After parking her truck in the garage, Nieema followed Hank through the mudroom. They kicked off their shoes, and she dropped her purse on the bench. Keys in the bowl, she grumped and carried onward. Using her vampire will, she turned on the lights and opened curtains along the way. Their ranch house was expansive yet homey. She’d dressed every surface in artwork and lined each console with trinkets from around the world. “I still think you went light on the man,” Hank muttered. “He’s my cousin, sir.” “A cousin who was spying on you.” “Not me, Jasper.” Nieema grimaced as they entered the kitchen, whereupon Hank wrenched patio doors aside. He shoved and pulled until a warm summer breeze greeted them. Nieema loved fresh air. It was far better than underground stank and granite. Minerals and stoneware. Humans buried their dead in the dirt, below ground. Nieema thought that shit was hilarious, given how vampire covens preferred subterranean communities. “Annnd, is that supposed to make it less cruel?” “You’re right,” Nieema stated. “It doesn’t. But I’m not in the business of decapitation…anymore.” She nabbed the decanter resting on the island and poured. An aromatic blended wine made her fangs throb. “Long ago, during sword and sorcery, I woulda’ had his head. You know that. But times are different. I understand the value of life. Community service should suffice.” Hank arched a brow, stealing the second glass of Grand Pa’nidere. He grumbled, lips to the rim. “You just lopped somebody’s head off in cold blood.” “We ain’t talking about her,” Nieema warned. “You killed, Veronica!” “She murdered fourteen vampires, Hank!” Nieema gulped a glorious concoction and threw on some good ol’ fashion city jazz. The kind from back in the day. The music that lived in the very heart of her people. It roused spirits and pleased their ancestors. Percussion, snares, and high hats. She closed her eyes for a beat, letting the music have the moment. “Your soon-to-be bride snaked her way into the coven and gutted our folks.” Her heart cramped, and blood pricked in her eyes. Dry wells stung with a dangerous vow. “How was I supposed to handle that, Hank? Huh? Because you know good and damn well if somebody hurts my family, they gotta die. And by my hand. I don’t play that shit! I would kill anyone who even thought to cross my family. My people. My kin by blood and name. Don’t act like you don’t know.” Heat flared in her chest as she slashed a hand. Daring to send everything on the island crashing to the floor. Bulbs flickered, and the decanter rattled under her boiling fury. “We been through the mud, boy. And now you acting like one person is above us. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m Queen of Ravensguard. It is my vow to protect and defend everyone who calls this place home.” Hank’s steely gaze and curled lip wasn’t a good sign. “What if it was Buck?” “Fuck outta my face with that mess!” Nieema swiped her glass and stomped past her knight. “Get the hell on before I go upside your head.” “You don’t like how them tables turn—“ “Veronica used you.” Nieema gritted her molars and faced her illumine pool. “She poisoned you with a powerful love potion, brotha’. Think. You’d never put anyone above your honor. Not even yourself.” “Ain’t no way,” Hank uttered, disbelief slicing into his anger. “I would have known, I—we were about to get hitched and all—nah. Hell no.” Nieema cleared her throat and shrugged, eyes on her right hand. “I gave your blood to Maggie. She exposed all. It’s gonna take a minute for you to wake up. But the moment Veronica died, the spell was broken. You’ll come around any night now.” “Bulllshit.” Her brother fumed as he traveled elsewhere on the ranch. “Where are you going without shoes on?” “To see a witch!” “I love you.” She didn’t expect Hank to respond, still in his feelings. This entire situation would haunt that old vampire in the months to come, and she’d be there for him when he cracked. Doing away with one problem, she swigged her favorite bloodied wine and cracked her neck. Back in the house, she replaced the glass with a rag and got to cleaning. Jaunty tunes and crooning made her night. She two-stepped, twirled, and dipped to horn-blowing melodies until she grew bored with housework. Her night had just begun, but that didn’t mean she had to stay corset-ready. It was pretty, bedazzled, and hoisted them tiddies, but she was through. That was the beauty of working from home: one got to wear whatever they wanted. Nieema opted for a long, thin, leopard print gown and a headscarf to match. At around nine, Nieema was focused on her patches. Head ducked, eyes on the needle. With quick efficiency, she worked on patches. Her sewing machine buzzing and whirring. It was a comfort she sought during those rough hours. When royal duties had her by the fang. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight. Ms. Corvin was having a baby. Mrs. Briar wanted something for her grandmother, and Francis, the fire chief, needed a quilt for someone in recovery. Music, hot bloodwine, and the humming motor calmed her nerves. After Veronica, she sat up in her office for ten hours straight. Before her, the last person she’d had to vanquish was Maudrin the Sordid. He was a nasty motha fucka who’d tried to kill her father. As General, it was her job to dispatch the Warlock, and she did just that. Three hundred years ago. It was her last battle. Nieema yelped at the feel of hands on her shoulders. “God damn you, Buckley!” He laughed and kissed her cheek. “You were supposed to sniff me out, bloodsucker.” She giggled and patted his hand. “You know how it goes when I’m up here working.” “I do.” Buck squeezed before release. He swaggered over to the tiny sofa, wedged between shelving units. He groaned and plopped down. Nieema assessed and smirked. He was agitated and darker than usual. Her husband couldn’t hide a damn thing. She read the gum cracking for what it was. “What did he want?” He sighed, tugged free his braid. It lay across his shoulder, thick. The bound ends rested upon suede. It was time for a trim, and he’d hate it. “Whatcbu think, Nimmy?” “They can’t have you.” “He knows.” “Then, where we go from here?” Buck flicked his gaze to the window and said, “I gotta take a trip.” “Don’t you mean we?” “Nimmy…” She scoffed and picked thread from the ruined patch. Her perfectionism wouldn’t allow for faults. She cut threads and mused. “We both know I ain’t welcome. But I’ll be damned to let you go without me. That family is unwell. What if they don’t let you leave? Or worse—oh my god. My blood pressure already taking a hit. Oooo chile. I swear—I’ll turn that forest into a marsh.” “Calm down, woman. You gettin’ all flustered, and we know don’t nothing good happens when you’re stressed.” “Baby, if you gotta take a trip, fin,e but I wi—“ “You signed a treaty, Nimmy.” She tossed the thread cutter and cussed. Cooling the fire in her gut, she returned to the patch and sewing machine. Nieema tapped the paddle and steadied her hands. “I’m the one who created that damn treaty, Buck. They get to keep them fifteen hundred acres because I say so. My daddy was due to burn the m, and that was his last option. “If we hadn’t signed that damn thing, we’d be killed by overgrowth and fauna. Listen, if they wanna get to squabbling, then so be it. But I’m going, and we both know that’s the end of it. I gotcha, old man.” Buck affixed his softened, dark stare upon her and relaxed. “You ain’t gotta tell me what I already know. I just don’t want to cause trouble, Nimmy.” “That isn’t up to you. It’s on them.” He sighed while she freed the finished patch and set another on the plate. Nieema situated it just right and muttered. “Other than Palison, how was your night?” “Not bad, I mighta broke the ice with her.” Nieema smiled as he recalled Jasper’s training. She was a quick learner, but had no interest in tools. That was fine cause most folks knew what they were looking for. Nieema completed five patches while they conversed about the mundane. Kids, grand babies, the house, their shop business, and what was on schedule for Friday night in the dungeon. Curls and coils of smoke soothed her better than any Jazzy track. His dusky lilt was the highlight of her night, making her heart swell with gladness. She, the demoness, knocked on wood. Syrupy sweet notes preceded her. Nieema focused on the double stitch and said, “I heard you bought a hammer. What do you plan on doing with that?” “Building stuff. Whenever we actually get to it. I’d love to start breaking shit.” Buck’s raspy, smoke-laden chuckle was delightful. “Day or two, and we’ll get started. You so impatient.” “Not really.” Nieema popped upward and drank in the woman. She’d changed. Silk and twill for cotton. A matching set. Soft, tight, and pink. Nieema had more to say than hello about how she stepped into the space. Buck wasn’t a man with shame. He had no qualms with staring. Neither was on the same page, though her lack of tail irked. Jasper strolled on into the office barefoot, anklets chiming with each step. She went straight for the binder loaded with commissions. “I finished the orc piece.” “Lovely,” Nieema intoned, not giving a fuck about the commission. “Where is your tail, ma’am?” Buck grunted. “I was wonderin’ the same, baby.” “Keep wondering,” the succubus clipped, turning plastic pages. “I might take about five more; the first made me anxious for more work.” “How much you want for it?” “Mmm, fifty—” “No,” Buck hissed on a harsh exhale. “Be confident, Jasper.” “Seven—” “I seen it,” Buck added, eyes locked on the demoness and her thighs. “Your low balling ‘bouta piss me off, ma’am.” “Shit, fine. Two hundred.” “Done,” Nieema chimed, happy to pay the woman. “Nice doing business with you.” “Money well spent.” Buck wagged his pipe at Jasper and winked. “Worth every cent, Nimmy.” Shock and awe, Jasper beamed, and Nieema loved the sultry curve of her mouth. Recalling the plush, pillow-soft kiss, she scoffed. “It’s alright,” Jasper corrected. “Not my best, but decent enough.” “So, what?” Buck sneered, a swirl of lavender clouds framed his menacing portrait. “You calling me a liar? I know art when I see it.” “From now on,” Nieema started, foot on the paddle. She tapped and watched her stitch. “I only wanna hear you speak good of your projects. Because if you don’t believe in them, no one will. Oftentimes, a lack of confidence seeps. Your customers will notice. Now, tell me, Jasper, what is my husband hiding? There’s more to your moment, but he’s being coy. Maybe you can shed some light on your time with Buckley Sunside. Did my man behave himself tonight?”
Y’allllll, I don’t know what happened! I pressed publish on this thing LAST NIGHT! But tell me why I just looked to see how y’all are taking to it, to find that it DIDN’T publish. Also, I tried to publish it without a title… Listen, this is what I get for trying to do shit late at night right after I get off of work. *Crying emoji Anyhoo, I hope you had a great weekend and have an even better week! See you soon, and as always, thank you so much for reading! Byyyyeee.
Bone marrow melted, and the body had transformed into a pyre. She’d never been taken so ruthlessly. Buck was relentless and thorough. Her lips tingled, and pussy wanted to consume him. Every god damn inch. Jasper would damn well let him sleep in it. His soul and desire worked in tandem to destabilize her. To provoke her. It was glorious, though, new and frightening. Their fleeting moment mimicked the minutes she’d shared with Nieema. The Queen coated his tongue; they danced well together. Not only had Nieema’s flavor caused a flurry of sensations, but it had also made Jasper crave Buck. The thought of them pelted her soul with smoldering pleasure. Jasper had almost burst in her slacks from the vision. Did she need a release? Yes. What Buck and Nieema beckoned would be her ruin. Jasper was certain that when this man took her wholly, she’d writhe and wither, sniveling for another. This was cause for hesitation. His heady passion was delicious. It satisfied and worsened her pangs. But she’d never been this bad off. Never so exposed. Wanting a man to such a degree was unbecoming for succubi. Her sisters would’ve tried to bury her in soot and drake ash. “What the hell and highs are doing in my god damn store?!” Leaning against the counter was an oak of verdant waves, freckles, and a fiery opal stare. He was a ravishing creature, Jasper wanted to know. She extended a palm quick, fast, and in a hurry. “Jasper. I run this place. What do you need?” He smelled of honeysuckle and fresh waters. His soul was brighter than the midday sun. He tasted like candy. This was a gorgeous man she’d love to sip on, though his upturned nose was telling. He didn’t trust anyone and definitely not Jasper. She dropped the hand and clapped once, sliding over to a shelf filled with weird shit she didn’t know how to use. She left the men to stare at each other. Bad blood and taut ties. They were family, too. Estranged kin, Jasper presumed. He was the palest man she’d ever seen, so perhaps they were cousins. She would rather not be nosy or eavesdrop, but didn’t have a choice. Noticing unkempt shelves, she decided to tidy up while trying not to listen. “Im’on ask you again, why—“ “You work here?” The man asked, judgment sharp enough to cut his tongue. “Why would the Queen’s consort waste his time working among commoners?” Jasper scoffed, minding her business. She situated boxes of screws and nuts. Counted tubs of putty and swiped a finger through a pat of dust. She took to reading. Fill, scrape, washers, caulk, wrench, drivers. Most of this shit could’ve been written in Rakish. Bored with it, she ventured around the corner and found a row filled with hammers. Jasper perused, looking for something that fit her personality. She spotted a pink one and snatched it. “Oooooo.” Noting the price, she cursed. “Hay!” Jasper grabbed two hammers and stalked toward the store’s owner. “You want to explain this to me?” She showcased the tools, and both men blinked. The interruption had come at a bad time, but this needed sorting. “What?” Buck gritted. “This pink one is twelve dollars, and the other is ten. They’re of the same brand and size. Why is the pink one more expensive?” Buck lifted his chin and nodded. “Funny that. Feel free to change the price. I don’t see the point. Brands be doing funny shit. Our last manager left us high and dry, but they didn’t pay attention to much. Good eye, Jasper. Set the price, and I’ll approve it.” She hummed and smirked. “Thank you.” Twirling on her heels, Jasper listened for a moment. “Palison, there ain’t no need for you come on up here. It won’t change my mind.” “I understand that.” Palison sighed. “Believe me. You’re already a king. Why Her Majesty wants to stay here, in a podunk, middle of nowhere, outhouse of a town I’ll never—“ “Fuck you!” Buck bellowed. “Stupid ass bitch. Don’t run your mouth about my home. I’ll put you through it, Palison. See, you always think you better than everyone else—” “I don’t think, I know I am.” “What a diva,” Jasper muttered, taking her leave. Heading to the back, hammer in hand, she whistled but halted at Palison’s response. “Half brother!” Buck countered. “And I don’t even know you. We met one other time, and it was in Lightbridge for that gala thing.” “Brother?” Jasper whispered, standing near the EMPLOYEE ONLY door. “This is true,” Palison said. “But as our kingdom’s courtier, it is my duty to speak with you face to face. We have two choices here, Myrrhnelle.” “Don’t call me that.” “It’s your namesake.” “Nah. Never been. It’s Buck.” “Very well, Buck…you either ascend or relinquish your crown to Thedius, in person.” “Why can’t we just do a video call or some shit? Everybody doing it these days. I don’t gotta be there.” “A video call? You want to cede through a fucking—Soil of Soul be with me. No.” “Why not?” “There are formalities, and we, as a people, stick to them.” “That’s the whole problem.” “You don’t have a choice in the matter, Buck. It’s one of two things: death. Take your pick.” Jasper tutted and shook her head. More political nonsense. She’d escaped Undervell to avoid this bullshit. Good thing this was a Buck problem and not a them problem. She had little hope. Fucking the Sunsides was inevitable. A good time would be had, but it’d go no further. She’d never again trust anyone to do right or give her heart and soul. It was a death trap that had nearly killed her once. Jasper’s therapist would’ve been upset, but she was free to love or not. That was the beauty of being her own person. It’s the whole reason why Jasper was here and not under her father’s shiny, gold-plated hoof.
