Neon Red: Chapter 23

Never enough. Those words haunted Max well into the day. The implication was dangerous. She’d never be satisfied, and the lord or universe only knew why. Twice now she’d gotten a piece and walked the thin line of becoming a fiend. This was both erroneous and delightful. An inebriation that left her woozy, comatose, and sore. But shit, she was on her knees, face down and praying to whomever listened.
Begging for another release, one after the other crashing like waves. She surrendered and got beat the fuck daahhhn yet again. Low always gave his best, but he was gentle with her;she adored it.
“Oh hell,” she whispered in the dark, finally opening her eyes. The clock read 12 pm, so it wasn’t even close to rise and shine. Her bladder started evacuation protocols and veins screamed for blood. She hadn’t fed in hours and a slow tummy tumble had begun. Peeking over her shoulder, Max smiled. Mouths wide, snoring and drooling, the men were conked. Heathens these two. They fucked like stallions and gave Max a run for her money.
Slow and deliberate, she scooted off of the platform bed and swiped a shirt. She skulked around the CalKing and turned into a massive bathroom. Long, gallery style counters and vanities. Waterfall showers made for two and a sunken tub she ran fingers across straddled the toilet.
Max dropped on the rim and slouched. Nothing like a satisfying potty break hours after sex.
Faucets were automatic, of course, as were the lights and the mirror. There was a TV in it, kinda frivolous in her opinion.
Running warm water into her palms, Max wiggled her toes on the fluffy mat. She observed what Low had. Everywhere they looked, there was something weird in an odd place. For instance, on the counter, frogs with bulging cocked eyes stared at her. Blue bulbous frogs holding a bath sign. The shit didn’t blend well at all. Nor did the box of pot-pourri on the back of the toilet, or the seashell wreath above it.
The decorative amphibians gave Pottery Barn, and it was something Jaya would like.
After drying, Max stepped lightly through the master and slipped out unnoticed. She forgot all about the elevator and tip-toed downstairs in a huff. But the smooth wood felt nice on her bare soles.
How much did a place like this run? An immaculate penthouse with expensive fixtures and an island serving eight. Maybe ten mill, starting.
Max winced at the fridge light. Shit was bright as she grabbed a canister. She rejoiced when darkness returned. Well, relatively. Vampires were never in the dark, unless they were born with poor eyesight. Which often happened with halfbreeds. Low couldn’t see in the dark, and was nearsighted.
Max started her search for a mug when the overhead counter lights illuminated surfaces. “What th—”
“I did it.”
She jumped, hearing a harsh grumble. “Jeeze, say something next time, Red.”
“Thought I had.” His rough, raspy reply matched a mess of hair and sleepy eyes. “What are you doing?”
She showcased the blood. He nodded, shuffled, and reached high like a tall person without a step stool. The alpha handed her a polka dot cup that said, ‘Wakey! Wakey! Eggs & Bakey’.
“Thank you.” Max accepted the mug and smiled. “Uhm, do you always walk around the house naked?”
“Hell yeah, who don’t?”
“I don’t b—”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t live alone,” he said, snatching the jar. Red flipped the cap, then poured.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
With heavy, lethargic movements, he shoved her drink in the microwave that was below, not above. Max hated that. Bending down every time she needed to nuke something. What a stupid inconvenience.
“Did you start working with my dad because of me? To you know, be all up under me?”
He loomed and laughed while a big hand smoothed over her fluffy crown of curls. Red tugged on it, sending a flush straight to the slap-happy drunk bitch between her thighs.
“There you go again, thinking you know everything. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Max.”
She scrunched her nose. “You didn’t get the memo. Maybe you should talk to Low about that.”
The spectacular show of perfect teeth and fangs bogged down her memory. Forgetting how to breathe, the need to feed, and her own weariness. Jaxon used perfect physical attributes to get what he wanted, no doubt. Shimmering gold bore into her as his scent replaced oxygen.
Talking to her body and mind, he purred and snapped her head back. Max gasped, needing the unhinged, unbidden affection. It fulfilled an unhealthy habit she tried to break long ago.
“You got me fucked up, Maxine. You should know that.”
“I—”
“Shut up.”
