason, and Jen had heard the clatter from the other room and came running. “You okay, Mom?” Robbie asked.

Dana looked up at him, nodding. Sloan had grabbed her hand and was examining it, his touch sending shockwaves through her. “You got any aloe around here?” he asked Robbie.  “She’s burned her finger.”

Robbie scanned the kitchen, assuring himself that everything was all right, then gave his mother a questioning look.

“In the pot on the patio. Just break off a piece.”

He hurried off to fetch it with the twins on his heels, leaving Dana alone in the kitchen with Sloan, who still hadn’t relinquished her hand. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and he smiled.

“I know what will make this feel better.” He sucked her finger into his mouth, his tongue circling it, teasing it, until she was sure she would faint. She heard the sliding glass door open, Robbie’s footsteps in the diningroom, the panic welling in her, but Sloan already had released her and backed away, and now it was Robbie who stood in his place.

“Here, rub this on it,” he said, offering her the aloe.

Dana felt like she had just awakened from a dream. Robbie insisted she let them finish preparing dinner, but she balked, afraid to be left alone in the other room with Sloan. Afraid of what she might do; what she might let him do. She could still feel the touch of his tongue on her finger, the warmth of the memory spreading through her body. No, it was better that she stayed right there, in the kitchen–alone.

“You guys go sit down and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.”

Somehow Dana got dinner on the table. Got everyone seated and the food passed and the plates full and more wine poured. Everyone was talking and laughing and enjoying each other and the meal, and Dana would have sworn it was all just a dream. That she had imagined the whole thing. And then she would glance across the table where he sat and the illusion would be shattered.

She watched, transfixed, as he buttered a roll, his hands a symphony of strength and dexterity. The fingers dipping the knife into the butter. Spreading it across the bread in slow, lingering strokes. Tearing off a piece and bringing it to his lips. His mouth opening, tongue grabbing it, pulling it in, chewing, then the tongue snaking across his lips, licking away the last trace of butter as he reached for his glass. She watched him drink, watched his lips curl into a smile, savoring the rich bite of the wine as it slid down his throat, and all the while she was aware of his eyes watching her from beneath the kind of long, dark lashes she had always felt were a crime on a man.

She tried to hold up her end of the conversation, to be the attentive host, but her mind was too distracted by his presence. Half of her wishing the meal would end and they would all leave, and the other half wanting it to go on forever, just like this. Just so she could sit here and watch him, fantasizing about being caressed by those long, subtle fingers and that hot, lush mouth.

But the evening did end, and they all made ready to leave, even Sloan. He thanked her politely for having him over, expressed concern for the burn on her finger, then followed Robbie and Jen out into the night. She stood on the stoop and waved at them as his bike roared to life and thundered out of her driveway and down the street. Relieved that they finally were gone.

Wished that he had stayed.

She wandered back into the empty house and started the dishwasher, turning off the lights and walking back to her room. Undressed slowly, appraising herself in the full-length mirror attached to the door. Not bad for her age. In fact, not bad at all. People were always telling her she didn’t look her age. Her light brown hair still almost free of gray, her face still smooth, her body still slim and fairly tight.

She’d taken good care of herself over the years; palates classes at the gym, walking in the evenings, drinking plenty of water and getting her sleep. And all for what? In the five years since Robbie’s father had left her, she had dated twice–both disasters–and decided she would prefer being alone. That she had no patience for the head games of dating. Besides, most men left her cold.

And then this…kid…walked into her home.

She pulled on her nightshirt, shut off the light, and slipped into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing his eyes looking at her, undressing her. Feeling his hands holding hers, sliding her finger into his mouth. Feeling the gentle pressure of his tongue.

She was surprised to find the nightshirt up around her waist, her fingers burying themselves in the moist heat between her legs. She moaned, kicking back the covers. Stretched out, imagining it was his hands that caressed her, his fingers that dipped into her hungry pussy, pressing with ever-increasing urgency against her swollen clit while her hips rocked back and forth, pushing against one hand while the other massaged her breasts.

She could feel the pressure building, her body tensing, her mind wrapped around a fantasy of his hands and his mouth and his cock. Her hand became more insistent, working harder now, pushing her to the edge. To release.

She moaned as the orgasm crested over her, her body quivering, her hand soaked with the juices of her climax. Her heart was still thumping even as the spasms subsided, her breath still heavy and short, her mind still locked on Him.

“Damn you,” she cursed under her breath.

Skinned is available for ebook and paperback HERE.

Trigger Warnings: BDSM, MF and FF sex, polyamorous sex, discussion of taboo subjects to include stepbrother and underage sex, humiliation and shaming, MMC sharing FMC, psychological manipulation

Incubus Excerpt

 ONE

Digging.

It was deep enough now. The man laid the shovel aside and reached for the small, unadorned box, caressing it to his breast before arranging it within the earthen sepulcher. Around him, the moonless city held its breath, offering no counterpoint as he uttered the plaintive words of forgiveness.

“Ya nichevó ne iméyu dlya vas.”

Hollow eyes surrounded him, observing with fateful comprehension; the greatest of all sorrows was to leave him.

“Tell Lizabeth goodbye, my darlings. She joins the ones beyond my love.”

He carefully pushed the dirt over the tiny grave, patting and smoothing it to leave no evidence of his presence, then rose and breathed in the aching solace of life around him, his eyes raking the empty darkness while the wind whispered to him in shimmering tones of regret. For him, release would never be more than a fantasy.

“Come my lovelies, let’s go back to the house.”

