Bone marrow melted, and the body had transformed into a pyre. She’d never been taken so ruthlessly. Buck was relentless and thorough. Her lips tingled, and pussy wanted to consume him. Every god damn inch. Jasper would damn well let him sleep in it. His soul and desire worked in tandem to destabilize her. To provoke her. It was glorious, though, new and frightening. Their fleeting moment mimicked the minutes she’d shared with Nieema. The Queen coated his tongue; they danced well together. Not only had Nieema’s flavor caused a flurry of sensations, but it had also made Jasper crave Buck. The thought of them pelted her soul with smoldering pleasure. Jasper had almost burst in her slacks from the vision. Did she need a release? Yes. What Buck and Nieema beckoned would be her ruin. Jasper was certain that when this man took her wholly, she’d writhe and wither, sniveling for another. This was cause for hesitation. His heady passion was delicious. It satisfied and worsened her pangs. But she’d never been this bad off. Never so exposed. Wanting a man to such a degree was unbecoming for succubi. Her sisters would’ve tried to bury her in soot and drake ash. “What the hell and highs are doing in my god damn store?!” Leaning against the counter was an oak of verdant waves, freckles, and a fiery opal stare. He was a ravishing creature, Jasper wanted to know. She extended a palm quick, fast, and in a hurry. “Jasper. I run this place. What do you need?” He smelled of honeysuckle and fresh waters. His soul was brighter than the midday sun. He tasted like candy. This was a gorgeous man she’d love to sip on, though his upturned nose was telling. He didn’t trust anyone and definitely not Jasper. She dropped the hand and clapped once, sliding over to a shelf filled with weird shit she didn’t know how to use. She left the men to stare at each other. Bad blood and taut ties. They were family, too. Estranged kin, Jasper presumed. He was the palest man she’d ever seen, so perhaps they were cousins. She would rather not be nosy or eavesdrop, but didn’t have a choice. Noticing unkempt shelves, she decided to tidy up while trying not to listen. “Im’on ask you again, why—“ “You work here?” The man asked, judgment sharp enough to cut his tongue. “Why would the Queen’s consort waste his time working among commoners?” Jasper scoffed, minding her business. She situated boxes of screws and nuts. Counted tubs of putty and swiped a finger through a pat of dust. She took to reading. Fill, scrape, washers, caulk, wrench, drivers. Most of this shit could’ve been written in Rakish. Bored with it, she ventured around the corner and found a row filled with hammers. Jasper perused, looking for something that fit her personality. She spotted a pink one and snatched it. “Oooooo.” Noting the price, she cursed. “Hay!” Jasper grabbed two hammers and stalked toward the store’s owner. “You want to explain this to me?” She showcased the tools, and both men blinked. The interruption had come at a bad time, but this needed sorting. “What?” Buck gritted. “This pink one is twelve dollars, and the other is ten. They’re of the same brand and size. Why is the pink one more expensive?” Buck lifted his chin and nodded. “Funny that. Feel free to change the price. I don’t see the point. Brands be doing funny shit. Our last manager left us high and dry, but they didn’t pay attention to much. Good eye, Jasper. Set the price, and I’ll approve it.” She hummed and smirked. “Thank you.” Twirling on her heels, Jasper listened for a moment. “Palison, there ain’t no need for you come on up here. It won’t change my mind.” “I understand that.” Palison sighed. “Believe me. You’re already a king. Why Her Majesty wants to stay here, in a podunk, middle of nowhere, outhouse of a town I’ll never—“ “Fuck you!” Buck bellowed. “Stupid ass bitch. Don’t run your mouth about my home. I’ll put you through it, Palison. See, you always think you better than everyone else—” “I don’t think, I know I am.” “What a diva,” Jasper muttered, taking her leave. Heading to the back, hammer in hand, she whistled but halted at Palison’s response. “Half brother!” Buck countered. “And I don’t even know you. We met one other time, and it was in Lightbridge for that gala thing.” “Brother?” Jasper whispered, standing near the EMPLOYEE ONLY door. “This is true,” Palison said. “But as our kingdom’s courtier, it is my duty to speak with you face to face. We have two choices here, Myrrhnelle.” “Don’t call me that.” “It’s your namesake.” “Nah. Never been. It’s Buck.” “Very well, Buck…you either ascend or relinquish your crown to Thedius, in person.” “Why can’t we just do a video call or some shit? Everybody doing it these days. I don’t gotta be there.” “A video call? You want to cede through a fucking—Soil of Soul be with me. No.” “Why not?” “There are formalities, and we, as a people, stick to them.” “That’s the whole problem.” “You don’t have a choice in the matter, Buck. It’s one of two things: death. Take your pick.” Jasper tutted and shook her head. More political nonsense. She’d escaped Undervell to avoid this bullshit. Good thing this was a Buck problem and not a them problem. She had little hope. Fucking the Sunsides was inevitable. A good time would be had, but it’d go no further. She’d never again trust anyone to do right or give her heart and soul. It was a death trap that had nearly killed her once. Jasper’s therapist would’ve been upset, but she was free to love or not. That was the beauty of being her own person. It’s the whole reason why Jasper was here and not under her father’s shiny, gold-plated hoof.
Hey y’all, if you recognize the holidays, I hope you had a good Memorial Day weekend! With another holiday over, I present to you, chapter 28. I should know this, buuuuut, it’s a different chapter in MS mode. Anyway, Jasper and Buck have come to that moment. The one where the unwilling gives. Where they meet in the middle. One person takes what’s offered while the other wants nothing more. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PARRRRT! Ugh. I love how Buck and Jasper are damn near evenly matched. They see eye to eye, all the while butting heads. This chapter was short. But the next will be long and SPICY! I can’t wait. Anyhoo, as always, thank you for sparing a moment or two on Patchwork. Your support is priceless. See y’all next week and have a wonderful night. Byyye!
From room to room, they traveled and talked at length about decor. Jasper had never thought about her space to such a degree. Color palettes, woods, textures, lighting, and focus points. Turns out she knew Jack shit about her own wants and desires. She’d never been asked so many questions in her life. Favorite color, time of day, and animal preference. Was she nocturnal or more of a morning person? Thirty minutes into their walk, Jasper was comfortable and ready for the work to begin. “I don’t want black in here either,” Jasper said, standing in what would become her gaming room. “I want chill vibes but happy. This is where I’ll be spending the majority of my time, so I’m going for comfort. Relaxation, you know?” Dorthy nodded, scanning the space. “Muted shades of purple, blue, and indigo.” “Yes!” Jasper pointed at her and said, “Exactly. Blackout curtains and sexy art.” “What you mean by sexy?” Buck asked, arms crossed and booted foot propped just so on a ratty box. “Artistic nudes.” Jasper pinned her sights on the man and advanced. “Neons, paintings, and whatever else Dorthy can cook up. I love the female form.” Buck scoffed, chewing his cinnamon gum. “Guess you and me got somethin’ in common.” Jasper smirked, inches between them. She sighed and flicked his hat. Buck’s fixed attention called her bluff while his scent and soul tempted a starved succubus. He was thick on her tongue, sweet, smoky, and nutty. All things she didn’t need. As his gold fangs gleamed, Jasper shoved both hands into her pockets. She met his molten gaze. “I fear we have too much in common, Buck.” “I know exactly who to call,” Dorothy tapped on her phone and muttered. “No hologons. I’m thinking sconces. Straddling the hearth. Focal lighting will be perfect.” “Rugs,” Jasper announced, snatching free of his enchantment. She spun about and sauteed towards the exit. “I want fluffy rugs. No carpet. Just area rugs and shit.” “Perfect,” Dorthy piped from behind. “I’d love to keep the old personality of this home. Woods, sitting areas, and the sun room! What would you say to stained glass?” “Isn’t it colorful?” “Indeed.” Jasper stopped on the main level and shrugged. “Whatever you think is best, I’m down for, as long as we stick to no black. No stone. And natural light down here. I want cozy, not drafty, lived-in, not sterile. I wanna feel like I’m walking into my place of peace and happiness.” Dorthy beamed, nails clacking against her screen. “It’s been sooooo long since anyone has given me this much decorating freedom.” Jasper leafed through Dorthy’s portfolio, loving the work. Her home was in good hands. “I trust you, Dorthy.” Buck grumbled, and Jasper grimaced. “What the fuck? You’ve been doing this all day.” “You got enough, Dorthy?” Buck clipped. hands on his hips. He stared out the bay of windows and sniffed, clearly annoyed. “We gotta get going.” “More than enough, I’d say.” Dorthy extended her palm, and Jasper shook her delicate hand once again. “You are a dream client, Jasper. It will be my pleasure to bring your vision to life. If you’d like, feel free to e-mail me pictures, art, or decor that speaks to you.” “You’re going to get sick of me.” “Doubtful. The more you find, the easier my job will be.” Dorthy gathered her briefcase and purse before heading out. She cleared her throat, and Buck gave a stiff nod in return. Blood was cold and sour between them. Jasper was curious,s but it wasn’t her business. “Glad she’s gone.” Buck shook his head, watching the woman get in her car. “She cheated on my great-grandson.” “Ohhhhhhh.” “Mhm.” “It makes sense now.” “She ain’t no good, but what do I know?” “Why did you want her to help if—” “She’s still family and the mother of my grandkids. Two of whom are still in school.” Jasper wanted to speak on how his emotions faded from gray to blue to pink. He was proud and protective of his family. She found his unabashed display of love and how he wore it on his shoulder refreshing. “You adore your grandchildren.” “Every last one.” Buck cracked his gum and stomped for the door. “Let’s get on.” “Where are we off to now?” “To see your realtor.” Jasper winced and followed the man to his car. She thought he was joking until they pulled up to Hawke’s office ten minutes later. “You’re serious.” “As a god damn digger bear in spring.” “Oh shiiiiit.” Jasper hopped out of the vehicle and kept with Buck’s pace. “You think he knew about the state of my place?” “Yup.” Jasper’s face heated, and the base of her horns itched. Clenching her fist,s she bit her tongue. There was no need to barge into his business and start a scene. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or— “You got three seconds to start talking!” Buck stormed into Hawke’s office and loomed. Jasper waited beside him, keeping her lips sealed. Hawke’s big yellow eye flung to her as he dropped his phone. “What uhm—what can I—uhm, what do you need Bucko?” Buck planted palms on Hawke’s desk and growled. Jasper’s breath hitched, and stomach caught fire. She flushed with heat and grinned as Hawke grew anxious. He was ripe with apprehension and fear. “He’s scared,” Jasper added. “What you scared for Hawke?” “I—I—what can I do for you, Ms. Marrow?” She scowled, ready to flay this man. “What can you do for me? How about you start by telling me why you let me buy that cursed fucking house?!” “Cursed?” Hawke showcased his sweaty palms and trembled. “I don’t know nothing about a curse. That house has been—” Buck leaped over the desk and landed in front of Hawke. He smacked the man’s ruddy cheek and kicked his chair into the file cabinet. “You fixin’ to lie to me, boy?” Buck hiked his chin. “I can smell them tall tales. Lie again and see where it gets you.” Hawke was a mess of fried nerves as he stammered. “Look, I don’t know who they were, but somebody left me a note!” “A note?” Jasper queried. Bile rose to the top and bubbled. Hawke nodded, glasses slipping down his nose. “Yeah. A note and ten thousand in cash. They told me to email you the listing directly.” “Shit.” She cursed, rubbing her forehead. Jasper knew damn well who gave him the note. “This can’t be happening. I thought it was a normal notification from another realtor site.” “It was, sort ot. I just sent it to you personally.” Buck situated the tip of his boot on the chair, between Hawke’s legs. The man blanched and stuttered. “Why was you looking to sell that haunted piece of shit anyway?” “It’s easy money!” Hawke squeaked, eyes glittering with a promise of tears. “People love flipping houses. They love a project, but they never stay there long. In the end, I still get paid and always have a listing. But I swear, Buck, I don’t know nothing about a curse. On my Mama’s life, I didn’t know.” It was important to note how humid the air surrounding Buck had become. Jasper sensed his roiling nature and tapped his shoulder. He shoved the chair, making Hawke yelp. “You will give Jasper that ten grand you got. Every fuckin’ dollar, you hear me?” “Every cent.” Oddities persisted as he sneered. She clocked them quickly. Thorns on the pads of fingertips, the vine-like tattoos twisted and slithered beneath thin cotton. Jasper’s interest piqued as the potted plant on Hawke’s desk wilted and died as Buck vacated the office. “You’re an asshole,” she asserted in passing. “And I want it by Friday.” He nodded, and she snapped her fingers, forcing the gentleman to take a nap. He wouldn’t even wake to piss. It was payback for being a creep. Jasper exited the establishment with confidence and unstable emotions. Buck leaned against his big old car and puffed on a pipe. It was quite the dignified sight. Where she came from, males who mattered smoked from pipes. They held themselves to a higher standard and dared not roll their own ashleaf. “Smells good,” she said. “What is it?” “My special batch. Dusts, powders, florals, magical minerals, and my wife’s hot honey.” Jasper folded arms atop the roof of his gorgeous ride and observed. “I’m sorry? Did you just say—” “I like how she settles at the back of my throat. The smoke brings out her flavor real good.” Buck’s easy, cool response and dominance disturbed her. Jasper should have been the one in control, taking the reins and telling Buck where to go. It was quite obvious he wasn’t her usual case. Claw clicking on metal, she observed. His attention wasn’t coy or playful. Smoke swirled and framed his ravishing, strong features. “What’s on your mind, Jasper?” Speaking to that would’ve been a dire mistake. One she was unwilling to make. “You’re disgusting.” Buck smirked. “I don’t wanna be nothing else.” “I’m sure.” Jasper huffed and opened her own door. After slamming it shut, she fought to steady her pangs. She was famished and craving as if she hadn’t nibbled on the man for hours. Undervell gods, be with her. Buck was dense and full-bodied. His desire ripe, dripping with want. She could appease, play him well, and satisfy without touching, but the intimacy of it all scared her. “Where are we going now?” She asked, voice rising above the loud, rumbling engine. “The store. We gonna do a little training and see if you got what it takes.” “For what?” “To run shit. We need somebody who does well under pressure. Someone who can provide excellent feedback and communication, service when time calls for it.” Buck’s eyes drifted from the road to Jasper. He held firm and switched gears. The air was taut and humid. Jasper would not be swayed or pushed. “We talking customer service or something else?” His smile and smoke lingered. Jasper liked every base note. Cherry, vetiver, and something unique. She snickered, knowing the undercut’s source. One thing about Buck Sunside, he cherished and adored his wife. This important detail, among others, rs made him the sexiest man she’d ever met. “Thank you.” “For?” Bucked asked, annoyed. “Helping with Hawke. I didn’t think it was actually this bad, but—” Thinking about Trevor left her flushed and cold. “You didn’t have to, but you did.” “Funny how you think coming to your defense was a choice. As a grown man with status, means, and might, it is my duty and honor to help those who are unable. Not that you aren’t capable, Jasper. “It’s just, I know succubi intimately, and you, darlin’, are warm-hearted. Strange. Unlike your sisters in many ways. Hawke preyed on your goodness. That old bird is, in fact, a vulture shifter who can’t wait for some easy pickings. I ain’t gon stand for it.” His conviction and potent lust worked against her. Jasper didn’t want this man or any other. This was the fallacy she’d repeated to herself daily. It was to keep her afloat. The hunger in his eyes was more than she could bear. Jasper set her gaze beyond the window and decided on silence. If Jasper dared to speak another word, she’d make Buck pull the car over and bury himself between her clamped thighs.