Releasing her, he sighed. Red yanked the cup from the microwave and shoved it at Max.
“Oh yeah, I almost for—”
“Drink it,” he demanded, and she did, but only because her body needed the nourishment. Fuck him and his bossy ass. Gulping made her stomach and veins happy as a tick on a pig.
“I want you to stay another day,” Red declared as she swallowed the last drop.
“Can’t.”
“Why?” he asked, taking the mug. “I’d appreciate it if you would.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You sound desperate, Jaxon. It’s unbecoming.”
The cup clattered in the sink just as he swept her into his arms. Max had no room or air to speak. Red sucked on her pierced tongue and roused a sleeping dragon. She moaned into his mouth.
Lust flared when her ass greeted the couch. Max surrendered to whatever he wanted. Legs spread and gut churning with unfamiliar pangs, she rocked beneath his solid form. Sweltering heat accompanied an unseen force and pulsated.
Red severed their kiss. She panted, struggling for a breath he stole once more. The male dropped to the floor, hiked her thighs high, and placed them on broad, tatted shoulders.
He yanked Max to the edge and kissed that pussycat. “Oh god!” Pleasure and pain. Max cried, begging for the burning knot to unravel.
Claws scored her flesh as he tasted, laved, and licked.
Stimulating and titillating, Jaxon lashed out. He abused her clit like a skilled muhfucka who had memorized her body.
Red worked her over with the help of his beastly tongue. Slick and warm, he twisted the ball tighter.
Spine locked into an arch, Max clutched her breasts.
“Oh, oh oh no. Againandagai—” He worked with vigor.
North, South, East, West.
Her body on the cusp or destruction, Red devoured her and didn’t stop. He suckled and sucked, and granted her freedom from this earthy plane.
Pinching her own nipples and ascending, Max wailed as she crashed into a sea of fire and ice. Her violent moans echoed and carried in his lofty home.
With her belly tensing, he gave no respite.
Red lifted her hips and breeched swollen, pink walls. Jaxon impaled her with a fierce growl. The sloppy hoe responded and gripped his fat dick.
Max whimpered in a fit of ecstasy while he went above and beyond. Jaxon gripped ankles, split her open, and worked her like a nine to five.
Pussy soaked and body feverish, in withdrawal, she ached for his long stroke.
Vicious, he plundered deep.
Cracking lids, Max snarled, loving the view. With brazen red tresses and golden eyes ablaze beneath tight brows, he was death embodied. The vision provoked and stirred a terrifying instinctual desire.
“Gimmie that dick,” she demanded. “Hit th—it, ooohhhhh my god I’m ‘bouta cu—I’m gonna squii—”
“Come to me, Max. Cum for me. Do it,” he gritted. Red laid it on heavy, harder, faster. “Let that shit hit, you better nut—oh shit!”
With toes cocked and eyes up north, he touched her sternum. Max let it out. She came for a second time and it wasn’t often she squirted, but when she did…honey, Niagara.
Her heart stopped while lightning and fireworks clashed. Destroying whatever brain cells she had left.
“Oh shhhh—” her face twisted and stuck. “Ughhh!” Max pushed him out and convulsed. She drenched Red in her water while his seed landed on her belly and tiddies. He cussed as hot jets erupted from his blunt head.
Max bolted upright, wrapped her mouth around him and sucked down the rest. Using her tongue, she bobbed on his dick, asking for more of what coated her skin.
With decades of experience, she tackled the monster. Max gagged, choked, and spit on it. His dick slipped with ease as she used both hands. Jaxon barked her name, threw his head back, and roared. The action followed yet another climax.
Only this round, she swallowed. He required seconds to calm.
When Red settled, he forced her off and collapsed on the couch. “I’m—” The poor man had to catch a breath. “I’m done, I—damn. I am too ollld for this.”
Max cackled, gripped the male’s face, and kissed his cheek. “You are, but you fuck like a young man.”
“That may be, but I’m tired,” he said, fighting a giggle. “I need to recoup.”
As a slurping sound came from the kitchen, she grabbed a throw pillow. It read, sail, with tassels and giant owl eyes on it. “Looooow?”