They followed in solemn silence, each jostling to be the one to receive his attention. He reached down, trailing gentle fingers across their heads, and sighed with a sadness that broke their hearts. Despite the mournfulness of their fate, they could not blame him, for it was their own choice, after all, and they would make it again to be included in his world.

But for the man, every night was an endless regret, a solemn requiem for all the lives he’d watched come and go. For him there was no recourse, no matter how much he might wish otherwise, for he was cursed by his own words. One misspoken desire, uttered in desperation so many lonely years before, had profaned the lives of all he loved, and now there was only this yawning emptiness and the knowledge that it would continue, perhaps stretching beyond time itself.

TWO

Dana leaned across the Formica-topped counter and called out. “Excuse me, is the manager in?”

Lunchtime; chaotic in the small diner that sold itself as a nod back to simpler times. Grease-streaked stainless steel ran up the walls, much like the husk of the exterior of the restaurant, making it appear like a giant Airstream trailer. The chrome barstools were upholstered in cracked red vinyl, as were the booths that lined the walls, and dusty metal blinds shaded the interior from the unforgiving afternoon sun.

The waitress in the soiled pink uniform was moving with harried efficiency behind the counter, a pot of stout brew clamped in her hand. At the end of the counter, a cheap box fan roared in futility, stirring little more than the dust entrails clinging to the yellowed plastic grill.

Dana slid onto the only empty stool, careful to avoid contact with the man on the neighboring perch. He glanced at her momentarily, plump fingers poised above the greasy carnage on his plate, and allowed his eyes to slink over her with the same limpid zeal he would show a leg of lamb. She stifled a shudder.

“Excuse me,” she repeated, focusing her attention on the woman behind the counter. At last the waitress sighed and tossed a glance her way.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?”

“I’d like to speak to the manager.”

The waitress regarded her with suspicious hostility. “We’re making food as fast as we can.”

“Yeah, right,” a man at the end of the counter called. “I ordered a sandwich half an hour ago. How long does it take?”

“It’s only been ten minutes, John.”

The waitress made a gesture at the man and looked back at Dana. “Sorry, but we’re very busy today.”

“I’m not here to eat. I just need to speak to the manager.”

“You want a job, I’ll get you an application, but we’re not hiring.”

“No. It’s about an employee of his, Eva Booth.”

Dana thought she saw a shadow cross the waitress’s dark eyes. “Why do you want to ask questions? Are you the police?”

“No. I’m her sister. I heard she worked here.”

The waitress’s eyes glanced furtively toward the back of the restaurant, as though somehow the walls might hear her. “You need to talk to Leo. He’s the owner.”

Dana swallowed her frustration. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here now. Come back at two. Maybe he’ll talk to you.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. He’s a busy man; has two other restaurants.”

“Lourdes, order up!”

“In a minute, Carlos.” She waved impatiently at the cook who was holding up John’s sandwich. “I have to go. If you stay here, you have to order something.”

“Fine. Bring me a cup of coffee.”

 *  *  *

 Leo still hadn’t shown at two-thirty when Lourdes ended her shift. She finished cashing out her tickets and peeled off her apron and hairnet, loosening the restrictive knot of hair with a grateful sigh. Dana was still waiting, though she had moved to a booth since the lunch crowd thinned. Lourdes walked past the table, then stopped and turned, giving the woman a sympathetic look.

“Maybe Leo won’t come today.”

Dana glanced up at her and offered a weak smile. “I’ll wait.”

Lourdes slid into the seat across the table and started ripping the ends off two packages of sugar, pouring them into a paper cup half full of dark, bitter coffee and stirred thoughtfully.

“You say you’re Eva’s sister?”

Dana nodded. “Dana. I just drove down from Sullivan.”

“Sullivan–where’s that?”

“Illinois.”

The waitress seemed to consider this. “You’re on vacation then?”

Dana glanced over her shoulder as though she feared her answer would be overheard. The only other customer, an elderly man, was perched at the counter with the cook, Carlos. Both were too absorbed in some game show on the wall-mounted TV to pay any attention to her. The other waitress was refilling condiment bottles at the opposite end of the counter, white earbuds crammed into her ears.

“I’m looking for my sister. Did you know her?”

Lourdes fiddled with the sugar wrapper, folding the little white square of paper over and over until it was a tiny ball that she flicked across the floor. With that dispatched, she sat back and regarded the other woman without expression.

“You look a little like her, now that I look at you.”

Dana leaned closer, a spark lighting her dark eyes. “So you do know her?”

The waitress shrugged and finished off her coffee, crumbling the paper cup with painful deliberation before answering. “She worked here for about a year.”

“But not anymore?”

“No, I haven’t seen her in over a month. One day she didn’t show up for work. Leo got pissed–it was Saturday and Saturdays are very busy. Tourists, you know. They come here to drink and have a good time. You know about the history here in the Latin Quarter–the factories and warehouses that are restaurants and bars now? Nice places to get drunk and watch the freaks. Lucky for those people, they can go back to their big houses in the north and forget all about what they see here. Money can buy such peace of mind.”

Dana couldn’t care less about the city or its history, but she also couldn’t say that. Not if she hoped to get the answers she sought from this woman. “She never came back after that Saturday?” she pumped when the waitress paused.

“No, she didn’t, not even for her paycheck. Leo said maybe she got into trouble. That’s why he told us not to talk about her. He said if anyone came around, to send them to him. When you showed up, I thought maybe you were the police.”

“Why would he think she had gotten into trouble?”

“Who knows? Everyone gets into trouble these days, especially around here. Now that more people come here, there are so many drugs, so many bad people.”

“Was she using drugs?” Dana was aware she was holding her breath.

“No, I don’t think so. Eva was a quiet girl. Kept to herself, not many friends. She didn’t party like the others.”

