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. đđ
âYou can take it, darlinâ.â Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. âYeeeeah. Thatâs it. You like it heavy!â Buck growled as the missus moaned. âI dooooo. OhhâBuâuck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.â He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. âYes,â Nieema groaned. âCrack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.â âIâm doing it.â âYou ainât.â Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. âA vampire your age shouldnât have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlinâ.â âYeah! And who put them, babies in there?â An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buckâs gut as he stamped on his wifeâs back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieemaâs spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. âAnd Iâll do it again,â Buck vowed. âI know thatâs right,â Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. âFill me up, daddy!â âNasty mouth.â 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. âDarlin’,â Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, âyou heard from Jasper yet?â âUhhhm. No.â âShe ainât come out the house yet, and Iâm getting worried.â âBuckley, we donât know her well. Maybe sheâs a homebody.â âI mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.â âHm. Weirrrd.â Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. âNieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?â âWhy do I gotta do something?â ââCause you did.â âYou donât know shit.â She didnât 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. âNieema.â The woman smacked her teeth and said, âWe were having such a good time, and I figuredâshe was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.â âYou did not.â âShit, 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.â Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. Heâd been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didnât 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 wasnât ready. âNieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?â Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didnât. âShe was celibate. You heard her just fine.â âYes, but you werenât there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. Thatâs not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.â He stood and marched on over to Nieemaâs vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didnât 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. âI know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.â He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieemaâs lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didnât have to say it. âSweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.â âAnd we ainât bringing none to her.â âMaybe to you this ainât drama, but for her, it could be a lot.â âI thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.â âThat was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!â âWell, thatâs what I thought.â âOf course you did, freaky.â 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. Couldnât tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasnât no changing their minds. âJo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?â Buck asked, raising a brow. âI know he does.â âThat was a love tap! Pussy.â âI doubt it.â âWho side is you on?â Buck asked, checking the wifeâs reflection, making her giggle. âMhm. See what I get? Disrespect.â âThat man got whatâs coming to him,â Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. âMonroe is in Misthill now. He canât seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. Heâs indisposed. I sent him a summons.â âMm. Had to put on the crown, huh?â âUnfortunately.â âAt least you look good wearing it.â She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. âIâm sure weâll get this settled nice and easy.â âThe Voaremonts arenât known for rolling over, Buck.â âWe ainât either.â âI know thatâs right.â After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. âI gave her a job at the shop.â âI mean, we need the help, but do you think sheâll be okay? I still donât wanna let her outta my sight.â âI told Maggie about it,â Nieema reassured. âSheâs willing to charm the store.â âThatâs quick thinking, my love. On your toes!â âArenât I always?â Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. âHell nah.â âI know you better hush.â âWhat? Iâm supposed to lie? You said there ainât 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 donât remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, itâs late, Grandma!â âShhuuut uuuup.â She cackled right along with Buck. âAnd itâs you who gonâ put me to bed.â âDamn skippy!â As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasnât a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, theyâd become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night theyâd met, heâd 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 didnât have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. âOoooooo baaaaby, listen!â Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. âYou know how to use them hands⌠mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, littâooop!â 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 wasnât always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didnât put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal heâd built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieemaâs conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. âThereeee you go.â Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. âNow come here and get whatâs coming to ya.â 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 Nieemaâs 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. âWell,â Nieema prompted, âgo on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.â Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until heâd met Nieema. Heâd snuff the sun if itâd bring this woman peace. Heâd 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 heâd never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buckâs 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. âHands off my goods, old woman.â She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieemaâs 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. âMmmm,â Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. âBabbbee, pleaaase.â âYou so fuckinâ wet, woman.â Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. âI need another batch for my tea. Iâm almost out.â âYou know what you gotta do.â 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, heâd be the queenâs final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, heâd be there to shower her in affection. Heâd 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 Nieemaâs side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didnât need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. âOooo shit!â Nieema keened. âYou like how I taste, love?â 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. âYou had better have a good reason, fairy boy!â 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. Nieemaâs 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. âOoooo shit! Bite it, baby! Biteââ 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. âYouuuuu devilish slut!â Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. âIâmmmmâooweeeeeâŚâ 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. Theyâd 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. âYou ainât tired?!â Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. âDamn woman, you gonâ put me in the coffin one day.â âAnd I will be right there with you, old dog.â They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, thereâd 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. .
âYou can take it, darlinâ.â Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. âYeeeeah. Thatâs it. You like it heavy!â Buck growled as the missus moaned. âI dooooo. OhhâBuâuck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.â He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. âYes,â Nieema groaned. âCrack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.â âIâm doing it.â âYou ainât.â Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. âA vampire your age shouldnât have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlinâ.â âYeah! And who put them, babies in there?â An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buckâs gut as he stamped on his wifeâs back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieemaâs spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. âAnd Iâll do it again,â Buck vowed. âI know thatâs right,â Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. âFill me up, daddy!â âNasty mouth.â 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. âDarlin,â Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, âyou heard from Jasper yet?â âUhhhm. No.â âShe ainât come out the house yet, and Iâm getting worried.â âBuckley, we donât know her well. Maybe sheâs a homebody.â âI mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.â âHm. Weirrrd.â Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. âNieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?â âWhy do I gotta do something?â ââCause you did.â âYou donât know shit.â She didnât 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. âNieema.â The woman smacked her teeth and said, âWe were having such a good time, and I figuredâshe was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.â âYou did not.â âShit, 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.â Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. Heâd been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didnât 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 wasnât ready. âNieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?â Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didnât. âShe was celibate. You heard her just fine.â âYes, but you werenât there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. Thatâs not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.â He stood and marched on over to Nieemaâs vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didnât 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. âI know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.â He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieemaâs lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didnât have to say it. âSweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.â âAnd we ainât bringing none to her.â âMaybe to you this ainât drama, but for her, it could be a lot.â âI thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.â âThat was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!â âWell, thatâs what I thought.â âOf course you did, freaky.â 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. Couldnât tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasnât no changing their minds. âJo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?â Buck asked, raising a brow. âI know he does.â âThat was a love tap! Pussy.â âI doubt it.â âWho side is you on?â Buck asked, checking the wifeâs reflection, making her giggle. âMhm. See what I get? Disrespect.â âThat man got whatâs coming to him,â Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. âMonroe is in Misthill now. He canât seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. Heâs indisposed. I sent him a summons.â âMm. Had to put on the crown, huh?â âUnfortunately.â âAt least you look good wearing it.â She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. âIâm sure weâll get this settled nice and easy.â âThe Voaremonts arenât known for rolling over, Buck.â âWe ainât either.â âI know thatâs right.â After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. âI gave her a job at the shop.â âI mean, we need the help, but do you think sheâll be okay? I still donât wanna let her outta my sight.â âI told Maggie about it,â Nieema reassured. âSheâs willing to charm the store.â âThatâs quick thinking, my love. On your toes!â âArenât I always?â Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. âHell nah.â âI know you better hush.â âWhat? Iâm supposed to lie? You said there ainât 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 donât remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, itâs late, Grandma!â âShhuuut uuuup.â She cackled right along with Buck. âAnd itâs you who gonâ put me to bed.â âDamn skippy!â As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasnât a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, theyâd become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night theyâd met, heâd 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 didnât have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. âOoooooo baaaaby, listen!â Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. âYou know how to use them hands⌠mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, littâooop!â 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 wasnât always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didnât put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal heâd built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieemaâs conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. âThereeee you go.â Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. âNow come here and get whatâs coming to ya.â 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 Nieemaâs 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. âWell,â Nieema prompted, âgo on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.â Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until heâd met Nieema. Heâd snuff the sun if itâd bring this woman peace. Heâd 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 heâd never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buckâs 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. âHands off my goods, old woman.â She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieemaâs 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. âMmmm,â Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. âBabbbee, pleaaase.â âYou so fuckinâ wet, woman.â Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. âI need another batch for my tea. Iâm almost out.â âYou know what you gotta do.â 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, heâd be the queenâs final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, heâd be there to shower her in affection. Heâd 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 Nieemaâs side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didnât need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. âOooo shit!â Nieema keened. âYou like how I taste, love?â 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. âYou had better have a good reason, fairy boy!â 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. Nieemaâs 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. âOoooo shit! Bite it, baby! Biteââ 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. âYouuuuu devilish slut!â Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. âIâmmmmâooweeeeeâŚâ 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. Theyâd 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. âYou ainât tired?!â Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. âDamn woman, you gonâ put me in the coffin one day.â âAnd I will be right there with you, old dog.â They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, thereâd 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 huggerâs 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. âSit up, child.â She sighed again, but did as instructed. âAnd take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.â 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. âI hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.â âYes, I am.â âWhatâs wrong, Maxine?â Her eyes and head lifted. âI wanna go somewhere.â âLike where? Orlando?â âNo,â she snipped, staring at a full plate. âLike, a trip.â Tracyâs lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. âYou know thatâs out of the question.â âAnd why, exactly?â âBecause itâs not safe.â âFor whom?â she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. âIâm almost a centennial.â âAge 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 riskââ âYou travel all the time,â she countered. âFor work, and you know that.â 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. âHow many customers did you have last night?â Tracy asked. âI donât know, I was off.â He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. âItâs Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.â âThe shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.â âI understand,â he said, holding his tongue. âBut your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.â She dropped arms and returned to her meal. âWhy are you just now telling me?â âIt slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.â âLike an accouâŚâ Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. âDo not, talk with your mouth full. Itâs uncouth and not how a woman behaves.â Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxineâs 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. Sheâd 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 âmanifestâ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. âSo, you hired an accountant?â Maxine asked. âIndeed.â As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jayaâs approach. âAh, you are a gem. Thank you.â âNooo problem,â she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. âFigured youâd need it.â âWhy donât you join us, Jaya? Youâve made more than enough.â She assessed their set up and shrugged. âI guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.â Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. âLook at you, Tracy. Thank you.â âYou are very welcome, hereâŚâ Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didnât like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. âThanks.â 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. Itâd been years⌠decades since⌠Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. âDelightful,â he announced. âYou might have tasted it if you slowed down.â Jaya smiled and he followed suit. âIt was delicious.â âI know,â Jaya said, with a frown. âI donât like vegans, their blood is thin. But itâs fresh as all heck.â âYes, indeed. Thatâs why I prefer it.â âFattier the better, in my opinion,â Max interrupted. âYou love a decent hearty sip, honey.â Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girlâs cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasnât a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if theyâd cause him harm. âSo, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?â âWith what?â She stared and blinked. âAh, yes. I doubt heâll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.â âThat seems risky,â Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. âI assure you, all is well.â Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. âTheyâll be here shortly, in fact.â âHere?â Max questioned. âYes, is that a problem?â She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. âIt feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.â Tracy recoiled. âNo one is more wary than I.â Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. âI am.â âYou try to be,â Max hedged. âBut we donât even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.â âLike⌠forever?â Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. âYou kids these days and the word âlikeâ.â âMorgan Freeman is younger than me.â Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. âSo truuuue and heâs been old for a long ass time.â âJaya,â He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. âIâm serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.â Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. âIâll get it, you eat.â âFine by me.â On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. âAh yes, Mr. Aubrey.â The towering male clutched his palm and entered. âWhat a magnificent home you have.â âItâs modest,â Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. âSo, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?â Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. âIâll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.â Liquid sugar it is. âSure, follow me. Iâll have something made for you.â âSplendid.â They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. âIs you fuckinâ with me right now?!â âMaxine!â 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. âSo I turn you down, and you follow me home?!â The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. âYou have nerve. This some stalker shit. Iâll call the copâhave you been stalking me?!â âMaxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.â âDad, heâs a predator.â âWhat?â Tracy snapped, confused as hell. âGet him outta here, Jaya.â Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. âOr Iâll cut his ass.â This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didnât 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. âCause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, âHe is the accountant I hired. Youâve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.â A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. âHeâsâyoâyou? Mhm. You hired him?â âYes.â She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. âWooooow.â Back to him, she shrugged. âSmall world, huh?â AB grinned. âVery.â âWell, Iâll leave you twââ âApologize.â She groaned at Tracyâs demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. âDad, I donât think that is really necââ âIn my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.â Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, âIâm sorry.â âFor?â Tracy prompted. âImsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?â When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. âMy goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.â âJaxon, please.â âI haven’t the words, Jaxon.â He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. âMy daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I donât know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.â âComing right up.â âOh, is this the wife?â Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. âNo, no. I uh, no.â Tracy snickered again. âMy dearest died years ago.â âJesus, Iâm sorry.â He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. âJaya, he will be in my office.â âOkay.â Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. âShall we?â 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. âMaxâsâ 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 wasnât 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. âAnd here are my files.â âExcellent,â AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! âI 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.â âWhatever you want.â ABâs eye twitched. âBallpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.â âSure.â
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasnât 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 couldnât 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. âOkay, let me get started.â Wagging a finger, AB smirked. âIâm going to need that coffee.â âYes, sir.â âOh and Tracy, if you donât mind, may I tidy a bit? Iâll make certain youâll know where everything is.â âWhatever you must do, feel free.â âGreeeeat. Thank you so much.â 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. âWhere to start is the question.â The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldnât 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? âWhat the fuââ 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 werenât to touch. This wasnât 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. âHereâs your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.â She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. âI had to clean a few other things.â âNo biggie, thank you.â âThank yoâI mean, youâre wellcooome.â She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. âJaya, right?â âYeah, you remembered.â From fifteen minutes ago. âSure did.â She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. âOkayâŚuhhh, Iâll leave you to it.â âYes. I may need more coffee, though.â âIâll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.â She gestured at his work. âI have never seen it this clean. Tracy wonât let me touch his things.â âWell, Mr. Bissette didnât have a choice with me.â He smiled and she turned coy. âIâll leave you to it,â she recited again. âAlrighty.â Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. â0ookay.â AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. âI really hate you.â In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. âYou mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.â He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. âLetâs do the damned thing.â 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, fiveâŚmore followed. âWhat the hell.â 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 wasnât 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. Heâd be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack heâd ever get, seeing as heâd left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. Theyâd be much higher in a few hours. âIâm definitely going to need more coffee.â
Whatâs good? I hope yâall 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 thereâs no telling when I can edit and then post, but Iâm doing my ultimate best, yâall. Still trying to see what works and what doesnât. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. Heâs overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, yâall 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. Heâs 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 yâall have a lovely weekend and donât 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. âAm I a clown to you?â Mr. Voaremont asked. âDid I make a god damn joke?â Jo dropped the smile and set his mug on the front desk. âNo, suh. I had a long night, and the coffee hitting this morning.â âYouâre welcomeeee,â Marci sang from behind, tapping them keys. Trevor sneered, forcing Jo to speak. âI know youâre upset, butââ âThis isnât me upset, Sheriff. In fact, Iâm fine. If I were upset, that mother fucker wouldnât be breââ âLetâs not be hasty, Mr. Voaremont. You’re talking to a man of the law. Threatening folks ainât nice, and depending on how deep it is, might land you in some legal trouble. Threatening the Queenâs consort, however, can and will be seen as a declaration of war.â The angry, ugly white man with skunk breath rubbed his face and pointed at Jo. He didnât appreciate it, a wing twitched with mounting irritation. Anyone else wouldâve bitten his digit clean off. Joâs stomach lurched at the thought of that dirty ass finger in his mouth. âI donât give a shit who he is. Iâm pressing charges.â âYou have every right to do that.â âBut youâre telling me, because of his status, the queen has to clear it first?â âYeah.â âWhat use are you then?â âCommon folk do exist âround here.â Mr. Voaremont groaned, slammed a fist on the desk, and grumbled. His antics got Powellâs attention. The ninety-year-old werewolf wasnât about no bull and didnât take kindly to outsiders, neither. Also, he hated the Voaremont clan for reasons he hadnât stated. âWe got a problem here, son?â The seasoned deputy approached with a hand on his ancient revolver. âWhat can I do you for?â 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. âWhat do I need to sign?â âMarci,â Jo called, spinning in his steel toes, âGet this man his papers.â âWay ahead of you, baby.â âThank youuuuuu.â Jo gulped his brew and smiled at Kitâs 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. âSo, one must file a report after a crime?â âMhm, yeah.â âBecasuuuuuse you have to investigate the matter?â âYou got it.â âSo there are no mind scribes to sort through their memories? How tiresome.â Jo canted his head and dropped into his squeaky chair. He didnât have an office, only a desk. Right next to Renataâs. 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 didnât need a lot. âI think you on to something,â Joe muttered. âBut we ainât never needed it really. Nothing to investigate.â âWhat about the Platter Boys?â âYeah, we gonâ see about them in a bit.â Kit stroked his smooth chin and hummed again. âWhat about gun crime? Knife crime? Magical crimes? Arson, vandalism, and theivery? You donât have such problems here?â Joe laughed and shook his head. âNahhh. Look, Indigo Plains is a place of peace. Folks donât come here looking for shady shit. They go to Carver or Misthill for that. Crime be so low here âcause this where the Queen lives. Folks know better than to run crazy with her right up the street. My great-grandma donât take no mess. It makes my job easier.â âSpeak for yourself,â Powell said in passing. âLazy, 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 donât do that! Them is sacred animals. Ogres, think they own the world. I might take him to the high court behind this.â 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. âThat ainât crime, bruh. Thatâs town shenanigans.â Jo giggled into his mug while Powell glared. He swigged and said, âAnyway, major crime isnât a problem, and I donât go searching for it âniether. I keep out of townsfolk business unless called. I donât wear a pistol andââ âYou need to,â Powell piped. âPlay your little game and stay out of my mouth, damn.â Kit tapped on his notebook and nodded. âI 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.â âDemons. Yâall too sensitive.â âI know you ainât talking,â Marci said, on her way to the restroom. âCrybaby ass.â âI pay you!â She slammed the door, and Jo cussed. âFolks donât respect me around here.â âInsubordination, check.â Kit cocked a manicured brow and sniffed. âYou should take a toe for their back talk.â 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. âExcuse me?!â Powell barked. Kit shrugged. âWhere I come from, there are consequences for such treachery.â âTreacheryyyy? Whoa, bruh. Calm down. You gotta relax.â Jo accepted the napkin Marci offered and wiped his goatee. âYou a mess, you know that? Canât slip around you, Kit.â The demon straightened and gave an affirmative nod. âI donât tolerate disrespect in my ranks.â Joâs brows hit the ceiling. âRanks? What ranks?â âMy 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 notââ âWait waiiiiiiit.â Waving his hands, Jo laughed. âYou? A commander or head honcho of the military?â âGeneral. The one and only general of King Spires army.â It was unimaginable. This here man is some cutthroat vet. It was wrong judging folks by their cover, Joâs mama taught him better, and with GG Nieemaâs 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. Heâd told Jo about the tiny stuffed Feldspar poochâwhatever that wasâhe 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. âI call bullshit.â âGood sir! Are you calling me a liar? Because there is nothing to gain in me doing so. I donât even likeââ Kit clamped his mouth shut and slapped his notebook closed. âWhen are we leaving? I want to settle this buffoonery with the Platter Boys post haste.â âPost haste? Bufoooonery?â Marci giggled, âWhat year do you think it is, Sherlock?â âWhat?â Marci cackled and tapped Joâs shoulder. Her peridot eyes twinkled as she rocked in her chair. The sensual tree nymph was gorgeous and top-heavy. âUhhmm, Buck did call earlier. Said he wanted to talk to you about some weird cult shit.â âHuh?â Jo winced and shook his head. âCult shit? I donâtâwhat?â Marci popped a shoulder and went back to her business of writing. She was fifty years old and tech-savvy. Jo didnât know a damn thing about computers; thatâs 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. Theyâd been friends since birth, and he never once tried it. Not that she wasnât 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. âDamn,â Jo cursed. âThis is the most action Iâve ever seen. We should go. Letâs roll fren!â âFinally!â Kit shot to his hooves and slung that purse over his shoulder. âOff to clean the streets! Swift, with a heavy hand. Itâs time to impart law and order! Yes, let us roll.â 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 wasnât shit to tidy up, save for a few leaves wilting in the gutters.
âGo for their dammed innards!â Kit yelled, panting and winded beyond the usual. âUndergods taint! Thereâs more of them!â 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 heâd misjudged Indigo Plains because this was far from quiet. Jo flew overhead, swinging a lasso. âJesus Christ! Powell bite their stems off!â 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. âVile beasts!â Kit ducked, rolled, and parried with swift, demonic precision. He missed the howling behemothâs hoof by a hair. âTheyâre growing!â 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. Carolâs message. Kit assumed itâd be a breeze, given how adamant Jo had been. He reassured Kit on the way. This mission wouldnât end in bloodshed. Kit had been hoping for a squabble and was saddened to learn, âIndigo just ainât the place for that kinda thing.â âI will flay you alive!â 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 Joâs deputies. He respected Powellâs brute strength and Renataâs drive to kill. And Jo, he was no fighter, but the young man had heart and ingenuity. Heâd 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. âDown with you!â Kit howled with a final swing of his axe. The wobbling giant squealed and screeched. âJo! Take them down!â 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 pumpkinâs 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. âGetâmadam or sir, please! Do fuck off!â âKit?! Kit!â He bolted upright and greeted Jo with a smile. âWhat a thrilling experience.â Jo laughed, climbed onto the heap of dried grass and excrement. He extended a hand Kit didnât need but accepted nonetheless. âThrilling, huh?â âIndeed.â Once steady and standing, Kit dusted himself off. It did absolutely fuck all, but it was something to do. âItâs been at least a year since Iâve had a good fight. This was just what I needed. I am refreshed!â âBruh, refreshed is a strong word for somebody covered in horse shit.â 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. âLetâs see what them boys got to say for themselves.â âThrow them in the pit!â âYou know? We donât got one of those, but Iâll keep it in mind.â âThe pit has many uses, and to be frank, when you add flesh eaters, most tend to rethink their wasted life of crime.â Jo giggled as they marched toward the Plattersâ home. âI bet.â 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 heâd arrived in. âYou boys got some talkinâ to do.â âIâweâwe didnât mean toââ âStealing?!â Renata shouted. âYou didnât mean to steal? Because thatâs something you boys planned to do and have been doing for months. So tell us, what didnât you mean? Speak up, Jed!â 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. âWe only wanted to experiment,â Jed confessed. âYeah.â The smaller of the three nodded and crossed his arms. He wiped tears and looked to his elder. âWe only wanted to do some magic. Thatâs all. Mama said we had enough pumpkins and wannât buyinâ nomore.â âSo you decided to steal them? From Mr. Carol, of all people. Jedâs head hung low as he apologized. The middle brother, Sam, didnât have much to say. He had reiterated what the others expressed and left it at that. âYou gonna tell Mama?â 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. âI wonât tell Leah, under one condition.â âName it,â Jed said. âYou three will put in work. On the Cresstooth farm for six weeks. Three hours after school, Monday through Friday. Iâmma give yâall 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.â âWhat magic were you boys foolinâ with anyway?â Renata asked. And it was a good inquiry considering theyâd created monsters found only in the smoldering depths of Undervell. He shrugged, eyes pinned to the ground. âWe wantâwe 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.â âSuhunâ to woo the audience,â Sam said. Kit scoffed at their waste of an entrepreneurial spirit. âWhy didnât yâall just ask somebody in town who knows magic?â The littlest brother huffed and kicked rocks. âMama said we canât be asking magic folk for stuff if we ainât gonâ pay.â âYour mother seems wise,â Kit said. âYou ought to listen to her.â âWe did,â Jed interjected. âWe got it our way.â Powell growled, making the Platter Boys shrink. âAnd you made a right fool of yourself. People couldâve died! If Jo hadnât shown up there ainât no telling what woulda happened.â âWeâre sorry, Mr. Powell. We didnât mean for none of this. Honest.â Jo nodded. âWe hear you boys, but youâre still gonna handle your business at the goat farm. You understand? Jed, Samuel, Randy? You got me?â Jed lifted his watery stare and sniffled. âYes, sir.â Kit wasnât sure about human growth rates. But Jed looked to be fourteen, perhaps fifteen cycles. Heâd 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. âAâight, yâall.â Jo wrinkled his nose and spat a pumpkin seed. Kit shuddered at the sight and sound. âGoâon and wash up. Weâll call sanitation. Thisâll be gone by the time your mama gets home.â The Platter Boys scrambled and ran inside, the odd door covering clapped shut behind them. âYou went too light on them,â Renata said. âBack in my day,â Powell rumbled, âI would have been picking switches from that there peach tree.â âMy father would have made me carry a pack loaded with severed heads and walk a hundred miles across the Shovah Badlands.â Kit examined his filthy, pumpkin-mucked claws. âIt taught me discipline and character.â âAnd trauma,â Jo announced, smiling. âAbuse is not cute, and I feel sorry for yâall. Anyway! Come on, letâs help sanitation and get the hell outta here. I need a shower and a pan of Grandmaâs scones.â âMaggie baked?â Kit asked, perking with the news. âSheâs prepared more vestiges?â âJust for me!â Jo barked. âGet your own god damn scones, Kit.â âHow rude. I am a guest, and as such I should get the first serving.â âShiiiiiid.â Powell sniffed and glanced at Kit. âHeâs possessive of his food and will bite you over Maggieâs.â Kit squared his sopping wet, poop-crusted shoulders. âGood 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 yâall to live there and meet the community. I donât want this world to feel stuffy or confined because there is so much I see for this place. Thereâs 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 donât. Yâall 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, Kitâs pov is important. Iâm not apologizing for Joâs arrival. I love him and Kit together. Iâm still uncertain about where they are headed or if theyâll go anywhere. Theyâre cute together, but that doesnât mean they have an HEA. I am a shameless panster who gives the characters free will. In truth, I have no clue what Iâm doing or where a book is going until I start typing. That said, I have plans for Kit. Just donât know if theyâll 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, yâall. Hydrate, rest, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING.