Saturdays were a moment of leisure for Max. It was her usual night off, and she didn’t have to do anything. She hadn’t been back to the shop since last Tuesday and required the break. She needed a lot of immaterial things, but was thankful for a lot. There were others without food, shelter, or water. She tried not to complain about her life. Being grateful for abundance and comfort was only right. Growing up with her father, she used to be spoiled, entitled, and a complete snob. All that changed when she turned forty-two and left home for the first time. Max got a glimpse of the real world and watched in horror as it collapsed around her. The poverty-stricken were treated like animals, discarded and imprisoned for failing to become another cog in the wheel. And you know what? Fuckem’. The gov’ment and tight-lipped ass holes in their ugly suits and melted faces. They were part of a dying breed. Capitalism would be their ruin. The world would change one day, and not in their favor. “Has he called you yet?” Ndari asked. Max smiled and shook her head. “I did not give that man my number.” “And why not?” Driving down NW 17th street and jamming to some old school Wale, Max didn’t wanna get into that. But Ndari was one of her best friends. The girl knew when she was bullshitting. They’d spent the last thirty-five years together. She saw Ndari more than her own parents. “You know why.” “‘Cause you have some weird notion that he’s not so genuine.” She gave Ndari a side-long glance and nodded. “I know guys like him. Okay, not just like him, but sorta. They’re all about god complexes and arrogance.” Max wrinkled her nose and snorted. “He’d probably make me wash his feet. ‘Sides, bruh, he’s a jerk.” Her sister, by another mother, laughed. Ndari’s smile was bright and adorable. She may have been covered in tattoos and dripping in goth glam, but she was sweet as sugarcane. Thirty years ago, Ndari needed piano lessons, and Max, was a piano teacher. At some point, ‘cause the money was good, and Ndari would have it no other way, Max became her nanny as well. “You love a good asshole, Maxi.” “You not wrong, but they’re never good for you.” “Nooooope, not in the long run,” Ndari said with a grin, her dimple piercing popping and glinting. “But they’re fun to play with. That’s why I smash em’ and trash em’.” Max cackled as she parked just before the 95 overpass. “Come on, let’s get these boxes off.” “Yup.” After killing the engine, she hopped out of the Wrangler and rounded to the back. “I can’t believe we did sixty-eight!” Pulling the hatch wide, Max was in high spirits. Setting a goal of sixty-eight bags and meeting it felt great. The rising number of kits wasn’t a good sign. But at least she found a way to help. Max side-stepped from behind her truck and whistled. “You know what time it is!” She shouted at a mixture of humans and vampires who came topside at night. She waved them over. “Next week,” Ndari said as she grabbed a fully loaded care package, “I think I’ll drive. That way, we can bring more.” Max gasped. “Yes, that’s a great idea.” The United States was crowned the wealthiest, but she failed to see how when so many were unhoused. Those without resources and means were in high numbers. Most were human, as her species’ monarchy had swooped in and stepped up, but not every vampire wanted to be saved. The first to show was Henry, a lovely vet who kept a few pigeons and didn’t like dogs. Which was why he hated Lionel; he had two golden doodles. “Hello, Max,” he said, wearing a wonderful smile. Henry beamed, despite all else. “How are you?” “I am good. And You looking sharp. Are those new shoes?” “Oh yeah, donated, just my size, too.” “Wooo, child, they look good. Here you go, baby.” Handing over the packed reusable bag, Henry leaned in for a hug, and she obliged. “You gonna scare the ghost, Ndari,” he joked. The girl recoiled. “Who do you think I aim to please?” Henry cackled and went on his way. “I’ll see you in a week, okay?” “Right on.” He gave a thumbs up and trudged along. Next was Wilma, a chatty patty who loved gossip and had a lot to say about her daughter. The foul woman threw her own mother out. Max knew some by name and others not. For years, she traveled north, driving up to Overton on a mission. This stretch of underpass had been home to a major homeless encampment for eons. The city cleared them more times than she cared to recall, but they always came back. And for most of them, it was home. Tents, boxes, and sleeping bags rode the sidewalk, flowing into the street. Meeting her eye to eye, Olina, a fellow vampire, held a solemn grin. “Thank you, Max. I don’t usually ask for blood, but my old man’s not doing so good.” Offering a bag filled with food, toiletries, cash, and clothes, she frowned. “What’s wrong with him?” Olina shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s been out of it.” Ndari spun around and pulled a few bags of blood from the box. “Here, honey, take this. And is he sick?” Max felt terrible for Olina and Carl. The couple were addicted to heroin and didn’t want help. Olina’s partner was a human pushing seventy. Every year, humans age and their health declines. “Listen,” Max started, “I know doctors who study human medicine to navigate through our world. It helps a bit since our healthcare system is fairly new. At any rate, I can bring someone here.” Olina nodded. “That would be great. His heart isn’t beating the same, and blood is sluggish. I know I’ll lose him soon, but I’m not ready to say goodbye.” “I understand.” Max threw arms around the woman and welcomed Olina’s embrace. Upon their separation, she grabbed another bag. “Here, make sure Carl gets this, okay?” “I will. Thank you again.” Max just nodded, ‘cause none of this was to garner thanks. Someone had to do it. They deserved care and somebody to look after them. She didn’t have the ability or cash to help everyone, but Max was trying. Her Dad’s allowance lightened the load some. She was happy it went to those who were given a shit hand. Florida’s nonprofits and charities could only do so much with the state leaking money. The 2020s started shitty and plummeted from there. Preternatural creatures felt a shift coming. A reckoning was due. As an immortal, you witnessed the comings and goings of everything. It was only a matter of time. That’s why Max chose to live how she wanted while the world still allowed such freedoms, though she had obligations. She enjoyed this part the most. Interesting conversations they had with magnificent people had become the highlight of her week. Knowing they’d get a meal helped her sleep better during the day. Chillin’ in a million-dollar home and doing nothing for anyone was a disgusting way to survive. Even her Father gave money to various charities. He’d never come on a run with her, though. Everyone else did, which made him look like a jackass. Jaya joined Max three times a month. Jordan committed two weekends, and Low came along with her whenever he was off on a Saturday, which wasn’t often. “So, after this, I gotta go back to the shop,” Ndari stated as she offered Garth his bag. The man wheeled his way over and snatched it. He despised Ndari, detested Max, too. A human with a vampire prejudice was hilarious. “Garth, you should talk to Carrie and Olina.” He tried to spit on the ground and failed, most of it gathering in his salt and pepper beard. That toothless snarl and furrowed brow worsened. “You blood suckers are fucking animals.” “We love you too, Garth.” “I was in the Gulf War!” he barked, pointing a gnarled finger. “He bit me, right on my ass!” The same story each week. Max thought it was funny every time, too. “He bit you on the ass?” she pandered. Ndari shrugged. “Or in…the ass?” Punching his thigh with an arthritic fist, he scoffed. “On my ass! And sucked the blood right outta me.” “That’s the best place…” Ndari said, “to suck blood.” Garth’s enamel-free jaw flexed as he backed up in his wheelchair. “Semper fi!” Max gave him a high salute. “Safe travels, sir.” As he turned away, she sighed. No matter how evil Garth was, she enjoyed him, too. “We haaaave, thirty-three left. Hopefully, the cops stay elsewhere this time. Who up next? Oh, Betty…oop, okay now, I love the pink wig, girrrl! You know how I am about colors!”