Dana nodded, remembering her older sister. She had come down here from Sullivan a year and a half before when Brad, her fiancé, decided he wanted someone more exciting. It had shocked Dana that her sister had the courage to leave her hometown alone to strike out for parts unknown, but Eva’s pain had gone deep. She wanted nothing around to remind her of Brad’s betrayal. They had an aunt in the city; Eva had stayed with her the first month here, but even she hadn’t heard from Eva in over four months.

“Did she have any friends?”

“No, I don’t think so. Oh, wait a minute.” The waitress leaned closer, an air of conspiracy in her manner. Dana felt her breath catch. “There was a man.”

A man? Eva had never mentioned a man in her emails. To hear her tell it, she wanted nothing more to do with men after her experience with Brad. Dana had thought perhaps her reaction was a little overboard, that she would get over the pain and move on with her life. She even secretly applauded her sister’s decision to leave town, even though she knew she would miss her. They had never before been apart.

Eva had always been more sensitive to things like the situation with Brad. Like their mother, she tended to wear her heart on her sleeve. She was a champion of femininity, of small, defenseless creatures like children and kittens. Her room at home was still populated by baby dolls and stuffed animals.

Dana, on the other hand, was the practical one; the tomboy, as her mother always referred to her. Her approach to matters of the heart was more cerebral than emotional, and after seeing the pain her sister had endured at Brad Tower’s expense, Dana was thankful for that aspect of her personality. No one was worth that kind of suffering.

Dana could still see her sister’s eyes the day she left. If what the waitress said about this man was true, then maybe Eva had found someone to help her push her pain aside. The man who could accomplish that would have to be somebody special.

“This man–was he her boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. He came here a few times to see her. Sometimes he walked her home. He never said much to us. Just sat in the corner and watched her. Sometimes he ordered coffee, but I don’t think he ever drank it. He didn’t look like he could drink Cuban coffee.”

“What do you mean?”

The waitress shrugged again. “He was not Hispanic.”

Dana nodded, unsure what one had to do with the other. “Do you know the man’s name?”

“No, but I don’t think he was from here. He spoke with accent, you know?”

She didn’t know, and she wished there was someone around who did. Someone with some answers. Didn’t any of this seem odd to these people? A woman disappeared without even coming back for her last paycheck? Anyone who worked in a place like this could hardly afford to give up a paycheck.

“Do you remember anything else–what he looked like, where he lived?”

The waitress appeared to be thinking. “He had blond hair. He was very pale, and tall.”

“Thin or fat?”

“He looked thin, but you know, it’s hard to tell because he always wore this jacket that was too big.”

“What kind of jacket?”

“I don’t know, like a suit coat, only not so nice. Always black–black jacket, black pants. Everything black.”

“Did he look like a businessman?”

“Oh no. No, you know, he was more like a…student. You know, like at college?”

Dana thought about that. Someone from the college? She had seen signs for a college on a few buildings a couple of streets over. Maybe he was a student or a professor. And foreign?

“Do you think this man has hurt your sister?”

Did she? Lourdes hadn’t mentioned seeing the man since Eva’s disappearance. It was as if she had just realized the finality of that word–disappearance. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of anything like that before now, however exaggerated her suspicions might have been. For her, it was unthinkable. She and Eva had always been close; Dana was sure she would know if something had happened to her sister. She would feel it. Wouldn’t she?

She looked at the waitress; the woman appeared to be around her own age–mid-twenties. Did she have any family, any sisters or brothers? Could she imagine what it was like not to know? Was that why she had taken the time to sit down and talk like this, or was it merely curiosity, the hunger for lunch hour banter? Dana couldn’t stand the thought of her sister being the subject of the casual speculation of strangers. They may have had their differences as all siblings do, but she was still fiercely protective of her older sister, especially against outsiders.

There was one time in particular when her sense of protectiveness had nearly gotten her thrown out of school. She was twelve at the time; Eva was fourteen. One of Eva’s classmates, a known bully, was bothering her after school while they all waited for the bus. Eva had asked her several times to leave her alone, but the bully persisted. When she finally grabbed Eva, Dana snapped.

She didn’t even remember the fight, didn’t remember the fact that she broke the bully’s nose, or that the bully had clocked her a good one in her right eye, giving her a shiner that would hang on for two weeks. When she came to her senses, she was sitting in the principal’s office while her parents talked with Mr. Burke behind closed doors. She didn’t know exactly what was said between them, only that her father had somehow talked the principal out of suspending her.

Nothing more was ever said of the incident, though Dana could have sworn it was pride she saw in her father’s eyes as they drove home that day. Needless to say, no one ever tried to hurt Eva after that. No one, that is, but Brad, though even he had been subjected to a scathing visit from little sister. A visit, she realized, that made little impression on him. The man had thicker skin than a rhino; nothing got to him. He was as heartless as they came, and Dana could only marvel at how thoroughly he had pulled the wool over her sister’s eyes.

When Dana first heard Lourdes mention a man, it was Brad who popped into her mind. It would be just like something he would do, following Eva down here to drag her heart through the mud again. But Brad was anything but thin, blond, or intelligent enough to pull off a foreign accent.

“Can you at least remember his name?” Dana asked hopefully.

The regret in her eyes was genuine as the waitress shook her head. “Maybe Irena will know,” she offered. “She works at night. That’s when your sister worked most of the time. Maybe she will know about him. She comes in at five.”

Dana glanced at her watch–two-fifty. There was no sense hanging around here. She thanked the waitress and rose to leave when the cook Carlos said something to the waitress in Spanish.

“What did he say?” Dana asked.