Hey y’all, if you recognize the holidays, I hope you had a good Memorial Day weekend! With another holiday over, I present to you, chapter 28. I should know this, buuuuut, it’s a different chapter in MS mode. Anyway, Jasper and Buck have come to that moment. The one where the unwilling gives. Where they meet in the middle. One person takes what’s offered while the other wants nothing more. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PARRRRT! Ugh. I love how Buck and Jasper are damn near evenly matched. They see eye to eye, all the while butting heads. This chapter was short. But the next will be long and SPICY! I can’t wait. Anyhoo, as always, thank you for sparing a moment or two on Patchwork. Your support is priceless. See y’all next week and have a wonderful night. Byyye!
Close quarters and molten delight. Buck wasn’t one to push or the sort to add pressure until within the arms of promising darkness. He let folks live and die however they wanted. There were too many petals to pluck. Why worry himself silly over one fragrant flower? It was no secret that he was for whoever wanted him. Be it man, woman, or them, he’d be there. Slipping between walls and digging ‘em out. He wasn’t picky. Buck had a good woman with great pussy he tasted with every swallow. “There ain’t much to it,” Buck said, smoke puffing and curling. He applied another price sticker and glanced at Jasper. “You got it.” “Surely.” “How many jobs have you had?” “Not many, but enough.” “You like dealing with people?” Buck asked, plucking his pipe from the shelf. “And don’t be shy. Consider this an interview.” “Thought I had the job already?” Gold flecks sparked in her eyes like agitated fireflies. Jasper’s unbidden attention yanked at his soaked roots. “I need some personal info to put on paper. Mater fact…” Buck brushed past the demon, and she chuckled while he was left to burn. Her scent dared to raze his soul. “Step into my office.” He sauntered between stacks and units. Shelves cluttered and dusty. Nieema hated the task and refused to handle it. The aroma of sawdust, mulch, and metals reminded him of them early days. When the hardware store was their only means of making ends meet. Buck smiled and trekked onward, across twelve hundred square feet. Their first baby had grown up and out since times of old. “We gotta fill out that application and such. Got health care and whatnot.” The back of house wasn’t shit but a bathroom, office, and an adjacent break room. They cut wood outdoors because Buck couldn’t stand the sight. They weren’t sentient trees, but watching the work made his ass itch nonetheless. “Let’s see here.” Buck hustled to the bookshelf, set his pipe next to a fussy ficus, and located the folders. He snatched one and dropped it on the desk. Jasper was a cold piece, feet kicked up atop glossy mahogany. Ankles crossed, she rocked in the chair, hands on her soft belly. Buck grunted and smacked her loafer. “You don’t pay for nothing. Feet off my shit.” She cackled and snagged the folder. He picked a pen from the holder and offered it. Jasper snatched the damned thing and locked her scorching stare upon high. Buck matched her indignation. He smoked in silence and gathered much from her quick script. “I don’t take to demands well, Buckley.” “Sumn’ else we got in common, huh?” She flipped pages and continued, eyes on the application. “Your wife is beguiling.” “I agree.” “Nieema was respectful and forthcoming. Intent on fucking me.” Buck grunted and ambled, mouth to the teak tip. He waited a tick and stared out the single four-pane window he’d installed nearly two hundred years ago. Still held up, much like his marriage. “You tryna make a case or convince me of somethin’?” “I don’t want you to think I came onto her. Or that I sought to do anything with your wife.” He scoffed, clouds undulating as he pivoted. Jasper finished her duty and leaned in the chair. “I wouldn’t care if you did.” “Understood.” He sniffed, smirking. “What’s your plan now?” A dire wolf might deem her smile a threatening show of fang. Buck loved this part. He adored them self-assured types. A pretty woman to step on his neck and make him beg for pain. The sweet dame who’d clutch his nuts and make him pray with reverence. She’d do it to ‘em. Buck believed this succubus to be kind, personable, and everything her kind wasn’t, but she had the beating pulse of a domineering demon. One he could trust to do him right when the occasion called. “I don’t want complications,” Jasper asserted, rising. She pressed forward and rounded the desk, seeking to devour Buck right on up. Her magic spilled and pooled between them. Fine florals, sweet nectars, and spice. He inhaled every note and became a glutton within seconds. She settled on his tongue, coiling around Nieema’s essence. The richness roused his old bone and wood. Buck inched closer as she grabbed his pipe. He watched, fascinated. Jasper pulled with ease and exhaled. Smoke billowed, framing her strong features and capped horns. The succubus pushed his most prized blend through her nostrils and said, “I’m at a point in my life where all I seek is peace. What y’all bring to the table is trouble, and I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone in my face. I don’t want to be paraded around by king and queen.” Buck shivered as their proximity forbade another breath. Breast to breast. Heaving and creaking under her sheer demonic weight. The air was thick with it. Lust, desire. It laved the skin. He growled and bore into her gaze. “I don’t want my business in the street.” “You got my word,” Buck rasped, drunk on her presence and scent. She hadn’t pulled a single succubus card, but he was ready to drop for it. Crawl and kneel for a crumb. She paused for a second hit, and squinted. “I don’t want expectations.” “There ain’t none.” “You aren’t easy to read,” Jasper said, grinning. “I find this to be both thrilling and terrifying. It’s sickening how undeniable your darkness is. Heavy, potent, you carry on the wind and strangle me. I’m choking on it even now. Don’t make me regret this, Buck.” “Never.” She placed his pipe on the desk and sat on it. “You may touch me now.” As if the soil demanded him to, he heeded her words and closed the distance in half a second. He locked an arm around her waist while his width forced her legs to part. Buck claimed Jasper’s mouth and demanded entrance. She gave. Allowing him the pleasure of exploration. Sweeter than morning dew and honey tree sap. He threaded claws through her short hair and gripped strands. Jasper responded in kind. Lighting him ablaze, she fisted the fabric at his back. A telling heat pulsated on his bricked dick. Succubi came on strong as hell and turned that ass into a fiend. He wanted to be seated within her. Deep and burning between her luscious thighs. He growled while she hissed from the belly. It was packed with deadly promise. Buck wanted her bite. He craved her fang-filled kiss and loved how she took to him. Desperation fueled their fire. Flint to parched tinder, he was ready for conflagration. “Hello?!” The holler ruined their moment. Buck rumbled, furious with the world. He snapped her head back, and she yanked herself free. A beat later, teeth and fangs penetrated bone. She’d struck him quicker than a pit snake. To cool his ass down and keep from nutting in his pants, Buck escaped her clutches. He stumbled into the shelf and patted at the bite wound on his shoulder. Blood seeped, staining his t-shirt. “You ain’t shit!” Buck yelled, rushing to pluck a tissue from the box. “It’s seven in the evening and you biting motha fuckas’. This—you know wh—I got something for you.” Jasper laughed, pleased with herself. She leveraged weight on her palms and shrugged. “Who says I want it?” “Don’t get cute.” “I’m not.” She slid to the floor and said, “I have plans with the wife.” “Mhm. Yeah. I bet you do.” She arched a brow while Buck blotted. He loved the sting, tug, and burn. Jasper had no idea how close she was to getting fucked out in this god damn office. He would have, but something about it ain’t sit right. Buck was going to give this demon more than a quickie in the back of his hardware shop. She deserved more than that, and he was more than happy to give her time if need be. “After you, ma’am. I got customers.” “We have customers.” Jasper winked in passing and exited on her high horse. “I want my first check on Friday.” “You can want it all you like, don’t mean you gon’ get it. The hiring process takes time.” “I need the money, Buck.” She spun about, walking backwards through stacks. “I’m serious.” “You want me to spot you a few—“ “No!” Jasper fussed about not taking handouts anymore. He truly didn’t give a fuck and wasn’t about to let the woman talk him down. She’d take his money and like it.
Happy Tuesday, I know it’s a day late, but bookie, the 9-to-5 is gnashing its teeth. Taking a chunk right out of my ass. Buuuut, we persist. We keep it moving and march forward. Just like Buck and Jasper! We have arrived! First kiss for both husband and wife. They’re cute as hell, and I’m still discovering new things about them. Jasper has no fight left, and I feel her because Buck is some fine shit. Big, bold, and dark. We love us a morally gray forest daddy, don’t we? I know I doooo. Anyway, I love how they’re not taking each other seriously while being nothing but themselves. Jasper isn’t one to fuck around, and Buck ain’t either. He loves to be handled with care, but make no mistake, he can and will make demands. I’m anxious to get these three alone. And the moment I publish this, it’s off to see about them. With that, I will bid you farewell. Until next week, folks, have a wonderful night. And don’t forget to drink more water, watch your favorite show, and get some rest! Byyyye.