Low climbed a short flight of stairs, stopped at 7b, and banged on the screen door. Time was ticking, and at 4:15 am, sunrise was due in roughly forty-five minutes. Sliding to his house took thirty-five, no traffic. On a Tuesday, though, that morning commute was on its way. âFuck.â Low pounded on the steel mesh again and thanked god he answered. âWhatâs up Low, câmon on in.â Paul pushed on the screen and allowed Low entry, peeking outside for a hot second. The boy was cagey and kept to himself. Paul was against technology; he owned one cellphone. A flip burner. No email or social media presence. He was three hundred years old with soulful eyes to tell it, but physically remained a lanky seventeen-year-old. âThe boys are out tonight,â Lowâs plug stated as three bolts clacked into place. âWhat you want, youngsta?â âHalf, and some wax, like usual.â The white boy, er, man, sighed and marched through a compact kitchen. His joint was a tiny linoleum haven with coral walls and tiled counters. âSo listen, my supplier ainât supplied, Low.â âIs you for real?â âSaid they had a hiccup.â Paul opened the cabinet under the sink and yanked free Cali Kush, not even a half. âThis all I got. I canât hit you with half right now. I got tourists I need to hustle, you feel me. Iâll give you an eighth, though. And throw in some edibles my old lady made.â Low smacked his lips, but accepted the offer. âAight, shit. I donât got no choice.â Digging for cash, he knew there were others to call. A brotha needed that half. A muhâfucka smoked too much for a punk ass eighth. At least there were some cookies for Max. Shorty didnât smoke, but she liked edibles on occasion. With the sale finalized, they clapped palms and Low said, âIâmma hit you, stay up, blood.â âRight, right.â Low hit the exit and rushed downstairs. He slid behind the wheel and swapped goods for the forty-five, tucking it back under the seat. âOoooo cookies.â âThat shit potent, knowing Ulinda, so donât go crazy.â She laughed and shoved chips in her mouth. âCan we go now? I wanna relax.â âWe on the way.â A thirty-minute journey was whittled down to twenty. He was ready to get in the house, smoke, and make Max holler. Plus, the pinkish horizon concerned him. They were in the home stretch and zoominâ down SW66th when Max tapped his shoulder. âLow, ainât that Teddie?â âWhere?!â He slowed and peered through her window. Low didnât have much of a view from where he lived. Directly across the street from his house was a soccer field. It belonged to the Korean church and was private property. But sure enough, Teddie was on the lawn doing flips. Low punched the horn and swerved into his driveway. âIâma kill him.â âBe nice.â âHell nah.â Without turning the car off, he slipped out and ran across the narrow avenue. âHave you lost your mind?! Get your hard-headed assâitâs three in the morning and you flipping and shit. The neighbors finna call CPS!â Teddie grimaced and jogged to the fence. âYou told me to practice. Thatâs what Iâm doiââ âBooyyy, you lefââ Low fumed, pointing at the house. âYou left Ashton alone?â âNoâŚâ Teddie nibbled on his bottom lip and looked at the tree Ashton stood behind, peeking. âGet the hell over here!â The boy smiled, mouth full of high-priced braces. They cost more than Lowâs golds. âWhatâs wrong with you? Bring your behind on. Both yâall in it.â Teddie snickered. âHow do we get out?â Low clapped his hands. âDonât play with me. Theodore!â They thought this shit was funny, and he didnât find a ânere thing humorous. After they cleared the short chain link, Low shoved them across the street. âGet in bed, now! And wash up too!â Knucklehead one and two rushed for the door, grinning like they werenât in trouble. Teddie stopped and waved. âHi, Max.â âHay, love,â she said, daring to be nice. âYou stuck that last one, boy.â âI did, huh?â âGoâon,â Low shouted. It got them moving, and the moment they disappeared, he killed the engine. âYou get everything?â âYeah. And you donât have to yell.â âGirl, I’ve been raising those boys for eight years, Iâma yell at they ass. And that little one, he gonâ give me a stroke.â Max shook with mirth as he slammed the door and remotely closed the gate. They paced for the house, and she tried to show him the bright side. âTheyâre growing young boys who will turn into men. Yâall will be inseparable.â âShit, we already are.â Low scrubbed Vapormaxx soles on the welcome mat and stepped over the threshold with his lady in tow. Keeping it a hunnit, Max wasnât his. Matter fact, he didnât have a lady. No relationship to speak of. Just how he liked it. What they had, was a situationship. Mutual as fuck. Both parties carried baggage and neither wanted to unpack that shit. For various reasons. âGod, I love the way your house smells. It never gets old.â Max recited the same line every. Single. Time. Low figured it was a compliment, and he could never receive too many of those. When it came to his home, yeah, he deserved some recognition. For time and money spent. Vaulted ceilings dressed in polished cherry planks and beams. Mid-century modern decor and foliage were his vibe of choice. From the door, house plants greeted them, and as they trudged along the terracotta floor, he jotted mental notes. Pruning and watering were in order. Low watched Max bank left and dash through a pair of doors leading to the master suite. He loved the privacy and sheer size of his room. She hurried onward, hit a final louie, tossed goodies on his bed and ran for the bathroom. âI gotta peee.â Low dropped his keys, phone, and lighters on the highboy dresser. His place smelled so good âcause he kept incense smoking. And not them cheap ass Wallyworld sticks, nah, his came from an online independent Afro shop. Black Butter, Pattie Labelle, and Somili Rose stayed in rotation. The latter was his go-to at the moment. After Low sparked a roach, he slipped off his shoes. âWhew, my bladder was full. Oooo thatâs the Somali Rose.â Max cleared the bed and dove into her purse. He knew she was about to spout some spiritual mess. In an effort to stop it, he stood on a grunt and aimed for the stereo system beside his dresser. The master wasnât small, by any means. But he packed it tight with more plants, a cal king, and a heavy oak number. A four-bedroom with dual vanities, a sauna, and a sit-in shower would cost close to five million nowadays. Low was big-headed, even though he hadnât paid for it. He was also proud of an enormous vinyl collection. Yearsâ worth of long-forgotten music followed him through the decades and filled four shelves. As Low lifted the lid on an HMV stereogramâpurchased in 1972âsage wafted. âAnnnnnd here she go.â âYour energy is off, love. We gotta cleanse all this mess. I told you to get you some lavender and sage incense.â She swirled that shit all in his face. âI donât believe in any of your new-age garbage, and you know this.â âDonât talk like that. See, and you wonder why all those bad spirits wonât get off you.â The scent was okay, but not better than his incense. âA daily smudge would do you good.â âBreak that down for me, baby.â âYup.â He pulled free a winner and chuckled. Vinyl records almost died when compact discs emerged. Luckily, the former prevailed and made a hard comeback. Everybody and they mama released an album on vinyl. Which was good, âcause he liked the analog sound better. Low was a hip-hop head, and even Kendrick had âem. Though, sometimes, them oldies came in handy right on time. After carefully pulling the record from its jacket, he placed it on the platter and dropped the needle. Teddywas a classic album, and Mr. Pendergrass set the mood quickly. âFreak nasty!â Max yelled mid-giggle. âMister penherass dowwwwwn⌠senior.â Low crawled on the bed, observing Max bust down the weed and backwood. She dumped tobacco into an abalone shell and used her magical hands. The woman could roll. Her shit was tight and dry. How she did it with those sexy nails was beyond him. Max ainât even partake, then again, she had been rolling his blunts for ten years. Irritated, Low reached and snatched her shades off. A rumbling growl was to be expected. âYou know damn well you canât wear them up in here.â Max scoffed, sealing with a pierced, pink devil. It was his personal hell on earth. âWhat is this? Cali Kush?â âYup.â âI can taste it.â Max was an old hippie type with weird habits. Face tattoos and piercings fit her personality. Come to find, she acquired most of it as an act of rebellion. âCan you hurry up?â Low snarled. He got nothing but her usual side-eye. âI will flush this down the toilet.â âIâll put you out, keep fucking with me.â She laughed, pressing his nerves. âHere, damn! Rushing me.â Max frowned and threw the blunt at him. âIâll be in the shower.â Her little ass scooted off the mattress as Low lit the tip. The first drag did his soul right. Holding smoke, he slid on down to his back and attempted to unwind. Ten minutes and four hits later, he yearned for sweeter offerings. Low snuffed his blunt in the ashtray and popped up. On his way towards heaven, he lost the durag and clothes. Her favorite soap and scent, which heavily resembled gardenia, ignited a violent brand of lust. Airy and floral, it drove him to madness many a night. He needed it on his skin and in his lungs, helping the kush along. With desire coiling in his gut, Low wrenched open the shower door. âIâm tryinâ to wash up, now. Move!â âDonât be yelling at me,â Low snapped. âYou in my house.â âUgh, your wound is still bruised.â Headscarf on and body soaking wet, she was divinity in motion. The vision moved him forward until she slapped his shoulder. âOw! What you do that for?â Max scrunched her nose. âDid it hurt?â âNo.â âOkay.â She slapped it again and laughed. Low was over her shit. As water streamed and steam billowed, he fell upon her. Supple and buoyant, her lips woke his shit right up. He shivered, and she jumped, locking legs around him. Home was right here. Body to body, their tongues worked in sensual duality as Low gripped her ass. Hands full, his dick jutted in anticipation, but their kisses never lasted long enough. Separation caused a pinprick of pain. He dropped onto the tiled bench and kneaded her behind. âYou finna sit on this dick?â âYeahhhh.â Max moaned and whined. âYou gonna be nice?â âMhmmm.â She nodded and grabbed his face. Her kiss traveled, leaving fire in its wake. Cheek, jaw, and neck. âI wanna taste, too. Can I have it, baby?â she whispered against the sensitive spot, just under his jawline. Low grunted in agreement, losing wits and sense. Two hundred and sumnâ years was a long while to live and more than enough time to lie with any and everybody. Low wasnât an amateur; he knew how this game was played and had been at it for generations. Heâd had countless companions, but not one had claimed his vein. Until heâd met Maxine. Low never turned her down, never said no, but it wasnât a thing. In truth, vampires biting each other wasnât normal unless mated. Low didnât care âbout none of that, âcause the shit was addicting. Fangs deep in his throat as her pussy hugged him close set a muhâfucka on the straight and narrow! âLet me have it,â Max demanded, straddling him. She gripped his stiff shaft and positioned his blunt head right where he needed to be. Lowâs eyes slammed shut the moment her heat licked the tip. Maxâs pink, silken walls teased, flexed, and soaked him good. Lowering and sliding, she mewled. Lowâs fingers sank into her soft, plush hips. âShiââ âFuuuucck,â Max cried. Tight and soul snatching, her pussy arrested him. His female sat on it from head to base and undulated. His eyes sprang open, and he damn near came from the view. Shorty woulda been madddd pissed if he nutted, but she was a masterpiece. Head thrown back and sharp fangs running a hard line. Her buttery skin adorned with art, shimmered under a dim blue glow. âOn me, baby, keep them eyes on me,â Low pleaded. She complied instantly. Unnatural, yet alluring, her gaze matched his. Perfectly arched brows, thick lips, and high cheekbones came in second to her stunning stare. There was something dark behind the innocence. Max hated them, but heâd never see her point. Mismatched and dazzling, they drove him to want without ceasing. One red and the other quicksilver. âDamn,â he barked as she started moving like a starving succubus. âCome on now!â Low smacked that ass, and Max yelped while her pussy bit back. It encased him and forced a motha fucka to beg. She wound and bound him. On fire for it, heaving and cussing, he held firm. âYou so pretty, Maxi. Look at youâŚall on this dick.â Low latched onto her luscious form and gritted his teeth, watching her body bounce nearly took him out. âDamn, you wet as fuck, shorty.â âOooo, shit, Low!â Her head lulled forward, and motion grew vicious. Ass meeting pelvis and clapping, she put their natural-born speed to good use. At her mercy, Low might as well be a toy. Perfect pussy, soft curves, large brown nipples, and a hammering pulse set him off. He was about to nut. âOoooooo Iâm âbouta squââ Cutthroat and ruthless, skin glistening, Max danced on the dick, her scent thickened with the steam. Breathing clipped and belly jiggling as he loved, she whined. âLowww! Rightâoh dammmnn babyyyy!â She hooked her claws into his arms, but he registered nothing as her mouth locked onto his jugular. Fangs penetrated, knocking bones loose. She touched the depths of his cold, aching soul and set him free. Low erupted. From crown to sole, he quaked and drenched her beloved walls. Truth be told, Max ran the show when they fucked. Whatever she say go. And as his toes curled, ass clenched, and eyes rolled yet again, she ruptured. Squirting on his lap, Max drank her fill and screamed. Nut number two battered his senses. Low gasped for air and looped arms around her. This here wasnât planned, and they had no business sharing sheets. Her daddy would never approve, but god forbid Low let their situation go. Not for a second, an hour, or a day. This was worth the risk. Max was worth it. Maybe it was fucked up, but Low had long ago become reliant on these secret, stolen moments and refused to live without them.