“He said the man was always on foot. That he must live around here somewhere.”

“Do you know where?” Dana asked the cook.

The man shook his head and in accented English, said, “What are you going to do–go to every door in the city searching for a man you have never seen?”

Incubus is available for ebook and paperback on Amazon 

Soon to be available on all other outlets where books are sold.

RELEASE Excerpt

 

1.0

Laec

Trouble.

Like bad fish, sometimes you can just smell it coming.

On this particular day, it’s coming in the form of a summons. As we speed toward the junkyard, I’m wondering what exactly we’re heading into.

“He didn’t say anything else?” I ask my brother, who swerves around a slow moving truck as he maneuvers onto the old coast road south of the city. Alex grabs hold of the grip above the door to keep from sliding across the backseat.

“Nope,” Darrius replies. “Just that someone came through the gateway and we should get there as soon as possible.”

“I guess it was too much to ask to get a whole week without some disaster raining down on us,” I mutter.

“Maybe it’s something good,” Alex offers.

I snort; she doesn’t actually believe that, does she? “If it was good, he would’ve told us.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Darrius says.

I look at him. “What could possibly have come through the gateway that wouldn’t warrant full-scale panic?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But it couldn’t have been too bad if Kellen was able to call us.”

I’ll give him that, but it doesn’t change the fact that someone is here who doesn’t belong, and that never adds up to anything good. The fae can make their own portals; only humans, lower angels, and demons need a gateway to travel to our realm. And since I doubt it’s a human or an angel, that just leaves demons, and they’re never good news.

“Maybe we should’ve closed that gateway like we did the one in Oscar’s shop,” I say.

“Maybe we should,” Darrius agrees. “But it’s open right now.”

We pass the railyard where said gateway is located, then a half mile later he eases the old Honda onto the junkyard lot. The door to the office/house opens as we get out of the car, and Kellen appears, accompanied by a tall, blond, uniformed elf. I recognize him as the one who was waiting for us at the monument in Tír na nÓg the day we left Tartarus after they rescued me from the Box in Hell.

Darrius steps forward and extends an arm toward the elf. “Alston. It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well,” the elf replies, gripping Darrius’s arm in their customary salute. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Darrius looks between the elf and Kellen. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s go in the house to talk,” Kellen says, leading us through the door. I glance at Alex and motion for her to precede me. As usual, Zack is busy in the kitchen with some concoction that teases my taste buds and causes my stomach to growl. He looks up as we enter and I can see from his expression that what the elf is about to tell us will probably ruin my appetite. It must be serious when Kellen doesn’t even offer us a cold drink. Alston waits while we seat ourselves around the large table, pacing the floor restlessly.

“As I know you are aware,” he begins, “Ciar is now in possession of two of the Four Treasures. Since she returned with them, she has been gathering her forces around her, for what purpose I do not know.”

“I thought you were in her inner circle,” Darrius says.

“I was, but after Aubrey’s betrayal, she is even more selective in who she trusts.”

“What happened to ol’ Aubrey?” I ask because, well, I’m curious and I figure Kellen probably is too.

“He has been remanded to Garrvey Prison in Svartálfaheimr. It will not be a pleasant existence for him, especially since many he is incarcerated with were put there by Aubrey himself.”

I can imagine the bad blood in that reunion. I look at Kellen. “That good enough for you?”

He shrugs. “It’ll have to do. At least he won’t be coming to this realm again.”

Alston sighs impatiently. “May I continue?” I nod at him. “There have been many closed door meetings in the last three weeks between Ciar and Nyx, along with a man I had not seen before. I made some discreet enquiries and learned this one is a god. Do you know of one called Ahura Mazda?”

Just the mention of his name sends shudders up my spine. “Yeah, we know him. He was actually there?”

The elf nods. “Several times, always with Nyx.”

Darrius looks at me. “How could he be in Tartarus?”

“Remember I told you he was brought through a portal in Hell when Nyx tried to use me to open the Lock. If they’re meeting with Ciar, that must mean they’ve discovered something about the Lock.”

Alston nods. “Yes. One of my spies overheard them talking. He did not know what it meant, but the Lock was mentioned several times. They were very excited about it.”

I sigh, a sinking feeling in my gut. “They’ve figured it out.”

“You don’t know that,” Darrius counters.

“Like I said,” Alston replies, “Ciar has been amassing her troops. They are preparing for something big.”

“How long has it been since she returned with the Treasures?” I ask Alston.

“Nearly two months.”

“It’s been barely a week here,” Darrius says.

I hate the weird time thing between realms. Two months is more than enough time for them to plan an invasion. And right now there’s just seven of us, if you count Zack and White Eagle, against a horde of fae and demons. We’re good, but not that good. I look around the room.

“We’re going to need a lot more fighters.”

Everyone starts talking at once. I listen for a couple of minutes, then pick up a spoon on the table and bang it against the empty pot sitting next to it. “We’re not solving anything this way,” I say when I have their attention.

“Laec’s right,” Darrius agrees. “We can’t fight this war alone. We need allies.”

“Where will you find enough bodies to stand up to the combined armies of Nyx and Ciar?” Alston asks.

“We do have a rather vast military in this country,” Darrius replies.

I snort. “Yeah, good luck getting them to believe we’re about to be attacked by demons and elves. They’d lock us up and throw away the key.”

He turns to me. “Then what would you suggest we do?”

“We go to the hunters first. There’s a lot of them, aren’t there?”

Kellen nods. “There’s a whole network around the country. Whether that would be enough remains to be seen.”

“Then we’ll have to pull in the Magick users,” I say.

“You mean–?” Darrius starts to ask.

“Yes,” I finish. “The Circle.”