“You can take it, darlin’.” Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. “Yeeeeah. That’s it. You like it heavy!” Buck growled as the missus moaned. “I dooooo. Ohh—Bu—uck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.” He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. “Yes,” Nieema groaned. “Crack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.” “I’m doing it.” “You ain’t.” Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. “A vampire your age shouldn’t have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlin’.” “Yeah! And who put them, babies in there?” An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buck’s gut as he stamped on his wife’s back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieema’s spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. “And I’ll do it again,” Buck vowed. “I know that’s right,” Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. “Fill me up, daddy!” “Nasty mouth.” They laughed as Buck continued his business of jumping on her. She was a sturdy gal and loved about three or four hops. When something popped, she moaned once more. “Darlin’,” Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, “you heard from Jasper yet?” “Uhhhm. No.” “She ain’t come out the house yet, and I’m getting worried.” “Buckley, we don’t know her well. Maybe she’s a homebody.” “I mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.” “Hm. Weirrrd.” Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. “Nieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?” “Why do I gotta do something?” “‘Cause you did.” “You don’t know shit.” She didn’t even look up at him. The betrayal. Buck cussed, lowering to the floor. He joined Nieema and lay on her body. She was more comfortable than hardwood. Though his wood was now pressed into her dimpled ass. Buck ignored the tempting juggle and cushion for the moment. “Nieema.” The woman smacked her teeth and said, “We were having such a good time, and I figured—she was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.” “You did not.” “Shit, she was quick putting a hand down my pants, and I wanted to taste her. So, you know, naturally, we ended up downstairs. After our climax, she vanished. I think I spooked her.” Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. He’d been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didn’t always think with his dick. True, he wanted to make it flex with Jasper. Cut the demon down for about an hour or so, but he had a feeling she wasn’t ready. “Nieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?” Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didn’t. “She was celibate. You heard her just fine.” “Yes, but you weren’t there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. That’s not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.” He stood and marched on over to Nieema’s vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didn’t exist. After sprinting over, she sidled up, and sat down. Buck snagged a twenty-four-inch braid and snipped the end. With practiced ease, he unraveled and loosened the thick strand. “I know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.” He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieema’s lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didn’t have to say it. “Sweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.” “And we ain’t bringing none to her.” “Maybe to you this ain’t drama, but for her, it could be a lot.” “I thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.” “That was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!” “Well, that’s what I thought.” “Of course you did, freaky.” Nieema chuckled, clipping the ends of a braid. They used the next ten minutes to take down her hair with normal chit chat about the family. Norma was on her way, Mace was in marriage troubles, and Trey had another baby on the way with his ex-wife. That was some mess for your ass, but that was his life. Couldn’t tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasn‘t no changing their minds. “Jo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?” Buck asked, raising a brow. “I know he does.” “That was a love tap! Pussy.” “I doubt it.” “Who side is you on?” Buck asked, checking the wife’s reflection, making her giggle. “Mhm. See what I get? Disrespect.” “That man got what’s coming to him,” Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. “Monroe is in Misthill now. He can’t seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. He’s indisposed. I sent him a summons.” “Mm. Had to put on the crown, huh?” “Unfortunately.” “At least you look good wearing it.” She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. “I’m sure we’ll get this settled nice and easy.” “The Voaremonts aren’t known for rolling over, Buck.” “We ain’t either.” “I know that’s right.” After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. “I gave her a job at the shop.” “I mean, we need the help, but do you think she’ll be okay? I still don’t wanna let her outta my sight.” “I told Maggie about it,” Nieema reassured. “She’s willing to charm the store.” “That’s quick thinking, my love. On your toes!” “Aren’t I always?” Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. “Hell nah.” “I know you better hush.” “What? I’m supposed to lie? You said there ain’t to be no lies or secrets between us. I will hold to the vow we made allllll them manymanymany years ago. I know you probably don’t remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, it’s late, Grandma!” “Shhuuut uuuup.” She cackled right along with Buck. “And it’s you who gon’ put me to bed.” “Damn skippy!” As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasn’t a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, they’d become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night they’d met, he’d made her chuckle and vice versa. Within hours, Buck had become enamored with some Ravensguard soldier he was likely to never see again. After a passionate day in bed, Buck had said goodbye. He promised to find her someday. Turns out he didn’t have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. “Ooooooo baaaaby, listen!” Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. “You know how to use them hands… mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, litt—ooop!” Buck cackled and carried on with their routine, which led to the bathroom. These times, the few they shared with such busy lives and a large family, he cherished. They were his priority. Taking care of his dame wasn’t always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didn’t put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal he’d built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieema’s conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. “Thereeee you go.” Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. “Now come here and get what’s coming to ya.” She giggled as Buck plucked her plush behind off the tile and carried her right on into the shower stall. Steam laced with lavender and chamomile soothed the mind while Nieema’s lips roused every nerve. Scolding hot water pelted his back and cascaded, dripping from his tight braid. With little finesse and impatience, Buck set his woman on a stone bench and loomed. “Well,” Nieema prompted, “go on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.” Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until he’d met Nieema. He’d snuff the sun if it’d bring this woman peace. He’d vanquish all evil and become the worst version of himself if it pleased his queen. Nieema spread her delicious thighs and blessed him. Plump and glistening, her southern lips beckoned a motha fucka. She wept for a kiss, and he’d never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buck’s knees gave as he was enchanted by velvety brown softness and glittering blush pink. Nieema presented herself and dipped a finger between what he knew to be sopping wet walls. Buck growled and bristled, snatching her hand away. “Hands off my goods, old woman.” She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieema’s scent drew him closer. Buck kissed her flesh, and she hissed. He sniffed and grunted, growling as the beast within longed to devour. Her wetness coated his lips as he circled her large clit with his nose. His wife was insecure about her precious rosebud. For a time, she hated how it protruded and swelled with her arousal. It took time, care, and reassurance. Buck loved to suck and tease her large clit. “Mmmm,” Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. “Babbbee, pleaaase.” “You so fuckin’ wet, woman.” Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. “I need another batch for my tea. I’m almost out.” “You know what you gotta do.” He responded by suckling her button and mashing his god damn face into her pussy. Buck worked her clit. Around and around while Nieema rocked slowly. She sang his favorite melody and melted with every lazy lave and lap. He sipped from her with gladness and appreciation. Buck swallowed her rich decadence and vowed once again to be her last devotee. If there was no one left to bow, he’d be the queen’s final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, he’d be there to shower her in affection. He’d be the last to obey the Ravensguard queen. His final breath would be that of dedication! Of his love, in this life and the next. Until the goddess called him to the Soil of Soul Buck promised to stand tall at Nieema’s side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didn’t need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. “Oooo shit!” Nieema keened. “You like how I taste, love?” He responded by gripping her hips. Buck yanked Nieema forward and gorged on his favorite meal of the night until she thrashed, on the cusp. It was in the tremble of her words and curl of her chubby toes. Buck studied her body, inside and out. Her arch stiffened and lip curled. Buck stopped, and Nieema roared. Panting, she pulled his braid and cursed. “You had better have a good reason, fairy boy!” He only laughed and stood, taking her with him. Leaving her no room to complain, Buck hoisted Nieema high and flipped her ass. Nieema cackled as she dangled upside down. This woman loved her some vertical sixty-nine, and once she got to sucking, so did Buck. With her pussy at home on his tongue and thighs framing his face, he lapped with fierce edge. Nieema’s nectar turned a decent fae feral. As her soul mate, fated, and begging fool, he dove headfirst. And his queen was no slouch, taking him deep. Buck stumbled and leaned against wet tile, locking himself in place. He lashed at her clit and drank from her blessed fount. Nieema coughed and cussed. “Ooooo shit! Bite it, baby! Bite—“ Buck tensed as she swallowed him down from root to stem. There was nothing left to do but deep throat. He came up for air and shouted to the Goddess. His eyes rolled as Nieema sucked him down and continued, nuts and all. Her jaw unhinged, and she devoured. Claimed and choked. “Youuuuu devilish slut!” Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. “I’mmmm—ooweeeee…” Needing to shatter and release, Buck screwed his eyes shut and penetrated her with his thickening tongue. The pierced muscle caused her majesty to squirm and writhe, body slick and plush. Buck tightened his hold and fucked his beloved in quickened fashion. He curled the tip and twirled, twisted, tasted. She moaned and bobbed, using that neck for the greater good. Sweat and water collected between them, dripping from toes and nipples. Nieema clung to him, scoring his thighs. Buck grunted and lavished her with his love. Nieema pumped and rolled as he punched. Their shared desire and passion coalesced and seeped through bone. It pooled in the marrow and heated, setting his soul to a rolling boil. Buck clutched her ass and drove his tongue deeper. He was set to tear this woman apart until she bit down and let him loose. His spine steeled, and thighs burned with the effort to remain standing. His fight and refusal to fold were futile. Nieema pulled an orgasm from the body, leaving him for dead. Euphoria sprouted from every cell and limb, enveloping him completely. She wrenched it from the root, and he attacked her gushing pussy without delay. The woman howled as Buck lost the use of his legs. They’d turned to moss and were unable to bear his weight. Before his ass collided with the floor, Nieema belted his name and flexed them vampire skills by righting herself in half a second. When his behind greeted wet tile, Buck laughed, allowing his queen to straddle. “You ain’t tired?!” Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. “Damn woman, you gon’ put me in the coffin one day.” “And I will be right there with you, old dog.” They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, there’d never come a moment when Buck Sunside would ever get enough. She was the mother of his children, the beat of his heart, and the rich soil nourishing his soul. .
“You can take it, darlin’.” Buck put his weight on Nieema, stealing her will to breathe. “Yeeeeah. That’s it. You like it heavy!” Buck growled as the missus moaned. “I dooooo. Ohh—Bu—uck! There, baby. Right theeerrre.” He focused on her sweet spot and she whimpered as bones popped. “Yes,” Nieema groaned. “Crack my shit, baby. Stomp on that bitch! I said harder, old man.” “I’m doing it.” “You ain’t.” Buck rolled his eyes and stepped on her spine. She hollered in pleasure. “A vampire your age shouldn’t have back problems or any physical ailments at all. Them babies fucked you up, darlin’.” “Yeah! And who put them, babies in there?” An ugly belly laugh bubbled up from Buck’s gut as he stamped on his wife’s back. Buck spent twenty minutes, once a week stepping on Nieema’s spine. Most vampires who conceived had some small physical issue. Pregnancy was hard even on immortal folk and orcs alike. “And I’ll do it again,” Buck vowed. “I know that’s right,” Nieema said, hands tucked under her chin. “Fill me up, daddy!” “Nasty mouth.” They laughed as Buck continued his business of jumping on her. She was a sturdy gal and loved about three or four hops. When something popped, she moaned once more. “Darlin,” Buck started, pressing the ball of his foot into her shoulder, “you heard from Jasper yet?” “Uhhhm. No.” “She ain’t come out the house yet, and I’m getting worried.” “Buckley, we don’t know her well. Maybe she’s a homebody.” “I mean, yeah, but after the other night she disappeared.” “Hm. Weirrrd.” Buck paused and squinted. Her response was short and squeaky. “Nieema Desiree Falerie Sunside, what did you do?” “Why do I gotta do something?” “‘Cause you did.” “You don’t know shit.” She didn’t even look up at him. The betrayal. Buck cussed, lowering to the floor. He joined Nieema and lay on her body. She was more comfortable than hardwood. Though his wood was now pressed into her dimpled ass. Buck ignored the tempting juggle and cushion for the moment. “Nieema.” The woman smacked her teeth and said, “We were having such a good time, and I figured—she was into it and me. Jasper was interested, earnest, and assertive. She gave proper consent and everything.” “You did not.” “Shit, she was quick putting a hand down my pants, and I wanted to taste her. So, you know, naturally, we ended up downstairs. After our climax, she vanished. I think I spooked her.” Buck knew it had something to do with sex. Nieema was an intense, impulsive vampire with a high sex drive. He’d been dealing with her pangs for a hundred years. They had their ways and proclivities as a couple, but Buck didn’t always think with his dick. True, he wanted to make it flex with Jasper. Cut the demon down for about an hour or so, but he had a feeling she wasn’t ready. “Nieema, baby. Why you have to go and do that?” Buck rolled off of his wife and eyed her. The woman knew better than to meet his stare and didn’t. “She was celibate. You heard her just fine.” “Yes, but you weren’t there. Jasper was about to take lead on the matter. I had to calm her down, shit. That’s not how this show go. Not yet, at least. That woman was on fire. Just sick about it, baby.” He stood and marched on over to Nieema’s vanity. He snagged the scissors, pulled the chair, and short whistled. She rose with vampire agility, defying gravity as if it didn’t exist. After sprinting over, she sidled up, and sat down. Buck snagged a twenty-four-inch braid and snipped the end. With practiced ease, he unraveled and loosened the thick strand. “I know how you feel about wanting to bed her down, but I think, you jumped it.” He discarded the hair into the plastic bag that waited in Nieema’s lap while she mumbled curses. The old woman knew she was wrong, so he didn’t have to say it. “Sweetpea, Jasper moved out here to get away from drama.” “And we ain’t bringing none to her.” “Maybe to you this ain’t drama, but for her, it could be a lot.” “I thought you were in a hurry, Buckley. You the one making bets and shit.” “That was for a nice dinner, not no thick dick!” “Well, that’s what I thought.” “Of course you did, freaky.” Nieema chuckled, clipping the ends of a braid. They used the next ten minutes to take down her hair with normal chit chat about the family. Norma was on her way, Mace was in marriage troubles, and Trey had