Heeello. I hope yâall have had a good week and arenât too stressed out, but I know how it is. Sometimes it can be hard to enjoy the little things like reading, writing, hiking, meditating, or gaming with everything the way it is, but we try, donât we? Yâall have taken those tiny moments and used them to read my stories. For that, I thank you. It means a lot. Y’all are the reason why I keep at it, cause youâre still here! So, with that, letâs move on to the goods. SMUT. And yeah, this was a little taste of what Low and Max have. They are creeping, sneaking, and freaking, you hear me! Max got the heart of a lion, cause babbbyyyy, what? I ainât set up like that. Ten years? A whole decade and some change? Hell to the nah nah nahhhh. They cute, though, and I adore them. Theyâre staying true to the game, and I canât blame them. Oh, one last tiny tidbit, the word female is used loosely in my vampire universe because they arenât human. And some, not all, prefer male-female terms instead of woman-man. Anyhoooo, thatâs it for now and please, as always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, let me know! Have a great day, yâall. Stay well, stay hydrated, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING!
CW: SMUT. I’m not being funny here. SMUT is below. If yall have been waiting for it, here you go. Annnnd, there is more to come. A lot more.
This is for you. The one who loves women with horns and fangs.
From 12 to 1 am they settled in the shop, talking about drawings and patches. Quilts and patterns carried their conversation, and Nieema was fine with it, for a spell. Until Jasperâs blood enticed and entrapped. Nieema wanted a taste and a nibble, a long sip of her rich demonic blood. Theirâs was unique and worth a few gold bricks. It was thick, fatty, and filling. With every jump of Jasperâs pulse, Nieema swallowed and clenched her thighs. The small office didnât do shit but make her agitated. In proximity, Nieema inhaled her scent, gulp after greedy gulp. By 2:30 in the morning, they were drunk on wine and comforting chit chat. Nieema downed a bottle of Pink Potion and loved the buoyancy in her step. Something light and bubbly with ab-positive droplets had her lit and loose. At around 3 am, they skipped on downstairs and sashayed through the game room, hooking a quick left. Nieema pressed her thumb to the reader, and it beeped upon entry. âWelcome to the Lush Room,â Nieema slurred, twirling into the mess of blankets, pillows, and furs. Dim, blue bulbs ushered them into an intimate setting. One with soundproof walls, fluffy handcuffs, and feather ticklers. It was the testing room, so to speak. The place she brought new friends before heading out to the barn. An appetizer before the main course. As the door closed, Nieema collapsed onto a mound of throw pillows and tugged at her tie. Jasper was already crawling on her hands and knees, giggling like a minx. Her ripe, red berry complexion glittered with goldenrod speckles. From the column of her neck, they swirled and dipped. The blouse drooped as Jasper settled on her side. âWhere are we?â Jasper asked, the soft white wine claiming her tongue. âIt smells good.â âIncense, love.â âI like them.â âAnd I, like you,â Nieema admitted. Keeping space between them, she lounged behind the demoness and snatched the tie free. Nieema tossed it aside and hummed. âWhat you got to say about that?â Laughter caused her soft belly to ripple. âI donât know.â âA coy succubus? That’s some shit you donât see every day.â âIâŚyou donât come across vampire queens every day either.â âTrue. But I donât think shyness is your thing.â âItâs not.â âThatâs what Iâm saying.â Nieema loved being tipsy off her ass, but she loved pussy more. And she enjoyed this womanâs scent too much not to speak of it. âYou intrigue me, Jasper.â âYou already said that.â âI want to taste you.â The succubus rolled onto her stomach, propped on her forearms, and smirked. âI bet you do.â Nieema purred and popped the first three buttons on her shirt. âThere she is. Where have you been hiding?â âItâs cause Iâm drunk.â Jasper pushed upward and made her way over. Nieema wasnât one to hesitate. She threaded claws through Jasperâs short, white tresses, avoiding her horns. âWill you let me savor you, deary?â Nieema asked, tightening her hold. Forcing Jasper to meet Nieema eye to eye. Between her legs, she whined with glassy eyes and parted lips. Arousal wafted, nestling and growing within. The moment Jasper nodded, Nieema flexed below the belt and growled. âPlease.â âBegging will get you nothing. Not with your inebriation. We gotta sober up, love.â âHow?â 0Nieema grinned, staring into Jasperâs blazon desperation. Using her mystical will, she called forth the vial tucked behind a pillow on the far wall. The cobalt bottle flew across the room. Nieema caught it without an upward glance. âThis,â Nieema began, shaking the vial, âis your sobriety. It will wake you right the fuck up and revitalize you. Clarity in seconds. Would you like a bit, Jasper?â âAre youâyouâre not taking advantage of me?â âOf course not, Iâm a bitch, a killer, and often a meddling grandmother, but I am never a piece of shit predator. I know how they portray us in the media, and to that, I say, fuck you. Your consent and autonomy mean something in this house.â Jasper nodded again and licked her lips. âYes, I want some.â âOpen for me, love.â Jasperâs pupils shrank and elongated; it was a characteristic Nieema knew well. It was a succubus on real life demon time. The woman showcased her long, ridged red tongue, and Nieema squirmed. She loved its pointed tip and prehensile nature most. Nieema twisted the cap and pinched the rubber top, filling it with a single, potent drop. âYou ready?â Jasper rumbled her displeasure, and Nieema laughed, releasing a magic liquid pearl. The shimmering jade bead was absorbed on impact. Not a second later, Jasper gasped. She bolted upright and placed a hand on her chest as Nieema administered her own. Closing her eyes, she let magic have its way. Weaving through her nervous system and washing them veins. The powerful liquid attacked her motor functions and brightened the world. The Lush Room was still blue, but Jasperâs eyes were vibrant, and the gold trailing her limbs called for a closer examination. âIâve got to be more than sober,â Jasper said. âI donât think Iâve ever been this awake or energized in my life. And thatâs after dining on some heady masculine soul.â âPerfect, thatâs exactly what I want to hear.â Nieema shoved the bottle behind a pillow and asked, âWhat you wanna do? Youâre free to go, or stay. But my proposal stands.â Sitting back on her knees, Jasper considered Nieema for a cool minute. Her fixed, molten copper attention was welcome. âAll you want is my blood?â Nieema took to onyx cufflinks and smirked. âNo. Not even close, but it will suffice.â She rolled up her sleeves and beckoned Jasper with the deliberate flick of two fingers. âYou will satisfy me, demon.â Jasper lifted her skirt and inched forward on her knees, locked into their visual connection. âBe gentle with me, youâre my first vampire.â âIt is an honor,â Nieema rasped, pulling Jasper in by her luscious waist. Pliant and plush, she was divinity in motion. Hiking up, Nieema grinned and brushed Jasperâs smooth cheek with an adorned knuckle. She searched for cracks and fissures as the demon looped its arms around her. An incredible warmth settled on the skin and penetrated, bone deep. Nieema sighed and grazed her lips upon Jasperâs shoulder. Her scent thickened in the sweet spot. Behind the ear and in the blessed crook, Nieema inhaled once more, unable to pinpoint her blood type, and that alone thrilled an old, seasoned bitch. âYou are rare indeed, love.â Jasper reared back with her chin high and silver brow arched. The jewels at her neck and ears winked under the blue hue. âAre you going to talk the whole time or take what you need?â Nieema cupped her nape and kneaded her plump, dimpled hip. âNeedy, impatient, and overcome with desire. You are wearing my favorite perfume.â She yanked Jasper forward and stopped centimeters from her parted lips. Nieema growled. A whisper of contact was enough to make her ache and swell, yearn for Jasperâs supple flesh. âBe of care, sweet flame. Wish not for what you do not understand.â Her resistance was futile. Jasper jumped the line and kissed Nieema first, fighting for the dominance Succubi love so god damn much. Their fervent, hot-headed nature and mounting desire were a call to action. An intense pressure coiled in Nieemaâs belly and settled between soaked walls. Dark fragrant woods, blood orange, and cocoa provoked her thirst. Jasper straddled Nieema, teased and tested, wanting the underhand. She wouldnât find it here. To prove a point, Nieema bit Jasperâs bottom lip, drawing a razor-thin line of blood to the surface. The demoness winced and recoiled, fingers to the healing slit. âTake it easy, honey. You donât got no status here. I run this shit, understand?â âFor now,â Jasper snarled. Her warped, guttural response made Nieema shudder and groan. Hands clasped on either side of Jasperâs face, she went all in for a second time and consumed the daring devil. They were enraptured, undone, and pining for more of what the other wanted to give. Nieema demanded entrance and sought to plunder as Jasper surrendered. This moment was familiar, yet unlike the other Succubi Nieema had lain down. Their carnal connection claimed the very breath in her lungs and threatened obliteration if she didnât find release soon. On the dangerous precipice of bliss, Nieema severed their physical tether and nibbled her way down to the golden pulsating vein. Nieema kissed and nipped at her hot, cherry-red flesh. âDo it!â Jasper commanded, her demonic will shifting the pressure and oxygen level. Itâd have no way with Nieema; she was an old, craggy vampire with power of her own. âYou demand nothing of me,â Nieema whispered. âBut I will take all from you.â With growing hunger and marrow boiling, Nieema snapped Jasperâs head to the side and punctured her throat with fangs longer than a tea finger. Her willing donor scrambled for purchase, claws ripping Nieemaâs shirt to tatters. Scratching and moaning, Jasper gasped with them, body to body. Nieema held tight to Jasperâs sturdy feminine frame and purred as decadent blood squelched her hunger. Well-rounded and evenly spiced, Jasperâs blood was full. It surpassed melted chocolate, sugar cane syrup, and honey butter. It satisfied Nieemaâs massive sweet tooth. She was a delicacy. âYou feel so goood.â Nieema yolked her, still pulling from her healthy vein. âOh god, whatâwhat are you doing to me?â Jasper keened, claws digging into Nieemaâs back. She took the pain willingly and longed for her to go deeper, to pierce sinew. âTouch me,â Jasper begged, with the roll of her hips. âPlease, Nieemaaaa. Stroke me. Fuck me!â She pleaded like all the rest, and Nieema was happy to oblige. As she chuckled, sucking down what this woman was so intent on giving, she released her hip. Nieema slowed and sipped as she hooked a finger into Jasperâs waistband and pulled. Her nostrils flared, scenting her precious arousal. A thick, sweet musk made her grunt at the demonâs neck. âIâm so fucking close,â Jasper said, words running together, sticking to her tongue like honey. Nieema reveled in this and her blossoming arousal. It was thick enough to drink and swallow. Succubi desire stained the air and quickened oneâs libido. Nieema may have been aged like fine, fairy wine, but she wasnât immune to all succubi’s wiles. This proved fact was the second she shoved a hand between Jasperâs trembling thighs. Her pussy was bare, soaked, and plump. Ample lips pleased Nieema so much she moaned and swallowed another ounce of blood and breathed in her lucious scent. It caused Nieema to buck and find the demonessâs big, swollen clit. She slapped it twice before rolling it with two fingers. Wide open and streaming, Jasperâs waters flowed, dripping down the inside of her thighs. âNieema, please!