“But Laec, they’re looking for Darrius,” Alex says.

“I know, but they’re the most powerful people in this realm. Hopefully once they know what’s at stake, they’ll put aside whatever grudge they have against him.”

“And how do you propose we contact them?” Darrius asks.

I grin. “Well, we just so happen to have the name and address of one of the Powers.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but have you got another idea?”

“Laec, this is almost as crazy as going to the Black Library,” Alex says.

“We don’t have the luxury of being rational right now,” I reply. “This is war, and anything goes. Maybe once the fighting gets bad, our official channels will see what’s going on and join in. In the meantime, we need to keep as many people alive as we can.”

“I’ll call Dupree and alert him to what’s going on,” Kellen says. “They might start seeing demon activity pick up there.”

“Good idea,” Darrius says. “Reach out to any other contacts you have–all of you. Hopefully Alston’s warning got to us in time.”

“I hope so,” the elf replies.

“Is the urisk still guarding the gateway?” Darrius asks him.

“Yes. No one can get past him he does not deem worthy.”

“You’re sure about that?” I ask.

He nods. “I am. Urisk do not look intimidating, but they wield powerful Magick. To defy one is to flirt with your own demise.”

“That’s good to know,” I say.

“Speaking of the gateway,” Alston says, “I had better be getting back. As you said, time passes differently between our realms, and I cannot afford to have Ciar get suspicious.”

“No, of course not,” Kellen agrees. “I’ll give you a ride over to the railyard.” He turns to us. “In the meantime, if you want to address the hunters, give me a call. I know most of them.”

“Best place would be at the Barnacle,” I suggest. “I’ll call Red, see if she can spread the word to get as many of them there as possible.”

RELEASE is available for ebook and paperback HERE.

Vengeance

Even as a child, Alessa had never felt the compulsion for the docks that Lara had. The city of her birth held no charm for her, and this place in particular repelled her, rife as it was with memories she would have preferred to forget.

She had meant to leave that night, her quest concluded. And yet here she was, and what had driven her to this spot she could not say, moving like a ghost among the uncompassionate decay that once had been the playgrounds of her childhood. Her heritage was rooted here, submerged beneath these cobbled avenues, emanating from the muted glow of the iron lamp posts and the ancestral breath of rain-bogged earth, masked now by exhaust and neglect.

The heritage of another time.

And coming to this place of dim pain, she stopped, her feet caressing the crumbling stone of the seawall. It was here, on this very spot, in what seemed so many lifetimes ago, that her once-carefree youth had been sacrificed to a profane love, dooming the future to an unrealized past.

An oil barge thundered into the harbor, its belly heavy with crude, and her mind drifted back to a different age, when the creaking of wood and the whisper of canvas were the only sounds to herald an arrival from the sea.

The ship passed through the harbor, its wake dredging up a forsaken ache for simpler times. Times when there were still dreams of hope and sunlight.

Times she would trade her immortal soul to regain.

“Alessa.”

The voice oozed from the darkness, pure and tremulous. Real, and yet…so unnatural. Not a mortal voice at all. And she, so lost in those long ago thoughts, had not even felt his approach.

She turned now, a shiver of lust coursing through her veins.

His face was still swathed in shadow, though every feature was ingrained in her senses. The broad sweep of the shoulders, the careless rake of ebony hair across the high forehead, the thick slash of brows that could offer the impression of sublime intelligence one minute, and savage ferocity the next.

In the darkness his eyes glowed like cut glass. Gypsy eyes, she once had called them. It had been too long, but the memory returned with all its former potency.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, her own voice sounding small in his presence. He stepped forward; long, delicate fingers stretching for her.

“A while. A dozen or so years, I suppose.” A wave of doubt rolled at him from her. “He sent me. To watch…wait.”

She didn’t need to be told the subject of his vigilance, nor even his choice of locations. With the exception of motive, his purpose was essentially the same as her own. Sooner or later, even the most reclusive of creatures must resurface. For a maverick like Lara, it was inevitable. Despite the danger it implied, they both knew she would not be able to resist the temptation to return to the scene of her most irreverent conquest. It was the same dauntless audacity that had inspired her pursuit of the love of her youth. The same impertinence that had sparked Alessa’s insidious infatuation. No wonder the Maker had sent his most trusted protegé to retrieve her. If anyone could convince Lara to surrender her unsanctioned autonomy, it would be Danté.

“So you’ve been here…all this time?”

He nodded, releasing her, moving with that lithe grace that characterized their kind. He stepped onto the seawall, the backdrop of light-spattered water framing him like a modern Zeus. He belonged in these settings, in the world of mortal time, as he called it. Back in the Maker’s citadel, he had been one among many, but here he was a god. It wasn’t so much in his stature or his strength, or even the debilitating effect of his gaze.

No, with him, it was an aura. An undeniable manifestation of raw, omnipotent power. Even she was not immune to it.

“Tell me, Alessa,” he pressed deliberately. “Are those your indiscretions I’ve been reading about in the paper?”

She was stung by the question. “I thought we knew each other better than that.” She shook her head. “We both know who is responsible.”

He muttered something about the imprudence of fledglings, of unbridled passions. “A danger to us all,” he concluded with a meaningful glance.

Another reproach. She let it pass, satisfied for the moment merely to be with him again. Too many years had separated them, and even the most potent of recollections can dim with time. But he was here now, clad in his trademark black; a sports coat of good taste and current fashion. A turtle neck sweater and slacks. Perhaps a bit overdressed for the climate, but for a creature such as himself, whose only reference to heat was the warmth in his veins, it was an unnecessary concern.