Her man peeked from behind the wall with a carton of juice. This was not his house. What a fucking embarrassment, bruh.
“‘Sup?”
“How long have you been here?” Max asked.
“Long enough. You loud, shorty, and I was trying to sleep.”
She snickered, then looked at Red. “You have got to be shitting me.” Cutting back to Low, she pointed at the sleeping devil.
“He just told you he was old.” Low swigged orange juice and snorted. “You know them geriatrics, baby, they be falling asleep mid conversation. But uhm, you woke me up, you feel me? I need a lil’ sumn to help me sleep.”
She pouted. “Chile, I am so worn out.”
“What that got to do with me? Somebody giving me some ass for the inconvenience.”
Max poked Red’s temple three times before he popped up.
“Yeah, wus up?” He blinked, grinning like a fool. “Yeah?”
“Low said he horny. I’m ain’t doing nothing.”
“You didn’t do nothing just now. You gotta sit on that man and make it bounce. Shit.”
“No. I’m tired. Y’all have fun. I got a headache.” Max found the shirt, shimmied into it, and went about her way. “You had better get away from me, Low. Fuck outta here.”
She heard Red’s refusal and chuckled as he blew past, cussing Low to hell.
“I am exhausted! I’m going back to sleep.” Booty buck naked Red stomped upstairs like a pissed bear.
“Now who running from what? Damn shame, y’all woke me up. Sharing is caring.”
“You got a hand, use it.”
“I know you and that big ass forehead ain’t talking shit.”
Max growled and shoved him into the wall.
“Ow, you mean.” Holding his arm, Low pouted. “Y’all being mean to me. This ain’t right, baby. Why you doing me like this?” She laughed, and was not using the stairs. In the elevator, Low sighed, and crossed his arms.
“Aw come here, my sensitive baby.”
“Nah, get off me.” He frowned, all the while a smile tried to break loose. “Don’t touch me.”
“You just wanted to tear it down. Now you don’t want me to touch you? Fine.”
He giggled and threw an arm over her shoulder, stepping out of the lift.
“I guess I’ll let y’all sleep.” Low sighed aloud as they entered the master, where Red was already in bed, snoring. “But I want that top notch neck when I wake up, baby.”
“I think I can help you with that.”
“Hayyy, now we talking money.”

Good evening, y’all! It’s been a long couple of weeks! Had a lot to do, and still do, but I wanted to bring forth another chapter. More spice, less talking. Red and Max have a fiery connection. Their moments burn brighter and they are quite volatile. There’s nothing gentle or lazy about them. Where Low is calm, a balm, caring and giving, these two are not. I love their spark. Writing their rough, flint to tinder spice was a good time. With this chapter posted, we’ve made it to the half way mark, and I’m thinking about posting two times a week. It’s not set in stone, so DON’T OVERTHINK IT!😂 Anywhoooo, I hope y’all have a good week and see you soon! Bye, bookie! ❤️✨

Chapter 34: A Ghoulish Meeting

Across town and underground, Nieema admired lofty stacks. She’d been in the castle’s library for a minute, reading shorts to kill time before her guests’ arrival. Not in a particularly romantic mood, she went for comedy. Slapstick, irreverent, or absurd. She wanted to laugh without thinking much.
Nieema didn’t like staying in the subterranean castle for long. It trudge up an unsavory batch of memories. Those darkened by the past and present. Nah, she would rather not dwell within these stone walls.
Though it wasn’t an ideal meeting place, she loved the grand, three-story library. It’d been her haven as a child and a stressed adult. She’d called it home once and had even fallen asleep on the same sofa she lounged upon now. Lemon wax, citrus oils, and parchment made her feel safe. It provided a hefty dose of nostalgia as well. Nieema smiled, recalling the early, adolescent years.
Her mother would read to her for hours. It was a fleeting time she remembered fondly.
Nieema settled with another book and relaxed on tufted velvet. She cracked the spine the moment her brother spoke.
“Come on down here, Your Grace.” Monroe beckoned, and she slapped the hardback shut. “I know you up there.”
“Don’t rush me, boy.”
Tossing the book, Nieema took her favorite form. She exploded into a chattering, squealing colony of bats. Her magic hummed, and psyche split. Twenty sets of eyes and ears. She saw all and heard every motha fucking thing going on in the castle.