â Without delay, Nieema traced her puffy, hot entrance and pushed inside. Two fingers deep, she sucked on Jasperâs neck as her own pussy clenched and stomach tensed. Her nipples hardened, and lungs worked overtime. âYesssss, right there, baby.â Jasper slumped, and Nieema took all her weight as she let the feel of this woman’s demonic pussy take her away. Succubi were tight and slick, with walls made for massaging. Jasper tightened, and Nieema pulled hard at her throat and undulated. They writhed against each other, breast to breast, panting. Nieema sank into Jasper and added a third finger. âFuck! Yes, shiiiiiit,â Jasper rasped, pumping her hips to meet Nieemaâs motion. As her desire replaced the oxygen, Nieema purred louder and locked onto her jugular. With fingers working the inside of Jasperâs gripping pussy, they moaned as one and rode an erotic, humid high. Nieema growled, feeling a hand on the outside of her pants. With a final, long gulp, she detached from Jasperâs throat and roared. âGet me off. Make me nut right on your hands, love.â Nieema mewled as Jasper quickly unbuttoned her pants and dove inside. The fingers on her clit, the ones in Jasperâs pussy, and the blood in her veins sent Nieema into a fit. She stroked between the succubiâs walls, the melody of her wet, sopping pussy delighted Nieemaâs senses and tipped the scales. She shouted curses as red exploded behind her eyes. Nieema collapsed onto a bed of pillows and undulated. While Jasper rode her fingers, she arched into a filthy fucking clit twirl and purred aloud. With the world on fire and her lungs stalled, Nieema came apart at the seams. She strained, hooking legs around the sexy demoness. âMy Undergods!â Jasper heaved, her face into a pillow. Fluttering and leaking around Nieemaâs fingers, she cursed yet again. âShit!â Nieema scrubbed her face with a blanket and chuckled. âYou sure know how to make a first impression, girl.â
Once again, I want to say thank you for reading my little story. Without y’all, I wouldn’t keep doing this. So just know, I am grateful for each and every one of you. I hope you are healthy, happy, and HYDRATED!If you have any questions about the characters, the story, Indigo Plains, or in general, please don’t hesitate to comment or email!
CW: Physical violence, talk of predators, grapists, PTSD, and
Two thousand square feet wasnât a lot of ground to cover when half was locked up. Jiggling the handle on the only external entry gate, Elliot âLowâ Collins was good with it. This house had a weird, zoo vibe with the pool and backyard safely tucked away in a bulletproof glass case. It was some overzealous shit, but it gave him peace of mind, as always. Traveling back the way he came, Low followed the well-laid brick path around to the front lawn and scanned. He ain’t seen nor heard a thing. As expected, rich folks never made noise after dark; they had no viable reason to be out and about. As Low crossed the driveway, he gave three garage door handles a tug. Like them jokers were finna move. The one downside? There was no gate and nothing to keep strangers off the property; any olâ body could run up. Maybe heâd finally talk Tracy into getting one. The man was cautious, to a fault. A two-man detail wasnât ’bouta cut it forever. Not with how business was lookinâ. Venturing around to the porch, he nodded at Hollister. âYou good, dog?â âYep.â âWant something to drink? Itâs hotter than hell out here.â He shrugged but ultimately hummed his acceptance. âA little something.â âI gotchu, hold up.â Low scrubbed boots and pushed into the house. Every last light was on. He wanted to sweep through the mini mansion and turn them all off. Didn’t make no damn sense, why you wanna run your bill up for no good reason. But again, rich folk. They ainât have to worry about bills. Tracy Bisset sure in the hell didn’t, and he lived like it too, not that this was his real home. Nah, if you wanted to talk technicals, this wasnât shit but a trap house. A packed one, though, and not like any Low ever seen. He sighed, cleared steps, and marched down the hall. The âTV roomâ was a dumb, smooth-brained invention. He scoffed at the frivolity. âCause god forbid a seventy-inch Samsung sat in the family room where it belonged. His boss had it that good up in this bitch. Low passed both sitting areas on his way into the kitchen, which held more clean chrome and stainless steel. Kohler appliances and long, glinting counters. âIâd never be so pretentious,â Low whispered, grabbing a 7-Up from the icebox. A brothaâs first mill was already spent, and he hadnât even made it yet. Low ran the can back out to Hollister, and the man gave thanks. Which was something he did often, having manners. Hollister was a down-home boy raised by good-hearted people. He was the type to wear boots and a Stetson with a three-piece suit. As Low closed the door, Tracy jogged downstairs in a huff, per usual. He was too rich to be stressing as he did. Something else that ain’t make a lick of sense. If Low had Mâs in the bank, heâd start the night smiling and singing. âWhatâs up, boss?â Low asked, following Tracy down the hall and into the family room. âTheyâre late, thatâs what. Whereâmy phoneâ gooood damn it.â âItâs in your pocket.â The frazzled male patted himself down, and Low threw a line. âLeft pocket.â âAh, thank you, Elliot. Always on ten. Wonderful.â âThatâs right.â Tracy must have been born with a scowl. The expression rarely changed, like somebody had shit in his oatmeal. He texted on a nasty, poisoned apple, plopped on the sofa, and snarled. âThey’re ten minutes out, Elliot.â âWhat do we got?â Boss manâs head snapped up. âOh, uhm, potential buy.â âGood, a quiet night then.â âYes⌠Iâm assuming.â Despite Tracyâs perpetual glower, he remained composed. A little disorganized, but calm, and self-righteous as hell. For a third time, rich folks⌠not all, but some, had an ingrained superiority complex. You garnish that fat bank account with a bit of grown male vampire, and you got a self-proclaimed king. âIs Hollister out front?â Tracy asked. âYeah. But I gotta ask, where do they come from anyway?” “UmâŚâ His eyes bounced from wall to wall. “I’m not sure on that. They just popped up at the office.” Low cocked a brow. “They popped, up?” âYes, is that a problem?” âI mean, nah.” Yeah, it was a problem. Low was bred not to trust a âpop upâ muh’fucka. In this business, however, hearsay ruled. He said, she said. Word of mouth made money, so it was hard to shake and move how he wanted. Low didn’t like leaving his paycheck wide open, and that’s what Tracy was. A payday, a good one. Solid and stable. If something happened to ol’ boy, he’d lose much-needed stacks. Okay, Low was buggin’. Just money, really bitch? “I would have liked to meet them first, Tracy. You know me.” Mr. Bisset sighed and focused on his phone. “I know, I knoooww. My apologies. They threw dollar signs at me. I heard a cash machine.” Greed for the green made people do crazy shit, and they were both here to make cream. Tracy was running rotten red meat, as in predatory humans for profit, and Low worked for him. They only snatched sex offenders, the ones that hurt kids and rapists. The worst of humanity and vampire kind deserved whatever hell they were given. It was illegal as fuck, but didnât nobody miss their trash. The cost of getting bread was high in the U S of A. This gig was more honest than his last, but shadier than most occupations. Low listed against the divider and slipped a hand between the flaps of his leather jacket. A loaded .45 offered an extra dose of peace. Formal living rooms seemed like a waste, cause they were made to look cute. Back in the day, folks called it a parlor or drawing room. He never understood it. This was just as ridiculous, two couches and throw pillows. Nothing else in the space. So the high walls swallowed them whole. Low preferred personality over style. Warm tones and single-story. All those damn stairs wore him out. It was a stark contrast to Tracyâs real joint in Miami. His lofty crib had class and old-world elegance. Mahogany, glossy floors, and aged brass. Low liked it more than this sterile, hardly lived-in box that smelled of paint and sawdust. Despicable. Dollars to cents, somebody else decorated the house. Ain’t no way Tracy did it. Homeboy wore suspenders and penny loafers. He fit in perfectly with the other spot. “Statues creep me out, Elliot, as you know. And you are in statue mode.” Low cut to Tracy as he slid his phone back home, in the left pocket. “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean. When you donât move and go stealth. Iâd forget you were there if I didn’t catch your scent.â “Sounds like I’m excelling at my job.” “You always do,â Tracy affirmed with a curt nod. âWhich is why you’ll be my private guard for quite some time.” Like fuck, Low thought. Working for someone else âtil his deff date was not the plan. Hell nah. He wanted his own business, to be his own boss. He’d had enough of this shit. ENOUGH! However, to get where he was going, bruh needed capital. And he wasn’t finna ask no bank either. Loans were a trap, a blatant lick for poors like him. “Have you thought about what I said?” Low asked, quickly changing the subject. “Yeah, but I don’t think I need three guards.â Tracy slouched into the cushions and sighed. âIâm not doing big things over here.” “To hell you ain’t. Think of it as a precaution. Better to have⌔ “Yada yada. Yeah, I know.” “Well.” Low shrugged just as Hollister entered with three trailing. Shoving off the wood, Low stopped them with a hand and jumped the steps. “Did you pat âem down?” “Yes, sir.” “My goodness, Elliot.” Low ignored Tracy’s lack of caution and checked each man in the face. One smiled and snorted. “We got no weapons so⌔ Sniffing their guests, Low clocked a bunch of shit, but no aggression. If their scents got buck, then it was on sight. “Go âhead.” Moving aside allowed the group to pass. All three were vampires; halfbreeds. Light work, plus one was short and stocky. “Hello.” Tracy extended a palm, and they shook on it like friendlies. “It’s nice to meet you. Please have a seat. Uh, Lester, right>” “Yeah, good memory. This is my brother, Miles, and our associate. Emerson.” Low stood with Hollister, blocking the exit. He didn’t like it. No aggression in the air meant nothing, truthfully. Snakes were always in the grass, and this, Lester, ‘popped up’ at the office. First of all, how did he know where to find Tracy? See, given the type of man Low was, he questioned any and everything in these streets. Cats like Mr. Bisset was game, goofy, and wouldn’t make it ten hours on the block. Differentiating a narc or an opp from a civilian wasnât a skill Tracy possessed, off tops. He’d never spot a shiesty scammer grinning in his face. Even more, Tracy wasnât about to keep his ears and eyes open. But luckily, Low had the game on lock, and Hollister was a military vet. Two seconds later, Tracy would have been brain-dead. Their Cowboy lunged for the twenty-eight, and Low collided with a vampire that barreled through the front door. He wielded a bayonet and slashed the air until burying cold iron in Lowâs shoulder. “Ahhhh!” That pissed him off. Receding into himself, Low shoveled deep and exhumed a fighter. A big bitch who used his fists as lethal weapons. Low pulled back, cracked the opp in his jaw with a right hook, and the bastard blacked out. Neck snapped, and eyes rolled. He shoulda have yelled timber with how the barbarian kissed tile. Low sprinted for the living room and was shocked. “God damn boy.” Hollister loomed over his work and steamed. “The hostiles been put down, sir.” “You bleeding, big dog.” Low pointed at the manâs thigh, He laughed, brows arched. “Hot damn, I am. But so are you.” Right, the knife. A familiar burn sliced through bone and sinew as Low ripped the blade free. “Beautiful. I’ma keep this for my trouble.” Tracy peeked from behind the couch and studied the display. “Three bodyguards would be efficient.” “Oh, now you want three, huh?” “It wouldn’t hurt.