He had turned back to the water, his gaze scraping the surface like a laser, aware at once of the kaleidoscope of life that teamed within its inky bowels, and inhaled deeply, sucking in its damp breath, suddenly overcome by the realization that he would indeed miss it when his task here was complete.

The sea was in his childhood, now so many centuries past. Long-forsaken memories reduced to fragmented impressions. An ageless wind, whispering to him of the mysteries of life above the chill dance of unforgiving tides. Never a ripple about the secrets his fate would reveal.

A sailor, he’d been. A warrior. Young and strong and fearless. But he had relinquished all that when he was captured and brought into the realm of the Maker. There he had learned fear and obedience, but also love. And eventually, when he was deemed worthy, power.

It wasn’t the forensic definition of the word; the acquisition of men and gold and property. No, the power he’d learned about in those early years was the release from the bonds of human regret, of mankind’s self-contrived morality. It was the absolute power of a superior will over a weaker one.

When his time had come, it was without recrimination that he had bade farewell to the impotence of his former existence and embraced the Maker’s creed.

And yet, at times such as this, an unspecific yearning would tug at him. A craving for answers that never had been found. For revelations that, despite his command and sagacity, still eluded him, buried somewhere deep within that undulating womb of life.

Perhaps that was as it should be, for he was no longer a part of life’s fabric, and even mortality must be allowed its secrets.

He sighed, shaking his head, nearly forgetting his companion, but her presence intruded upon his thoughts now.

Sweet Alessa; in so many ways, still so young. He hoped the impressions he was receiving from her now were wrong. Her loss would pain him to the end of time.

Many lovers he had taken over the years, fledglings whose transitions were nurtured by his tainted trust, but there was something different about this one; lover, daughter, sister. Never before had he experienced such a kinship.

He had recognized it for what it was long ago: a dangerous thing. A thing that could drive him to disobedience. That was why he had agreed to leave the ancestral home of his kind and re-enter the mortal world when the Maker had suggested it. Perhaps He, too, had recognized the potential.

And now she was here, and all the old feelings were returning. He had thought himself beyond all of that. It was demeaning for one such as himself to fall prey to this weakness.

He wanted her to go, and yet he was drawn to her like a moth to light. Drawn to her rabid vitality, to her voracious lust for life. In her arms, he no longer felt like the ancient thing he had become. In her arms, he was young again. He was, once again, the warrior.

Wrong. All wrong.

“Why are you here, Alessa?”

“He sent me. To find Renaud.”

His eyes alone told her he did not believe. Renaud was nearly his contemporary, and a notorious renegade, even for their kind. Many had tried, but none had succeeded in returning the mutinous deviant to the fold.

“No,” he told her. “We both know you’re not ready for that. Now tell me the truth.”

She avoided his eyes, cloaking her thoughts, and he marveled at her newfound strength despite the anxiety it caused him. Had it been so long?

“I thought if I found him, He would reward me.”

“Your reward will come when you prove that you are ready,” he replied, making his voice sound hard.

“I am ready.” She moved closer, her eyes pulling his to her. “And I found him, though he’s gone now for all time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been away a long time, Danté. I’ve learned a great many things. How to create…and destroy.” She smiled at the wonder in his eyes now. “I took his head.”

He grabbed her again, the tenderness gone from his touch. Rage flashed in his eyes, but it was fear that pulsed through his veins. Fear for her.

“You know only the Old Ones have the power to destroy.”

She jerked free, her eyes defiant. “Why? I’ve developed my power. And now I have his as well.”

“Fool. Have you no idea of the consequences of your actions?”

“I had to do it,” she interrupted. “He was going to destroy her.”

He stopped, the retort snagged in his throat. “Lara?” She nodded, reveling in the momentary victory. “So…you've seen her?”

“We are together again.”

So, that explained her presence. Alessa had been reunited with the only creature who could replace him in her dark heart; the creature whose untempered lust had delivered her to this life. Yes, he could smell the change in her now; strange that he had not noticed before. Well, as much as it pained him to disappoint her, he would not be deterred from his task. The Maker wanted Lara, and so He would have her. There would be no negotiation on this point, even if it was Renaud who had cast the original stone. Lara’s fate, like that of her unruly sire, belonged to the Maker.

He met her eyes, an expression of pure evil slashing his handsome features, and Alessa acknowledged a momentary pang of pity for any soul unfortunate enough to fall prey to the spell of his beauty. His was not a will accustomed to being challenged.

“I’ll share her with you, Danté,” she offered, measuring his intent. A peace offering; the spoils of victory?

He snorted impatiently. “You know I no longer indulge in such things.”

“Ah, come now, my love. Even you haven’t grown that cold.” Her fingers traced the hard line of his chin, bringing a reluctant curl to his lip. “You would taste of me now, would you not?”

Treacherous creature. He snatched her hand, bringing it to his lips, unable to stifle the rush of pleasure her words sent through him. “Are you offering?”

“How can I refuse?” She moved into him, opening herself to his embrace. “It’s been too long, Danté.”

“Yes,” he murmured, taking the offered sacrifice.

She moaned as his teeth entered her, immediately lost in the fervent rush of liquid bliss. It was different among their kind, this aberrant union. For all the unnatural passion, there was no life in their commune. No obsessive hunger for living warmth, for the dying thunder of lost mortality. With them, it was nothing more than coupling; the carnal fusion of a like species.

And it was over too quickly. As was the case with those of his age, the bond had lost its importance.

“I don’t look forward to the day when I am so easily satisfied,” she whispered to him now.

“That is what holds you back, my dear. You’re still too attached to the physical. To these…sensual pleasures.”

“Is that so bad? After all, what would you do if I weren’t? Take a mortal lover? Make another fledgling slave?”