The keep, kitchens, and chambers. To the dining hall and courtyard. Nothing was a secret when she grew wings and clawed feet.
Not only was this the quickest way to travel, but it tended to scare the shit out of everyone. Including the beady-eyed mayor who shrank and yelped.
Nieema circled him and swelled; she undulated. Swirling around the man until he cowered in his seat.
“Stop playing with the poor soul, Queen.”
She snickered and dropped into her full form. “Mayor Gloomfhut. It’s so nice you could be with us today.”
Preston Gloomfhut was a fifth-generation ghoul. Which meant he liked raw meat and looked like a god damn dead fish. He was the type who lived up to his name. A thin-lipped, sharp smile was enough. Nieema noted them shiny shoes and the gold signet ring on his sixth finger.
“I am sorry about that,” he said, crossing his legs. “The mayor’s job is never done, Your Majesty.”
Nieema unbuttoned her suit jacket and sat, adjacent to the uptight, sneaky ghoul.
“I know, but we needed to talk.” She gestured to the waiting fixin’s. “I had a little something prepared for you. Some raw cubes, aged cheeses, and dipping sauces. There’s also spiced blood. I know y’all can live without it, but I think it’s a fine treat.”
“No, no. I will not turn down a chance to have some premium blood.”
Monroe was more of a listener than a talker. Especially during times of political strain. This talk wasn’t a big hoopla, but he remained stoic, swirling his full glass.
He stood near the wet bar and sipped.
“Good god,” Gloomfhut rasped. “This is divine, Your Majesty. I can’t say I’ve ever had Moores Wind port. Can I uh, well, may I take a picture of the bottle?”
“Be my guest.”
Preston grinned, fishing his phone from his breast pocket. Those fingernails had seen better days. Blackened and chipped, Nieema grimaced at the filth. He was put together, but his complexion was off, and he hadn’t bathed in some time. Whatever the Mayor was into had him cracking and peeling on the surface.
Ghouls had come a ways thanks to human intervention. Yeah, they fucked humans, and so what? That wasn’t the problem at hand. And while his shook while taking the photo, Nieema clocked the threadbare scent of decay.
“Splendid,” Mayor Gloomfhut drawled, stashing his device. “Now, what is this about? I asked Monroe, but he was light on the details.”
“How well do you know the Voaremont’s?”
The ghoul canted his head and glanced at her brother. He crossed his legs once more and tugged cuffs. The question unsettled him. Nieema was shit outta luck reading his pulse, ghouls didn’t have a heartbeat.
They had working parts and a magic in their veins, but lacked a fully functioning heart.
“Of course, everyone knows them. They’re one of the wealthiest families on the planet.”
Nieema wasn’t about to play in this man’s face. She snapped up a glass of blood and swigged.
“Glad to see you think so highly of them,” Monroe added.
“What is this about?” Mayor Gloomfhut asked.
Nieema slammed her glass onto a rose gold platter. “What does my decree say about hunting?”
“It’s forbidden.”
“No.”
“It’s against the law.”
“Continue.”
“If anyone is caught hunting or conspiring with hunters, then the punishment is death.”
“Public execution,” Monroe corrected.
Nieema exhaled and smirked, but she was unamused. “Someone is hunting in my fucking city. Misthill. The one you are in charge of protecting and providing for. So, tell me, Mayor, how has this slipped by you?”
Bloodfhut stammered and hiked up. He shook his head vehemently. “Your Majesty, I would never—“
“Don’t fix yourself to lie up in here.” Nieema scooted forward, resting elbows on her knees. She peered into the man’s unnatural, averting gaze.
“I’m gonna need you to speak your next words with care. We brought you here, to this library because it is charmed. If you twist your tongue to lie to me, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Mayor Gloomfhut screwed his eyes shut and coughed. His knuckles turned white as he gripped dark, Chellian wood.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Make me.”
“Your Majesty, the Voaremonts will kill me. I can’t—I can’t. You must know that it was never my intention. I trieeeed to stop them. I swear to the Greats, I did. But—but their father, the patriarch.”