â He chuckled and swallowed. âI don’t see why not.” Low scoffed, “Come on, Tracy. Let’s get you home. This was a bust.” “Obviously,â their boss mumbled begrudgingly, rising to his feet. âAnd, Iâm offended. What do you think they wanted?” “Money, sir.” Low aimed the sharp steel down at Hollister, who slapped cuffs on the assailants. “Exactly. This was a quick hit.” “A what?” “They were going to rob you, Tracy.” The manâs lids peeled. “As in my money?” “Yeah.” Tracy mounted his hands on his hips and said, “I don’t keep cash here.” “They donât know that.” The rebuttal confused his boss, and Low couldn’t deny how dumb this man was. Not academically, of course, being an intellectual or whatever. Tracy graduated top of his class in 2000 with a modest MBA. It took him places in this generation, but he had soooo much to learn about the world. Damn shame he was pushing three-hundred. It was also crazy to think they were around the same age. Low wasn’t far behind at⌠maybe two-seventy-five? Two-sixty? Two-fifty-five? He lost count some years ago. It didn’t matter no way. “Assholes, trying to rob me. Shows you right.” Tracy kicked the slumped soldier and damn near fell. Pathetic sight for a vampire. “Get your stuff, Tracy. I need a patch-up. And don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of it.” “Are you certain, Elliot?” “Yeah, I got it.” “Yes. As always. Good man, good man.” In passing, Tracy slapped his shoulder, making Low growl. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” “Itâs all good. I’ve had worse.” “My god, are you serious?” âYeah, I’ll tell you all about it in the car, goâ” “My stuff, I know.” He sprinted off while Hollister bound his ankles with a ripcord. “Where you be keeping all that shit?” “Under my hat, sir.” âMakes sense.â Low snickered and said, âAight, so you stay here and Imma take him home. I’ll be back to assist with clean-up. Don’t go nowhere, and I mean, don’t even open the door.” Hollister stood and gave a tight nod. “Yes, sir.” “It’s been like six months, you ever gonna stop calling me sir?” “No, sir. Youâre my superior. It’s in my blood. I was in the military for forty years, sir.” “Forty years? Wow. I did not know that. It wasn’t on your resume.” Hollister’s eyes fell to the sleepers. “You put stuff like that in there, and folks think you done lost your wits. I got my PTSD under control.” His gaze lifted, and lips thinned. “Don’t you worry, sir.” “Don’t trip, boy, we all got PTSD from something. We both been in the trenches. Mines was just on home soil.”
I didnât think much was gonna come from this yearâs growth. Not with them skunks and demonic hoppers fucking with my garden. I assumed the worst, but thank the River Gods I was wrong. Digging up another perfect hillberry, my heart swelled. Folks loved Biloâs berry pies, and that Hill Time special was one of our best sellers. After loading another basket, I scooted on over and surveyed my beans. They were perfect for picking. I snatched them too. Itâd be another week or so for squash, but them peppers were ready. With gloved hands, I gently twisted, plucked, and pulled. Halfway through harvesting my yams, a howl echoed into the night. It came from the woods, beyond the clearing. On a slow rise, I watched the treeline sway in the early autumn breeze. A second desperate wail startled me into motion. Not giving it much thought, I vaulted over the fence and ran for it. The wounded beast was in need of assistance. Something in my gut said go, so I went. Wasnât no time to backtrack the moment I crossed that line. The Wallow Wood wasnât for the faint of heart. A lot of foul shit went on out here. Hell, I was a somebody once who quite possibly dumped other somebodies in a marsh few miles west. Mere feet from the commotion, I lifted my nose and scented dogs. Hellhounds. Two males. One Female. The thought urged me forward. I cleared stumps and booked it. I wasnât no younginâ but a motha fucka still moved. Spotting the group, I waved a glowing hand and tossed one of two hounds across the woods. The other got buck, released the femaleâs hind leg, and growled. Most hellhounds were male, which made females rare in these parts. Nine outta ten, theyâd attack a lone female from any species. They were tussling over this one and her pups, hiding in their pouch. I smelled them too. As I rolled up my sleeves, the giant canine with its barbed tail, flaming eyes, and venomous bite charged. Palms high, I blasted the beast with red, crackling energy. Both strikes stopped the dark devil dead and sent them flying into the nearest tree. They sizzled and smoked on the way down, which meant the bastard wasnât getting up. Hellhounds werenât like domestics. They hated anything with a pulse and only answered to demons. Even field wolves and lycans feared them. The female was a Drear Fox. Large, with a thick onyx coat, massive paws the size of my head, and gold stripes. She was a special sort and sturdy. Built to rumble and kill. âWhat you doinâ all the way out here, girl?â I inched closer and crouched. Bleeding profusely, she was on guard. Head down, Mama was prepared to fight yet again. My respect for the shifter mounted. âYou got heart, I give you that.â She snapped and snarled, hackles raised. I surrendered, palms high. It was dark, but she had perfect night vision. âI ainât gonâ hurt yâall. As you can see, I got rid of your problem.â The moment I extended a hand, she nearly took it. Molten gold eyes trained on me, she retreated. âIf you need help, Iâm right across the way in that red house. Free room, hot water, and food.â A master in her element, sheâd become a shadow and blended well.. When able, I backtracked and took my ass back home. Five paces and I smiled, facing The Wallows. There she was, couple steps behind but wary. âSmart, you got them babies to think about.â Lowering her head, the fox growled. âI know when to take a hint.â With Mama on my tail, I made way towards the house and left the gate open. I didnât pay her mind but made it clear I wanted to help. After filling two bowls, one with water and the other with leftover beef pot roast, I set it on the back porch and closed the door.
Frankie
My hind leg screamed over my babies whimpering. They were scared and hungry as I was. Weâd been traveling since dawn and running on fumes. Stopping wasnât an option til we reached Saint Nell. We were close, I knew that much. If not for the hellhounds, I wouldâve made it. They scented me quick and wanted my hide. The babes wiggled in their pouch, making me slump. Eloise was the first to slip free, my curious girl. She bounded for the bowl of meat and attacked it. I lagged and felt bad for not sniffing the helpings first. The man mighta poisoned it, I didnât know. Perhaps heâd like himself a new fur. I gruffed and nudged Eloise with my snout. She growled and snapped at my nose. I forced her back and examined the helpings. Fatty beef, butter, herbs, and wine. It smelled delicious and arsenic-free. When satisfied, I allowed Ellie to eat her fill and sat on my haunches, avoiding the bad leg. With little miss chomping, Earnest watched and waited. He was more cautious and observant. After Eloise yapped at him, Earnest crawled from the pouch. As my babes filled their tiny bellies, I remained on lookout. The pain had spoiled my appetite and need for nourishment. Though if I didnât eat soon, my children wouldnât have much milk to calm them. At nine months, they were still on the breast and fed three times a day, but my supply was dwindling. We were down to an ounce a day and that wasnât good for their shifter needs. Hunger, thirst, and agony caused me to pant. Though apprehensive, I joined my children anyway. That first drink of fresh water was heaven-sent. Without the rains, weâd have died due to dehydration. Every beast and shifter knew marsh water was toxic, unsafe. Rot and waste had become a sediment. Bodies were dropped and left to decompose. The stench was unbearable and indescribable. The bit of beef left was marbled with fat and iron. I savored each nibble and instantly wanted more. My kids had polished off most of it, which was fine, but I was ravenous for another helping. The last thing I wanted to do was scratch and paw at this unknown magic manâs door. He was a stranger, and I didnât trust anyone at the moment, but he had come to our aid. He killed them hounds without hesitation and offered us shelter. I snuffled and limped on over to the door. My babies nipped at each other and pranced in the garden, Ellie stomping all on the cabbage. Before they made a mess, I snarled and yapped, calling them over. They hustled into their pouch. The added weight put pressure on my wound. The stabbing sensation damn near toppled me as I scratched at the back door. At this point, I didnât give a shit if he was a stranger. We needed help and somewhere warm to rest for the night. Weary to the bone, I had no fight left and was prepared to beg. Using both paws, I raked at the paint and howled like any fox shifter. Shrill and loud, it got his attention. The door swung open and I dropped my front paws, stepping back to assess. Smokestack Lightening and sweet tobacco escaped into the night as he stood, filling the doorway. He was a giant, but I couldnât find him intimidating, even as he peered down at me. Amusement glinted in his topaz stare. âToo smart,â he drawled. âGet on in here.â When he side-stepped, I crept forward, sniffing for danger. Rich spices, floral notes, and lush plant life delighted my senses. The oxygen within his home was clean, free of city stink. No groundwater or rat piss around here. Not only did it smell nice, but the furnishings were fine. Dolled up and expensive. Theyâd put money into this house. Wood paneling and fluffy rugs said so. I wanted to bathe before touching anything else. My paws were filthy, claws caked with dirt and blood. No doubt my coat was matted. Them fleas picked at my twitching ears something awful. âI suppose you ainât got no clothes or a toothbrush?â In this form, I hadnât the ability to speak but gruffed anyhow. âItâs okay, we have extras.â The magic man went about his business, and I followed, of course. Like a lost puppy dog. My leg protested with each and every step. With his home being so spacious, it took too long to reach the spare room. âHere you go.â Mister listed against the jamb and pulled from a slim cigar. On a rough exhale, he said, âGo ahead, I wonât bother you. Thereâs a lock on the door, by the way. Give you peace of mind. There might be a gown or two in that dresser. Toiletries and such are in the bathroom. If you want me to patch up that leg, Iâll be close by.â He didnât linger and shut the door. Ellie was the first to pop out and go sniffing about. She was adorable with a glossy red coat, white stripes, and ears dipped in ink. She was older by two minutes, which was why Earnest always let her lead. As I lay on my good side, Ellie babbled in baby Drear fox fashion and forced her brother out. He peeked before waddling free. They were joyful balls of excitement in a safe space. Children were resilient, bouncing and roughhousing like the world wasnât crumbling around them. If not for my leg and their dirty coats, Iâd never shift down. No matter how helpful he was, I was terrified heâd hurt us. My fox form was larger, stronger than my fragile human body. My other half was easily bested, scarred, and misused. Itâd take nothing for a mammoth like him to knock me out. Despite my worries, this leg wasnât gonâ heal itself. Unlike most supernaturals, shifters didnât have magical healing abilities. On a sawing breath, I forced myself to stand on all fours. The pain had me seeing stars and spots. My babies ran circles around me as I focused on blooming. Shifting was different for everyone. I thought of it as a night blooming jasmine awakening from its sunny slumber. A icy chill flushed through my veins as I stammered on two feet. I caught myself before falling face-first. âYeah,â I rasped, working vocal cords for the first time in five days. âThis hurts a lot worse now.â The kids tussled and yipped, playing on a clean rug. âYâall are making a mess.â Mud and bugs speckled the spotless fibers. âGet over here.â I snapped my fingers, and they bounded behind me. âHeâs being nice enough to let us stay the night. Weâre leaving at sunrise.â Wobbling a few feet to the washroom turned into a ten-mile hike with my throbbing leg. âThank the gods.â The tub was deep, claw-footed, and matched the sea foam theme. âYou two first. Letâs go.â Ellie barked, catching an attitude. âBaby, Mommy canât chase you tonight. Please be good.â Her ears flattened in defiance. âEarnest?â He pawed at my shin and hopped. âMy water baby.â With the leg going numb, I rushed through our baths. Bubbles did it for Ellie. She wanted to play and swim with Earnest as the mound of white fluff grew. By the time I finished scrubbing the babies, I was too tired to wash my ass. The thought of it made me cuss, but itâd have been rude not to. Plus, I couldnât get in bed smelling like outside and must. While the twins settled on the bed, I turned on the small clock radio. They loved jazz, and it often lulled them to sleep. âMy turn,â I whispered, pulling a pink gown from the drawer. It was too small and thinner than a dinner napkin. âYou donât have any other choice, Frankie.â Shaking my head, I hobbled into the bathroom and vowed not to fall asleep in the tub.