His eyes softened almost sadly now. “That day will come, you know.”

“Yes, I know. And perhaps by then I won’t care. Perhaps by then I’ll lose my taste for such things. And then again,” she added with a meaningful look, “perhaps I won’t. Perhaps I’ll merely bury the feelings, as you have.”

If he could have blushed, he would have. She alone knew his true weakness, a weakness that could mean destruction should it ever be discovered by his contemporaries.

He stared at her, marveling at the reflection of light and water in the hungry depths of her eyes. “You’re wrong about me.”

“Am I?”

“I will miss you.”

She sighed, still bargaining. “Then we should make the most of what we have. Stay with me now.”

“You know where my loyalties lie.”

“Maybe it’s time you broke free.”

“I can’t do that. I belong to…Him.” A shadow crossed his face again, darkening his features.

“What is it?”

“I fear for you now, Alessa. You have committed a forbidden act. He will show no mercy.”

“Will you tell Him, then?”

“I won’t need to.”

She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged; a childlike motion. “It will be worth it, to have what I want.”

If capable, he would have surrendered to the jealousy her betrayal provoked. Would she be willing to risk as much for him? The prospect stirred a desire to protect her from the justice he knew would be forthcoming.

“Vengeance is a dangerous thing for our kind.”

“He would have destroyed her,” she repeated.

“Perhaps that was her destiny.”

“I could never allow that.” She slipped away from his embrace, turning back to find him, her eyes glittering coldly.

“Why not?”

She offered an icy smile. “Because, my dear, I want that privilege for myself.” 

The Conversation

The Conversation

 

“Didn’t you get married?”

When Joey didn’t answer right away, I couldn’t tell if he was thinking up a good lie or just reluctant to talk about it.

“We split up,” he finally replied like it was no big deal. But it was too quick.

“What happened?” Cassie asked without looking up from her plate. Thirty years and she still hadn’t mastered the concept of boundaries.

“Just grew apart?” I offered as a bailout.

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know. It was all good for a while. I mean, really good, you know? It just…” He lowered his voice, like he was talking to himself. “Just not good enough for marriage.” After a moment, he raised his eyes to me. “You know what I mean?”

Part of me really did, so I nodded. “Sure. It’s like…I love you more than anything but…not all the time.” He started nodding along with me. “I mean, there’s a whole wide world out there and while I love having you as a safe haven in it…”

“It’s not your whole world,” he finished.

Close, I thought, but still not quite there. How do you tell people you’ve known almost your whole life–well, your early life–that the person they thought they knew as you didn’t exist? That you weren’t the fun-loving comedian they remember from high school? You never had been. It was all an act, a mask you hid behind so no one would know that you really couldn’t stand to be around them. Not them in particular, but people in general.

It had nothing to do with the self-indulgent, narcissistic boredom people feign today. Not to get all metaphysical, but it was more of a desire to filter out the noise so I could hear what the universe was saying to me. Everyone has moments when they want to unplug and run away. I’d just been having them my entire life. Like I wished everyone would go find another planet and leave me alone.

“Actually,” I ventured, “I think it’s more like, I love you, but seriously, could you just leave for a while?”

“Great,” Cassie huffed. “We’ve reached the philosophical portion of the evening.”

Ignoring her, Joey grinned at me. I grinned back at him, then something…I don’t know…something…stirred. Down there. It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

No, that’s a lie. I hadn’t forgotten. I’d just given up hope. Figured it was just another one of those delightful benefits of aging. Well, for most people. Not the ones in the commercials–the Viagra-popping, tennis playing, perfect teeth smiling Stepfordbots. No, the real people. The ones who either stayed between the lines with a life mate, hooked up with the first lost soul they could snag, or took care of things the old-fashioned way while ignoring the missing parts of that union.

I guess if anyone was reading my mind, that would sound pretty cynical. Must be the years talking. Who am I kidding–I was born cynical.

Joey looked away first as Cassie came up for air, oblivious to anything but the plateful of boiled shrimp she had just finished meticulously peeling. She glanced between us and frowned.

“What’d I miss?” She continued before either of us could answer. “She the one you met in college? Denise, Debbie…D-something?”

I bit my inner lip, still trying to process what had just happened. Joey? He’s like a brother. Well, maybe a cousin. Second cousin. Okay, really good friend. Still…

“Ellen,” Joey furnished before reaching over and nabbing one of Cassie’s shrimp, popping it in his mouth with a boyish grin. I smiled to myself, recalling what a huge part of my early life that grin had been. Like his laughter, it was honest and carefree; an act of pure enjoyment. Some would say infectious. Not that I was one of them.

It didn’t matter how upset or depressed or disappointed I was, Joey could always cheer me up. Never mind that half the time it was at my own expense. Well, maybe not quite half the time.

Actually, that kind of stopped after tenth grade. That’s when I noticed something new in his smile. I figured it was just part of growing up, but deep down I knew that didn’t explain the sadness. The sense that he had lost something. I ignored it because it didn’t fit the carefree Joey image I had created in my mind.

I could almost feel the metaphorical slap across the head then–the duh moment. Was he living behind a mask, too?

Cassie smacked his hand and snapped her teeth at him the way she used to do when he stole her food in cafeteria. We all laughed and Joey grabbed another shrimp. Cassie fought him for it, then he leaned his head back, holding the shrimp above his mouth and daring her to come get it.

“Go ahead,” Cassie said with a face. “I don’t want it after you've played with it.”

Joey grinned, then his eyes flickered over to me, and…

Everything stopped.