Low bounced out the whip and rushed into Tracy’s house, gunning for the kitchen. He had a long day and forgot to eat. A brotha was starvin’ for everything. Midday escapades did that to you. It was them smoke and fuck kinda hours. Nothing like what he did with Max. Some girl and their best friend left without saying bye, and he’d never see them again. Minutes after leaving last night, he barged into the noname DM’s and made shit shake. In the kitchen, Low searched for anything. A bowl…a mixing bowl and Fruity Pebbles. He left the bag of bootleg brand cereal out and grabbed whole milk. Thank god Jaya bought real shit. Even Max liked plant-based. “What the fuck is uh oat milk?” Grimacing, he poured and ate standing. Low listed against the counter while eyes rolled and stomach celebrated. All was going well. He was chilling and eating breakfast when the sound of expensive shoes interrupted his quiet moment alone. When Mister Jaxon -hilarious- appeared, Low suddenly appreciated the intrusion. A man who knew how to dress knew how to use what he had. Red walked in like a bag of money, confident, and Alpha. A fresh aqua Cologne and whatever was underneath. Low couldn’t put his finger on the scent yet…maybe Tuscan Leather. It worked, ‘cause Red was old as fuck. “Look who it is, Elliot Collins.” Jaxon recited his gov’ment as if it were a slur. Ohhhhh, he was feeling some type of way about their talk last night…riiight. Low wanted to say something stupid, but not on duty. Had to keep a clear head. Doing so was hard, given how Red stared. “Wus’ good?” “You’re in front of the coffee.” Behind him was indeed the espresso machine, a Keurig, and an olden times twelve-cup coffee maker. Scooting to the right, Low returned to his cereal and paid Red no mind. For two seconds. “My fault.” Jaxon looked dashing in suspenders, ruby cuff links, and Ferragamo loafers. Low always wanted some nice shit, at least a belt or a tie. Must be nice. Spooning more of the multicolored fortified grains, he inched to the left again. The guy was entirely too close for comfort. Low was working, god damn it, but his tongue craved far more. To speak obscenities and threaten this here male with a good day. “You don’t have much to say tonight, huh?” Low shrugged. “Not really.” “And why is that?” With the subtle hiss of the espresso maker, he glanced at the accountant. “You making yourself at home, I see.” “Says the one eating a ridiculous-sized bowl of cereal.” “I basically live here.” Low slurped and gulped milk, then spun to grab the bag. “You don’t.” “I was told to make myself at home so…” Low carried his pebbles and bowl to the breakfast nook. He sighed aloud and sat at a cozy table set for a family of three. He didn’t enjoy holding his water or mincing words. It was unnatural, going against his grain. Low also hated being in close quarters with people he wanted to fuck when there was no fucking going on. “What’s crawled up your ass?” Jaxon inquired as the sound of metal and porcelain chimed in his ears. “I’m working,” he spat, pouring cereal. “Working?” “Yeah.” “So you do work for Tracy. I saw a few account transfers under your name. What is it you do for him?” Punching his sweet breakfast down with a spoon, Low matched his gaze. “Bodyguard.” Eating and clocking, he watched Jaxon’s perfect brows arch in surprise. “Why would he need a bodyguard?” “That, is not your business.” Dropping eyes back to his meal didn’t stop peripherals from doing their job. Low sensed and noticed Red’s advance. He leaned on the island, which put a mere three quick steps between them. “So about that test drive…” This motha fucka here, swear to god. Low smirked, chomped, then paid Red the attention he demanded. “Yes?” “Does your invitation still stand, or am I too uptight?” The question slipped out, and them eyes were devilish as he sipped a fine espresso. The way they shone like 24k gold was unreal. “I guess, maybe.” Low wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t even finna think it. Instead, he took a few bites and shrugged. “On my next day off. So, Wednesday.” “Wednesday it is.” “You got a card or somethin’?” Red set his cup down and dove into those soft slacks. He plucked a card holder, snapped free a crisp square, and offered it. grLow yanked it. “Classy, for a card.” He ran the stiff material under his nose, made deliberate eye contact, and inhaled. Daaaamn, his natural eau de was fire. After a delicious whiff, Low tucked the invitation in his back pocket. “What is that?” Low asked, then tipped the bowl and swallowed every drop of milk. “Your scent, I’m trying to place it.” “How’s that going for you?” Low chuckled and shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Mr. Gingersnaps was flirting. “I’m working,” Low recited again. As he rose, Tracy, with his signature brisk step, entered the kitchen. “Tracy, is Max here by any chance?” Jaxon intoned. “I wanted to commend her on the cake.” Pouring himself a hefty cup of joe, Tracy sighed. “I fear she is not. My offspring is galloping around town. She stays gone most Saturdays.” In passing, Low ignored how Red tracked his every movement. He betta knock it off, ‘fore he get a passport to Chocolate City. Many, many moons ago, Low had been repressed by what society and religion. Such idiotic and disastrous restrictions didn’t suit him. All genders were welcome, ‘cause Low wasn’t picky. Age was non-negotiable, however. They had to be fifty-five or older. Them youngins gave him the willies. But race, ethnicity, gender, and species didn’t mean shit. Did Low have standards? Yes. Preferences? Hell no. Low was too god damn old for that. “What a shame,” Jaxon replied. Low rolled his eyes, noting how Red’s tone and vernacular changed around Tracy. Guess errybody code switched, even saditty white folk. After throwing his bowl in the dishwasher, Low made a diligent effort not to glance at Jaxon and failed. Wondering how long his di—hair was when unbound. “We’ve got a big night,” Tracy said. “A few errands.” “Sounds like fun.” “I assure you, it’s anything but.” Jaxon’s smile was unsettling, sneaky. It wasn’t something Tracy would clock. Low, however, has met hella snakes. He knew their tells before striking prey. “I will leave you to it.” Jaxon started toward the exit, then hit a one-eighty. “If you need me, I’ll be in your office.” “Good man,” Tracy approved. “Uhm, Elliot, is Hollister there?” “He’s meeting us.” “Great. Good, good.” Two cups of Colombian and one A-positive later, he and Tracy were on the 826, heading north. Back to the spot where they conducted business. ‘Cause the adage about shitting where you sleep was real. They were halfway there when Low grew curious. “Tracy, how did you hear about Jaxon?” “Through a friend at the office.” Glancing at him made the male do a double-take. “You don’t think we can trust him, right?” “I wouldn’t go that far.” Low shrugged. “I don’t know him, but I would be wary. Stay about. Don’t say too much, and do not let him intimidate you.” Tracy dismissed the statement with a hard scoff. “Oh, please, not even my father intimidated me. I can promise you, Jaxon Aubrey is not a male I find the least bit threatening.” Low believed it. Calm and stressed, Tracy may be, but the athletic and scholarly male had balls. His finagling and hustling required a strong spine. Which sometimes, Low hated, ‘cause Tracy used those same traits when dealing with Max. He treated his daughter like shit. Similar to a warden, Tracy gave commands and made demands. Low was in no position to say anything. Not with mouths to feed and tuition to pay. “Please, he’s an accountant for fucks sake.” Tracy had a point. Owning a spot in Doral’s gated community was a golden ticket. Again, must be nice. Perry, the night guard, let them pass, and Low waved. “I wonder how many we have tonight.” “It’s a drop off?” Low asked. “Indeed.” Riding the roundabout toward Tracy’s abode, water surrounded them. A lake flanked all properties. Low wasn’t sure if they were man-made or what, but it shooolll was rich. Some quiet shit he’d love to have one day. Crawling up to the spot, he hung a lefty into the driveway. “Alright, we have rou—” “No time.” Tracy hopped out while Low stabbed the garage opener. From there, two vehicles hit a k-turn and backed in. The three-slot setup had more than enough room for both trucks. Low stayed in the car and waited for the signal. A high whistle was his cue. He concealed Tracy and their guests by closing the garage doors. As Low emerged from the Range, Hollister rolled up. The country boy drove a well kept 1948 GMC. Low, a self-taught master at restoring rusted hunks of scrap metal, fell in love with the five-window truck. ‘Ol boy came in hot and loud. After ‘disturbing the peace’, Hollister leaped from the cab, donned his hat, and stomped over in a pair of snake skin boots. “Sorry, I’m late. My son took his first steps today.” The male was alight. “I had to capture the moment. My wife was beside herself.” “Nah, nah, don’t apologize. Some things can wait. But your child’s first steps are once in a lifetime.” “Thanks. So, what we got?” “Drop off.” “Nothing too big, I like’at.” Hollister held the lead as they stepped into the house. Tracy and his supplier were already seated in the living room, going over formalities. “Ten?” Tracy asked. Low interrupted to retrieve some info. “Ten what?” “Bodies.” Paniera was a gangly middle-aged human with peppery hair and dark, inset eyes to match. He was one of twelve who worked for Tracy, and an important piece. Messengers and delivery boys were vital in this business. Humans didn’t give a shit about details, and their love for that all-mighty dollar took precedence. Mortals were greedy for money, power, and youth. Men and women micro-managed what little time they had and made each second count. Low respected their resiliency. Survival, by any means, was a value both vampire and human shared. So, when you needed to get shit done, ask a human drowning in criminal offenses and debt. How they got paid mattered naught. Hollister hissed. “You brought ten witchya?” “No.” Paniera shook his head and said, “But I will have them. Next week.” “How the hell you do that?” Low questioned. “Yeah.” Tracy’s gaze narrowed. “One or two has been the norm for years now.” “There’s an influx of men from overseas. Another crack down on organized crime is underway, think… political.” “Holy shit,” Hollister blurted. Tracy glowered, crossing his legs. “What’s happened? Are these men guilty of something? Because, as much as I despise you all, I will only sell barbarians. The very worst earth has to offer.” “Yes, heinous crimes,” Paniera answered with a slimy smirk. “These blowhards got wrapped up in a sex trafficking ring. Little girls, boys… the manifest was long. My guy wants them to disappear.” This was some deep state type shit, and Low’s thoughts spiraled from the expose. Killing pedophiles was a hell of a good way to spend a night or two. He might keep one to play with. Paniera pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and popped it open. “The media are spinning it as imprisonment and solitary confinement,” three swigs later, he continued, “but, somebody more powerful wants them wiped off the planet and living in hell at the same time.” Tracy mulled for like five seconds before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll have your payment ready upon delivery.” “Great, and same as always. I’ll text you details in a few days.” “Good man. Now, let’s see my merchandise.” Low led everyone down the hall, past the kitchen, and into the mudroom. He pressed a thumb to the fingerprint reader, a thing he had to coerce Tracy into getting. A little extra security never hurt nobody. He needed more, to be honest. Locks clacked, and they shuffled into the garage. Low met Paniera’s henchmen at the rear and opened the hatch. A naked man lay hogtied and unconscious. “What’d this one do?” Hollister asked. “Killed his mother and sister. Violated the deceased and drowned their dog.” Low snarled. “That’s fucked up.” “The other one?” “Oh, he’s a nasty son of a bitch. He sold his infant twins to a demon.” “Oh, my god,” Hollister growled. He wrenched open the other trunk and yanked out the savage. “Well, let’s get them clean and ready for the slaughter.” Tracy sang, as they’d deliver these vile muh’fucka’s unto hell and make some money in the process.
That’s a wrap for this week, folks! I hope y’all had a wonderful week and have an even better weekend. Going forward, I want y’all to remember, this is a dark romance. Keep that in mind. The MMCs have their *ways* (mostly Jaxon). They’re morally gray with a dark gray lean. Not jet black, but not cinnamon rolls either. Most of the darkness comes from the world around them and what they delve into. It can get bleak at times, and even I was like, “Bruh, what???”. And Max?! My baby love. She is sweet, caring, and deserving of MORE! Anyhoo, as always, thank you so much for spending time here. You could’ve spent 5-10 minutes doing anything else, but you didn’t. You’re an amazing human. I know things are fucked up at the moment, but honey, WE WILL PERSEVERE! Remember to read that book, watch your favorite show, and DRINK MORE WATER, BOOKIE! Byyeeeee. ✨🩷✨
“Oh, blithe tiddies!” Kit slammed the oven door shut and huffed. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “Everything, quite possibly,” Julep murmured from his post on the windowsill. His tail flicked and curled with indignation. “You’re a decent cook, my good friend, but you are no baker.” “I completed the steps. I heeded Maggie’s instruction word for word. The cake won’t rise!” Kit garbled and stomped as he read the directions for the hundredth time. “Butter, egg, oil, whisk, sift, and—ohhhh, dear. I’ve forgotten the baking soda. And the vanilla.” “No baker at all,” Julep quipped. “Hush, you! If it weren’t for Jasper, I’d have thrown you out.” “Don’t get pissy with me, old man. I am capable of making my own decisions.” “You, are a liar my boy and quite irresponsible. And this is why you were trapped in the chicken coop with angry hens. I told you—” Julep jumped down and padded to his water bowl. “So dramatic! Kit, really. It’s not that serious.” Kit cackled and slashed a hand. “Look at you! Bald spots, demon! You’ve got an eye patch for Undervell’s sake.” Julep ignored him and lapped quietly. “You could have died, sir.” “But I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never felt more alive.” Kit sighed as Julep leaped onto the counter and sat. “It reminded me of the old days when we chased kettle duns all cycle and ate sugared bugs. Besides, what else am I to do here?” Kit patted Julep’s head and gave him a good scratch, minding the reddened, sore patches of skin. “You have to be more careful, demon cat. I’d rather not lose my best friend.” “Off with you, that’s enough.” Julep hissed and popped Kit’s hand with soft toe beans. “I know you worry, but I’m fine. Promise. I’ve found my calling.” “Hunting chickens?” “And various other rodents. There is a large forest just beyond.” Julep turned his attention to the window, yellow eyes now saucers. His purr was curious and adorable. “It’s a fascinating place, Kit. Truly. You should come with me one day.” “I will never step foot into that verdant wasteland.” Julep rolled his neck and eyes back around, pinning his fierce gaze upon Kit. “Pussy.” “Ha! Funny coming from a cat.” Julep hissed and swiped claws. Kit stumbled and shoved Julep off of the counter. “Go! Get out of here. And stay off my countertops. Disgusting retch.” Julep zoomed around the corner, scaled the wall, and screeched at Jasper as she passed. “Oh, fuck! Would you—“ She ducked and growled at the feisty demonic feline. ”Freak!” Julep detached