This historical paranormal romance takes place in the fictional city of Saint Nell, Illinois, from 1958 to 1963. The setting is about two hours South of Chicago and where most supernatural call home. Vampires, witches, and shifters live among humans, and not in secret. Their existence is well known and normal. The Beasts of Saint Nell, is a story rooted in trust, justice, true love, and perhaps, redemption. Come along with me as we explore these themes through the eyes of a reformed vampire gangster, a powerful shifter, and a hardy warlock.
âOkay, but caffeine is a controlled substance at this point, teetering on the edge. Let’s be for real. It should be just as, if not harder to get, âcause itâs strong as hell, I ainât lying now, and you know this chile.â Max stared at the sketch sheâd been working on for two days and hated it. She hated a lot of her work. It was never bright enough, perfect enough, or even slightly artistic. At least, in her humble opinion. âI love it when you talk like a grandma.â Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Canât Stop by After 7 blasting. âThatâs âcause I am, a grandma, Ndari.â âNo the hell you are not.â She chuckled and said, âYouâd have to be a grandmother for that. And you donât even have kids.â âAnnnnd I never will,â Max sang, meaning every word. Kids were a scary, sticky fingered bunch, plus the idea of growing another body inside of her own was revolting. She shivered, blew a huge Bubblicious sphere, popped it, and examined the girlâs face etched on white parchment. âShe looks like Gary Busey.â âYou always think they look like Gary Busey.â ââCause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!â Spinning the heavy book around on the glass counter, she shoved it at Ndari. The girl stopped with her broom work and glanced at the buxom mermaid. âNothing like him.â âLyinâ ass,â Max muttered. Ndari giggled and returned to sweeping the two- hundred-square-foot waiting area. A high-gloss black floor meant everything was visible, and Ndari never missed a speck. Little miss was a bona fide neat freak. She peeped allllll dust, dirt, and debris. The girl swept about twenty times a night, and the entire shop smelled like Lysol. Which, was actually a good thing considering their specialty. Snagging her three-hundred-page drawing book, Max got back to business and shaded in her tail. The fins were adorned with bolts and wires. She loved mermaids, sirens, and the ocean. The mermaid thing was borderline obsessive. âI have no appointments!â âAnd here he goesâŚâ Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional. âAnd whose fault is that?â Ndari barked. His enormous frame filled a five-seater without issue. The six-foot-eight, two hundred and ninety-pound mountains Doc Martens stretched well past the arm. âShut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,â Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow. âSeeing as itâs June 3rd,â Max said, âyou are âbouta be crying in two weeks. âCause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, donât come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, âcause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how youâre tired and overworked.â The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. âWhy do you have to drag me like that, honey?â ââCause I love you,â Max chimed. Jordan blushed and waved a hand. âAnd I love you, boss lady.â âMove!â Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom. âYou know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.â They both giggled while Jordan lifted his feet. Big mister had a voice like Barry White, a beard he kept braided Thor style, and perfectly tailored. Folks often assumed he was in a biker gang or a motorcycle club, whatever they was calling it these days. âCan we play something newer?â Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. âLike, Nsync.â âNsync?!â Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. âYou know better Ndari, this ainât an Nsync safe zone. Itâs New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ainât news. You showing your age, now.â Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. âI am only forty-nine.â âGirl, we got cougars up in here.â Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. âHoney, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.â âShhhh, donât.â Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. âIf any of you drop even a crumb my floor, youâll have to see me in a duel.â Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girlâs feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. Sheâd taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ainât never been in a fight. Standing behind the counter, Max booted the POS and clicked until finding their ordering database. She checked what was low and restocked, two of everything. âIncoming!â Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. âIâm ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.â âYes, you do.â Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. âDamn.â Ndari dropped the broom and ran behind the counter. She tended to her job, as a receptionist. Max slid in and leaned beside the woman who readied her tits and fluffed a cute pixie cut. It shooolll was a setup. Heavy spice and blood wafted at the exact moment two fine men entered her tattoo shop. Ohhhh, yeah, those two would turn a girl out and into something nasty. âHay, you takinâ walk-ins?â The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent. Ndari nodded. âIndeed, you lucked out. We donât close âtil four.â The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit⌠âshitâ being the main word there. âCool, âcause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-â Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. âWe donât say that name around here.â She smiled, showed and teeth âcause them was vampires staring at her. âOh, my fault.â That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. Theyâd booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. âAnyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.â âI should turn you away for that, Paulie.â Max tsked playfully as the big olâ hunk of muscle smirked. Those baby blues sparkled as she swung attention to his buddy. A spicy red he was. Taller too, six-five, maybe six. Wide, thick, and tatttted. She clocked a couple of clovers weaved into ornate markings on his forearms. He was obviously Irish. As if his brazen, long mane wasnât enough evidence. Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. âAlright, alright. I donât know what I want. Fuck outta heâ.â Jesus, he was a bold clichĂŠ. âSo, what do you two have in mind?â Ndari asked, in her âtryna fuckâ voice. âWe have plenty of options.â âI donât know.â The Italian Job shrugged and went on. âI never even had a tattoo before. Iâm old school, body is a temple, and all that. You know. I was raised Catholic. My Gma is gonna have a stroke if she finds out.â Big Red turned and pinned eyes on Max. She wiggled a little. He was fine. Like, handsome in the extreme. A full-grown ass male like that was not going to bark up her tree. Then he spoke. âIâm hoping to pop his ink cherry.â Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty. Max laughed and slapped the counter. ââNough said, come here, church boy.â She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soapâŚmale vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey. âOkay, so youâre Catholic and Italian.â âHowâd you know, Iââ âLucky guess, itâs your sense of humor.â He grinned and tapped his buddyâs chest. âLook at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, donât she?â âI am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.â âAye, Frankie is my cousin, Iâm Ines.â Her brows popped. âWow, not what I assumed at all.â âYeah,â Ndari hummed, considering Ines. âThought you more of a⌠Giraldo, maybe.â âThatâs terrible, Iâd slit my own jugular.â Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. âIâm ready when⌠ever. HiâŚâ He waved at Ines and⌠âWhat about you? Whatâs your handle?â Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx. âJaxon.â âOhhhh, kaaaayyy.â Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. âThatâs rustic and rugged.â âI think itâs classy, my mom has good taste.â âShe does.â Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid. âOkay, back to you, Ines.â Max pushed at her cock blocker⌠that was funny. No way in hell. âYouâre Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, Iâd say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.â âYeah, yeah, exactly.â Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, âChaoi bellaâ in cursive, were etched under it. âDai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.â Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again. âYou know Italian?â âI do.â âIl tuo un breve asno intelligente.â âYou are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.â Max shrugged and sighed. âThanks for noticing.â Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled. âI like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and itâs not so big.â âPerfect,â Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. âHave you fed within eight hours?â âNo.â âOkay, great.â âAlllrighty.â Jordan had to say something. âWhen you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.â The male spun on his heels, happy as hell. And so was Max, this guy was their third customer of the night. Summer was a pain in the ass. They had roughly five hours to work with, and humans werenât allowedâŚsort of, so they were short on time. Max watched them exchange money for services, and hot damn. They were a duo made for GQ or Vogue. Ines had a rough quality, handsome and dark, tanned. His other half was pretty, runway-ready, and fuckinâ seductive. Being escorted, neither took a second look, and yeah⌠story of her life. Males like that never gave Max the time of day. Ndari shuffled back in her Crocs and met Max face to face. âI am sweating⌠everywhere.â âShhhhh.â Max grabbed the girlâs hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. âI cannnot,â She blurted. âHoney, Iâtwo?â As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. âTwo purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.â âOkay, but that ginger boy?â âMakes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.â Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. âI know you fukinâ lyinâ. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, âaight. And I stay in it.â Her best friend knew nothing about living as a six, seven on a good night. Ndari was fabulous, a classic beauty queen from Indonesia. Lithe and athletic. By no means did Max hate herself, but she preferred to call a spade, a spade. âNot this again,â Ndari mumbled. âYouâre always so humble⌠and self-deprecating.â âI am not self-deprecating.â Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. âIâm a realist, I ainât âbouta set myself up for humiliation.â She wasnât no dummy and wouldnât play the town fool either. âTuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?â âYeesss.â Ndari slouched in her chair. âMr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.â âMust be nice. Weed makes me nervous.â Hitting the pen one moâ gain, Max nodded. âGive me a bottle of brandy, and Iâm straight.â âOld ass. You sound like my aunt.â âI am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.â Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasnât delusional about her geriatric status.
Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know itâs late, but I didnât give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let yâall know that this almost didnât happen. I almost made a post stating how I was too sick to edit it. But you know what? I pushed through this flu I got. Itâs bad yâall. About six days of hellll on earth, you hear me? Anyway, I said fuck it. No excuses. So I got my lap desk and did what needed to be done. I figured Iâd have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldnât even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR YâALL. I set a date and I wanted to stick to that. I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do it, no matter what. Iâm proud of myself and Iâm excited that yâall get meet the Chaotic Trio, as I have called them for a few years. With that said, happy reading, and as always, thank you so very much for stopping by!