A lifetime of what-ifs shuffled through my mind, like one of those old flip pads cartoonists used to simulate film, while Time took a time-out. Like the Earth’s axle suddenly froze up and the world ground to a quietly screeching halt.

Yeah, I know. I’ve heard people say it before–Time stood still. I’ve even used the expression in my writing, but really, that’s all it is, right? A corny expression?

Maybe the weed we’d smoked earlier in the car was better than I thought. Maybe it was some time stopping, mind twisting, ecstasy weed. The Guy said White Widow. You’d think at least one of those millions of café goers would’ve Yelped about effects like that.

Joey released the shrimp and it dropped into his open mouth while he ducked away from Cassie’s slap. I laughed at their game–on reflex–but my attention was all on watching the muscles in his neck as he swallowed the shrimp.

“Asshole,” Cassie declared playfully.

“That’s me,” he agreed, jumping to his feet and heading into the kitchen. “Anybody else want something to drink?”

“I’ll take another beer,” Cassie called, raising her empty bottle for him to claim. He grabbed it then looked at me.

“Sam?”

I glanced down at my glass, where I still had a finger of bourbon. “No, I’m good.”

When he didn’t move, I raised my eyes to find him looking at me. Thinking maybe he hadn’t heard me, I repeated my answer.

“I’m sure of that,” he murmured with a slow grin that didn’t show a hint of boyishness, then turned back toward the kitchen.

What the hell? Was I imagining this? Was I really thinking about what I was thinking about? Is there a full moon or something? Did I accidently dial up some porn in my recent internet foraging? Get a grip. It’s Joey. You know, Joey. Best bud from fourth grade.

“I can get us tickets, if you guys want to go,” Cassie was saying. “Sam?”

“Huh?” Quick, what was she saying?

“Big surprise,” she sighed. “You weren’t listening.”

“Sorry,” I replied, rubbing my temple. “I uh…had a moment.” Boy, did I ever.

“Remember when we used to say that in high school?” Cassie laughed, then shook her head, her smile fading. “And now we really do.”

“Maybe it’s just the alcohol,” Joey chuckled, handing her a beer and flopping into his chair. He unscrewed the cap of his own beer and took a long pull then tipped his head toward my glass. “You are drinking the hard stuff.”

I frowned–was he saying I was a lush? He must’ve read my expression because he practically fell over himself to apologize. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just kidding around, you know?”

“No, it’s cool,” I assured him, too quickly, and hoped he didn’t notice.

“I knew that.”

Shit, this was getting way too complicated.

He dropped his eyes to his bottle then murmured, barely loud enough to hear, “You looked like you could use some cheering up.”

Too bad. I heard it, but I acted like I didn’t because I didn’t want to ask what he meant. I mean, I wanted to know, and I wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to volunteer the information. But I wouldn’t ask for it.

Cassie saved us both by reminding him that he still hadn’t answered her earlier question. Bless your anal-retentive heart.

“What question?”

“Is your ex-wife the one you met in college?”

He glanced between her and me. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes,” Cassie replied. “Full disclosure. We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years”

“I saw you last summer,” I interrupted.

Cassie rolled her eyes at me. “As a group. We haven’t seen each other as a group since our five-year reunion.”

“Why did we do that again?” Joey asked, obviously deflecting.

“Do what?”

“Have a five year reunion instead of the usual ten?”

“Some of us went to both,” I said before I could stop myself. He looked at me.

“Really?”

I shrugged. “I was in town. Roxie and John were there.”

“What?” Cassie gaped. “That’s the whole reason why we had a five year reunion. They said they were going to be working in Japan then.”

“Well, they were there.”

“Did they say what happened?”

I was really over this particular subject. “I didn’t ask. We only talked for a few minutes.”

“Are you kidding? You guys used to do all kinds of stuff together.”

“Yeah, in a group,” I snorted. “To be honest, I really didn’t talk to her much then. And John I didn’t know at all. I was already gone when they met.”

“She was kind of uppity,” Joey remarked, causing me to throw him a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

“Just cause her family lived in Snell Isle.”

I raised my glass and tinked it against his bottle, and just like that, everything was back to normal.

“Hmph,” Cassie said thoughtfully. “I could swear you were at their wedding.”

“Nope. You must be thinking of the other Sam.”

“What other Sam?”

“I don’t know,” I said, jumping up and heading for the kitchen. “Anything else to eat in here?”

I wasn’t really hungry–I’d just polished off a 12 ounce ribeye and all the fixings a couple of hours ago–but I was seriously getting tired of Memory Lane of the Rich and Famous. I stuck my head in the fridge and spotted a bowl of cut fruit. I grabbed it and three forks and headed back into the livingroom.

“No,” Cassie barked when she saw what I was carrying. “That’s for breakfast.”

“Too bad, I want it now.” I dropped the bowl on the coffee table and handed Joey a fork, then tossed another to Cassie before using my own to stab a big strawberry.

“Hey, I wanted that one,” Joey protested.

I popped it into my mouth and gave him a big chipmunk smile. “Oops.”

“You two are just alike,” Cassie sulked, cornering a chunk of pineapple.

“Great minds,” Joey mumbled as he stuffed three grapes into his mouth.

Cassie finished chewing and swallowing, then grabbed a piece of apple and looked between us, grinning. “I’m glad it turned out to be just us.”

“Me too,” Joey agreed, winking at me.

“Uh, yeah,” I added uncertainly. He was fucking with me now. That’s what all this was. A little weed, a couple of drinks, some old friends, and suddenly my mind is taking the scenic route through the gutter.

I looked up at him again and our eyes met and in that instant I knew that for all his teasing, the invitation was there, but Joey would never be the one to make the first move.

That would be up to me.