another baby on the way with his ex-wife. That was some mess for your ass, but that was his life. Couldn’t tell him or them anything. Buck tried to steer their babies and grand babies right, but after a certain age, there wasn‘t no changing their minds. “Jo tell you Trevor wants to press charges?” Buck asked, raising a brow. “I know he does.” “That was a love tap! Pussy.” “I doubt it.” “Who side is you on?” Buck asked, checking the wife’s reflection, making her giggle. “Mhm. See what I get? Disrespect.” “That man got what’s coming to him,” Nieema said, pulling free another blue strip of hair. “Monroe is in Misthill now. He can’t seem to get an appointment with the Mayor. He’s indisposed. I sent him a summons.” “Mm. Had to put on the crown, huh?” “Unfortunately.” “At least you look good wearing it.” She smiled, and Buck kissed her thick, natural mane. “I’m sure we’ll get this settled nice and easy.” “The Voaremonts aren’t known for rolling over, Buck.” “We ain’t either.” “I know that’s right.” After cutting a few more ends, he loosened braids as Nieema breached the Jasper subject yet again. “I gave her a job at the shop.” “I mean, we need the help, but do you think she’ll be okay? I still don’t wanna let her outta my sight.” “I told Maggie about it,” Nieema reassured. “She’s willing to charm the store.” “That’s quick thinking, my love. On your toes!” “Aren’t I always?” Buck barked in laughter and trashed his last batch of hair. “Hell nah.” “I know you better hush.” “What? I’m supposed to lie? You said there ain’t to be no lies or secrets between us. I will hold to the vow we made allllll them manymanymany years ago. I know you probably don’t remember. Senile self. We gotta get you to bed, it’s late, Grandma!” “Shhuuut uuuup.” She cackled right along with Buck. “And it’s you who gon’ put me to bed.” “Damn skippy!” As always, Nieema and Buck found solace in each other. There wasn’t a quiet, dull moment between them. After decades, ten and some change, they’d become the best of friends. Marrying the person who made him laugh was the best decision of his life. The night they’d met, he’d made her chuckle and vice versa. Within hours, Buck had become enamored with some Ravensguard soldier he was likely to never see again. After a passionate day in bed, Buck had said goodbye. He promised to find her someday. Turns out he didn’t have to look hard, because ten years later, Nieema showed up at the tavern wearing his favorite smile. “Ooooooo baaaaby, listen!” Nieema relaxed as Buck scratched her scalp. He focused on the middle of her head and the kitchen, just how Mrs. Sunside liked it. “You know how to use them hands… mmmm, yes you do. Little to the left, litt—ooop!” Buck cackled and carried on with their routine, which led to the bathroom. These times, the few they shared with such busy lives and a large family, he cherished. They were his priority. Taking care of his dame wasn’t always top of mind. Buck regretted them days, when he didn’t put Nieema first. She belonged on the pedestal he’d built only for her. After washing, rinsing, and stripping down to nothing, he covered Nieema’s conditioner-soaked tresses with an extra-large shower cap. “Thereeee you go.” Buck popped the elastic, and Nieema flinched. “Now come here and get what’s coming to ya.” She giggled as Buck plucked her plush behind off the tile and carried her right on into the shower stall. Steam laced with lavender and chamomile soothed the mind while Nieema’s lips roused every nerve. Scolding hot water pelted his back and cascaded, dripping from his tight braid. With little finesse and impatience, Buck set his woman on a stone bench and loomed. “Well,” Nieema prompted, “go on and satisfy your vicious sweet tooth.” Her crimson stare provoked several emotions. Buck had never been one to beg or snivel for pussy. That was until he’d met Nieema. He’d snuff the sun if it’d bring this woman peace. He’d vanquish all evil and become the worst version of himself if it pleased his queen. Nieema spread her delicious thighs and blessed him. Plump and glistening, her southern lips beckoned a motha fucka. She wept for a kiss, and he’d never deny Nieema a thing in this world. Buck’s knees gave as he was enchanted by velvety brown softness and glittering blush pink. Nieema presented herself and dipped a finger between what he knew to be sopping wet walls. Buck growled and bristled, snatching her hand away. “Hands off my goods, old woman.” She laughed and undulated, cupping her buxom bosom. Nieema’s scent drew him closer. Buck kissed her flesh, and she hissed. He sniffed and grunted, growling as the beast within longed to devour. Her wetness coated his lips as he circled her large clit with his nose. His wife was insecure about her precious rosebud. For a time, she hated how it protruded and swelled with her arousal. It took time, care, and reassurance. Buck loved to suck and tease her large clit. “Mmmm,” Nieema moaned with every kiss and nuzzle. “Babbbee, pleaaase.” “You so fuckin’ wet, woman.” Buck clutched his dick and flicked her with the tip of his pierced tongue. “I need another batch for my tea. I’m almost out.” “You know what you gotta do.” He responded by suckling her button and mashing his god damn face into her pussy. Buck worked her clit. Around and around while Nieema rocked slowly. She sang his favorite melody and melted with every lazy lave and lap. He sipped from her with gladness and appreciation. Buck swallowed her rich decadence and vowed once again to be her last devotee. If there was no one left to bow, he’d be the queen’s final hand to bend the knee. If there were none to adore her, he’d be there to shower her in affection. He’d be the last to obey the Ravensguard queen. His final breath would be that of dedication! Of his love, in this life and the next. Until the goddess called him to the Soil of Soul Buck promised to stand tall at Nieema’s side. Mating be damneed. In truth, he didn’t need it. His lifeblood was hers the second they spoke. “Oooo shit!” Nieema keened. “You like how I taste, love?” He responded by gripping her hips. Buck yanked Nieema forward and gorged on his favorite meal of the night until she thrashed, on the cusp. It was in the tremble of her words and curl of her chubby toes. Buck studied her body, inside and out. Her arch stiffened and lip curled. Buck stopped, and Nieema roared. Panting, she pulled his braid and cursed. “You had better have a good reason, fairy boy!” He only laughed and stood, taking her with him. Leaving her no room to complain, Buck hoisted Nieema high and flipped her ass. Nieema cackled as she dangled upside down. This woman loved her some vertical sixty-nine, and once she got to sucking, so did Buck. With her pussy at home on his tongue and thighs framing his face, he lapped with fierce edge. Nieema’s nectar turned a decent fae feral. As her soul mate, fated, and begging fool, he dove headfirst. And his queen was no slouch, taking him deep. Buck stumbled and leaned against wet tile, locking himself in place. He lashed at her clit and drank from her blessed fount. Nieema coughed and cussed. “Ooooo shit! Bite it, baby! Bite—“ Buck tensed as she swallowed him down from root to stem. There was nothing left to do but deep throat. He came up for air and shouted to the Goddess. His eyes rolled as Nieema sucked him down and continued, nuts and all. Her jaw unhinged, and she devoured. Claimed and choked. “Youuuuu devilish slut!” Buck roared. He growled, thrusts meeting her sinful rhythm. “I’mmmm—ooweeeee…” Needing to shatter and release, Buck screwed his eyes shut and penetrated her with his thickening tongue. The pierced muscle caused her majesty to squirm and writhe, body slick and plush. Buck tightened his hold and fucked his beloved in quickened fashion. He curled the tip and twirled, twisted, tasted. She moaned and bobbed, using that neck for the greater good. Sweat and water collected between them, dripping from toes and nipples. Nieema clung to him, scoring his thighs. Buck grunted and lavished her with his love. Nieema pumped and rolled as he punched. Their shared desire and passion coalesced and seeped through bone. It pooled in the marrow and heated, setting his soul to a rolling boil. Buck clutched her ass and drove his tongue deeper. He was set to tear this woman apart until she bit down and let him loose. His spine steeled, and thighs burned with the effort to remain standing. His fight and refusal to fold were futile. Nieema pulled an orgasm from the body, leaving him for dead. Euphoria sprouted from every cell and limb, enveloping him completely. She wrenched it from the root, and he attacked her gushing pussy without delay. The woman howled as Buck lost the use of his legs. They’d turned to moss and were unable to bear his weight. Before his ass collided with the floor, Nieema belted his name and flexed them vampire skills by righting herself in half a second. When his behind greeted wet tile, Buck laughed, allowing his queen to straddle. “You ain’t tired?!” Nieema kissed his neck and cupped his stiffening dick. “Damn woman, you gon’ put me in the coffin one day.” “And I will be right there with you, old dog.” They shared a bout of laughter and reconnected. No matter the time, day, or year, there’d never come a moment when Buck Sunside would ever get enough. She was the mother of his children, the beat of his heart, and the rich soil nourishing his soul.
Tracy missed newspaper stands and bookstores. Those days were sadly gone. 2028 was the year of digital re-branding and a paperless boom. Printing presses were shutting down all over. A tree hugger’s dream come true. Of course, you could still read the Sunday Times, for a ridiculous monthly fee. Paywalls and dollar signs were the wave of the future if you sought to know anything of substance. Horse shit. A paper used to cost ten cents. Now, twenty bucks, and he had to scroll or swipe. Kindles were a joy, but sometimes, he rather the aroma of ink and parchment. Tracy sighed in defeat, returned to the latest issue of Forbes and… swiped left. Tech start-ups were the rage. Tracy pondered on it for a spell, but knew nothing about technology aside from phones and e-readers. He still owned an LCD TV and a Gateway desktop that had seen far too many repairs. Tracy was having a swell moment with his espresso, reading material, and Bossa jazz, until Max, made her presence known for the fourth time. She groaned and undoubtedly wanted something. Placing his cup on a saucer, he eyed the girl. “Sit up, child.” She sighed again, but did as instructed. “And take those ridiculous shades off at the table. Good god, you know better.” It was akin to watching an adolescent pick at food they had no intention of eating. Sliced bone in ham, poached eggs, blueberry scones, and fresh strawberries could have been worse. Not to mention Jaya went through the trouble of cooking. “I hope you eat what she has painstakingly prepared.” “Yes, I am.” “What’s wrong, Maxine?” Her eyes and head lifted. “I wanna go somewhere.” “Like where? Orlando?” “No,” she snipped, staring at a full plate. “Like, a trip.” Tracy’s lips thinned as an arched brow spoke of his displeasure. “You know that’s out of the question.” “And why, exactly?” “Because it’s not safe.” “For whom?” she asked, crossing her arms, defiant as ever. Maxine had always been a handful, since the day she learned to walk. “I’m almost a centennial.” “Age has absolutely nothing to do with this. Hunters are running rampant. They are free to do as they please, and kill indiscriminately. I rather not risk—” “You travel all the time,” she countered. “For work, and you know that.” Fork and knife in hand, Tracy sliced into his chickpea and mushroom omelet. A subject change was a splendid idea, as he would not budge on the matter. Ever. Besides, her presence was direly needed. “How many customers did you have last night?” Tracy asked. “I don’t know, I was off.” He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and draped the fine material over his crossed legs. “It’s Friday, which means you were off three days in a row.” “The shop can take care of itself. Ndari is technically the manager while Tilt is on vacation.” “I understand,” he said, holding his tongue. “But your job is to ensure everything is in working order. We will be audited soon.” She dropped arms and returned to her meal. “Why are you just now telling me?” “It slipped my mind quite honestly. Tedious business. I sifted through mounds of paperwork for hours, to no avail. So, I hired someone.” “Like an accou…” Tracy narrowed his gaze, warning made clear. “Do not, talk with your mouth full. It’s uncouth and not how a woman behaves.” Most probably assumed she was raised in an unkempt, rowdy home. No, never that. Far from it. This was Maxine’s way of acting out because she knew he disproved of tattoos, piercings and the hair. By god, it reminded him of rebellious punks. White and turquoise tresses turned the girl into a spectacle. She’d sullied herself so much, at this point, there was no going back. Anything in the corporate world was out the realm of possibility. No one would hire a woman with the word ‘manifest’ riding her left brow. His daughter had two options, the tattoo shop or marry high. The latter had been a tough road to traverse. “So, you hired an accountant?” Maxine asked. “Indeed.” As a bit of espresso washed down the omelet, Tracy smiled at Jaya’s approach. “Ah, you are a gem. Thank you.” “Nooo problem,” she sang, offering two steaming mugs of b-positive. “Figured you’d need it.” “Why don’t you join us, Jaya? You’ve made more than enough.” She assessed their set up and shrugged. “I guess. I was gonna go for a swim in a minute, but I could eat.” Tracy, ever the chivalrous type, pushed out her chair. “Look at you, Tracy. Thank you.” “You are very welcome, here…” Being of use, he grabbed two scones and dropped them on her plate then added a thick slice of ham. She didn’t like strawberries, so he left those, but slid a poached egg in there as well. “Thanks.” Jaya beamed. Tracy nodded and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Cheeks heating to a degree, he pulled away and looked to Maxine. She was amused. Clearing his throat, Tracy handled the mug and downed its contents. Nectar of the gods. Their very own fountain of youth. Blood kept them spry and lively. He enjoyed feeding more than any other pleasure. It was better than sex. Or so he recalled such. It’d been years… decades since… Tracy swallowed the last drop along with unpleasant memories. “Delightful,” he announced. “You might have tasted it if you slowed down.” Jaya smiled and he followed suit. “It was delicious.” “I know,” Jaya said, with a frown. “I don’t like vegans, their blood is thin. But it’s fresh as all heck.” “Yes, indeed. That’s why I prefer it.” “Fattier the better, in my opinion,” Max interrupted. “You love a decent hearty sip, honey.” Jaya leaned over and lightly pinched the girl’s cheek. Tracy found her affection satisfying. It was good to know Max received comfort from someone. He wasn’t a toucher, a feeler, or a hugger. The experience was nauseating. Tracy avoided affections as if they’d cause him harm. “So, Dad. This accountant, can you trust them?” “With what?” She stared and blinked. “Ah, yes. I doubt he’ll find anomalies and if so, people and silence can be bought.” “That seems risky,” Jaya replied, voice echoing her concern. “I assure you, all is well.” Tracy polished off the espresso and dabbed his lips once more. “They’ll be here shortly, in fact.” “Here?” Max questioned. “Yes, is that a problem?” She shrugged and bit into a strawberry. “It feels counter productive. Too many eyes and ears. After what happened last week, I think you should be cautious.” Tracy recoiled. “No one is more wary than I.” Jaya nearly lost her apple juice and his daughter sniggered. “I am.” “You try to be,” Max hedged. “But we don’t even have an alarm system in this house. Which, I have said, is a bad idea. Since like, forever.” “Like… forever?” Tracy mocked, in his best Valley Girl accent. “You kids these days and the word ‘like’.” “Morgan Freeman is younger than me.” Jaya laughed and he smirked at the slight. “So truuuue and he’s been old for a long ass time.” “Jaya,” He chuckled, steadied himself and made certain to remain composed. “I’m serious, she looks great. Being older than Father Time.” Maxine and Jaya got a good laugh as the doorbell chimed. Their illustrious caretaker rose with haste, Tracy stopped her. “I’ll get it, you eat.” “Fine by me.” On the way, he stroked his cashmere sweater vest and snapped the hem. When satisfied, he yanked the door wide and smiled. “Ah yes, Mr. Aubrey.” The towering male clutched his palm and entered. “What a magnificent home you have.” “It’s modest,” Tracy added. And it was, before he and Jaya remodeled every square inch. “So, would you like coffee, warm red, or a snack, before we begin?” Mr. Aubrey spun with eyes high and nodded. “I’ll take caffeine, six lumps and extra cream.” Liquid sugar it is. “Sure, follow me. I’ll have something made for you.” “Splendid.” They weaved through formal dining and crossed into the kitchen, where Maxine gasped. “Is you fuckin’ with me right now?!” “Maxine!” Tracy shouted. Jaya shot to her feet in a hurry. She had better calm the girl.