and flipped onto the floor. He scrambled for purchase and dashed through the small flap door. “I hated him as a full-bodied demon, but I think I hate him more now. He’s a menace.” “Well, you opted to keep him yesterday.” Kit considered his little sister’s state of dress and sighed. “What are we going to do with you?” “With who?” “You.” “I’m perfectly fine, and what is that smell?” “Shiiiiiit!” Kit whirled and wrenched open the oven door. Yelling expletives, he grabbed both pans and dropped them on the counter. “My poor cakes.” Jasper barked in laughter and plucked herself a mug. Kit failed to see what was so hilarious. His time and efforts had been wasted. “They’re flat as ever,” he said, poking the charred disk. “I forgot an ingredient.” “An important one, apparently.” Kit grunted, gathered his failings, and marched to the trash bin. “Bumble today, succeed tomorrow.” He dropped everything into the trash and wiped hands on his apron. “You didn’t have to throw away the pans.” “We’ll purchase another set.” “We?” Kit flapped a hand and stored his brand-new stand mixer in the cupboard. “Jasper, you have been in the house for two whole cycles and appear to be forlorn. What’s happened?” “Nothing.” Her tone and mumble told Kit one thing: his sister was lying. She stirred sugar into her tea and sighed. He couldn’t help but offer some form of comfort. Their father had always said it was a flaw, caring too much. He’d peer down at Kit and rumble, ‘A general with compassion is a dead one’. “Jasper, you tell me who to maim or kill, and I will get it done.” Kit stood next to his closest sibling and prepared his own cup. The tea here was sublime, and he wanted to know the distributor, but there was nothing on the sachet’s ornate box. As he poured hot water from the electric kettle, Jasper chuckled. “Thank you, brother. But, this is nothing we can fight.” He assessed her distant gaze, wondering who had claimed Jasper’s thoughts. “I’m a coward, is all.” “Hardly.” “What?” “You left home, Jasper.” Kit’s guts rolled as he was reminded of his mission. He chose a bright citrus tea and dropped it into the steaming pool. “It is strictly forbidden. You were due to meet your tether, and you vanished. You didn’t give a damn about father or his disappointment. You are far from cowardly.” She snickered, resting her chin atop Kit’s head. He wanted to shrink away, steer clear of such affections, but it was pleasant. Her closeness warmed his chest. “Thank you, Kit.” “What exactly have I done?” “For always being in my corner.” She kissed his itchy, growing horns and battled an urge to smile. “I love you, Kitters.” The demon grunted and cleared his throat, face hotter than Undervell’s springs. Physical touch was one thing; he could handle that, sometimes. Words, on the other hand…he’d never been one for them, mainly because Carriont told him generals carried war in their hearts, not love. Kit gritted his teeth and huffed. “Well, maybe he was wrong.” “Hmm?” “I—you.” Kit stirred honey and cherry wood ash into his tea. He flushed, a wetness coating his upper lip. “Love.” Jasper erupted in ominous laughter and gave him a bit of space. “Awww, look at you. Unlearning and shit. This is called growth, bruh.” “Growth?” Kit frowned and sipped his first afternoon cup. He pivoted, faced his kin, and leaned against the counter. “Whatever do you mean?” Jasper lifted her mug and sighed aloud. “There’s a lot of garbage our Dad taught us. Certain behaviors don’t work up here. And others are welcome. Like, softness, playfulness, silliness, foolery, and love.” Kit digested her commentary for a tick and enjoyed what was becoming his favorite blend. He’d seen quite a lot over the last few cycles or days, and perhaps Jasper was right. “Kit,” she called, forcing him to meet her pit flame stare, “you can be who you want up here. Start fresh, man. Chase that chef dream or become a deputy. You seemed pretty excited about your outing with Jo.” “It was thrilling,” Kit said, his blood buzzing at the thought. “But, I like the chef idea more, only, well…I never intended on staying, Jasper.” “You could if you wanted to.” She shrugged and tipped her mug. “In fact, I’m putting a room together just for you.” “For me?” “Yup. You can decorate it however you want. After everything is done, of course.” He smiled now, cheeks heated. That warmth in his chest expanded only to dim. “I can’t stay. This is only respite. Soon I’ll have to get back and fulfill my duties.” “You mean father’s duties.” Silence between them stretched as Jasper’s sad smile gave him nothing to work with. Kit couldn’t stay, he was here for one reason, and if he didn’t go through with it, Carriont would surely expel him. “Jasper, there’s something you ought to know. The—“ A thunderous knocking interrupted his confession. “What in the Undervell?” Kit set his cup on the table and saw to the person ten seconds from kicking the door in. The moment Kit touched the handle, he knew who it was. He scented him instantly and wanted to stuff embers up his nose. “It’s you,” Kit intoned, staring at an agitated vampire. Hank’s eye twitched, and his jaw ticked as he tapped a booted foot. “What can I do—“ “I told ya’ didn’t I?” “Told me what?” “To stay the hell outta my coops.” “I did.” “Your fucking cat kicked up a fuss and spooked them gals! If it ain’t you stealing my damn eggs, it’s your ugly ass rat tryna kill my chickens.” “I’d like to apologize for Julep’s behavior, but you are being incredibly rude. There is no need to shout.” “Like hell it ain’t. You got no idea what it takes to raise them up and keep shit goin’. Royal boy.” “You’ve got one more time to call me boy,” Kit hissed, confused by his anger and arousal. “I will show you what makes a man!” “Hayyyy hay.” Jasper sidled up beside Kit and smiled. “Stop, chill bruh. It’s—Hank, right?” “Yeah, mhm.” “You gotta understand, he can’t control that cat. Julep is cursed.” Hank squinted. “Cursed?” “He’s a demon that accidentally possessed a cat, and somehow he got stuck like that. He’s a ruffian and a pain in the ass.” Kit crossed his arms and kicked up his chin. “He won’t listen to me. I am not his owner, per se. We’re chamber mates.” “Roommates?” Hank asked. “Yes.” “He’s going to kill me for this,” Kit mumbled, “But Julep is terrified of… cotton balls.” “Whatchu mean?” “He’s scared of cotton balls. Line the coop with them, and he’ll stay out. I can’t say what will come of the wild ones, but I shall do my best with talking to him.” “Do more than talk to the lil shit. Control him or I will.” “No need for threats,” Kit snipped. “My ass!” Hank snarled and stomped across the porch. His bergamot-spiced scent lingered like fine mist. Kit inhaled and hated the tightening knot at the bottom of his belly. “He is a foul-mannered son of a wench.” Jasper closed the door and snickered. “Someday y’all are gonna go at it.” “If he intends on being a complete ass, then yes, it is inevitable.” His sister grabbed her cup and shuffled on down the hall. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cave.” “How about we take a walk or—“ “No, thank you!” A door slam made him laugh. At least he was free to bake to his heart’s content without being bothered. That was, unless Hank or Jo came snooping about. Kit hummed and grinned, hating very much how captor hogs rolled in his guts at the confounding thought.
Jasper couldn’t stand how cooped up she’d been for two whole days. Cowardice had sent her running for the hills. “How embarrassing.” She snarled at the humiliating memory. A seasoned, well-adjusted succubus hiding away from some pussy. It was distasteful how quickly she’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched, savored. Nieema’s scent and satin had stained her wakeful dreams. Jasper spent the last forty-eight playing games and eating her favorite foods. She wasted time with crafts and had even finished Nieema’s commission. It was a gorgeous piece, and Jasper was ready for another. The only way to get that was by talking to Mrs. Sunside. She groaned and flopped on the bed. Phone in hand, she checked her bank account and grimaced. Kit’s spending habit was a problem; he’d been picking at her last few dollars for a week. Grocers and odd-ends he just had to have. “Shit.” As much as she didn’t want to, Jasper had to get out of bed and the house. She needed the little job the Sunsides’ offered like yesterday. A streaming session or a few feet pics usually helped ends meet. Jasper shook her head, still not ready to face the public or her loyal fan base. As she rose, her phone vibrated. Checking the notif, she grinned despite fried nerves. Buck’s relentless efforts were impressive, much like his stature. Though this wasn’t a personal matter, Jasper’s heart thrummed at the idea of seeing him. Thick masculine energies would do a body good. It’d steel her softening spine and resolve. A sliver of his soul, a sip of heady desire, was exactly what Jasper wanted. In a petty mood, she hit him back quick. Miss me already Mr. Sunside? She watched the dots until his reply made her laugh. You’d be in my bed if I did. “Yeah, okay.” She scoffed and blasted him a final text. Self-assurance has an expiry date, Buck. But sure, I’ll meet with the decorator. What time? Jasper marched into the bathroom, eyes on their conversation. How about now? “God damn,” she barked, looking at her ragged reflection. Bonnet and bags. “Uhhhhm.” Give me twenty minutes. Jasper set her phone on the counter and started the shower. She snatched her gown off as the screen illuminated. Add ten more minutes. Beauty takes time, woman. Don’t be rushing on my account. An ugly snort escaped, and with it, Jasper stepped into the stall. Forty-five minutes later, she was fully dressed. Having an androgynous day, Jasper slipped on a pair of slacks and a silk blouse the color of a summer-ripened plum. Gold accents glittered on her wrist, neck, and loafers. After an assessment, she snatched her phone and wallet. On the way out, she bid her brother farewell. He was in a mood over those damn muffins and vowed to have a batch ready by the time she got home. Dusk had settled over Indigo Plains. Painting it in various shades of orange, red, and goldenrod. The lazy sun set Buck ablaze. Leaning all that body against his car, he was quite the sight. Brawny in his usual. T-shirt, jeans, shiny buckle, and silver-capped boots. Cool red tones kicked up a fuss, causing Jasper to stare on her approach. Buck tipped his hat and grinned. “Hot damn, you look city ready. Slick and classy. Should I have changed for this outing, Jasper?” “It’s been a minute since I felt so pretty. Figured, why not?” Buck lifted his strong chin, jaw ticking. Their stares clashed as his scent billowed and dark soul flushed bruised maroon. His deepening desire was conspicuous in nature. Buck never tried to hide it, but she appreciated how he ignored its calling. Their attraction was palpable and taut, but Jasper could go no further with this. Not with where her head was at the moment. “I don’t wanna be too forward, but you always pretty, Jasper. Don’t matter who says what. It doesn’t make you any less gorgeous.” He didn’t offer her the floor, and she didn’t want to strike up a debate about her looks. Buck opened her door with a wink. Jasper smirked and slid into the butter-soft seat. Sweet, smoky pine, and natural. His organic cologne battered her sensibilities. It was strong and masculine. Just what she needed. Every second she spent in his company, she sipped. Slowly, she inhaled, nibbled, and dined. “So, uhm, what’s this decorator got planned?” “The basics. Swatches, your vision, wood types, and knobs. Boring type shit and…” Buck kept both eyes on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel. She loved how the other gripped the clutch. Cords and veins created a work of art. From fingers to the crook of his elbow. They wrapped elegantly around his forearm and danced between ink like thick vines. “Jasper.” Her name rumbled and rolled like sweet syrup off his tongue. It tasted good with the hint of his smoky desire. It rippled in the crackling space between them and swelled. “What can I do for you, Buck?” She’d inched closer, arm behind his head. Casual and relaxed, Jasper peeped the mysterious driver. He was loaded and packed with dark energy; it was enough to rock her loose right here in the front seat. Foul how he affected her. Egregious, really. She wanted to both flee and flay the man who smiled. His dimples disgusted her. “Maybe I should be asking you that question.” “I’m good.” “You say such things, but we know what time it is, succubus.” “Drive and shut your mouth.” Buck chuckled, deep bellied and maniacal. She loathed the visceral reaction it caused. He stirred the slick potion, dampening her slacks. He killed the engine and hopped out. Jasper peered out the window and scoffed. They’d arrived at a physical representation of despair. Her sickly home looked no better beneath the dimming sun. Grumbling, Jasper emerged from the vehicle and hiked up her pants. She grunted at the fucked veranda thingy and porch. “Hellooooo there.” The sing song voice belonged to a willowy, copper curled beauty with shimmering freckles and crimson wings. The gauzy set fluttered as she offered a hand. “My name is Dorthy.” “Jasper.” “Great to meet you, Jasper. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m the yammering sort. We interior designers have so much to relay and discuss. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information or—“ “You doing it,” Buck murmured. Dorthy’s left eye twitched along with her wing. Jasper plucked at the frayed strings binding them together. On Buck’s end, they were weak and angry. “You agreed to stay on that side while I conduct business with Jasper. Let’s not drag family affairs into this.” “Unprofessional. I ain’t say shit about that,” Buck grumped, hands on his hips. He surveyed the neighborhood and chewed his cinnamon gum. “Get to it then, Dorthy. Shit.” The decorator brightened, manufactured smile touching her tapered ears. “Anyway, shall we?” “How are we supposed to get in there?” “’Round back,” Buck said, leading the way. “Watch the spider, though. I planned on clearing it out today.” “Wicker spiders.” Dorthy shuddered. “They live underground, mostly. Not too big on people or the moon. I find it hard to believe they attacked you.” “Excuse me, hay there.” A familiar voice halted their journey. “Well, look who it is.” Sissy Perkins glared more than smiled. Her displeasure obvious and sharp. She smelled of deceit and decay. “Good to see you, Jasper. Say, I was wondering if the dish was clean. It’s vintage. My mother’s and her mother’s. Practically a family heirloom. It’d be a shame if I never got it back.” Jasper’s brows grazed the sky as she finally smiled. It was unpleasant, surly. A show of fang and uncapped horns gave Sissy pause. The old woman sniffed, inching backwards. “I’ll get it, don’t you worry, Sissy!” “Thank you, that’d be terrific.” Jasper clocked the annoying yoga instructor or pilates doll man across the street. He conversed with a middle aged human wearing a god damn tunic. Grunting, Jasper spun on her heels and followed Buck to the back porch. Getting there wouldn’t be easy, thanks to tall grass, thorns, and feisty burrowing creatures. Jasper was prepared for war and was about to pop off cuff links until Buck cleared a path. Blades of grass, brindle, and dry brush withered, dying beneath his soles. With each step, Buck crafted a path made of moss and leaves. It was an impressive, magical display. His abilities emboldened her curiosity. Jasper had more than twenty questions, but stashed them in her back pocket for later. After she talked to this lady about her color options.