Mead, bards, and a lovely maiden by the name of Junis. This moment mimicked theirs. It was strange to witness, and Nieema sat in awe. Four hundred years prior, sheâd met a mischievous dark fairy boy in a tavern much like Mioâs. They had talked for hours about nothing, and everything then shared a bed with Junis, of course. Nieema hadnât believed in love at first sight. Sheâd never been one to dream of white dresses and children. It wasnât for herâŚuntil he laughed at a silly joke. The beautiful dishwasher with his black pine hair and sun-soaked sepia skin warmed her from the inside. But Nieema was off to war. Sheâd come in, broody and anxious, set to drown her sorrows in honey wine. He, changed her plans with a single quip. Though itâd be some years, centuries before sheâd see him again, Nieema knew then sheâd marry a humble dishwasher. Buck had left Jasper stunned as well. His quick tongue and devilish smile had yanked her right on up. Nieema was sure she shared the same slack-jawed expression after Buck had kissed her that first night. Jasper was cooked, done for, and she didnât even know it. âYou, punched Trevor Voaremont?â âYeah.â âI donât approve,â Nieema added as the fries arrived. âThank you, baby. Holâ on, Irene. Can you get Auntie a glass of ice? You know, the chunky kind.â âYou and that damn IâŚâ Irene rolled eyes and went to handle another table before fetching that ice. Nieema pinched a fry and dipped it in the cheese, then the ranch. âNasty,â Jasper muttered. âPick one.â âBefore you knock it, why donât you try it.â âNo thank you,â Jasper snipped. She grabbed a few fries and ate them dry like a god damn heathen. âSalt and pepper is all I need.â âClassless.â âBuckley Sunside, I told youââ âYou said not to cause a mess, I didnât. But I had to do something, Nimmy. Shit. He was two seconds from walking up on yâall.â Jasper coughed until her face purpled. Nieema shoved a glass of water at the woman. âDrink it and calm down, dear.â The succubus did as Nieema asked and ate a couple more fries. The unsavory situation was âbout to ruin Nieemaâs appetite yet again. She nibbled, and with each deliberate chew, she ruminated. Stewing, really. This motha fucka would catch his death creeping about Indigo Plains like the slithering piece of shit he was. âSo, thatâs when you punched him?â Buck gave a curt nod and sipped his brew. Nieema thought Jasper might swoon on the spot with how she smiled. âWow. He is watching me then.â âI told you he was. Buuuut, itâs like I said, youâre safe. I wonât let him come near you.â Jasper sprinkled too much salt on the second batch of fries and cleared her throat. âI wish I wasnât so scared of this asshole. Heâs a feeble human with twenty-twenty-five good years left. Some demons might call me a coward and snatch my rank.â Nieema recoiled and scoffed. âRank?â âAs inâŚâ Buck was surprised as Nieema. âYou was in the military?â âNo. I escaped before my boots hit the ground. No way in Undervell or any other hell would I be forced to fight in a war that started before I was even born. My father makes certain his children serve the Undervell cause. From birth, we are taught to fight, to defend our house. âKit, is an ass kisser. Heâs older than me and wouldnât dare defy Carriont. Me? Shiiiit. I ran. Fuck no. Not me. Iâll make my own way.â Buck chuckled and dipped his fries in the cheese while Nieema crunched on ice. She worked on two mouthfuls and observed. âSo, you know how to box?â Nieema asked. âI can do more than that, but I refuse. It means leaning into my father’s teachings. Being who he wanted me to be. I avoid confrontation at all costs. Someone will die fucking with me, and I’d rather not take a life. Itâs bad business.â âIndeed,â Nieema replied. As an ex-general, she understood. After serving the rebellion for many moons, Nieema never wanted her kids or grandchildren anywhere near the battle line. War was brutal and changed people. The damage was irreparable. Though sheâd left the trenches well over fifty years ago, nightmares still slipped through the cracks, threatening to do her in. Jasper evaded eye contact because she was a proud woman. Nieema respected it and her aversion to pity. Buck’s declaration touched her somewhere beneath skin and bone. As an old vampire, Nieema possessed the innate ability to read people. From the hop of their pulse, to the rapid beating heart, and overworked lungs. Jasper was a well of knowledge as she swallowed and blinked, feigning nonchalance and swagger. “Not too many have come to my defense without wanting something in return. My older sister and Kit aside, no one has cared enough. This isn’t an opening to talk about feelings and shit, but thank you. Iâve seen the worst of things living in Undervell. Iâm not spooked easily, but Trevor and this last year⌔ Jasper chuckled and stuffed fries between her curved fangs. “I donât find this amusing,” Nieema intoned. “Why make light of it?” “You had to have live through it to understand.” Silence stretched until Irene slammed a glass on the table. Nieema beamed up at her niece. “Thank you, baby, canâ” “Auntie, I got ten tables. This is not your house.” “I am your queen,” Irene laughed and flapped a hand. “Your food’s coming out soon. I donât got time.” “Go’on, baby. But fix your damn face. Always frowning.” The little girl snickered and winked at Jasper. Nieema snapped fingers and grunted. “Unuh, not over here.” She departed with a swirl and deliberate step. “What about your parents?” Buck asked, choosing the wrong subject. Nieema did not want to talk about that shit. “Where are they? You mentioned kingdoms and whatnot. Where’s your mother?” “He’s very nosy,” Jasper looked to Nieema and cocked a brow. “This ainât nothing.” âMy mother? I donât know where she is. Somewhere in the five kingdoms. I have no idea. She didnât bond well with my father and wanted nothing to do with me because of it.” Nieema sucked teeth and glared at her husband. Why did he have to go there? He never knew when to shut right the fuck up. And now, he glowered at a basket of fries. No doubt the parallels in their story made an impact. Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sighed. Her old manâs craggy wound throbbed within her own chest. She rubbed the ache, and he patted her thigh. “Itâs okay, beloved. Iâm good.” “Bullshit,” Jasper spat. “You fell into an ocean of sorrow just now. Your empathy almost strangled me. Whatânever mind. Itâs not my business.” Nieema didnât approve of her attitude. Jasper closed up shop and threw them mental bolts. Her false aloofness and fight would do little in this situation. It was futile. Something in the blood and body. Simmering in her soul beckoned them. Not just Nieema or Buck, but both. As one. They felt its caress. The familiar magnetism and pull piqued more than curiosity. This was worth patience. Nieema would wait for the demon. In the end, Jasper would be a woman possessed, writhing and pleading like the rest. “So, what? Is this an open marriage or⌔ “Thatâs more like it,” Buck said, smiling like a damn fool. “Yes, open and seeking a third.” “For what?” Jasper asked, going in for more fries. “Fun, pleasure, a good time, one night?” Nieema attacked her second glass of ice and let Buck hold the floor because if she spoke. “Whatever is necessary in the moment. We take all with open arms and legs. Weâre happily married and mated, but we ainât monogamous. Never have been. It was clear from the moment we met.” “Why arenât you satisfied with each other?” “Ha!” Nieema slammed her glass and crunched before speaking. “Listen here, deary. It’s not about satisfaction or happiness, though. Itâs about living and leaning into our sexuality. We love and welcome any and all genders. I love exploring new bodies, new blood, and giving pleasure to those seeking it. âMake no mistake, I love my husband with every fiber of my being, but we have desires as individuals. I love women too damn much, and he is an unapologetic tea bagger. If this man donât suck dick in the next three months, he’ll get tetchy.” “Silicone is coo’ and everything, ya know? But I like how my hands look choking a chubby six-incher with ridges. Slap it on my tongue, play with it.” Buck swigged his beer, burped, and said, “Plus, I like to swalâ” “Okay!” Jasper waved hands and snatched her water as their plates arrived. “Thank god. Holy shit.” “Coming in hot,” Irene said, delivering their meal. “Extra spicy twenty-piece for my best freeen.” She winked at Jasper again. “Thank you so much, this looks and smells divine.” The saucy succubus lingered on the last bit and matched Ireneâs flirtatious smile. “Unc, here’s your short ribs. And here, Auntie, I want fifty percent gratuity.” “You lost ya damn mind, chile.” “Fifty!” “Can you get Uncle a little extra cheese? Thank you sweet pea. Imma double that tip.” Irene rolled her eyes before departing like an angry, bored teenager. “Awww, Auntie love herrrr.” Nieema nodded and watched her grown niece tend to patrons with glee. “She so sweet. Irene is the youngest. So she spoiled, you know. My brother canât tell her no. He didn’t even want her to work. Lil. Princess.” “The way you soften when gushing about your family is adorable.” Nieema dropped her smile and picked up her fork. “Family means everything to me. Everything I do is for them.” âI can see that.â Jasper went for her wings, and Nieema dragged a crusty wedge of sourdough through braised marrow. It was gelatinous, grainy, and fabulous. If not the patties, then marrow was her go-to. When Buckâs short ribs arrived, they cut the long chatter and focused on their meal. Per usual, Milo put his whole god damn foot up in the bone marrow and seasoned the hell out of his famous fried cabbage. Fat back bacon and hot sauce elevated every bite. Nieema didnât need solids, starch or carbs, but she wasnât about to turn them down. Why should she deny herself this moment of bliss? Granted, she couldnât eat a lot, but she ate enough. Fat and sugar in the blood gave her ample hips, luscious thighs, and a belly Buck loved more than her tiddies. âI tell you what,â Buck said, rubbing his bulging stomach. âI canât touch nothing else. Them tea cakes will have to wait until tomorrow. Sarah dropped them off. Said they were for Fridayâs tea party, but I was gonna sample some, naturally.â âI figured you were joking about that,â Jasper said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. âTea parties? What, do you plan them or something?â âYes I do, and what of it?â Buck tweaked a brow, and Nieema smirked, loving his prideful side. âEverybody got a hobby, mine is gardening and tea.â Jasper erupted in tinkling laughter. It was bright and melodic. Nieema enjoyed her elated display far too much. âYou two,â the demoness gestured between them with a fork, âyouâre walking contradictions.â âSays who?â âYouâre a cowboy, Buck. Letâs not forget your loud, sexy car and the way you carry yourself. Whatever masculinity is, you possess it. Since when has tea brewing and tea cakes ever been considered masculine?â Nieema canted her head and hummed. âYou must unlearn whatever teachings go on down in Undervell, dear. Brewing and making tea are not gender-specific, and I find it odd to attach male or female, feminine or masculine to such things. It is rather close-minded and toxic. âBuck is a person, not male or female, a person who enjoys tea parties. Where we are from, everyone takes tea rather seriously. They consider him a brew master of sorts. Everyone looks forward to his parties. They are invite-only and the reservation list is long. Some folks been waiting years to attend.â The woman contemplated, eyes fixed upon her cake. She chewed and nodded, drinking her fizzy pop. âYouâre right,â Jasper muttered. âYou are absolutely right. Buck, I apologize. We arenât so tight in the ass about sexuality, obviously, but gender roles arenât up for debate. You can be whoever you want to be, as long as it is male, female, or interbred. You must fall into one of those categories. Each gender serves a purpose in Undervell. Three boxes, no room for discussion.â âShiiiiid, donât tell the Lurma peoples that. Them folks who live up there on Keyhold? They have ten genders and no roles to be had.â âIâd like to meet them,â Jasper said, cutting into that monstrous four-layer cake. Nieema had never finished a slice and probably never would. âCan I?â Nieema grimaced and tipped her glass of ice. âDonât think so. The only person who speaks to Lurma is Old Man Joyner. He barters with them.â âMmm. The hermit?â âYup.â Buck groaned aloud and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through plastic. âDonât know about yall, but Iâm ready to kick back. I got a long day tomorrow at the store. Bright and early. Huh, my treat.â Jasper hacked into her second piece and eyed the man. âWho said Iâd offer to pay anyway?â âYou funny now, Jasper. Keep it up.â Nieema cackled, slapped her husbandâs shoulder, and kissed him flat on the mouth. He was a man of his word, and they had that in common. Much like Nieema, Buck preferred his way or none. They butted heads, but he was easily subdued. The dark fae stood no chance against her wily ass, and Jasper didnât either. It was only a matter of time before the succubus pleaded for mercy. Until then, patience was key.