Hoe. Lean. Shit. This must be a joke. No way in hell. “So I turn you down, and you follow me home?!” The chair screeched as she hopped to. Her five-foot nothing ass glared behind dark frames. He knew it. The sneer was unmatched. “You have nerve. This some stalker shit. I’ll call the cop—have you been stalking me?!” “Maxine Bissette, by god. You calm down this instant.” “Dad, he’s a predator.” “What?” Tracy snapped, confused as hell. “Get him outta here, Jaya.” Short Stack was audacious stepping to him. “Or I’ll cut his ass.” This girl behind the sunglasses might provoke him to say some crazy shit. He didn’t enjoy her disrespect or the scene. As an old, Purevian, or Pureblood, as the world called them, this was top-tier challenging behavior. But… AB bit his tongue. ‘Cause he loved money. No matter how small the amount. Tracy grunted and said, “He is the accountant I hired. You’ve mistaken this gentleman for someone else, I fear, and, humiliated him.” A distinct clicking in her mouth riled an extra dose of curiosity. Steel and enamel, was it?. “He’s—yo—you? Mhm. You hired him?” “Yes.” She nodded and glanced at a tall, hovering female. “Wooooow.” Back to him, she shrugged. “Small world, huh?” AB grinned. “Very.” “Well, I’ll leave you tw—” “Apologize.” She groaned at Tracy’s demand but AB appreciated it. Basking in the moment, he lifted his chin and waited for her loud mouth self to say sorry. “Dad, I don’t think that is really nec—” “In my house, you will apologize after spitting vulgarities and accusing someone of crimes not committed.” Her head bobbed from left to right as arms crossed. She huffed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” “For?” Tracy prompted. “Imsorryforcussingandaccusingyouofstalkingme. Can I go now?” When her father slashed a hand, she vanished, sprinting away. An elegant floral scent swirled, tickling his fancy. “My goodness, Mr. Aubrey, I do so apologize.” “Jaxon, please.” “I haven’t the words, Jaxon.” He paused for a tick, brows furrowing. “My daughter lacks decorum and etiquette. I don’t know where it came from. Jaya, will you please prepare our guest a cup of coffee? Five sugars and extra cream.” “Coming right up.” “Oh, is this the wife?” Tracy winced and chuckled. His hazel eyes dilated and the female dropped a saucer. They were nervous. Cute. “No, no. I uh, no.” Tracy snickered again. “My dearest died years ago.” “Jesus, I’m sorry.” He dismissed the condolence and pivoted. “Jaya, he will be in my office.” “Okay.” Her high pitched reply was adorable. They were onto something. AB smelled it in the air. “Shall we?” They cut a u-turn and AB trailed. He took quick notice of large comfy couches, a mounted seventy-inch TV and a fire ass recliner in the family room. Tracy lived the good life. White walls and dark stone. Medieval with a modern twist, if that was a thing. Keeping on course, they trekked across the foyer and he clocked a sumptuous formal area. Sofa, coffee table and armchairs. AB checked everything and quickly established a median income. This gave him something to work with. The house ran an easy mil, at least, maybe one-point-seven. Tracy could afford one-forty an hour. Hell yeah. On their way down a compact hallway, he felt like a rat in a shoe box. This was an old floorplan. Passing a closed door stinking of flowers, AB gathered a deep breath. That was her space. ‘Max’s’ room. Funny how he got her name anyway. A nd the way it happened blew is fucking mind. Small world and beyond. As their journey ended in the office, AB dropped his Botega on the desk and suddenly remembered what it felt like to sleep in a coffin. The stuffy, confined feeling intensified by the second. Tracy was unorganized, a hoarder, perhaps. It wasn’t uncommon for their kind to collect things. Hoarding their loot and gold pieces like sleeping dragons. Papers and books were strewn about in piles and on the floor. Ohhh god damn it! Jaxon knew before Tracy even opened the gates of hell what this was about. “And here are my files.” “Excellent,” AB chimed, though screaming inside while his blood boiled. Why the fuck, would you throw financial records in plastic tubs?! “I need you to be aware, that my hourly rate will need to be augmented. This is stodgy, wearisome work and will take me at least a week to sort proper.” “Whatever you want.” AB’s eye twitched. “Ballpark? Two-hundred dollars an hour, but that might change.” “Sure.”
The tide changed swiftly. This particular equation wasn’t adding up. Tracy had a million-dollar spot, a Jeep, a Rav-4, and a lowly Lexus out front. The cost of living in this neighborhood was highhh. Upkeep and utilities. Mr. Bissette had a maid, for Christs sake. He couldn’t afford two- hundred bones an hour for a week. Which translated to 14k, maybe more. If AB milked overtime, and he would, because cream that thick got his dick hard. “Okay, let me get started.” Wagging a finger, AB smirked. “I’m going to need that coffee.” “Yes, sir.” “Oh and Tracy, if you don’t mind, may I tidy a bit? I’ll make certain you’ll know where everything is.” “Whatever you must do, feel free.” “Greeeeat. Thank you so much.” Tracy nodded and hit the exit as AB observed the trash heap. There was no reason for it to look like this. None. He removed the TF suit jacket, vest, and tie. After rolling sleeves, AB dug in a pocket for his buds and shoved them in each ear. Play No Games was a winner, so he kept it. Big Sean had classics. “Where to start is the question.” The desk was overwhelmed with notebooks and journals. He wouldn’t invade Tracy’s privacy, so he stacked them tower style. From largest to smallest. Bills were stashed in the file cabinet he alphabetized. Then, the planners. Why keep them? “What the fu—” He grunted at the unnecessary clutter and moved them to the bookshelf housing biographies and novels on the African American struggle. Some AB had read himself. James Baldwin was a masterclass, and Maya Angelou was his favorite poet, next to Langston. He dusted shelves and sorted. Paperbacks and hardcovers weren’t to touch. This wasn’t his house, but that shit drove him up the fucking wall. He went by last name, as was expected. When finished, the eight-foot oak behemoth looked better. AB accomplished said tasks in under ten minutes; vampire abilities were a godsend. A knock forced him to pause, Hall and Oats, and greet the hostess. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Aubrey. I apologize for the wait.” She placed his beverage on the desk and shrugged. “I had to clean a few other things.” “No biggie, thank you.” “Thank yo—I mean, you’re wellcooome.” She blushed. He was used to such behaviors. “Jaya, right?” “Yeah, you remembered.” From fifteen minutes ago. “Sure did.” She was pretty, gorgeous even. Long, dark spirals flanked classical features. Green eyes, freckles, and a sepia complexion. No wonder Tracy was smitten. “Okay…uhhh, I’ll leave you to it.” “Yes. I may need more coffee, though.” “I’ll set a pot aside just for you. And by the way, nice job.” She gestured at his work. “I have never seen it this clean. Tracy won’t let me touch his things.” “Well, Mr. Bissette didn’t have a choice with me.” He smiled and she turned coy. “I’ll leave you to it,” she recited again. “Alrighty.” Jaya backed out and waved. He lifted a hand and sighed when she vanished. “0ookay.” AB went for the dainty teacup and growled at a black hole. “I really hate you.” In an act of war, folders slid from the pile and fluttered onto the floor face down. “You mangy bitch. This is some good coffee. Sheesh.” He drank the rest in one gulp and set it aside. AB fixated on the battlefield and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the damned thing.” Sitting cross-legged in the closet, he pulled out shit. Fifteen boxes, six briefcases, and three full tubs. AB snagged a manila folder and skimmed. Taxes. A home he no longer owned. Great. Throwing that, he found another. House number two, three, four, five…more followed. “What the hell.” His turnover rate was quick. Every two years. That was mad moves. A lot of waste, honestly. No way he got a decent return. The tub gained his interest. And you know whaaaaat? Tracy bought tons of property and sold it post haste. Gaining with some, losing with others. Maybe he flipped houses or some shit. A vampire keeping equity for an extended period turned the waters murky. Boats, yachts, vacation homes. He had to have a digital trail. It was unavoidable these days, and activity of this sort might raise some eyebrows. Those of the human persuasion. Hm. Setting aside his suspicion, AB compiled it. Equity and depreciating assets. There was a lot and some of it wasn’t even in his name. Probably an alias, which may have saved his ass more than once. Even AB had three names on deck. Jaxon Aubrey was dead on paper. To everyone else, he was Barton Sparks, Alexander Urchin, or Tucker Roberts. He’d be Jaxon again, in fifty years or so. It was the closest to Jack he’d ever get, seeing as he’d left the boy in Ireland eons ago. With speed and efficiency, AB formed neat stacks. They’d be much higher in a few hours. “I’m definitely going to need more coffee.”
What’s good? I hope y’all are having a swell week. Not too much to report. I am taking some time off, but I have vowed to keep a steady pace with posting. I am going to try my best to post Neon Red on Fridays and Patchwork on Mondays. My day job hours are all over the place, so there’s no telling when I can edit and then post, but I’m doing my ultimate best, y’all. Still trying to see what works and what doesn’t. This week, we are reacquainted with Tracy. He’s overbearing and a pain in my ass, though he has reasons. As I have said before, y’all will hate him by the end of this book. But keep reading, he may surprise you. And with a new chapter comes another chance at meeting Jaxon. On occasions, this man works for the monarchy (underground vampire kingdom with a long history and five books of its own, I finished seven years ago) as an auditor. He’s great with numbers and loves monotony. Im super excited because this is where the journey truly begins. The moment when our trouple gets the page time they deserve. I hope y’all have a lovely weekend and don’t be doomscrolling. Shit is too real out there, y’all. Please stay safe and give yourself grace. Thank you so much for reading! See you next week.
Nine in the morning was too early. Bullshit before his first sip of coffee? Erroneous. This was too much for a sober workday. Blinking and listening, Jo ignored the chirping voice in the back of his head. The one telling him to do something outlandish. His magical dark fae biology begged for blood. Jo slurped and grinned as hot, life-giving bean juice burned his throat. “Am I a clown to you?” Mr. Voaremont asked. “Did I make a god damn joke?” Jo dropped the smile and set his mug on the front desk. “No, suh. I had a long night, and the coffee hitting this morning.” “You’re welcomeeee,” Marci sang from behind, tapping them keys. Trevor sneered, forcing Jo to speak. “I know you’re upset, but—“ “This isn’t me upset, Sheriff. In fact, I’m fine. If I were upset, that mother fucker wouldn’t be bre—“ “Let’s not be hasty, Mr. Voaremont. You’re talking to a man of the law. Threatening folks ain’t nice, and depending on how deep it is, might land you in some legal trouble. Threatening the Queen’s consort, however, can and will be seen as a declaration of war.” The angry, ugly white man with skunk breath rubbed his face and pointed at Jo. He didn’t appreciate it, a wing twitched with mounting irritation. Anyone else would’ve bitten his digit clean off. Jo’s stomach lurched at the thought of that dirty ass finger in his mouth. “I don’t give a shit who he is. I’m pressing charges.” “You have every right to do that.” “But you’re telling me, because of his status, the queen has to clear it first?” “Yeah.” “What use are you then?” “Common folk do exist ‘round here.” Mr. Voaremont groaned, slammed a fist on the desk, and grumbled. His antics got Powell’s attention. The ninety-year-old werewolf wasn’t about no bull and didn’t take kindly to outsiders, neither. Also, he hated the Voaremont clan for reasons he hadn’t stated. “We got a problem here, son?” The seasoned deputy approached with a hand on his ancient revolver. “What can I do you for?” Trevor re-assessed, obviously. Powell was fully gray with a bad knee, but he was big as hell with arms the size of whiskey barrels and a smoky timbre even grown grizzlies envied. The city boy bowed out like an intelligent bitch and ran fingers through his hair. “What do I need to sign?” “Marci,” Jo called, spinning in his steel toes, “Get this man his papers.” “Way ahead of you, baby.” “Thank youuuuuu.” Jo gulped his brew and smiled at Kit’s knitted brow. He scribbled in his notebook and hummed, as if pleased. The demon looked up from an elegant script and squinted. His eyes were unnatural, large, and a dazzling shade of lavender. “So, one must file a report after a crime?” “Mhm, yeah.” “Becasuuuuuse you have to investigate the matter?” “You got it.” “So there are no mind scribes to sort through their memories? How tiresome.” Jo canted his head and dropped into his squeaky chair. He didn’t have an office, only a desk. Right next to Renata’s. Their workspace was small but functional. One breakroom, one bathroom, and two jail cells. Not much else. With only four deputies and two dispatchers, they didn’t need a lot. “I think you on to something,” Joe muttered. “But we ain’t never needed it really. Nothing to investigate.” “What about the Platter Boys?” “Yeah, we gon’ see about them in a bit.” Kit stroked his smooth chin and hummed again. “What about gun crime? Knife crime? Magical crimes? Arson, vandalism, and theivery? You don’t have such problems here?” Joe laughed and shook his head. “Nahhh. Look, Indigo Plains is a place of peace. Folks don’t come here looking for shady shit. They go to Carver or Misthill for that. Crime be so low here ‘cause this where the Queen lives. Folks know better than to run crazy with her right up the street. My great-grandma don’t take no mess. It makes my job easier.” “Speak for yourself,” Powell said in passing. “Lazy, good for nothing. Mr. Inkwells dog bit the milkman. Sadie Nile accidentally shot her boy in the ass while hunting. He wants to press charges on his own mama, the bitch. And Pickle got so drunk last week he tipped a god damned bison. You don’t do that! Them is sacred animals. Ogres, think they own the world. I might take him to the high court behind this.” The old man grumped and sat at his desk. He kicked his feet up and crossed them with a hand on his mouse. He loved digital solitaire most and was probably in the middle of his fifth game. Powell earned the right after serving as Sheriff for thirty-five years. “That ain’t crime, bruh. That’s town shenanigans.” Jo giggled into his mug while Powell glared. He swigged and said, “Anyway, major crime isn’t a problem, and I don’t go searching for it ‘niether. I keep out of townsfolk business unless called. I don’t wear a pistol and—“ “You need to,” Powell piped. “Play your little game and stay out of my mouth, damn.” Kit tapped on his notebook and nodded. “I understand, completely. And you know what? I find this all quite fascinating. Even in the most affluent Undervell neighborhood, someone is bound to get stabbed or disemboweled.” “Demons. Y’all too sensitive.” “I know you ain’t talking,” Marci said, on her way to the restroom. “Crybaby ass.” “I pay you!” She slammed the door, and Jo cussed. “Folks don’t respect me around here.” “Insubordination, check.” Kit cocked a manicured brow and sniffed. “You should take a toe for their back talk.” Jo lost his coffee and howled in laughter. He redecorated his desk with heavy cream, dark roast, marshmallow creamer, five cubes of sugar, and whipped cream. “Excuse me?!” Powell barked. Kit shrugged. “Where I come from, there are consequences for such treachery.” “Treacheryyyy? Whoa, bruh. Calm down. You gotta relax.” Jo accepted the napkin Marci offered and wiped his goatee. “You a mess, you know that? Can’t slip around you, Kit.” The demon straightened and gave an affirmative nod. “I don’t tolerate disrespect in my ranks.” Jo’s brows hit the ceiling. “Ranks? What ranks?” “My militia. Battalion. I see over five and have won my fair share of battles. Not without incident, mind you. I have tried my damndest to not—“ “Wait waiiiiiiit.” Waving his hands, Jo laughed. “You? A commander or head honcho of the military?” “General. The one and only general of King Spires army.” It was unimaginable. This here man is some cutthroat vet. It was wrong judging folks by their cover, Jo’s mama taught him better, and with GG Nieema’s past, he knew better, but daammmmnnnn. Kit was shorter than Jo. Five-nine and cute as a button. Fat cheeks, dimples, and a soft, round frame, he looked like a fucking demonic doll. Kit was scared of the woods and flinched at any old sound. He’d told Jo about the tiny stuffed Feldspar pooch—whatever that was—he carried in his bag. It made him feel safe. That same man was a general… of an army. To think Kit a ruthless killer was absurd. Jo glanced at Powell, who scoffed. “I call bullshit.” “Good sir! Are you calling me a liar? Because there is nothing to gain in me doing so. I don’t even like—“ Kit clamped his mouth shut and slapped his notebook closed. “When are we leaving? I want to settle this buffoonery with the Platter Boys post haste.” “Post haste? Bufoooonery?” Marci giggled, “What year do you think it is, Sherlock?” “What?” Marci cackled and tapped Jo’s shoulder. Her peridot eyes twinkled as she rocked in her chair. The sensual tree nymph was gorgeous and top-heavy. “Uhhmm, Buck did call earlier. Said he wanted to talk to you about some weird cult shit.” “Huh?” Jo winced and shook his head. “Cult shit? I don’t—what?” Marci popped a shoulder and went back to her business of writing. She was fifty years old and tech-savvy. Jo didn’t know a damn thing about computers; that’s why he never owned one. The woman wrote action and suspense novels in her downtime, or so she told him. Marci was talk of the town with her pistachio complexion, wide hips, and autumn red afro. Everyone wanted a piece, except Jo. They’d been friends since birth, and he never once tried it. Not that she wasn’t attractive and built like a goddess, but he never thought of her as an option. Marci was his sister, best friend, and bodyguard. Folks tended to think Nymphs were gentle and peaceful creatures. They were, until you stepped on over to their bad side. “Damn,” Jo cursed. “This is the most action I’ve ever seen. We should go. Let’s roll fren!” “Finally!” Kit shot to his hooves and slung that purse over his shoulder. “Off to clean the streets! Swift, with a heavy hand. It’s time to impart law and order! Yes, let us roll.” Jo and Marci deadpanned each other until they erupted in a cackling fit. This man, demon, funny as hell newcomer would soon find himself bored with Indigo Streets. There wasn’t shit to tidy up, save for a few leaves wilting in the gutters.