After being interrupted in the weirdest way possible, AB spent the next few hours resorting and stacking. Without added speed, it gave him something to do. After which, he went through everything on Tracy’s slooooooow as hell 2006 Gateway PC. XP, not even Vista. It was simpler without OneDrive, Dropbox, or Drive. Quicker too. Anndddd ohhhhh, boy, the info one gathered. Maxine Bernice Bissette did, in fact, own Ink in Hell. Daddy supplied funds, however, as he did with everything else. The Wrangler out front, a shared phone bill, and Maxine’s monthly allowance. She had nothing of her own. AB dug in his pocket and pulled out a cherry Jolly Rancher. He unwrapped the hard candy and tossed it back. There was no reason to be a hundred years old and not have something going for yourself if you had means. At first glance, this woman had every opportunity to be independent. Why wasn’t she self-reliant? A woman who couldn’t take care of herself was unattractive. Personally, AB hated those who didn’t have a pot to piss in or two pennies. Much more, he couldn’t stand the ones who’d depend on him every waking moment. Being broke was not cute, baby. Sure, okay, she owned-ran the shop. But how much did it earn? Not enough. Not in Miami, and not for a spoiled female who lived comfortably with daddy her whole life. “A damn shame.” Sucking on his brand of crack cocaine, AB clocked the time. 2am. Roughly five hours of work. “Not bad at all.” Accounting was something AB liked quite a bit. He loved numbers and boring, monotonous work. Hell, why not? Living was boring, so why not find a career just as tedious? With this job, AB enjoyed the freedom. Having no boss and long hours, if he wanted them. It was more of a hobby than a profession at this point. AB dragged ass going through the paperwork and shit because he enjoyed it. Knocking around the candy in his mouth, he shot to his feet and tidied himself. Cuff links, vest, and lastly, his suit jacket. He willed the light off and promised to return. There were two tubs left and however many boxes. On his way out, he closed the door and hoped Tracy was near. AB had a question or two, nothing big. Just a few discrepancies here and there. Passing Maxine’s room, he sniffed and growled. She smelled amazing. Fresh gardenias and fucking Shalamar. Classic and clean. Then again, she was a poor commoner, a female who’d demand a band and diamonds just for breathing. He shuddered and stalked into the formal living, whereupon he sat on the sofa. Perusing Tracy’s home was boorish. Someone would come along, with lights blaring and the precious aroma of grilled meat piquing his interest. Maybe he had some ramen at home, or Ricearoni. Biting down on hardened corn syrup, he watched as two stooges came laughing through the front door. What was up with her and those glasses? Everywhere? God damn it, she had a lazy eye. For sure, something like that. Had to be, maybe a visual impairment of some sort. A subtle limp too, that wa—her thighs were throwing him off, but her not boyfriend stared. “Why you just sitting there?” he asked. “I’m waiting for Tracy.” “My dad is out back,” she laughed, “oh my god…” Biting her bottom lip, she shrugged. “Ya’ll are really high,” AB noted. “Nah, I’m coo’. Shorty trippin’ though.” Low lied, his brilliant stormy gray stare shone through slits. “I ain’t even got my half, muh’fucka’.” “Your what?” Low recoiled and made a dismissive noise. “Nothing, college boy. You don’t know nothing ’bout this shit. Aye, for real, your hair is fucking me up. It’s like a red light, hella abrasive and bright.” AB snapped his cuffs and thought to count from one to ten. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to lash out in this man’s home. “That cookie was too big, Low… Dammmmn.” “You lyin’, they made it with that whack ass Miami Heat.” Low chuckled and threw an arm over Maxine’s shoulder. “Shit was booboo.” “Miami heat? The basketball team?” AB asked. They exploded in laughter once again. “The basket—man, hell nah,” Low bellowed. “Mind the business that pays.” AB cracked his neck and sneered at a male way in over his head. A twenty-thousand-dollar suit and kind eyes fooled a lot of people. But Low knew what kinda man he was dealing with; he didn’t seem so dumb. “You’ll get real tired of fuckin’ with me. I promise you that.” Maxine rolled her neck. “Ooooo.” She snorted. “Anyway, where the steak at?” “Ah, Jaxon.” Tracy arrived, saving the day, but Low made an odd choking noise. “You’ve finished?” AB smiled and stood. “Yes, for tonight, of course. I’ll be back Monday bright and early at nine thirty.” “Splendid. Say, are you hungry?” He nearly refused but Jaya wouldn’t have it. “Come on, Jaxon, you can’t turn down the T-Bone. Low is a master on the grill.” “I am. When it come to the meat, I tear—” Maxine elbowed him. “I’d love to, but I—” “Love it so much, then eat it,” Maxine said. “Let’s not do this again,” Tracy said, eying her. “You know what,” Ab interjected, checking the Audemars. “I have some time.” The male clapped once in celebration. “Perfect, it’s such a lovely night. Shall we?” Everyone sauntered outside and AB was dead last. ‘Cause weeelll, ass was ass, and it wasn’t slim pickings up in this bitch. “What a fine entertainment set up you have here, Tracy.” Sitting at a long patio table tucked under a cedar pergola, AB was actually impressed. He noted bottles of wine, bread, and various sides. Potent spices, mesquite, and peppers scented the humid night air. They had ample lighting and smooth jazz; it was a nice touch. Everything dinner guests needed, with a built-in TV, full-sized grilling area, and room for twelve. “Thank you so much.” Tracy grinned, admiring his well-tended backyard. “Interior design is a hobby of mine.” AB placed his bag in the chair next to him and said, “If that’s the case, then I think you should start taking clients and build a portfolio.” “Oh no.” He waved a hand. “Pipe dreams earn no living.” “Pipe dreams can and will earn a living if you’re passionate enough,” AB replied, removing his jacket for the second time. Maxine nodded. “Word.” She sat opposite him and giggled her ass off. “That’s right, Dad. Passion breeds success.” “I don’t think that’s it.” Low added, but Maxine rolled her eyes. “Shut up!” “Use your inside voice, Maxine. For God’s sake. We have company. Mind yourself, girl.” Jesus, Tracy was a nightmare. No wonder she used her body as a canvas. Rebellion appeared in many forms, and he bet money her pops hated tattoos. “Sorry, Father,” she amended, adding bass to her voice. “Meat coming right up!” Low shouted from behind Max. He glanced at AB. “Hope it ain’t too sweet.” “You’ve never made it sweet, Elliot.” Jaya was minding her own quiet business. On the phone and smiling about something. “How long have you worked for Tracy, Jaya?” AB asked, stirring a bit of conversation. “If you don’t mind.” She looked at Tracy and didn’t speak until he nodded. “Since nineteen-twenty-one.” “That is a long time.” So Max had been waited on hand and foot since birth. A nanny. Jaya was Max’s nursemaid, what the fuck. He kept a bout of hysterical laughter to himself. “It is, but I think of them as my family.” She shrugged and beamed. “They are my family.” “Awwwwww. I love you, Jaya.” “I love you too, Maxi.” “Dear god.” Tracy’s disgust shone on his tight features. “What is that smell?” Jaya’s attention cut to Max. “Yes.” AB grimaced. “What is it, a skunk?” “Nah, it ain’t that,” Low murmured, handling the steak platter. They smelled hella good, too. “It ain’t that stank.” Max and Jaya snorted, but AB missed the joke. “Well, it’s strong whatever it is.” The man smirked, showcasing a mouth full of golds. Even his fangs gleamed. “I’ve come in contact with more pungent aromas. This one is subtle, but it almost stinks.” “Elliot, what are you going on about, man?” Tracy looked up at him while a slab was dropped on his plate. “The smell, Tracy.” “Oh yes, I may have to call pest control.” Max giggled and went for the bread. “What is this? Sourdough, yeessss. I love bread. Mostly cause you can put butter on it.” A 24-ounce T-bone was dropped on AB’s plate; juice splattered. He gaped, staring at his vest. A six-thousand-dollar Taupe Kiton vest, which he had waited two weeks to have tailored, was now stained. This motha fucka had a death wish. “I’m so sorry,” Low intoned. “I didn’t know it was finna hit like that.” “Elliot, that was quite rude.” AB chuckled, unwrapped his utensils, and snapped the dinner napkin. “It’s A-okay.” Glaring at the male, AB smiled. “Accidents happen.” Low sniffed and moved on. “Are you sure?” Jaya asked. “I can get some club soda.” “Oh Jaya, I fear that’s Vicuña.” The pity on Tracy’s face spoke of a man who understood AB’s pain. “Club soda would compromise the material. I hope it comes out in the dry cleaning.” “I’m sure it will,” AB said in a delighted tone to shield broiling anger. “What do we—” “You don’t want no sides?” Low nitpicked as he sat next to his not girlfriend. Who mind you, was an inch away from turning her steak into a pillow. “No, I’ll take bread, that’s enough for me. Tracy, are you not hungry?” “He’s vegan.” AB winced at the unexpected, curve-ball response. What terrible vampire etiquette. “Is that right?” “Yes,” Tracy said. “The environment is being attacked. And we will be here long after the human waste reaches their expiry date. If we don’t do something, we will be left with nothing.” “What are we gonna do when they die?” Max asked, as it seemed she’d come to. “That is too morbid a subject, Maxine.” Her father’s words were terse as he cut into a… tofu, cauliflower, bean… steak, thing. What the fuck did vegans eat? “Such discourse is not fit for a gathering of this nature. So, Jaxon, are you from Miami? Well, you know.” “Uh, do you mind?” He pointed at a tempting bottle of Cabernet. “Oh no, of course.” AB gripped the neck, poured a decent drop, and loved how it’d been aired beforehand. Tracy was a man of class and culture. “No. No, I am not from Florida. I moved here about eight years ago. I was born in Ireland, moved to London, and then to the States. I’ve been here siiiiince… seventeen-ninety-five.” “Before its inception?” “Yeah, my mother and I hopped a Spanish vessel and wound up in Cali. But she lives in London now.” “Californiaaaaa?” Max sat amazed, and it offered AB more insight. Bet his left nut she’d never been out of state. “Yes, it was a long time ago.” Slicing into a superb slab of beef, he changed topics quick as hell. “Tracy, you’ve been a busy bee.” “Indeed, I’ve acquired a lot over my lifetime.” With an immaculate sliver of beef on the fork, he shoved it between his lips, annnnnnd, heaven sent. Damn it, Low made a mean steak. Succulent, with a glorious char and rare. Rosemary, garlic, onion, cayenne, mesquite, applewood, not charcoal, and sweet cream butter. “Although you ruined my vest, I must hand it to you. This is a phenomenal steak. It’s top tier.” Low smiled lazily and lifted his glass. “I’m something like a chef.” “He is,” Tracy agreed. “Maxine!” Her head popped up. “Huh? I don’t like Neapolitan ice cream.” AB chuckled at her… what did the kids call it? State of inebriation. Low thought it was funny, too, but he wasn’t doing any better. “Are you tired?” Tracy prodded. “Yeah, bruh.” “Don’t bruuuuh me, young lady.” She only laughed. “Steak! Yesss.” “As I was saying, Tracy, you’ve dabbled in a fair share of real estate.” He nodded but shrugged it off. “I have. I flip houses.” Tracy was a liar. “Ohhh, that explains it. Makes sense.” It did not. And AB had every intention of digging deeper, ‘til he got to the nasty, bitter core. Then he’d make Mr. Bissette an offer he’d dare not refuse. For now, AB would accept the fallacy and enjoy his fabulous meal. In the end, he had two cuts while they sat outside and conversed. The weather, TV shows, and stupid shit people talked about. AB made certain not to speak on personal matters. He didn’t know them, and putting your business in the street had the capacity to bite you in the ass. So, he kept it nice and easy, even through the hummingbird cake and a bubbly dessert wine. But as with all things, their fun came to an end. AB had had enough small talk for one night. “Wow, you all sure know how to party.” “This wasn’t no party…” Max giggled and had a good five minutes left in her. The nodding worsened by the minute. “Oh, you’re an accountant. Meehhhh, boring personality, bruh.” Tracy clapped his hands. “That’s enough from you, uh… Elliot, will you escort my daughter to her room? She is out of sorts.” “My pleasure.” AB bit down on a raunchy comment resting on his tongue. “I really love your hair,” Max said, allowing Low to manhandle her. “Thank you.” “It’s like, blazing.” “Elliot.” “Yup.” He hefted Max bride style and sprinted away. “I do apologize for my—” “Don’t do that, Tracy,” Jaya snipped. “I swear you want Max to hate you.” This was a deep convo not suited for guests. Tracy’s head fell as he sighed. “I have enjoyed your company, Jaxon.” “You as well.” On his feet, AB grabbed both the Bottega and his jacket. “I am stuffed, and Jaya, the cake was divine.” She blushed. “Thank you, but I didn’t make that. Max did, she’s a baker.” His brows arched. “Oh, okay.” The woman had a way with flour and sugar. That confection was moist as fuck. “Please do tell her I loved it.” “I will.” AB left the pair on their own and showed himself out. Halfway to his car, he stopped to admire the Monte Carlo. A sweet, sexy thing she was. He liked how the engine purred, too. Classy. “You wanna test drive?” Low emerged from the shadows, like AB couldn’t see or sense another vampire’s presence. The tip of a blunt glowed briefly as he advanced. “I’ll let you ride it. Ride in it, I mean.” “You’re terrible at come-ons.” AB sniffed and shrugged. “Who uses Swishers anymore?” “I do, damn. I was outta woods. Stay out Black folks business. You look like the dispensary type. Legal trash. What you smoke? Bongs and vaporizers? Typical white boy shit.” AB snarled. “You talk a lot.” “I know. It’s part of my charm, bruh.” “Your charm?” He scoffed and flicked a hand. “I’m this way. Have a good night.” “Let me know if you want that test drive.” AB opened his car door while Low tact on bullshit. “Prolly can’t handle it, though.” He stopped short of getting in and faced the verbose male. “I’d advise you to ease up while you’re ahead.” AB zoned in on his ass and sneered. “This ain’t what you want, trust me.” Low laughed, expelling a pillow of smoke and said, “Ain’t? Look at you, so cute. I ain’t trippin’, Red. You too tight in the ass for me anyway. I like my men pensive. But believe you me, I done made more than one alpha turn coy.” Low discarded the blunt and added, “I’ll be sure to tell Max you an accountant annnd pussy.” Unbelievable. If the male hadn’t vanished, Jaxon would have yolked his ass up. Try to kill him, probably. “Ohhhhhh, my god. I need a drink.”
. I hope yall are ready for quite the ride going forward. READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS AND LEARN ‘EM. I’m not joking. Please take care if dark romance isn’t your thing; feel free to skip certain chapters. These don’t happen in the same chapter or the next, but they are coming, and quickly. Also, I don’t know why I said mild gore because nah, there is quite a bit. For me, it’s mild, but for others, it might be too much. As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope you have a wonderful week.
Last night, when I posted the chapter I didn’t even realize it was the WRONG ONE!!! It’s actually chapter 8. I pushed it to drafts and will post the right one tonight. I am so sorry for the mishap, y’all. I was so tired last night.I got off work, posted and went right to bed. My brain didn’t connect the dots AT ALL! I have multiple chapters set up to be edited and posted. I grabbed the wrong one. Uggghhhh! I literally just realized it when I went to post IG content a moment ago.