Mayor Bloodfhut snapped his head up and stuttered. “He’s—he’s—honestly, I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think he’s human. And—AND—they’d kill me if—I ain’t saying they’re doing it. But I am not saying they aren’t.”
“You know why they’re doing it?”
“I have no idea.”
Nieema huffed. He hadn’t melted yet. This told her one thing: the mayor wasn’t lying yet. Though he’d chosen to omit.
“You not talking?” Nieema whispered, anger flaring.
“I can’t rat!”
“Okay, but you’ll be staying with us until you sing, Preston.”
“Your Majesty, if I could do any—“
“Speak.”
His head dropped, and his spine loosened. Gloomfhut sagged and blubbered.
“He’s got eyes on my whole family and me. If he finds out—maybe he already knows I’m here.” Preston coughed and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “Do whatever you want, but I can’t risk it.”
“Hank.”
Her knight appeared as a swirling mist and solidified behind Gloomfhut. “Let’s go, son.”
“How long have you been digging?” Nieema asked.
The mayor lacked a proper nose, but he scrunched it nonetheless. After threading waxy, four-knuckled fingers through his greasy hair, he sighed. “Four months.”
“You’ll get a year for grave robbing.”
“Fine. It was only for a while anyway. I’m so god damneed stressed. The Crack Mage Gang is fucking up the city and the Voaremont’s—whatever.”
“Take him,” Nieema demanded.
Hank was gentle with the slouched ghoul. Their limbs were prone to pop off like a scared gheko. After the duo vacated the library, Monroe cussed and jacked to his feet.
“This some buuuuullll shit I wasn’t prepared for, sis. You gotta give a god damn minute. Shit.”
Her brother headed for the bar and chuckled. “He don’t wanna rat, but he is one.”
“That’s fucked up, Roe. Come on now, they hate being called rats.”
“Well…”
Nieema plucked a few cubes of aged Gouda and smoked goat. Chewing and thinking, she only grew frustrated.
“I figured him involved, but not like this. The Voaremont’s aren’t taking authority seriously, even going so far as to threaten them. Hunting in my kingdom will not be tolerated!”
Nieema kicked the coffee table, knocking allat shit over. She wasn’t about to let this slide. Trevor had hurt Jasper. In ways Nieema couldn’t fix, and his entire family was running amok, hunting in Ravensguard.
“I don’t need Preston to tell me shit.” Nieema stared at stained glass panes and snarled. Blood-boiling rage caused her fangs to lengthen. “I know what they doing cause I believe Jasper. And if Trevor is at it, then I know his brothers are too; the only question is, who are they giving these parts to?”
“If they not keeping them as trophies.”
“Motha fucka,” Nieema muttered. On her feet, she adjusted her jacket and buttoned it. “I think it might be time to meet with the wealthy Voaremont brothers. And Roe, I want Peaches and Mookie on deck when we do it.”
“Understood.”
“Ain’t this a bitch.” Nieema headed for the exit and grumbled. “There are hunters living and breathing in my town. Never thought I’d see the night.”

Happyyyyy Monday, and good evening, y’all. I hope everyone had a great weekend! You’re in recovery mode now, I know. Fourteen hot dogs and a barrel’s worth of soda’ll fuck you up good in your late thirties. Annnyhoo, here we are! Nieema has confronted the mayor, and I tell you what, she ain’t happy. The Voaremonts’ are a hunting family, and she knows this. Most of the world knows this, but they have their hands in everything. She didn’t need a gravedigging ghoul to tell her, but his omission was enough. So! We shall see where this takes us in the coming chapters. Remider, you and me find shit out TOGETHER! I am a proud panster and love a challenge.
I have been struggling, though, y’all. Keeping this light and easy has been rough. I’m trying not to be heavyhanded with darker themes (I LOVE DARKNESS). That’s not what Patchwork is about, and I will keep it as such until the very end of season one. I do have an ending in mind, but who knows if it’ll go my way. HEAs are a vow, but how do we get there? Who knows.
Soooo, with this week done, I want to bid you farewell, bookie. Until next time, stay hydrated, stay cool, and stay outta folks’ business. Thank you so much for stopping by. You’re a grand human. Byyyyyeee.