“Go for their dammed innards!” Kit yelled, panting and winded beyond the usual. “Undergods taint! There’s more of them!” Indigo Plains was a beautiful, scenic wonder Kit had come to love in a matter of hours. He figured it quiet and quaint, even after the giant spider debacle. Perhaps he’d misjudged Indigo Plains because this was far from quiet. Jo flew overhead, swinging a lasso. “Jesus Christ! Powell bite their stems off!” The massive werewolf bounded after the monstrous gourd while the others corralled the smaller possessed pumpkins. Kit struck another with his axe and roared in victory. He swung and severed their stems. The strange, sentient devils squealed, scratched, and whipped his arms with their barbed, curled vines. “Vile beasts!” Kit ducked, rolled, and parried with swift, demonic precision. He missed the howling behemoth’s hoof by a hair. “They’re growing!” Jo was certain that when they arrived at the Platter ranch, their objective would be simple. Retrieve stolen goods, give a final warning, and relay Mr. Carol’s message. Kit assumed it’d be a breeze, given how adamant Jo had been. He reassured Kit on the way. This mission wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Kit had been hoping for a squabble and was saddened to learn, ‘Indigo just ain’t the place for that kinda thing.’ “I will flay you alive!” Kit shouted, slicing through a line of growling pumpkins. He squashed the tinier sort with his own hoof and batted away vines with bloody claws. Steaming gourd viscera pelted his face as their platoon handled the carnivorous savages. The troop was small but capable, each possessing their own skill set. With chaos erupting on the Platter Ranch, Kit called forth the heat wallowing in his roiling belly and expelled his fury. He sprayed a group of bloodthirsty abominations with his purple flame. The bulbous creatures exploded. Their entrails painted the day in gorgeous hues of death. One by one, they popped and melted. Their crew worked tirelessly and well. Kit was impressed with Jo’s deputies. He respected Powell’s brute strength and Renata’s drive to kill. And Jo, he was no fighter, but the young man had heart and ingenuity. He’d become their eyes in the sky and an important asset as he worked from above. His support was much appreciated and essential, as the gourds were unable to simply look up. Jo used the art of surprise to murder, and Kit loved that. Spewing fire, Kit galloped through the mass, flinging his axe. With the smaller pumpkins dead and dismembered with their scalps scattered about, they attacked the alpha. A tottering beast of ten feet and half the size of a cricket field. With Powell and Renata scaling the monstrous gourd, Kit aimed low. He chopped their squat, stalk legs. They flailed as Kit put his all into felling this beast. As he sliced into their limb, chunks of chitterlings rained upon him. Kit inhaled hot pumpkin stink and roared. He vowed never to eat pumpkin pie ever again. “Down with you!” Kit howled with a final swing of his axe. The wobbling giant squealed and screeched. “Jo! Take them down!” Jo was quick with his lasso. He snagged hold of its thick stem and pulled with every ounce of his might. The fairy was stronger than he appeared. His strength and ability were impressive. He managed to throw the monster off balance and yank it to the ground. Kit moved in and released a stream of fire, focusing on the stem. From outside and within, their group attacked. Renata crawled into the pumpkin’s wide, fang-filled maw and Powell heaved, pulling on the weakening stem. Kit was beaten, bloody, and exhausted, but he was elated to be of service. The cursed creature wailed its final breath as the stem snapped and separated from its dome. Not a beat later, the beast erupted. The blast plucked Kit off his hooves and sent him spiraling. Colors whirled as his lungs sputtered and heart skipped. He tumbled and twirled until crashing through solid wood. Mammal stink and hay. He dropped and bounced on impact. He had never been so thankful for animal shit in his life. Rolling onto his back, Kit groaned as a horse nipped at his horns. “Get—madam or sir, please! Do fuck off!” “Kit?! Kit!” He bolted upright and greeted Jo with a smile. “What a thrilling experience.” Jo laughed, climbed onto the heap of dried grass and excrement. He extended a hand Kit didn’t need but accepted nonetheless. “Thrilling, huh?” “Indeed.” Once steady and standing, Kit dusted himself off. It did absolutely fuck all, but it was something to do. “It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a good fight. This was just what I needed. I am refreshed!” “Bruh, refreshed is a strong word for somebody covered in horse shit.” Because the moment called for it and Jo had given Kit no other choice, he released a squeal of laughter. The snorting variant. The show of joy Kit reserved for kin. It was a dad joke, and Kit needed a decent chuckle after dueling with mutant pumpkins. Jo clapped Kit on the shoulder and sighed. “Let’s see what them boys got to say for themselves.” “Throw them in the pit!” “You know? We don’t got one of those, but I’ll keep it in mind.” “The pit has many uses, and to be frank, when you add flesh eaters, most tend to rethink their wasted life of crime.” Jo giggled as they marched toward the Platters’ home. “I bet.” Kit growled as the boys slouched and snivelled on the steps. They were scared, pathetic, and worried. Good, they should be. It was due time they served time for this foolery. Powell stomped outside, wearing the clothes he’d arrived in. “You boys got some talkin’ to do.” “I—we—we didn’t mean to—“ “Stealing?!” Renata shouted. “You didn’t mean to steal? Because that’s something you boys planned to do and have been doing for months. So tell us, what didn’t you mean? Speak up, Jed!” The woman troll person was large in stature. Much like a warrior demon from Undervell. Broad with hard planes and toned curves. The sun kissed her pink eyes just so. Its effect may have distracted Kit for a moment. “We only wanted to experiment,” Jed confessed. “Yeah.” The smaller of the three nodded and crossed his arms. He wiped tears and looked to his elder. “We only wanted to do some magic. That’s all. Mama said we had enough pumpkins and wann’t buyin’ nomore.” “So you decided to steal them? From Mr. Carol, of all people. Jed’s head hung low as he apologized. The middle brother, Sam, didn’t have much to say. He had reiterated what the others expressed and left it at that. “You gonna tell Mama?” Jed asked. Jo lifted his chin with a wing twitch. He studied the horizon and shook his head. Kit stepped in to set this right. These boys needed structure, and the fear of the Undergods struck into them. Consequences must be faced. Jo lifted a hand, and Kit quieted. This was not his army or his job at the moment. He had no authority here and understood. “I won’t tell Leah, under one condition.” “Name it,” Jed said. “You three will put in work. On the Cresstooth farm for six weeks. Three hours after school, Monday through Friday. I’mma give y’all slips Mr. Cressthooth will sign after each working day. You will earn ten dollars every hour. After them six weeks is up, you can have every dime earned.” “What magic were you boys foolin’ with anyway?” Renata asked. And it was a good inquiry considering they’d created monsters found only in the smoldering depths of Undervell. He shrugged, eyes pinned to the ground. “We want—we wanted to make our own haunted curiosities show for Hollwscream week. We already got some stuff cooked up, but Sam said we needed an attraction.” “Suhun’ to woo the audience,” Sam said. Kit scoffed at their waste of an entrepreneurial spirit. “Why didn’t y’all just ask somebody in town who knows magic?” The littlest brother huffed and kicked rocks. “Mama said we can’t be asking magic folk for stuff if we ain’t gon’ pay.” “Your mother seems wise,” Kit said. “You ought to listen to her.” “We did,” Jed interjected. “We got it our way.” Powell growled, making the Platter Boys shrink. “And you made a right fool of yourself. People could’ve died! If Jo hadn’t shown up there ain’t no telling what woulda happened.” “We’re sorry, Mr. Powell. We didn’t mean for none of this. Honest.” Jo nodded. “We hear you boys, but you’re still gonna handle your business at the goat farm. You understand? Jed, Samuel, Randy? You got me?” Jed lifted his watery stare and sniffled. “Yes, sir.” Kit wasn’t sure about human growth rates. But Jed looked to be fourteen, perhaps fifteen cycles. He’d remember this moment for the rest of his life, and good for him. It was a journey taken the hard way around, as Carriont would say. Thinking of his father, Kit grimaced. “A’ight, y’all.” Jo wrinkled his nose and spat a pumpkin seed. Kit shuddered at the sight and sound. “Go’on and wash up. We’ll call sanitation. This’ll be gone by the time your mama gets home.” The Platter Boys scrambled and ran inside, the odd door covering clapped shut behind them. “You went too light on them,” Renata said. “Back in my day,” Powell rumbled, “I would have been picking switches from that there peach tree.” “My father would have made me carry a pack loaded with severed heads and walk a hundred miles across the Shovah Badlands.” Kit examined his filthy, pumpkin-mucked claws. “It taught me discipline and character.” “And trauma,” Jo announced, smiling. “Abuse is not cute, and I feel sorry for y’all. Anyway! Come on, let’s help sanitation and get the hell outta here. I need a shower and a pan of Grandma’s scones.” “Maggie baked?” Kit asked, perking with the news. “She’s prepared more vestiges?” “Just for me!” Jo barked. “Get your own god damn scones, Kit.” “How rude. I am a guest, and as such I should get the first serving.” “Shiiiiiid.” Powell sniffed and glanced at Kit. “He’s possessive of his food and will bite you over Maggie’s.” Kit squared his sopping wet, poop-crusted shoulders. “Good thing I can take a bite or two.”