I can’t stand interruptions like this. Which is why it’s never happened before. But I tried to do too much on a tired brain. Again, I am so sorry. Please don’t hate me! Anyway, have a good day y’all and STAY HYDRATED ON THIS STUPID ASS MONDAY. 😭😭
“You can take it, darlin’.” Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. “Yeeeeah. That’s it. You like it heavy!” Buck growled as the missus moaned. “I dooooo. Ohh—Bu—uck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.” He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. “Yes,” Nieema groaned. “Crack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.” “I’m doing it.” “You ain’t.” Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. “A vampire your age shouldn’t have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlin’.” “Yeah! And who put them, babies in there?” An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buck’s gut as he stamped on his wife’s back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieema’s spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. “And I’ll do it again,” Buck vowed. “I know that’s right,” Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. “Fill me up, daddy!” “Nasty mouth.” They laughed as Buck continued his business of jumping on her. She was a sturdy gal and loved about three or four hops. When something popped, she moaned once more. “Darlin’,” Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, “you heard from Jasper yet?” “Uhhhm. No.” “She ain’t come out the house yet, and I’m getting worried.” “Buckley, we don’t know her well. Maybe she’s a homebody.” “I mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.” “Hm. Weirrrd.” Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. “Nieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?” “Why do I gotta do something?” “‘Cause you did.” “You don’t know shit.” She didn’t even look up at him. The betrayal. Buck cussed, lowering to the floor. He joined Nieema and lay on her body. She was more comfortable than hardwood. Though his wood was now pressed into her dimpled ass. Buck ignored the tempting juggle and cushion for the moment. “Nieema.” The woman smacked her teeth and said, “We were having such a good time, and I figured—she was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.” “You did not.” “Shit, she was quick putting a hand down my pants, and I wanted to taste her. So, you know, naturally, we ended up downstairs. After our climax, she vanished. I think I spooked her.” Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. He’d been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didn’t always think with his dick. True, he wanted to make it flex with Jasper. Cut the demon down for about an hour or so, but he had a feeling she wasn’t ready. “Nieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?” Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didn’t. “She was celibate. You heard her just fine.” “Yes, but you weren’t there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. That’s not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.” He stood and marched on over to Nieema’s vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didn’t exist. After sprinting over, she sidled up, and sat down. Buck snagged a twenty-four-inch braid and snipped the end. With practiced ease, he unraveled and loosened the thick strand. “I know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.” He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieema’s lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didn’t have to say it. “Sweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.” “And we ain’t bringing none to her.” “Maybe to you this ain’t drama, but for her, it could be a lot.” “I thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.” “That was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!” “Well, that’s what I thought.” “Of course you did, freaky.” Nieema chuckled, clipping the ends of a braid. They used the next ten minutes to take down her hair with normal chit chat about the family. Norma was on her way, Mace was in marriage troubles, and Trey had another baby on the way with his ex-wife. That was some mess for your ass, but that was his life. Couldn’t tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasn‘t no changing their minds. “Jo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?” Buck asked, raising a brow. “I know he does.” “That was a love tap! Pussy.” “I doubt it.” “Who side is you on?” Buck asked, checking the wife’s reflection, making her giggle. “Mhm. See what I get? Disrespect.” “That man got what’s coming to him,” Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. “Monroe is in Misthill now. He can’t seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. He’s indisposed. I sent him a summons.” “Mm. Had to put on the crown, huh?” “Unfortunately.” “At least you look good wearing it.” She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. “I’m sure we’ll get this settled nice and easy.” “The Voaremonts aren’t known for rolling over, Buck.” “We ain’t either.” “I know that’s right.” After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. “I gave her a job at the shop.” “I mean, we need the help, but do you think she’ll be okay? I still don’t wanna let her outta my sight.” “I told Maggie about it,” Nieema reassured. “She’s willing to charm the store.” “That’s quick thinking, my love. On your toes!” “Aren’t I always?” Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. “Hell nah.” “I know you better hush.” “What? I’m supposed to lie? You said there ain’t to be no lies or secrets between us. I will hold to the vow we made allllll them manymanymany years ago. I know you probably don’t remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, it’s late, Grandma!” “Shhuuut uuuup.” She cackled right along with Buck. “And it’s you who gon’ put me to bed.” “Damn skippy!” As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasn’t a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, they’d become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night they’d met, he’d made her chuckle and vice versa. Within hours, Buck had become enamored with some Ravensguard soldier he was likely to never see again. After a passionate day in bed, Buck had said goodbye. He promised to find her someday. Turns out he didn’t have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. “Ooooooo baaaaby, listen!” Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. “You know how to use them hands… mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, litt—ooop!” Buck cackled and carried on with their routine, which led to the bathroom. These times, the few they shared with such busy lives and a large family, he cherished. They were his priority. Taking care of his dame wasn’t always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didn’t put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal he’d built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieema’s conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. “Thereeee you go.” Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. “Now come here and get what’s coming to ya.” She giggled as Buck plucked her plush behind off the tile and carried her right on into the shower stall. Steam laced with lavender and chamomile soothed the mind while Nieema’s lips roused every nerve. Scolding hot water pelted his back and cascaded, dripping from his tight braid. With little finesse and impatience, Buck set his woman on a stone bench and loomed. “Well,” Nieema prompted, “go on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.” Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until he’d met Nieema. He’d snuff the sun if it’d bring this woman peace. He’d vanquish all evil and become the worst version of himself if it pleased his queen. Nieema spread her delicious thighs and blessed him. Plump and glistening, her southern lips beckoned a motha fucka. She wept for a kiss, and he’d never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buck’s knees gave as he was enchanted by velvety brown softness and glittering blush pink. Nieema presented herself and dipped a finger between what he knew to be sopping wet walls. Buck growled and bristled, snatching her hand away. “Hands off my goods, old woman.” She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieema’s scent drew him closer. Buck kissed her flesh, and she hissed. He sniffed and grunted, growling as the beast within longed to devour. Her wetness coated his lips as he circled her large clit with his nose. His wife was insecure about her precious rosebud. For a time, she hated how it protruded and swelled with her arousal. It took time, care, and reassurance. Buck loved to suck and tease her large clit. “Mmmm,” Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. “Babbbee, pleaaase.” “You so fuckin’ wet, woman.” Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. “I need another batch for my tea. I’m almost out.” “You know what you gotta do.” He responded by suckling her button and mashing his god damn face into her pussy. Buck worked her clit. Around and around while Nieema rocked slowly. She sang his favorite melody and melted with every lazy lave and lap. He sipped from her with gladness and appreciation. Buck swallowed her rich decadence and vowed once again to be her last devotee. If there was no one left to bow, he’d be the queen’s final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, he’d be there to shower her in affection. He’d be the last to obey the Ravensguard queen. His final breath would be that of dedication! Of his love, in this life and the next. Until the goddess called him to the Soil of Soul Buck promised to stand tall at Nieema’s side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didn’t need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. “Oooo shit!” Nieema keened. “You like how I taste, love?” He responded by gripping her hips. Buck yanked Nieema forward and gorged on his favorite meal of the night until she thrashed, on the cusp. It was in the tremble of her words and curl of her chubby toes. Buck studied her body, inside and out. Her arch stiffened and lip curled. Buck stopped, and Nieema roared. Panting, she pulled his braid and cursed. “You had better have a good reason, fairy boy!” He only laughed and stood, taking her with him. Leaving her no room to complain, Buck hoisted Nieema high and flipped her ass. Nieema cackled as she dangled upside down. This woman loved her some vertical sixty-nine, and once she got to sucking, so did Buck. With her pussy at home on his tongue and thighs framing his face, he lapped with fierce edge. Nieema’s nectar turned a decent fae feral. As her soul mate, fated, and begging fool, he dove headfirst. And his queen was no slouch, taking him deep. Buck stumbled and leaned against wet tile, locking himself in place. He lashed at her clit and drank from her blessed fount. Nieema coughed and cussed. “Ooooo shit! Bite it, baby! Bite—“ Buck tensed as she swallowed him down from root to stem. There was nothing left to do but deep throat. He came up for air and shouted to the Goddess. His eyes rolled as Nieema sucked him down and continued, nuts and all. Her jaw unhinged, and she devoured. Claimed and choked. “Youuuuu devilish slut!” Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. “I’mmmm—ooweeeee…” Needing to shatter and release, Buck screwed his eyes shut and penetrated her with his thickening tongue. The pierced muscle caused her majesty to squirm and writhe, body slick and plush. Buck tightened his hold and fucked his beloved in quickened fashion. He curled the tip and twirled, twisted, tasted. She moaned and bobbed, using that neck for the greater good. Sweat and water collected between them, dripping from toes and nipples. Nieema clung to him, scoring his thighs. Buck grunted and lavished her with his love. Nieema pumped and rolled as he punched. Their shared desire and passion coalesced and seeped through bone. It pooled in the marrow and heated, setting his soul to a rolling boil. Buck clutched her ass and drove his tongue deeper. He was set to tear this woman apart until she bit down and let him loose. His spine steeled, and thighs burned with the effort to remain standing. His fight and refusal to fold were futile. Nieema pulled an orgasm from the body, leaving him for dead. Euphoria sprouted from every cell and limb, enveloping him completely. She wrenched it from the root, and he attacked her gushing pussy without delay. The woman howled as Buck lost the use of his legs. They’d turned to moss and were unable to bear his weight. Before his ass collided with the floor, Nieema belted his name and flexed them vampire skills by righting herself in half a second. When his behind greeted wet tile, Buck laughed, allowing his queen to straddle. “You ain’t tired?!” Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. “Damn woman, you gon’ put me in the coffin one day.” “And I will be right there with you, old dog.” They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, there’d never come a moment when Buck Sunside would ever get enough. She was the mother of his children, the beat of his heart, and the rich soil nourishing his soul. .
“You can take it, darlin’.” Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. “Yeeeeah. That’s it. You like it heavy!” Buck growled as the missus moaned. “I dooooo. Ohh—Bu—uck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.” He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. “Yes,” Nieema groaned. “Crack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.” “I’m doing it.” “You ain’t.” Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. “A vampire your age shouldn’t have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlin’.” “Yeah! And who put them, babies in there?” An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buck’s gut as he stamped on his wife’s back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieema’s spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. “And I’ll do it again,” Buck vowed. “I know that’s right,” Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. “Fill me up, daddy!” “Nasty mouth.” They laughed as Buck continued his business of jumping on her. She was a sturdy gal and loved about three or four hops. When something popped, she moaned once more. “Darlin,” Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, “you heard from Jasper yet?” “Uhhhm. No.” “She ain’t come out the house yet, and I’m getting worried.” “Buckley, we don’t know her well. Maybe she’s a homebody.” “I mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.” “Hm. Weirrrd.” Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. “Nieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?” “Why do I gotta do something?” “‘Cause you did.” “You don’t know shit.” She didn’t even look up at him. The betrayal. Buck cussed, lowering to the floor. He joined Nieema and lay on her body. She was more comfortable than hardwood. Though his wood was now pressed into her dimpled ass. Buck ignored the tempting juggle and cushion for the moment. “Nieema.” The woman smacked her teeth and said, “We were having such a good time, and I figured—she was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.” “You did not.” “Shit, she was quick putting a hand down my pants, and I wanted to taste her. So, you know, naturally, we ended up downstairs. After our climax, she vanished. I think I spooked her.” Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. He’d been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didn’t always think with his dick. True, he wanted to make it flex with Jasper. Cut the demon down for about an hour or so, but he had a feeling she wasn’t ready. “Nieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?” Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didn’t. “She was celibate. You heard her just fine.” “Yes, but you weren’t there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. That’s not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.” He stood and marched on over to Nieema’s vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didn’t exist. After sprinting over, she sidled up, and sat down. Buck snagged a twenty-four-inch braid and snipped the end. With practiced ease, he unraveled and loosened the thick strand. “I know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.” He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieema’s lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didn’t have to say it. “Sweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.” “And we ain’t bringing none to her.” “Maybe to you this ain’t drama, but for her, it could be a lot.” “I thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.” “That was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!” “Well, that’s what I thought.” “Of course you did, freaky.” Nieema chuckled, clipping the ends of a braid. They used the next ten minutes to take down her hair with normal chit chat about the family. Norma was on her way, Mace was in marriage troubles, and Trey had another baby on the way with his ex-wife. That was some mess for your ass, but that was his life. Couldn’t tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasn‘t no changing their minds. “Jo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?” Buck asked, raising a brow. “I know he does.” “That was a love tap! Pussy.” “I doubt it.” “Who side is you on?” Buck asked, checking the wife’s reflection, making her giggle. “Mhm. See what I get? Disrespect.” “That man got what’s coming to him,” Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. “Monroe is in Misthill now. He can’t seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. He’s indisposed. I sent him a summons.” “Mm. Had to put on the crown, huh?” “Unfortunately.” “At least you look good wearing it.” She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. “I’m sure we’ll get this settled nice and easy.” “The Voaremonts aren’t known for rolling over, Buck.” “We ain’t either.” “I know that’s right.” After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. “I gave her a job at the shop.” “I mean, we need the help, but do you think she’ll be okay? I still don’t wanna let her outta my sight.” “I told Maggie about it,” Nieema reassured. “She’s willing to charm the store.” “That’s quick thinking, my love. On your toes!” “Aren’t I always?” Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. “Hell nah.” “I know you better hush.” “What? I’m supposed to lie? You said there ain’t to be no lies or secrets between us. I will hold to the vow we made allllll them manymanymany years ago. I know you probably don’t remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, it’s late, Grandma!” “Shhuuut uuuup.” She cackled right along with Buck. “And it’s you who gon’ put me to bed.” “Damn skippy!” As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasn’t a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, they’d become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night they’d met, he’d made her chuckle and vice versa. Within hours, Buck had become enamored with some Ravensguard soldier he was likely to never see again. After a passionate day in bed, Buck had said goodbye. He promised to find her someday. Turns out he didn’t have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. “Ooooooo baaaaby, listen!” Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. “You know how to use them hands… mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, litt—ooop!” Buck cackled and carried on with their routine, which led to the bathroom. These times, the few they shared with such busy lives and a large family, he cherished. They were his priority. Taking care of his dame wasn’t always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didn’t put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal he’d built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieema’s conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. “Thereeee you go.” Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. “Now come here and get what’s coming to ya.” She giggled as Buck plucked her plush behind off the tile and carried her right on into the shower stall. Steam laced with lavender and chamomile soothed the mind while Nieema’s lips roused every nerve. Scolding hot water pelted his back and cascaded, dripping from his tight braid. With little finesse and impatience, Buck set his woman on a stone bench and loomed. “Well,” Nieema prompted, “go on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.” Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until he’d met Nieema. He’d snuff the sun if it’d bring this woman peace. He’d vanquish all evil and become the worst version of himself if it pleased his queen. Nieema spread her delicious thighs and blessed him. Plump and glistening, her southern lips beckoned a motha fucka. She wept for a kiss, and he’d never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buck’s knees gave as he was enchanted by velvety brown softness and glittering blush pink. Nieema presented herself and dipped a finger between what he knew to be sopping wet walls. Buck growled and bristled, snatching her hand away. “Hands off my goods, old woman.” She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieema’s scent drew him closer. Buck kissed her flesh, and she hissed. He sniffed and grunted, growling as the beast within longed to devour. Her wetness coated his lips as he circled her large clit with his nose. His wife was insecure about her precious rosebud. For a time, she hated how it protruded and swelled with her arousal. It took time, care, and reassurance. Buck loved to suck and tease her large clit. “Mmmm,” Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. “Babbbee, pleaaase.” “You so fuckin’ wet, woman.” Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. “I need another batch for my tea. I’m almost out.” “You know what you gotta do.” He responded by suckling her button and mashing his god damn face into her pussy. Buck worked her clit. Around and around while Nieema rocked slowly. She sang his favorite melody and melted with every lazy lave and lap. He sipped from her with gladness and appreciation. Buck swallowed her rich decadence and vowed once again to be her last devotee. If there was no one left to bow, he’d be the queen’s final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, he’d be there to shower her in affection. He’d be the last to obey the Ravensguard queen. His final breath would be that of dedication! Of his love, in this life and the next. Until the goddess called him to the Soil of Soul Buck promised to stand tall at Nieema’s side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didn’t need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. “Oooo shit!” Nieema keened. “You like how I taste, love?” He responded by gripping her hips. Buck yanked Nieema forward and gorged on his favorite meal of the night until she thrashed, on the cusp. It was in the tremble of her words and curl of her chubby toes. Buck studied her body, inside and out. Her arch stiffened and lip curled. Buck stopped, and Nieema roared. Panting, she pulled his braid and cursed. “You had better have a good reason, fairy boy!” He only laughed and stood, taking her with him. Leaving her no room to complain, Buck hoisted Nieema high and flipped her ass. Nieema cackled as she dangled upside down. This woman loved her some vertical sixty-nine, and once she got to sucking, so did Buck. With her pussy at home on his tongue and thighs framing his face, he lapped with fierce edge. Nieema’s nectar turned a decent fae feral. As her soul mate, fated, and begging fool, he dove headfirst. And his queen was no slouch, taking him deep. Buck stumbled and leaned against wet tile, locking himself in place. He lashed at her clit and drank from her blessed fount. Nieema coughed and cussed. “Ooooo shit! Bite it, baby! Bite—“ Buck tensed as she swallowed him down from root to stem. There was nothing left to do but deep throat. He came up for air and shouted to the Goddess. His eyes rolled as Nieema sucked him down and continued, nuts and all. Her jaw unhinged, and she devoured. Claimed and choked. “Youuuuu devilish slut!” Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. “I’mmmm—ooweeeee…” Needing to shatter and release, Buck screwed his eyes shut and penetrated her with his thickening tongue. The pierced muscle caused her majesty to squirm and writhe, body slick and plush. Buck tightened his hold and fucked his beloved in quickened fashion. He curled the tip and twirled, twisted, tasted. She moaned and bobbed, using that neck for the greater good. Sweat and water collected between them, dripping from toes and nipples. Nieema clung to him, scoring his thighs. Buck grunted and lavished her with his love. Nieema pumped and rolled as he punched. Their shared desire and passion coalesced and seeped through bone. It pooled in the marrow and heated, setting his soul to a rolling boil. Buck clutched her ass and drove his tongue deeper. He was set to tear this woman apart until she bit down and let him loose. His spine steeled, and thighs burned with the effort to remain standing. His fight and refusal to fold were futile. Nieema pulled an orgasm from the body, leaving him for dead. Euphoria sprouted from every cell and limb, enveloping him completely. She wrenched it from the root, and he attacked her gushing pussy without delay. The woman howled as Buck lost the use of his legs. They’d turned to moss and were unable to bear his weight. Before his ass collided with the floor, Nieema belted his name and flexed them vampire skills by righting herself in half a second. When his behind greeted wet tile, Buck laughed, allowing his queen to straddle. “You ain’t tired?!” Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. “Damn woman, you gon’ put me in the coffin one day.” “And I will be right there with you, old dog.” They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, there’d never come a moment when Buck Sunside would ever get enough. She was the mother of his children, the beat of his heart, and the rich soil nourishing his soul.
Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit. A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs. Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something. Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.” It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.” “Yes, I am.” “What’s wrong, Maxine?” Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.” “Like where? Orlando?” “No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.” Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.” “And why, exactly?” “Because it’s not safe.” “For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.” “Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—” “You travel all the time,” she countered. “For work, and you know that.” Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed. “How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked. “I don’t know, I was off.” He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.” “The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.” “I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.” She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?” “It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.” “Like an accou…” Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.” Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle. She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. “So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked. “Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.” “Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.” “Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.” She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.” Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. “Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.” “You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. “Thanks.” Jaya beamed. Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused. Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since… Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. “Delightful,” he announced. “You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit. “It was delicious.” “I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.” “Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.” “Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted. “You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm. “So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?” “With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.” “That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. “I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.” “Here?” Max questioned. “Yes, is that a problem?” She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.” Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.” Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. “I am.” “You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.” “Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.” “Morgan Freeman is younger than me.” Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.” “Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. “I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.” Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.” “Fine by me.” On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.” The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.” “It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. “So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?” Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.” Liquid sugar it is. “Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.” “Splendid.” They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!” “Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.
Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell. “So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!” “Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.” “Dad, he’s a predator.” “What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell. “Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.” This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior. But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.” A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. “He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?” “Yes.” She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?” AB grinned. “Very.” “Well, I’ll leave you tw—” “Apologize.” She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. “Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—” “In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.” Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” “For?” Tracy prompted. “Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?” When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. “My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.” “Jaxon, please.” “I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.” “Coming right up.” “Oh, is this the wife?” Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. “No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.” “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.” “Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. “Shall we?” They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing. Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah. On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind. Small world and beyond. As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons. Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor. Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about. “And here are my files.” “Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.” “Whatever you want.” AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.” “Sure.”
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard. “Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.” “Yes, sir.” “Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.” “Whatever you must do, feel free.” “Greeeeat. Thank you so much.” Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear. Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.” The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—” He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston. He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected. When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend. A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.” “No biggie, thank you.” “Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.” She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. “Jaya, right?” “Yeah, you remembered.” From fifteen minutes ago. “Sure did.” She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. “Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.” “Yes. I may need more coffee, though.” “I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.” “Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy. “I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again. “Alrighty.” Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.” He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit. Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed. “What the hell.” His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky. Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm. Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it. Equity and depreciating assets. There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper. To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”
What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting. I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you. And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony. Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve. I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.
Nine in the morning was too early. Bullshit before his first sip of coffee? Erroneous. This was too much for a sober workday. Blinking and listening, Jo ignored the chirping voice in the back of his head. The one telling him to do something outlandish. His magical dark fae biology begged for blood. Jo slurped and grinned as hot, life-giving bean juice burned his throat. “Am I a clown to you?” Mr. Voaremont asked. “Did I make a god damn joke?” Jo dropped the smile and set his mug on the front desk. “No, suh. I had a long night, and the coffee hitting this morning.” “You’re welcomeeee,” Marci sang from behind, tapping them keys. Trevor sneered, forcing Jo to speak. “I know you’re upset, but—“ “This isn’t me upset, Sheriff. In fact, I’m fine. If I were upset, that mother fucker wouldn’t be bre—“ “Let’s not be hasty, Mr. Voaremont. You’re talking to a man of the law. Threatening folks ain’t nice, and depending on how deep it is, might land you in some legal trouble. Threatening the Queen’s consort, however, can and will be seen as a declaration of war.” The angry, ugly white man with skunk breath rubbed his face and pointed at Jo. He didn’t appreciate it, a wing twitched with mounting irritation. Anyone else would’ve bitten his digit clean off. Jo’s stomach lurched at the thought of that dirty ass finger in his mouth. “I don’t give a shit who he is. I’m pressing charges.” “You have every right to do that.” “But you’re telling me, because of his status, the queen has to clear it first?” “Yeah.” “What use are you then?” “Common folk do exist ‘round here.” Mr. Voaremont groaned, slammed a fist on the desk, and grumbled. His antics got Powell’s attention. The ninety-year-old werewolf wasn’t about no bull and didn’t take kindly to outsiders, neither. Also, he hated the Voaremont clan for reasons he hadn’t stated. “We got a problem here, son?” The seasoned deputy approached with a hand on his ancient revolver. “What can I do you for?” Trevor re-assessed, obviously. Powell was fully gray with a bad knee, but he was big as hell with arms the size of whiskey barrels and a smoky timbre even grown grizzlies envied. The city boy bowed out like an intelligent bitch and ran fingers through his hair. “What do I need to sign?” “Marci,” Jo called, spinning in his steel toes, “Get this man his papers.” “Way ahead of you, baby.” “Thank youuuuuu.” Jo gulped his brew and smiled at Kit’s knitted brow. He scribbled in his notebook and hummed, as if pleased. The demon looked up from an elegant script and squinted. His eyes were unnatural, large, and a dazzling shade of lavender. “So, one must file a report after a crime?” “Mhm, yeah.” “Becasuuuuuse you have to investigate the matter?” “You got it.” “So there are no mind scribes to sort through their memories? How tiresome.” Jo canted his head and dropped into his squeaky chair. He didn’t have an office, only a desk. Right next to Renata’s. Their workspace was small but functional. One breakroom, one bathroom, and two jail cells. Not much else. With only four deputies and two dispatchers, they didn’t need a lot. “I think you on to something,” Joe muttered. “But we ain’t never needed it really. Nothing to investigate.” “What about the Platter Boys?” “Yeah, we gon’ see about them in a bit.” Kit stroked his smooth chin and hummed again. “What about gun crime? Knife crime? Magical crimes? Arson, vandalism, and theivery? You don’t have such problems here?” Joe laughed and shook his head. “Nahhh. Look, Indigo Plains is a place of peace. Folks don’t come here looking for shady shit. They go to Carver or Misthill for that. Crime be so low here ‘cause this where the Queen lives. Folks know better than to run crazy with her right up the street. My great-grandma don’t take no mess. It makes my job easier.” “Speak for yourself,” Powell said in passing. “Lazy, good for nothing. Mr. Inkwells dog bit the milkman. Sadie Nile accidentally shot her boy in the ass while hunting. He wants to press charges on his own mama, the bitch. And Pickle got so drunk last week he tipped a god damned bison. You don’t do that! Them is sacred animals. Ogres, think they own the world. I might take him to the high court behind this.” The old man grumped and sat at his desk. He kicked his feet up and crossed them with a hand on his mouse. He loved digital solitaire most and was probably in the middle of his fifth game. Powell earned the right after serving as Sheriff for thirty-five years. “That ain’t crime, bruh. That’s town shenanigans.” Jo giggled into his mug while Powell glared. He swigged and said, “Anyway, major crime isn’t a problem, and I don’t go searching for it ‘niether. I keep out of townsfolk business unless called. I don’t wear a pistol and—“ “You need to,” Powell piped. “Play your little game and stay out of my mouth, damn.” Kit tapped on his notebook and nodded. “I understand, completely. And you know what? I find this all quite fascinating. Even in the most affluent Undervell neighborhood, someone is bound to get stabbed or disemboweled.” “Demons. Y’all too sensitive.” “I know you ain’t talking,” Marci said, on her way to the restroom. “Crybaby ass.” “I pay you!” She slammed the door, and Jo cussed. “Folks don’t respect me around here.” “Insubordination, check.” Kit cocked a manicured brow and sniffed. “You should take a toe for their back talk.” Jo lost his coffee and howled in laughter. He redecorated his desk with heavy cream, dark roast, marshmallow creamer, five cubes of sugar, and whipped cream. “Excuse me?!” Powell barked. Kit shrugged. “Where I come from, there are consequences for such treachery.” “Treacheryyyy? Whoa, bruh. Calm down. You gotta relax.” Jo accepted the napkin Marci offered and wiped his goatee. “You a mess, you know that? Can’t slip around you, Kit.” The demon straightened and gave an affirmative nod. “I don’t tolerate disrespect in my ranks.” Jo’s brows hit the ceiling. “Ranks? What ranks?” “My militia. Battalion. I see over five and have won my fair share of battles. Not without incident, mind you. I have tried my damndest to not—“ “Wait waiiiiiiit.” Waving his hands, Jo laughed. “You? A commander or head honcho of the military?” “General. The one and only general of King Spires army.” It was unimaginable. This here man is some cutthroat vet. It was wrong judging folks by their cover, Jo’s mama taught him better, and with GG Nieema’s past, he knew better, but daammmmnnnn. Kit was shorter than Jo. Five-nine and cute as a button. Fat cheeks, dimples, and a soft, round frame, he looked like a fucking demonic doll. Kit was scared of the woods and flinched at any old sound. He’d told Jo about the tiny stuffed Feldspar pooch—whatever that was—he carried in his bag. It made him feel safe. That same man was a general… of an army. To think Kit a ruthless killer was absurd. Jo glanced at Powell, who scoffed. “I call bullshit.” “Good sir! Are you calling me a liar? Because there is nothing to gain in me doing so. I don’t even like—“ Kit clamped his mouth shut and slapped his notebook closed. “When are we leaving? I want to settle this buffoonery with the Platter Boys post haste.” “Post haste? Bufoooonery?” Marci giggled, “What year do you think it is, Sherlock?” “What?” Marci cackled and tapped Jo’s shoulder. Her peridot eyes twinkled as she rocked in her chair. The sensual tree nymph was gorgeous and top-heavy. “Uhhmm, Buck did call earlier. Said he wanted to talk to you about some weird cult shit.” “Huh?” Jo winced and shook his head. “Cult shit? I don’t—what?” Marci popped a shoulder and went back to her business of writing. She was fifty years old and tech-savvy. Jo didn’t know a damn thing about computers; that’s why he never owned one. The woman wrote action and suspense novels in her downtime, or so she told him. Marci was talk of the town with her pistachio complexion, wide hips, and autumn red afro. Everyone wanted a piece, except Jo. They’d been friends since birth, and he never once tried it. Not that she wasn’t attractive and built like a goddess, but he never thought of her as an option. Marci was his sister, best friend, and bodyguard. Folks tended to think Nymphs were gentle and peaceful creatures. They were, until you stepped on over to their bad side. “Damn,” Jo cursed. “This is the most action I’ve ever seen. We should go. Let’s roll fren!” “Finally!” Kit shot to his hooves and slung that purse over his shoulder. “Off to clean the streets! Swift, with a heavy hand. It’s time to impart law and order! Yes, let us roll.” Jo and Marci deadpanned each other until they erupted in a cackling fit. This man, demon, funny as hell newcomer would soon find himself bored with Indigo Streets. There wasn’t shit to tidy up, save for a few leaves wilting in the gutters.