When I initially started this series, I knew I wanted a large cast. A cast of potential couples and family dynamics and shenanigans. I want Indigo Plains to be its own character and for y’all to live there and meet the community. I don’t want this world to feel stuffy or confined because there is so much I see for this place. There’s a lot of world-building going on for this world, for Ravensguard and territories beyond it. Everything else I write is so dark and serious. World-ending high-stakes type shit. I never wanted that for PWPF, and I still don’t. Y’all will get more chapters with more characters down the line. This season is focusing on Jasper, but I wanted to give these two some page time. For obvious reasons, Kit’s pov is important. I’m not apologizing for Jo’s arrival. I love him and Kit together. I’m still uncertain about where they are headed or if they’ll go anywhere. They’re cute together, but that doesn’t mean they have an HEA. I am a shameless panster who gives the characters free will. In truth, I have no clue what I’m doing or where a book is going until I start typing. That said, I have plans for Kit. Just don’t know if they’ll include Jo. I guess we all have to keep reading to find out. And yeah, that includes me. As always, thank you so much and have a lovely week, y’all. Hydrate, rest, and STOP DOOM SCROLLING.
“Goddog,” Buck mumbled, missing the mesh bag by a whole hell of a lot. “Get off it, old man.” After the pep talk, he nabbed his pipe and puffed for a moment, glaring at a wooden box filled with bags. The festive months lifted his spirits, and typically, getting a head start on Chrismassy things made Buck happy. Of course, the women had ruined his favorite hobby. “Shiiiiiit.” “What’s wrong, buttercup?” Totti asked, patting her ruffled skirt. “You love working on holiday specials.” “I do, but it’s our house guest that’s got me in a tizzy. She’s working my last nerve, too.” “He wants to fuck heeeeeeer,” Torti sang. “I do. He ain’t lying. Thing is, she ain’t available.” Totti shrugged and said, “Well, there’s other bees on the bud, honey. You know this.” The wee betty landed on the mushroom-shaped bowl of his pipe and placed hands on her narrow hips. “Y’all are mighty generous with your bed, never too picky either. Go find someone who is available.” Buck canted his head, brows knitting. “But I don’t want nobody else right now. She’s my fancy at the moment, Totti. And you know how I get when someone grabs my attention.” “True, but if she’s not into it, then you have no choice but to accept it.” “You ain’t lying either.” Buck took to his pipe, and Totti pushed off, then flitted about. “I gotta respect her wishes, and I do, but she lost a bet.” “What a fucked way to go about getting what you want,” Torti said, jumping into a pile of crackly mint leaves. “You’re an asshole.” “And you a cunt.” “Thank youuuuu, I love you too, Buckley.” The mini man and miss wore the same attire at all times, preferring tunics and fluffy dresses. Because Nieema loved them more than most, she made their cute garments. Other sprites thought them weird for adopting “primitive fashion trends”. They were nudists by nature and didn’t see the point in covering their bodies. Buck didn’t care, but not everyone shared their love of running ‘round the forest booty naked. “She agreed to this bet,” Buck amended, setting his pipe on the table. “Jasper could’ve said no.” “You could’ve not offered,” Torti said, grinning like Carl’s raggedy ass. The sprite ducked into the pile of leaves and popped up, tossing them in the air. “Ugggh, I love fresh mint. This shit clears my skin and guts.” “I don’t need to hear ‘bout your guts, Torti. Please do shut the fuck up.” “As much as I don’t want to agree with the village bitch,” Totti chimed, “I must say that was mischievous of you.” “Would you look at that, I’m living up to Mama’s expectations.” Torti and Totti spat in their palms and flapped their wings three times. “No, no. We shall not speak of her in our sanctuary. Don’t go there, buttercup.” “Sorry,” Buck muttered. He quieted and let nature speak for him. The homey treehouse was a living entity, groaning and shifting as Buck shuffled from shelf to shelf. He hummed and two-stepped as soft, deep lofi played from the small speaker on the kitchen counter. It was wedged between canisters, candles, and teacups. The art of tea making soothed his spiraling thoughts. One-hundred sachets later, Buck yawned and scratched the base of his left antler. “These ‘bouta shake loose. Another week or so.” “Yaaaay!” Torti circled Buck and clapped in his line of sight. “You hear that, T? We’re getting new mattressessss.” “That is lovely, mine is getting lumpy. I can barely sleep.” Buck was all about resource and reuse. Nothing in nature goes to waste. Even the velvet on his antlers. It made for great bedding materials. The sprites loved how soft it was, and he didn’t need it after a time. Hank, on the other hand, hated how he gave it away for free… and to sprites of all people. A repetitive tapping at the door made his mouth and ear twitch. “Come on in.” The visitor chirped and wobbled on through the revolving window pane made for avian and sprite folk alike. “You late,” Buck snapped. The colorful bird didn’t pay him any mind, chasing Torti around the tree house. One day, they’d stop flirting and be done with it. Chessie was married but free to fuck. He was polyamorous; his husbands were not. Two men shared Chessie; they didn’t even live together. It wasn’t no shit Buck would volunteer for. Their polyam structure was completely different. They were on the same highway but in two different lanes. Buck surveyed the spice wall and pulled a shimmering purple blend. Magical spices added a kick to his tea, and he thanked Maggie by giving her twenty percent of his earnings. Crystal powders carried magic well and were often safe to consume in small, measured doses. “Chessie! Stop foolin about, now. I got shit to do.” The twittering tropical sea bird trilled and flapped his wings until they were no longer visible to the naked eye. The frenetic motion helped the man shift. Watching his transformation was kinda like staring at the sun. Glaring and powerful, an impossible glowing orb evolved into Chessie Tideway. He was a short, lanky gentleman with burnished brown skin and white freckles. His curly hair and eyes resembled the island waters in which he was born. Warm, shallow tides had been kind to him, giving his complexion a dewiness most paid for. The personable fellow had been his best friend for almost three hundred years. “Woooo doggie, I tell you!” Chessie ambled on over to the icebox and grabbed them both a chilled longneck. He cracked them open with his sharp teeth and chucked tops into the bin. “Bruh, that house is a piece of shit. I mean, it’s ready for a nice wind.” “I know it.” After sprinkling the powder over the basket of tea bags, he accepted the frothy, autumnal hops. Clove and Creme were his favorite. “Hawke gon’ catch his death one day behind his trickery.” Chessie swigged and burped, sitting his bare ass down on the couch nearest to Torti. There wasn’t shit a sprite could do for him, at least nothing Buck could figure. “So, what you find?” Buck asked. “What didn’t I find? A charred wicker spider out back, your construction buddies milling about, writing shit down. Then, sometime after sunset, people start peeking into the house. You know that weird white lady who be giving vendors at the farmers market a hard time? Wushuname…uhuh—” “Sissy Perkins.” “That’s her, yeah. She was looking all in the window with some other folks. That didn’t seem odd to me until I noticed how all of them was wearing the same bracelets with scribbles on them. Prolly some cult shit.” Buck snagged his pipe and added the magic powder, clove, Pixie Dash, and dried bubble flower to the bowl. He stuffed, struck a match, and puffed. “What about the curse?” “Ohhhhh,” Chessie tipped his beer and tapped Torti on his tiny head. The man screamed and bit the tip of Chessie’s finger. “Tell me you love me.” Torti made a gagging sound, and his teeny body shuddered. “Even if I liked giants, you wouldn’t even make the top fifty on my To Be Fucked list.” Buck leaned against the counter, arm under his elbow, holding the pipe to his lips. Smoking was another hobby, one to soothe and mellow. It softened the mind and body, allowing him to create in peace. “The house got about five curses on it, I’d say. Residuals from the last done spoiled the soil and water. I took a sensor charm up in there, and that motha fucka turned red instantly. Ain’t nothing good ever happened in that house.” Chessie scoffed and sprang to his feet, heading for the icebox a second time. He threw away the empty bottle, plucked another, and some fruit. “Back in the day, a warlock lived there. They ran his unhinged ass outta town, but still, don’t nobody know what he did in there. For a while, the mayor wouldn’t let citizens anywhere near it. If I was Ms. Marrow, I’d bulldoze the whole thing, start fresh, and ward the grounds.” Buck grunted at the thought of all that work. It’d be hell, but quite possibly worth it. Jasper’s safety was important, for whatever reason he’d yet to scrutinize, but refused to ignore what he felt when in her company.
“Okay, 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, ‘cause it’s strong as hell, I ain’t lying now, and you know this chile.” Max stared at the sketch she’d 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. “I love it when you talk like a grandma.” Max smiled and put pencil to paper once more. It was tough to concentrate on the mermaid slash steampunk piece with Can’t Stop by After 7 blasting. “That’s ‘cause I am, a grandma, Ndari.” “No the hell you are not.” She chuckled and said, “You’d have to be a grandmother for that. And you don’t even have kids.” “Annnnd I never will,” 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 girl’s face etched on white parchment. “She looks like Gary Busey.” “You always think they look like Gary Busey.” “’Cause they do, bruh. Like, swear to god. Look!” 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. “Nothing like him.” “Lyin’ ass,” 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. “I have no appointments!” “And here he goes…” Max slammed her book closed, threw the pencil, and watched as Jordan stomped from the back and fell onto a fancy sectional. “And whose fault is that?” 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. “Shut up bitch, I am boooored, okay,” Jordan cried, while Max cocked a brow. “Seeing as it’s June 3rd,” Max said, “you are ‘bouta be crying in two weeks. ‘Cause our shop will be booked to hell. So look here heffa, don’t come hooping and hollering now. Take this time, ‘cause yo lazy behind will be the first one moaning about how you’re tired and overworked.” The man bolted upright and gasped, full on drama with a hand on his broad chest. “Why do you have to drag me like that, honey?” “’Cause I love you,” Max chimed. Jordan blushed and waved a hand. “And I love you, boss lady.” “Move!” Ndari yelled, shoving at his foot with the broom. “You know what? You can stop yelling at me, Cinderella.” 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. “Can we play something newer?” Ndari groaned as she sprayed large, spotless windows with stank glass cleaner. “Like, Nsync.” “Nsync?!” Max balked, recoiling at the audacity. “You know better Ndari, this ain’t an Nsync safe zone. It’s New Kids on the Block, or Backstreet Boys. Mint Condition and shit. Nsync is not welcome, and that ain’t news. You showing your age, now.” Ndari cackled as she swiped and polished. “I am only forty-nine.” “Girl, we got cougars up in here.” Max ignored Jordan and his eighty-two-year-old ass. Pointing at her best friend, Max snorted. “Honey, forty-nine is edging fifty; you are almost a senior citizen.” “Shhhh, don’t.” Ndari snickered and threw a paper towel across the room. It landed on the floor, she ran for the thing, and snatched it quick. “If any of you drop even a crumb my floor, you’ll have to see me in a duel.” Of course, there was a clatter of metal on granite. Jordan emptied his pockets. He threw a handful of change and mints at the girl’s feet. Ndari screamed, jumped on his dumb self, and put him in a choke hold. She’d taken four years of Jujitsu and was not to be trifled with. Jordan, on the other hand, ain’t 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. “Incoming!” Jordan shouted and hopped to it. Ndari went with him and hung from his neck like a pendant. “I’m ready! Move girl. I need to make some money.” “Yes, you do.” Max peered through tinted double panes as two men approached in a hurry. They looked stacked from afar. “Damn.” 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. “Hay, you takin’ walk-ins?” The brunette asked, in a Goodfellas accent. Ndari nodded. “Indeed, you lucked out. We don’t close ‘til four.” The testosterone-heavy boys admired their high wall covered in art and drawings Max personally sketched. People liked her shit… ‘shit’ being the main word there. “Cool, ‘cause we stopped on South Beach, at The Tatt-” Max snapped her fingers, cutting off the insult. “We don’t say that name around here.” She smiled, showed and teeth ‘cause them was vampires staring at her. “Oh, my fault.” That one was naughty as eyes found both sets of cleavage. Sex sells, okay. They’d booked so many clients after a glimpse of tiddie meat. “Anyway, they were closed, so we asked around. We were told, Ink In Hell was the next best thing.” “I should turn you away for that, Paulie.” Max tsked playfully as the big ol’ 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 wasn’t enough evidence. Red nudged Gotti and whispered in his ear. They cracked in heavy masculine laughter. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what I want. Fuck outta he’.” Jesus, he was a bold cliché. “So, what do you two have in mind?” Ndari asked, in her ‘tryna fuck’ voice. “We have plenty of options.” “I don’t know.” The Italian Job shrugged and went on. “I never even had a tattoo before. I’m 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.” 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. “I’m hoping to pop his ink cherry.” Sex, his voice was a lengthy four rounds of deep and sweaty. Max laughed and slapped the counter. “’Nough said, come here, church boy.” She gestured for their company and snagged another full sketchbook. Good lawd, they smelled nice. Cologne, aftershave, weed, and soap…male vampire. The latter got her carpet wet, honey. “Okay, so you’re Catholic and Italian.” “How’d you know, I—” “Lucky guess, it’s your sense of humor.” He grinned and tapped his buddy’s chest. “Look at this youngsta here. She got a mouth, don’t she?” “I am ninety-eight years old, Frankie.” “Aye, Frankie is my cousin, I’m Ines.” Her brows popped. “Wow, not what I assumed at all.” “Yeah,” Ndari hummed, considering Ines. “Thought you more of a… Giraldo, maybe.” “That’s terrible, I’d slit my own jugular.” Their quad chuckled as Jordan appeared and cleared his throat. “I’m ready when… ever. Hi…” He waved at Ines and… “What about you? What’s your handle?” Max asked the handsome fellow. He dragged a low-lidded gaze over and smirked. Like a nasty Sphinx. “Jaxon.” “Ohhhh, kaaaayyy.” Jordan chimed in from behind and did everything to shove his big ass between them. Max brushed the wall and giggled. “That’s rustic and rugged.” “I think it’s classy, my mom has good taste.” “She does.” Jordan nodded and twiddled his braid. “Okay, back to you, Ines.” Max pushed at her cock blocker… that was funny. No way in hell. “You’re Italian, catholic, and have a grandmother. So, I’d say, medium-sized, and nothing too flashy.” “Yeah, yeah, exactly.” Max chewed quickly and blew a bubble. She flipped plastic pages with vamp speed and stopped on an Italian flag number. The words, ‘Chaoi bella’ in cursive, were etched under it. “Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! I will protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me, from my friends.” Max recited the words, and Ines tapped Jaxon again. “You know Italian?” “I do.” “Il tuo un breve asno intelligente.” “You are right on both accounts, I am short, and I am a smart ass.” Max shrugged and sighed. “Thanks for noticing.” Another bubble emerged and exploded while he cackled. “I like it, I wanna get that one. My Gma will approve, and it’s not so big.” “Perfect,” Ndari said. She started the formalities of payment and such. “Have you fed within eight hours?” “No.” “Okay, great.” “Alllrighty.” Jordan had to say something. “When you are done, Ndari will bring you into my office.” 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 weren’t allowed…sort 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 fuckin’ 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. “I am sweating… everywhere.” “Shhhhh.” Max grabbed the girl’s hand, her vape, and ran out the door. They giggled into the night and flopped down at one of the small bistro tables. “I cannnot,” She blurted. “Honey, I—two?” As Max turned on her pen, Ndari squealed. “Two purebloods at once. My god, did you see Ines and those shoulders? I swoon.” “Okay, but that ginger boy?” “Makes you think, does everything match the drapes. You should shoot.” Max chuckled, expelling a light mist of smoke. “I know you fukin’ lyin’. Big boys like him do not fool with women like me, a lowly halfbreed. I know my lane, ‘aight. And I stay in it.” 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. “Not this again,” Ndari mumbled. “You’re always so humble… and self-deprecating.” “I am not self-deprecating.” Max paused to suck down cherry-scented smoke and spoke on exhale. “I’m a realist, I ain’t ‘bouta set myself up for humiliation.” She wasn’t no dummy and wouldn’t play the town fool either. “Tuhuh, not I. Aye, did you see how high he was?” “Yeesss.” Ndari slouched in her chair. “Mr. Jaxon was baked. Flying.” “Must be nice. Weed makes me nervous.” Hitting the pen one mo’ gain, Max nodded. “Give me a bottle of brandy, and I’m straight.” “Old ass. You sound like my aunt.” “I am an auntie, hell. Got on cotton briefs to prove it.” Her girl cut up, and they cackled at the self-burning. But hey, at least she wasn’t delusional about her geriatric status.