“Go for their dammed innards!” Kit yelled, panting and winded beyond the usual. “Undergods taint! There’s more of them!” Indigo Plains was a beautiful, scenic wonder Kit had come to love in a matter of hours. He figured it quiet and quaint, even after the giant spider debacle. Perhaps he’d misjudged Indigo Plains because this was far from quiet. Jo flew overhead, swinging a lasso. “Jesus Christ! Powell bite their stems off!” The massive werewolf bounded after the monstrous gourd while the others corralled the smaller possessed pumpkins. Kit struck another with his axe and roared in victory. He swung and severed their stems. The strange, sentient devils squealed, scratched, and whipped his arms with their barbed, curled vines. “Vile beasts!” Kit ducked, rolled, and parried with swift, demonic precision. He missed the howling behemoth’s hoof by a hair. “They’re growing!” Jo was certain that when they arrived at the Platter ranch, their objective would be simple. Retrieve stolen goods, give a final warning, and relay Mr. Carol’s message. Kit assumed it’d be a breeze, given how adamant Jo had been. He reassured Kit on the way. This mission wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Kit had been hoping for a squabble and was saddened to learn, ‘Indigo just ain’t the place for that kinda thing.’ “I will flay you alive!” Kit shouted, slicing through a line of growling pumpkins. He squashed the tinier sort with his own hoof and batted away vines with bloody claws. Steaming gourd viscera pelted his face as their platoon handled the carnivorous savages. The troop was small but capable, each possessing their own skill set. With chaos erupting on the Platter Ranch, Kit called forth the heat wallowing in his roiling belly and expelled his fury. He sprayed a group of bloodthirsty abominations with his purple flame. The bulbous creatures exploded. Their entrails painted the day in gorgeous hues of death. One by one, they popped and melted. Their crew worked tirelessly and well. Kit was impressed with Jo’s deputies. He respected Powell’s brute strength and Renata’s drive to kill. And Jo, he was no fighter, but the young man had heart and ingenuity. He’d become their eyes in the sky and an important asset as he worked from above. His support was much appreciated and essential, as the gourds were unable to simply look up. Jo used the art of surprise to murder, and Kit loved that. Spewing fire, Kit galloped through the mass, flinging his axe. With the smaller pumpkins dead and dismembered with their scalps scattered about, they attacked the alpha. A tottering beast of ten feet and half the size of a cricket field. With Powell and Renata scaling the monstrous gourd, Kit aimed low. He chopped their squat, stalk legs. They flailed as Kit put his all into felling this beast. As he sliced into their limb, chunks of chitterlings rained upon him. Kit inhaled hot pumpkin stink and roared. He vowed never to eat pumpkin pie ever again. “Down with you!” Kit howled with a final swing of his axe. The wobbling giant squealed and screeched. “Jo! Take them down!” Jo was quick with his lasso. He snagged hold of its thick stem and pulled with every ounce of his might. The fairy was stronger than he appeared. His strength and ability were impressive. He managed to throw the monster off balance and yank it to the ground. Kit moved in and released a stream of fire, focusing on the stem. From outside and within, their group attacked. Renata crawled into the pumpkin’s wide, fang-filled maw and Powell heaved, pulling on the weakening stem. Kit was beaten, bloody, and exhausted, but he was elated to be of service. The cursed creature wailed its final breath as the stem snapped and separated from its dome. Not a beat later, the beast erupted. The blast plucked Kit off his hooves and sent him spiraling. Colors whirled as his lungs sputtered and heart skipped. He tumbled and twirled until crashing through solid wood. Mammal stink and hay. He dropped and bounced on impact. He had never been so thankful for animal shit in his life. Rolling onto his back, Kit groaned as a horse nipped at his horns. “Get—madam or sir, please! Do fuck off!” “Kit?! Kit!” He bolted upright and greeted Jo with a smile. “What a thrilling experience.” Jo laughed, climbed onto the heap of dried grass and excrement. He extended a hand Kit didn’t need but accepted nonetheless. “Thrilling, huh?” “Indeed.” Once steady and standing, Kit dusted himself off. It did absolutely fuck all, but it was something to do. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a good fight. This was just what I needed. I am refreshed!” “Bruh, refreshed is a strong word for somebody covered in horse shit.” Because the moment called for it and Jo had given Kit no other choice, he released a squeal of laughter. The snorting variant. The show of joy Kit reserved for kin. It was a dad joke, and Kit needed a decent chuckle after dueling with mutant pumpkins. Jo clapped Kit on the shoulder and sighed. “Let’s see what them boys got to say for themselves.” “Throw them in the pit!” “You know? We don’t got one of those, but I’ll keep it in mind.” “The pit has many uses, and to be frank, when you add flesh eaters, most tend to rethink their wasted life of crime.” Jo giggled as they marched toward the Platters’ home. “I bet.” Kit growled as the boys slouched and snivelled on the steps. They were scared, pathetic, and worried. Good, they should be. It was due time they served time for this foolery. Powell stomped outside, wearing the clothes he’d arrived in. “You boys got some talkin’ to do.” “I—we—we didn’t mean to—“ “Stealing?!” Renata shouted. “You didn’t mean to steal? Because that’s something you boys planned to do and have been doing for months. So tell us, what didn’t you mean? Speak up, Jed!” The woman troll person was large in stature. Much like a warrior demon from Undervell. Broad with hard planes and toned curves. The sun kissed her pink eyes just so. Its effect may have distracted Kit for a moment. “We only wanted to experiment,” Jed confessed. “Yeah.” The smaller of the three nodded and crossed his arms. He wiped tears and looked to his elder. “We only wanted to do some magic. That’s all. Mama said we had enough pumpkins and wann’t buyin’ nomore.” “So you decided to steal them? From Mr. Carol, of all people. Jed’s head hung low as he apologized. The middle brother, Sam, didn’t have much to say. He had reiterated what the others expressed and left it at that. “You gonna tell Mama?” Jed asked. Jo lifted his chin with a wing twitch. He studied the horizon and shook his head. Kit stepped in to set this right. These boys needed structure, and the fear of the Undergods struck into them. Consequences must be faced. Jo lifted a hand, and Kit quieted. This was not his army or his job at the moment. He had no authority here and understood. “I won’t tell Leah, under one condition.” “Name it,” Jed said. “You three will put in work. On the Cresstooth farm for six weeks. Three hours after school, Monday through Friday. I’mma give y’all slips Mr. Cressthooth will sign after each working day. You will earn ten dollars every hour. After them six weeks is up, you can have every dime earned.” “What magic were you boys foolin’ with anyway?” Renata asked. And it was a good inquiry considering they’d created monsters found only in the smoldering depths of Undervell. He shrugged, eyes pinned to the ground. “We want—we wanted to make our own haunted curiosities show for Hollwscream week. We already got some stuff cooked up, but Sam said we needed an attraction.” “Suhun’ to woo the audience,” Sam said. Kit scoffed at their waste of an entrepreneurial spirit. “Why didn’t y’all just ask somebody in town who knows magic?” The littlest brother huffed and kicked rocks. “Mama said we can’t be asking magic folk for stuff if we ain’t gon’ pay.” “Your mother seems wise,” Kit said. “You ought to listen to her.” “We did,” Jed interjected. “We got it our way.” Powell growled, making the Platter Boys shrink. “And you made a right fool of yourself. People could’ve died! If Jo hadn’t shown up there ain’t no telling what woulda happened.” “We’re sorry, Mr. Powell. We didn’t mean for none of this. Honest.” Jo nodded. “We hear you boys, but you’re still gonna handle your business at the goat farm. You understand? Jed, Samuel, Randy? You got me?” Jed lifted his watery stare and sniffled. “Yes, sir.” Kit wasn’t sure about human growth rates. But Jed looked to be fourteen, perhaps fifteen cycles. He’d remember this moment for the rest of his life, and good for him. It was a journey taken the hard way around, as Carriont would say. Thinking of his father, Kit grimaced. “A’ight, y’all.” Jo wrinkled his nose and spat a pumpkin seed. Kit shuddered at the sight and sound. “Go’on and wash up. We’ll call sanitation. This’ll be gone by the time your mama gets home.” The Platter Boys scrambled and ran inside, the odd door covering clapped shut behind them. “You went too light on them,” Renata said. “Back in my day,” Powell rumbled, “I would have been picking switches from that there peach tree.” “My father would have made me carry a pack loaded with severed heads and walk a hundred miles across the Shovah Badlands.” Kit examined his filthy, pumpkin-mucked claws. “It taught me discipline and character.” “And trauma,” Jo announced, smiling. “Abuse is not cute, and I feel sorry for y’all. Anyway! Come on, let’s help sanitation and get the hell outta here. I need a shower and a pan of Grandma’s scones.” “Maggie baked?” Kit asked, perking with the news. “She’s prepared more vestiges?” “Just for me!” Jo barked. “Get your own god damn scones, Kit.” “How rude. I am a guest, and as such I should get the first serving.” “Shiiiiiid.” Powell sniffed and glanced at Kit. “He’s possessive of his food and will bite you over Maggie’s.” Kit squared his sopping wet, poop-crusted shoulders. “Good thing I can take a bite or two.”
When I initially started this series, I knew I wanted a large cast. A cast of potential couples and family dynamics and shenanigans. I want Indigo Plains to be its own character and for y’all to live there and meet the community. I don’t want this world to feel stuffy or confined because there is so much I see for this place. There’s a lot of world-building going on for this world, for Ravensguard and territories beyond it. Everything else I write is so dark and serious. World-ending high-stakes type shit. I never wanted that for PWPF, and I still don’t. Y’all will get more chapters with more characters down the line. This season is focusing on Jasper, but I wanted to give these two some page time. For obvious reasons, Kit’s pov is important. I’m not apologizing for Jo’s arrival. I love him and Kit together. I’m still uncertain about where they are headed or if they’ll go anywhere. They’re cute together, but that doesn’t mean they have an HEA. I am a shameless panster who gives the characters free will. In truth, I have no clue what I’m doing or where a book is going until I start typing. That said, I have plans for Kit. Just don’t know if they’ll include Jo. I guess we all have to keep reading to find out. And yeah, that includes me. As always, thank you so much and have a lovely week, y’all. Hydrate, rest, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING.
J. T. Frost 