Annnd we made it to publishing day! I know it’s late, but I didn’t give a set time for a reason, because I know me. Also, I wanna let y’all know that this almost didn’t 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. It’s bad y’all. 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 I’d have days to do all this, but I was extremely unwell there for a spell and couldn’t even sit upright. I am now on the mend and felt good enough to get it done FOR Y’ALL. 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. I’m proud of myself and I’m excited that y’all 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!
After a final hit, he pinched the glowing cherry and stashed the blunt behind his ear. AB then snatched his shirt tails free, unbuttoned, and let the tank work some heavy overtime. Emerging from the vehicle, he noted a blonde out front who stiffened by the very sight of him. “Sup?” She smiled. “Hellooo.” The tattoo shop was packed with vampires, no doubt. Miss Mini Skirt looked like an employee. Music was loud as he entered goth heaven. Black on black. Everything, save for the counter space and white desktop. “Oh wow, you’re back…uhhh…” The tall brunette with a short cut squinted. “Jaxon?” “Nice memory.” She smirked and nodded. “Come for one yourself this time?” “Nah, nah. I was wondering if the other,” he lifted a hand to his torso, and she snickered, “short one, is around.” “Yeah, actually. She’s in the back, getting her stuff.” Pixie Cut turned, then looked back at him. “We’re about to close up.” “I feel you. I’ll wait.” The person on his radar returned from wherever she had been. Ample hips and thighs made him stare. God damn her! Ab thought. He didn’t know what she was looking for in that bag, but hopefully it was her number. “Ndari, baby, have you seen my phone?” “In the POS.” “Shit, right.” She halted and glanced at her buddy. He couldn’t tell for sure, behind the dark frames. She had Sunglasses At Night fetish, obviously. “Look who it is, Ginger Snaps. I’d love to offer a session, but we are done for the night.” She marched forward, and he observed a slight limp. Rummaging through the register, she snorted. “You know wh—giiiiirrl, I don’t remember putting it in there.” Scatterbrained…unattractive. Slamming it shut, she said, “So anyway, feel free to make an appointment, Lucky—” “I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. My Mama doesn’t even call me Lucky Charms.” Eyes darted as the blonde sashayed behind the counter, and the tall one shook her head. But Shorty recoiled and said, “You, are a customer in my establishment, and I can refuse service at any time, Irish Cream. I will tase yo big ass. I got one in my purse. You should find someone safe to play with.” Unclear on how to respond, AB laughed. Her Napoleon complex was strong as fuck. “Damn, I didn’t come to get tased shit. All I wanted was your number.” She made an odd croaking sound, looked at her employee, then dove into her purse again. “Why you want my number?” “So I can text you. Or FaceTime.” “Fuck FaceTime, I hate Apple.” She paused with the digging and lifted her gaze. “You wanna call me?” “If that’s okay, I guess. Or not.” “I—” She sought her girls’ approval, shrugged, and giggled. Ah, insecure. Strike two. She was racking them up quick, but Miss Ma’am didn’t have a thigh gap, and that was his weakness. Smash and dash. Lick and flip, etc. “You know what?” A rude as hell male with no sense of personal space leaned on the counter and smiled at Shorty. “Wus good, baby. You ready?” “Yeah, yeah. Uhm…” “Ohhh, you have a boyfriend.” AB sniffed and threw up his hands. “My fault, you coulda just said that.” “He’s not, my boyfriend.” “I ain’t,” the guy blurted, eyes tracing AB’s frame line by line. “You tryna holla, feel free. Let me mind my business, over here.” He slid to the sitting area, and Jaxon looked back at his current fixation. “Like I was saying, name and number.” “I think I’ll pass. Oh shit, my Monster.” She scoffed. “I’ll be right back.” As the female scurried away after rejecting him like a trick, AB admired the wagon. “Damn, bruh, she curved you quick.” “You are all up in my space.” The weird male had crept in beside AB for a second time. “You don’t own me or the shop.” He chuckled. “The fuck.” “If y’all aren’t together, what’s the problem?” The rude gent smiled and checked him yet again. AB snarled. “You got one more time, halfbreed.” “Aye, bruh, relax. I was just looking, and she ain’t gon’ let you hit…” Licking his lips, the male met AB in the eyes. “But, if it’s back shots you want, I can ease that pain, you feel me.” Jaxon side-stepped and recoiled. “I’m sorry?” “Damn, thought I got one. You old as shit, from the smell of it. I assumed—” “It’s your lack of tact that has me floored, not you making a pass.” “I didn’t hit on you, Red. I asked if you wanted to cut. Different shit.” “Okay, I’m ready.” The woman AB had come for briefly considered him, then the other male, who cackled and pushed off the glass. “Let’s go, baby, we gotta buss some corners before sunrise.” As she came around, AB stared her down. Blushing and grinning were good signs. “So you’re gonna give me nothing?” he asked, as her friend exited. “No. N.O., damn. I know you heard me the first time. Bye, girls, be sure to lock up. You have ten minutes, Jack… or whatever your name is. Shit or get off the pot.” Her ass and attitude left. With it, Jaxon’s patience. Humiliation and rejection were uncomfortable. It happened, but maybe three times in his whole life. And yes, she would come to regret this. For now, he’d find a willing soul who’d crawl through shards and salt to suck his dick.
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, she’d met a mischievous dark fairy boy in a tavern much like Mio’s. They had talked for hours about nothing, and everything then shared a bed with Junis, of course. Nieema hadn’t believed in love at first sight. She’d never been one to dream of white dresses and children. It wasn’t for her…until 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. She’d come in, broody and anxious, set to drown her sorrows in honey wine. He, changed her plans with a single quip. Though it’d be some years, centuries before she’d see him again, Nieema knew then she’d 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 didn’t even know it. “You, punched Trevor Voaremont?” “Yeah.” “I don’t approve,” Nieema added as the fries arrived. “Thank you, baby. Hol’ on, Irene. Can you get Auntie a glass of ice? You know, the chunky kind.” “You and that damn I…” 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. “Nasty,” Jasper muttered. “Pick one.” “Before you knock it, why don’t you try it.“ “No thank you,” Jasper snipped. She grabbed a few fries and ate them dry like a god damn heathen. “Salt and pepper is all I need.” “Classless.” “Buckley Sunside, I told you—“ “You said not to cause a mess, I didn’t. But I had to do something, Nimmy. Shit. He was two seconds from walking up on y’all.” Jasper coughed until her face purpled. Nieema shoved a glass of water at the woman. “Drink it and calm down, dear.” The succubus did as Nieema asked and ate a couple more fries. The unsavory situation was ‘bout to ruin Nieema’s 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. “So, that’s when you punched him?” Buck gave a curt nod and sipped his brew. Nieema thought Jasper might swoon on the spot with how she smiled. “Wow. He is watching me then.” “I told you he was. Buuuut, it’s like I said, you’re safe. I won’t let him come near you.” Jasper sprinkled too much salt on the second batch of fries and cleared her throat. “I wish I wasn’t so scared of this asshole. He’s a feeble human with twenty-twenty-five good years left. Some demons might call me a coward and snatch my rank.” Nieema recoiled and scoffed. “Rank?” “As in…” Buck was surprised as Nieema. “You was in the military?” “No. 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. “Kit, is an ass kisser. He’s older than me and wouldn’t dare defy Carriont. Me? Shiiiit. I ran. Fuck no. Not me. I’ll make my own way.” Buck chuckled and dipped his fries in the cheese while Nieema crunched on ice. She worked on two mouthfuls and observed. “So, you know how to box?” Nieema asked. “I 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. It’s bad business.” “Indeed,” 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 she’d 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. I’ve seen the worst of things living in Undervell. I’m not spooked easily, but Trevor and this last year…” Jasper chuckled and stuffed fries between her curved fangs. “I don’t 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, can—” “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 don’t 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 ain’t nothing.” “My mother? I don’t know where she is. Somewhere in the five kingdoms. I have no idea. She didn’t 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 man’s craggy wound throbbed within her own chest. She rubbed the ache, and he patted her thigh. “It’s okay, beloved. I’m good.” “Bullshit,” Jasper spat. “You fell into an ocean of sorrow just now. Your empathy almost strangled me. What—never mind. It’s not my business.” Nieema didn’t 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…” “That’s 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. We’re happily married and mated, but we ain’t monogamous. Never have been. It was clear from the moment we met.” “Why aren’t 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. It’s 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. “Make 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 don’t 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 swal—” “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 Irene’s 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 can’t 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.” “I can see that.” 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 Buck’s 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 didn’t need solids, starch or carbs, but she wasn’t about to turn them down. Why should she deny herself this moment of bliss? Granted, she couldn’t 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. “I tell you what,” Buck said, rubbing his bulging stomach. “I can’t touch nothing else. Them tea cakes will have to wait until tomorrow. Sarah dropped them off. Said they were for Friday’s tea party, but I was gonna sample some, naturally.” “I figured you were joking about that,” Jasper said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Tea parties? What, do you plan them or something?” “Yes I do, and what of it?” Buck tweaked a brow, and Nieema smirked, loving his prideful side. “Everybody got a hobby, mine is gardening and tea.” Jasper erupted in tinkling laughter. It was bright and melodic. Nieema enjoyed her elated display far too much. “You two,” the demoness gestured between them with a fork, “you’re walking contradictions.” “Says who?” “You’re a cowboy, Buck. Let’s 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?” Nieema canted her head and hummed. “You 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. “Buck 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.” The woman contemplated, eyes fixed upon her cake. She chewed and nodded, drinking her fizzy pop. “You’re right,” Jasper muttered. “You are absolutely right. Buck, I apologize. We aren’t so tight in the ass about sexuality, obviously, but gender roles aren’t 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.” “Shiiiiid, don’t tell the Lurma peoples that. Them folks who live up there on Keyhold? They have ten genders and no roles to be had.” “I’d like to meet them,” Jasper said, cutting into that monstrous four-layer cake. Nieema had never finished a slice and probably never would. “Can I?” Nieema grimaced and tipped her glass of ice. “Don’t think so. The only person who speaks to Lurma is Old Man Joyner. He barters with them.” “Mmm. The hermit?” “Yup.” Buck groaned aloud and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through plastic. “Don’t know about yall, but I’m ready to kick back. I got a long day tomorrow at the store. Bright and early. Huh, my treat.” Jasper hacked into her second piece and eyed the man. “Who said I’d offer to pay anyway?” “You funny now, Jasper. Keep it up.” Nieema cackled, slapped her husband’s 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 didn’t either. It was only a matter of time before the succubus pleaded for mercy. Until then, patience was key.
J. T. Frost 